#grandaughter
I wonder why it took another mans tears for your ears to open to the truth.
Years I’ve spent crying over you,
Getting drunk off the whiskey residue on your skin,
Spinning in and out of your life
Alarmed and dizzy.
A meteorite that never quite hit the mark.
How were you to know you used to be the sun,
That you’d cast us into an ice age?
We will orbit you until there is nothing,
Spinning ourselves into oblivion.
I wrote once that your hands cradled dust,
But that doesn’t do justice the worlds your hands crafted
Or the lives you lived.
A father, first and foremost.
It saddens me I will never know all your children.
I doubt you feel despair that you never knew them either.
Feb 18, 2022
Feb 18, 2022 at 7:48 PM UTC
Here was the friend that heard the cries
from the monster under the bed
Who stood watch over her at night
just to scare away fear and dread
Through all the pain and the laughter
he's shared the pleasures and the tears
Watched over her every day
as the months have now turned to years
He is privy to her secrets
none of which he will ever share
The lifelong friend, who in the end
is her very own Teddy Bear
He takes the blame for toys left out
while passing her a knowing wink
The mess was his upon the floor
and the dishes not in the sink
His the last face she sees each night
a smile, greets her every morn
Their's is a friendship born of love
the bond that will never be torn
Tate
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
I saw a girl
Who belongs to me.
It was in her gait,
The way she turned her face,
And cocked her head
For clarity.
That girl belongs to me.
She's a reflective skeptic,
Knows a half empty glass,
But she doesn't cover
Her eyes with wool,
She knows when it's half full.
She enjoys serenity.
Yes, that girl belongs to me.
She only lives a life of fun,
Her demenor's one of curiosity;
Just the other day
She turned one.
Yes, that girl's one of mine;
I'd pick her in a crowd,
Spot her out,
Without a doubt,
That girl is so sublime,
She's definitely
One of mine.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
Happen upon
The special one,
Like you've known
Her all your life.
Take Aine,
My grandaughter,
Like I've known
Her all her life.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
She's so beautiful,
I'm speechless,
So, I'll write
About her.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
Papa,
Had you held her,
She'd be the death
Of you.
We see it
In her lineage,
Which we
Ascribed to you.
Eons of Irish tribes
Coverge in her
Blood lines;
She is like
The ripening fruit
That cures and makes
Fine wine.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
O, Mammy if you'd met her
She'd take your breath away;
There's peace in her demeanor,
There's joy in her at play.
There's affection in her movements,
She's you in many ways.
Her eyes are lighthouse beacons,
Her skin is sculpted clay;
Her little hands seize my heart
With vice-like claws of love;
Oh, Mammy
Do watch over her
As you watched over us.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
When she speaks of me
They will think Granda
Is an old man, who wears
Corduroy pants
And a cloth Paddy cap.
They will also think
I wear wire-rimmed specs
And slippers.
That I have a loving heart.
I do.
I'm so pleased Aine
Speaks of me.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC