"preamble" poems
Lairs twist life so it's tasty to the lazy
Powerful to the weak and crazy
Brilliant and seductive to the
ignorant youth
But even in pain, there is beauty in the truth
Even a tiny bit of deceit is dishonorable
For only cowards lie selfishly without preamble
As lies only strengthen a liar's defects
A liar's character, mind, & spirit gains no positive affects
The abuser of the truth paints with disappearing colors
Valuing the canvass at worthless dollars
For once the veil of the facade is lifted
Honesty, integrity and trust can never be re-gifted.
Unhappy are the takers
Or why else be fakers?
But to devastate the essence of the believer
Measures the cruelty of the deceiver
Inner peace with self deception
Is the doing of one's own soul's destruction
However if truth be told
When lies gradually unfold,
Is it better to be the believer
Or the deceiver?
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
Mentally beginning anew,
Shower and storms scramble,
A mind, a mess, stuck in the cold of blue,
Writhing in pain without preamble.
A season after the cries of winter,
The tears of petals shed,
Flows hope once more enter
Where a broken heart bleed.
Relief of breath ooze,
As fragile blooms of forgiveness peek,
Through darken days of self abuse,
To nurture the delicate emotional physique,
Healing in time blind,
Pure instinct survives,
An emotional breakdown of the mind.
Until finally, awaken spring arrives.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC
The waves rush in and out again,
Legs useless, hands limp, arms bent,
The masked ones have departed,
the cutting now has quit.
Silent, though I wish to scream,
Brain it is pounding,
in a preamble to explode.
White light and incessant buzzing,
relentless pain is throbbing,
conveying its full extent.
Hands and kind face suddenly appear,
Holding blessed instrument,
Approaching now quite near,
Into my drip it does commence,
I descend into the depths,
white to grey to black again.
Down I go in welcome spin,
into the embrace of oblivion,
Ah, Morpheus my dear,
dear sweet friend.
Wake me not until I'm dead,
Or 'til the tide does ebb again.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
~ i am a preamble, seeking to evolve ~
~ my every emotion, thought and deed, cascades, consequence ~
~ your every touch forever impacts, in cascading consequence ~
~ we are all sacred, equal in our worth, may we each, behave so ~
~ paradoxically ~
~ our security is rooted in our acceptance, of insecurity ~
~ our cyclical attractions, and repulsions ~
~ are the forces which bind us ~
~ while i don’t understand all the motivations ~
~ or all the machinations ~
~ of the forces applied, to divide, conquer and control ~
~ i deem they are parasitic, and thus ~
~ reliant upon our cooperation, to survive ~
~ when i haven’t worked myself out in perfect coherence ~
~ i’m in no position to pass judgments upon any other ~
~ in absence of fraud, deception or manipulation ~
~ embracing sovereignty and free will ~
~ i vow ~
~ to wage peace, cooperation, creativity and love ~
~ to seize opportunity to nurture ~
~ our garden planet ~
~ as a humbled gardener ~
~ there is no spoon ~
~ it was only an illusion ~
~ there are no sheep ~
~ just tactics to divide, and distract ~
~ we are only ~
~ children and parents ~
~ friends and lovers ~
~ sisters and brothers ~
~ cosmic conscious explorers ~
~ shaping our reality ~
~ nurturing OUR Garden ~
~ namaste ~
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC
(a traditional Japanese ghost story, re-told by Raj Arumugam)
Preamble
Ogiwara sits in his shed
alone, sad
only memories sustain him now
in the lonely hours of his nights
and now it is the night of the obon
and he hears the light feet of women
just outside on the grass
just below the willow
it is a woman with her peony lantern
and beside her
through his window
Ogiwara sees the beauty that weakens his heart
young Otsuyu he sees
and Ogiawara comes out and bows
and he invites them in
on this the night of the obon
What Onatsaku saw
I saw the ladies come every night
and the woman with the lantern
sat out at the deck
while the young one went in
and Ogiwara as happy as in times past
every night I saw them
come as gentle as divine beings
and before the break of dawn
as I prepared for work
I saw them leave
and Ogiwara sad, as he is always now
What an elderly neighbor saw
toothless I may be
but ‘m still sharp of faculty
and I saw these two w'men
one young, and a beauty as one from Edo
and every night Ogiwara received her
and last night I went by his window
and I saw ‘m naked in his room
and the w'man he was making love to
was but bones, bones and smiling skull
and the two were entwined
limb over limb
so close in love making
and the w'man he was making love to
was but bones, bones and smiling skull
What the priest did
And the priest came forth
And warned Ogiwara of the danger
The ravishing young girl
was the ghost Otsuyu
And a prayer he placed on the door
so she can never come in
even when invited in
Otsuyu’s song
O Ogiwara
my heart and flesh
yearns for you
on previous nights
you welcomed me in
but now you have doors
shut against me
was all your love
false, false as our days?
O Ogiwara
my heart and flesh
trembles for yours
on previous nights
you cried as we made love
you cried that you had found
beauty and joy
but now you let me stand
crying out in the cold
was all your love
false, false as our days?
O Ogiwara
if I may not come in
open the door
and come with me
What the children saw
This morning we
went playing across the fields
and at the graveyard
And there in an open grave
there we saw Ogiwara’s corpse
breaking, rotting
but his blue cloak still round him
And we saw his corpse
embraced by a woman
but she was but bones, bones and smiling skull
and the two were entwined
limb over limb
and the skull-woman he was with
she hissed at us
and she said: “Go away, children…Go away…”
and she was but bones, bones and smiling skull
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 6:32 AM UTC
You are an artist
but I am not a masterpiece to be painted.
You are a mathematician
but I am not a problem to be solved.
You are a writer
but I am not a story to be penned.
You are a scientist
but I am not a hypothesis to be proved.
You are a musician
but I am not a song to be played.
I am not a prize to be won.
A code to be cracked.
A text to be translated.
A poem to be recited.
I AM DEFINED.
But I will not define you.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Apartment hunting:
Uncertain, tedious work,
So rare the reward.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
We the Sheeple of the Modern world,
in Order to form a more uniform society,
establish careers,
insure domestic conformity,
destroy the uncommon difference,
demote the idealistic,
and imbed the hatred of abnormality to ourselves and our Posterity,
do ordain and establish this societal law for the Earth and all it's inhabitants.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
She hushes me repeatedly
as if my voice could be– too loud
for these shrunken, elder walls
What voice can I revive to tell her
that this little place...reminds me...?
Ratchet up the memories
the young mistakes
my welfare “townhouse”
as if my voice could be too loud?!
Where does anger go to say
These cheesy rugs remind me!
of the smoky halls, stoop-sittin’
head lice, **** roach
fumigated invasion
Music loud enough to blow pipes
induce trauma through the walls
Thud Crash
“Stupid ****
Knife-weildin’, drug-sellin’, boyfriend-of-a-future
A can of beer later...
with stress on hold
the smells of dinner, now—all fifteen of them!
Assault me through the front window
“Ya there yet?
...to this “cute little apartment, I mean?"
So it’s sold…
Someone else will wash windows, rake the yard
Shovel Massachusetts snow
Christmas lights come down
in my mind—
Running toward them still
Toes numb
Skates bouncin on my back
Sled firing off sparks against the sidewalk in my wake
Running and as always late
Mittens soaked, heavy
Like my eyes—
Mom and I
looking out this window for the last time
Looking out toward the daughter of the woods I was
Behind—me
the bride sinks
to the bare mattress—
“Was it really 57 years?
How can it be?”
since...clutching can opener and Coke
He scooped her up and through that door....
“How can it be? Oh my….”
"You can always keep the memories."
she chirps to check the tears
But I can’t taste them!
…Mom baking cookies
stew and dumplings on the stove
Snitching chocolate bits
waiting for the bowl
Impatient little helpers at her side
Colors slipping…
A child husks corn in sunlight
A blue Huffy gleams behind birthday candles
Sheets billow from the line
Sounds fading...
A choir of music boxes
before the Christmas carnage
Doing dishes in three-part harmony
I can barely wrap my words around our voices!
“You can always keep the memories”
Preamble to the dutiful decision
Hypothermic excuse
to dump the place
Street sign shrinking in the rear-view
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
Every letter is red when I've written it for you
Red like my lips and my nails and the stains on my sheets
I feel like carnage and I need to tumble through it
Clawing at you as your eyes register the scene
But I only smile ingratiatingly at you
And push the pen harder to the paper
Where I will quietly slice your soul into hair fine threads
Wielding the most potent gift I have been given
It is the gift you gave me when you looked through my eyes
I have held it close and nursed it like a child
So that now I can plunge it into your chest like a dagger
And you will finally appreciate the horror of being a muse
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 6:12 PM UTC
Preamble at the showdown the fighters eye to eye
Droning pulse of discourse from the referee is dry,
Bouncing back to my corner the butterflies take charge
For the other guy’s a monster, like a Doberman at large.
Bell resounds alarmingly, I shuffle forth to meet
A combination thrown with steel…it whacks me off my feet.
Seeing stars I resurrect to lurch about the ring
To try to keep some distance from the monster’s punching sting.
Roaring crowd are baying now they call to take me out
The Doberman is grinning for he reckons it’s a route,
The flashing light confusing, the noise a steady din
As the monster comes in quickly to achieve expected win.
Throwing jabs to keep him back, retreating to the rope
I cover up with everything to give myself some hope
He pounds with his salvos they hammer hard and fast
His breathing rasping in my ears I pray to God I last.
Saved by the bell and cold water, such disgrace
The crowd are loudly booing, I’ve not put leather on his face,
A wash of resolution hotly surges from within
So I **** the mouth guard back and rush on out to tackle him.
Defensive expectations had him open up his chin
So I feinted with a left and launched a mighty right with spin,
Boring in with fury and a combination score
I hit him with an uppercut which traversed from the floor.
Miraculously the eyeballs rolled and disappeared from sight
I threw another flurry…but had no one to fight
Flat out on the deck he lay, the Doberman was out
As I bounced around like Rocky to the punters frenzied shout.
Camera flashes blinded as the raving crowd went wild.
It defied all expectations, I was the sacrificial child.
Bets were laid that I would fall within a round or two
The screaming din reflected that all bets were in the poo.
The countdown took forever and I swear I watched each stroke
And kept one eye on the fallen, should he rise he’d go for broke,
My amazement with two wobbly knees and heaving lungs of fire
When my leaden glove was held aloft to victory entire.
Winners come and winners go but this I’ll not forget
When fortune favoured sweetly…and I collected on the bet!
Marshalg
My thanks to Shane Cameron…a real fighter.
14 April 2013 (Pukehana Paradise)
© 2013 Marshal Gebbie
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Behold bright symphonic Blast!
Halt the snail bite damage of youth.
There is none to resist the place and time of one who missed the equal avenue.
Dropping before your phantom, dispirited dew, before shadow portrait drops.
Swine with silver throats!
Corpse of embers preamble multi-various multi-vacuous semi-forte polar rhythms.
Sequencing selves in wood and wire. Pinions at drifted tempo, quavering for poly-syllabic idioms,
In sectioned hostels for their sense and glory restrung.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
You three believe in creating scarcity,
NOT union.
You build HOV lanes for your luxury cars,
caring less how efficient they are.
They roll royce cross your game board,
fuming trails of money.
Bell Atlantic bought Madison Avenue,
you bought all the properties.
Now tenants can't avoid
the traffic or the noise
of an internet rolled in palms
and diced
spiraling
to speed limits
...
...
...
...
and red highways
...
...
...
...
and orange traffic cones that
block hybrid cars,
already swerving
to avoid bankruptcy.
We
STOP
the
STOP
people
STOP
moving,
our preamble crumbles to a
STOP,
becoming a eulogy —
an ideal dumb to power trippery,
after Time Warner and Comcast merged,
allies on opposite sides of the game board.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
together you own pretty much
everyone but Fox and Disney,
(yet have invested in them heavily).
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
your oligarchy is
NBC, Universal, CNN, Warner Brothers,
and now FullScreen,
family-friendly nepotism
that inbreeds bearing
deaf drones bored of flying,
over
Why Beyonce is a Feminist.
or
Why Ferguson was racist,
media's offspring
just keep clicking,
the headline genocide victims
basking in concentrated lamps
for a sliver of attention.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
Now you want the backend buffering,
bulging eyes and emptying pockets
of those Spocked into believing,
hyperspeed was ever necessary.
No choice when the exits are slow
and there are no backroads.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;,
offspring of the
Bell Atlantic Company,
we will not let your
****** populate the internet.
Call it Capitalism,
but your playing Monopoly,
yanking the carpet underneath
to the wood of Tyranny.
You shamed
Bell's invention
by stringing together
telephone
internet,
and
entertainment companies
until you could be lazy.
Monkeys who spent millions
to shriek at government parties
about the communication machine,
a system downloaded so slowly,
we
did
not
act
on
cons
piracy
theories,
when Amazon made online shopping so easy.
Dear Internet Service Providers,
so called ISP's,
WE ARE DONE playing Monopoly.
Our collective voice
will shout blasphemy
on your streets,
hashtagged
net neutrality,
till you're counting pennies.
So empty your Washington banks
cause it's 3 a.m. and
no ONE is winning.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
**Dear Nat,
When I grow up,
I think that my
Wonder Woman cape,
that flys behind
so gracefully,
as I wrestle villains,
intent upon
World Destruction
will morph into a
***** dish rag
that hangs limply
from my shoulder,
as I tend too,
mountains of
folding and training of
hysterical toddlers
to be stable products
in society
Is what shape,
this cape, marking me
"all-grown-up'?
Signed,
Helen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**
Dear Wonder Woman,
(Borrowing from and with apologies to
Arthur Herzog Jr. and Billie Holiday...)
This ball you tossed,
Arrived early morn,
Forcing me tocontemplate
the choice between
Shaving, and /or poetically,
dispelling your
Grand Confusion.
Fancy that, as I pondered
How to best express,
The obvious reply,
the BS&T; sang the answer
Obviatin' the need,
To discuss your heroics,
The care, the feed,
Those you care for,
Attend their needs.
*God bless the child
that's got his own,
God bless' the child
who can stand up and say
I've got my own
Ev'ry child's, got to have his own,
His very own.*
I could be more explicit,
That when I was a child,
A red dish cloth was a
Perfectly good ASAP cape,
That defeating bad guys
Hungry work that needed
Ring Dings + milk, to soothe a
Superhero's Superman
And both arrived courtesy of
Wonder Mom.
So rather than ramble,
Let this preamble
suffice:
*God bless the child
that's got his own,
Wonder Woman*
N.B. This message has been approved by the
Justice League of America, Australia Branch.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
With the same pen and paper as the last love letter I wrote, I now write this.
PREAMBLE:
Everyday he'll suffer in silence and I'll be content with the thought. The same hand that wrote loving words is the same hand that brought tears to his eyes.
Over betrayal and deceit hidden in plain view with a longing of decadence and validation.
BODY:
He choose carefully, or so he thought - the wounded of the flock.
But he knew...somehow that I was different.
Unable to be read like a simple book, I am that of an enigma to most, alluring to others.
I could have loved that side of him -- the part unrestrained by persona. The damaged part, carefully tucked away.
But the beast must be fed by the tears of the innocent,
a pervasive pattern of loving women he made love him back.
He fed his soul with their sadness.
For he deceived them for proof of love and in it, he destroyed himself.
Day by day, he'll look at me and realize, like the last - he was wrong.
That someone had cared and someone was hurt, and that was not I.
And I am grateful -
for not loving a traitor.
To his own cause or mine.
Because every time he looks for validation in the tears of others.
I will not be there
and he will not find me.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
Ramble shamble gamble preamble .
Wild child dialed beguiled .
Crawl small ; fall tall ; wall all ; mall brawl doll you all .
Black sack fact track Jack smack wack maniac pack . Back hack , knack
flack , lack kayak rack tack .
Phone roan tone zone bone hone ; drone known . Own moan loan .
Talk rock ; gawk hawk ; shock lock ; **** dock ; balk , stalk walk .
Bristling gristle glimmer glisten .
Quaint paint saint feint aint .
Expressed suppressed repressed biased .
Ecstatic emphatic fanatic .
Lecherous treacherous .
Obtuse abstruse .
Whirl curl ; hurl furl .
Test west quest ; jest guessed ; blessed best crest behest . Conquest ,
invest zest ; rest nest .
Cohort cavort . Gulch mulch .
Raven haven saven braven .
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
Lauren has returned from her doc
with a portrait of the future
engraved on her spirit.
A collation of sonic pings
etched on a computer screen
reveal her new legacy
lying supine in an amniotic cradle
limbs and digits outstretched -
reaching for tomorrow.
Hands and feet to
touch and navigate the earth.
Inquisitive eyes and ears
to map and explore
the wonders of the universe.
Emergent life suspended today
within a mother's womb
but destined for future liberty.
October 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
His motion dark. It’s sickening
how fields are barren from the salt.
The years they come to ****** away my mind.
The brewing hate is welcoming
So raise your finger to them all
and fall back into comatose this last time.
If there’s a need, I’ll gravitate
into the gaps of history
and break the burden of this yoke for you.
With tainted cups we celebrate
the sowing of a fractured seed.
Its funeral for everyone we knew.
The morsels fall from trickled thoughts
they taste like you when you were mine
our effervescent youth now lay in ruins.
The share of us displaces taunts
my serendipity has died
you’re all that’s left…you’re all that’s left…and you’re always all that’s right.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 11:31 AM UTC
My calico looks like the Lion of Judah
preamble her deftness with cooked chicken
and a sprinkling of lactose
Poor dear , perfect though she is
we all have our travails.
I am finding it hard to believe
age does not make her wary
in fact shes grows deeper into her role
A totem and a sustainer curled up in the one.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
PREAMBLE
*in the future
we’ll all be perfect
and there’ll be peace forever
and no one will have to complain ever
cos we’ll know
every part of body and brain and mind
and we’ll have them all fixed wherever*
1
in the future
people will not say 'Ouch!'
they will say 'Yum!'
cos we’ll have fixed
the part in the brain
where they feel pain
and it’ll all be pleasure
but the skin point
or tissue point
would all have implants
for auto-repair
2
in the future
people need not go to school
cos we’ll have enough good drugs
to fix their brains
and diamond points in their folds
for life-long
updates and upgrades;
and those Outdates
we'll slow humane-terminate
3
in the future
people will never feel negative
or down
cos we’ll know where it comes from
and flood it with the juices
from the smiley area
cos we’ll know where they come from too
and we can control brain droughts and mind floods
4
in the future
women will not carry babies
nor men either;
so couples can have ***
each strong in desire
and like satyrs in performance
and all no condoms either
and they’ll never conceive
cos we’ll have all the combinations ever
in frozen silos
that we’ll make copulate in infinite
possibilities and impossibilities
5
we’ll still have nations though
cos the Leaders will be able to choose
what brains they want their citizens to have
and all engineered
in the Nation Babies Pods where all babies will come from
so that we will still have
China Mind, America Mind, Poland Mind,
India Mind, Japanese Mind, Dutch Mind,
Polynesia Mind, Utopia Mind, Ideal Mind,
Reptile Mind, God Mind
and so on…
so really you needn't worry;
you'll still have personality
*so really
in the future
we’ll all be perfect
and there’ll be peace forever
and no one will have to complain ever*
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 2:44 AM UTC
Synaptic explosion.
Unigue and bright..burns and crosses the chasm.
A new existence in the universe.
Like a fistfull of ligtening.
Never to be again.
No rerun. A salmon upsream. A creative anchor. A fitfull dream.
The stream washes both sides of the shore.
Draws inward and onward and downward and more.
Silt and bramble...a preamble
A fistfull of lightening and nothing more.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
I have been daydreaming my dream.
Can I tell you what that is?
Standing on a stage in front of a
supremely silent crowd as I
speak of my heart. My life.
My God.
JESUS CHRIST.
This after performing the most
righteous (hippie slang for awesome) music. Music I have
written and SO long to share with
the world.
I have been preparing for this
all my life. Even though I was raised
an atheist. I've had this dream to
stand up for something of the
greatest impact, importance
and beauty.
I had this dream of
Jesus Christ returning you see.
When I was 10. I know His Spirit
has never left. But He will
return ******
I DREAMT THIS BEFORE I EVER
READ THE BIBLE OR WENT TO
CHURCH. He came to me in this
dream. On a white horse and the
Host behind Him. From the clouds
they rode in pure GLORY!
I could not see His face. But I sure
heard His voice. Which said;
"Cathy. I'm coming back.
You and your family
have to be READY".
Maybe you are an unbeliever.
But can you see how I would feel
as I do? Also go to the site search engine. Type in "Salvation Story
by SoulSurvivor". If this testimony
doesn't move you nothing will.
I want to share with the world
how Jesus Christ literally saved
my life. What better way than
with music? The universal
language.
I have a dream. Of megalithic
angels standing around the stadium.
People in AWE! Not of me.
*Of God*.
My message?
No more war.
LOVE.
REPENTANCE.
LEVELING OF PRIDE.
FORGIVENESS.
I believe that God would not
have put this in my heart if He
didn't want to, at least, allow me
to TRY!
I have a dream. That i was broken.
Then completely healed.
In my BODY, MIND and SPIRIT.
For 20 years God has been
leveling my pride. It needed it.
For 10 I've been writing
poetry, music and songs.
Now it's time.
My music will be released on
YouTube and Soundcloud
next month. The links announced.
I figure if you're gonna dream...
**DREAM BiG**.
Notice the little i in the middle of
BiG? That's ME. If I get a big head
*the weight of it will make me fall.*
Will you support me? PRAY.
Send good thoughts skyward.
I'll need every last one.
Thank you!
♥ Catherine
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
heritage of her long preamble **********
the quick note stencilled on sticky note
seemed not only incomplete but irrational
'plead not the day to the jury of night
its light deceives the dark into seeking
solace for its own death'
her heritage thought troubles the waves
sending its silent after effects spreading across the
waters to which we fled for safe harbour in evening's birth
we swim to shore
and explore nothing but sand on beachhead
and eachothers fumbling in near perfect dark
before dawn could streak the sky
with the golden lances of the sun
as day wrestles the sky from night
contending with eachother
revealing to our new born eyes
the fanfare that light gives the day
she stood on this stage
and did pronounce loudly
entreat the light to forsake the day
join the night
as she and i had
as lovers
then the golden lances of dawn
would be the stems of roses
from one lover to the other
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
From the carpet floor of the living room,
I peer down the low-lit hall:
a ukelele and flaming lips song.
On my elbow, I seesaw,
waiting to hear that tiny voice
from the other end of the call.
Father sings to daughter
about the darkness of the world
and Yoshimi, the warrior
who has to be the strongest girl.
She must stand between
paper doll and machine,
to make a better world.
Little girl, you cannot know
all the dangers up ahead--
the mountain with the steepest climb
is your path to tread,
a Kracken under your boat at sea
is your ghost to slay in the end--
so don't look up and don't look down
and make Time a dear, old friend.
Set out when winds catch your sail,
let the land beneath you go.
Cast nets wide, take on the gale,
and when it gets bad, just row.
Row until you can't,
then look to shore
for the lighthouse that you know.
He's been waiting there on the sand;
he never let you go.
Set anchor there and stay a while.
You were fearful or forgot the smile
he saves for you.
But no matter how far you've gotten,
no matter the wrong or right you do,
a father's love is hard and sure--
an anchor to steady, a calm to settle
the storm that chases you.
And when you feel uncertain,
don’t make yourself a ghost.
He is imperfect, and may forget
you’re at the other end of the rope,
and the one that he needs most.
I'll tell you how I know:
if he ever lost his little girl
his heart could never be whole.
She is a part of who he has become,
even when it doesn’t show.
A tiny voice comes through the wire,
singing, chirping, silently mouthing,
like the changing glimmer of fire.
It's not yet quite what it will be
but it is hers and will inspire
with a lightness that comes steadily.
From the carpet floor, elbow-propped,
it could be any other day,
father and daughter making their way.
So I wrote this down just to say:
daughters are stronger than they know;
their hearts break quick in the undertow.
Without preamble or self-defeat,
when it’s your turn to make salt sweet,
the other end of the rope will show,
for a daughter’s love is nestled deep
in the strength she learns from you.
And nothing can strengthen that bond more
than what you’ve both been through.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC