#548 mused

August 15, 2012

 

in the red dream
i see your heart flow
we hold on to each other
meet eyes across distances
much greater than ages or pain
pooling liquid salt water defeat death
daring to be father darling daughter to the spirit core

#486. kick the can

November 26, 2011

calling me home
with the darkening dusk
and the endless street games
going on with the seductive voices 
of the other children ringing the seratonin 
bells of longing to belong in my traitor heart

fear bringing us all home to a silent dinner table
father mother and son and son and son 
in the house by a now dead cherry tree
we ate and became the family that i cannot find

anywhere in time the deep echo of my name 
still rolls down the block behind the houses
of neighbors up green suburban knolls
where the kids all wrestled as one 
in the coming night of life
calling me home

Still the cherry tree in the spring is so beautiful with its tiny pale pink not quite white petals, undersized compared to the maples and oaks who share the front yard and who steal all its light as spring fades forwards towards summer the blossoms fall silently to cover the bare spot in the lawn caused by the cherry tree blocking the light of the pittsburgh sun.

Still the cherry tree in the late spring with its blossoms falling silently to cover the bare spot in its shade and as spring fades forwards towards summer the blossoms fall silently to cover the bare spot in the lawn caused by the cherry tree blocking the light of the pittsburgh sun.

Still the cherry tree gives three small boys cooling cover for their summer games of matchbox cars and teasing the girls with muddy feet and the front lawn is surrounded by a thick and evil bed of green ivy thriving on the skins and bones of the gazillion balls we lost while playing with brothers and friends.

Still the cherry tree in the fall lifts upright branches guarding the sons from the chilling father wind and the front lawn is surrounded by a thick and evil bed of green ivy thriving on the skins and bones of the gazillion balls we lost while playing with brothers and friends.

Still the cherry tree keeps watch on me as the winter snow falls to cover the bare spot in its cold shade and I freeze to avoid the dark wrath of the eyes of the chilling father wind that waits within my house.

Still the cherry tree keeps watch on me as the snow falls to cover the bare spot in its cold shade as I freeze to avoid the dark wrath that waits within my house still the cherry tree still the cherry tree keeps watch on me keeps watch on me keeps watch keeps watch.

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Still the cherry tree in the spring is so beautiful with its tiny pale pink not quite white petals, undersized compared to the maples and oaks who share the front yard and who steal all its light as spring fades forwards towards summer the blossoms fall silently to cover the bare spot in the lawn caused by the cherry tree blocking the light of the Pittsburgh sun.

Still the cherry tree in the late spring with its blossoms falling silently to cover the bare spot in its shade and as spring fades forwards towards summer the blossoms fall silently to cover the bare spot in the lawn caused by the cherry tree blocking the Pittsburgh sun.

Still the cherry tree gives three small boys cooling cover for their summer games of matchbox cars and teasing the girls with muddy feet and the front lawn is surrounded by a thick and evil bed of green ivy thriving on the skins and bones of the gazillion balls we lost while playing with brothers and friends.

Still the cherry tree in the fall lifts upright branches guarding the sons from the chilling father wind and the front lawn is surrounded by a thick and evil bed of green ivy thriving on the skins and bones of the gazillion balls we lost while playing with brothers and friends.

#348. the cutter eagle

August 8, 2010

i built a ship
a childhood
balsa and pine
on my small hands
the hands of my dad
large and sure
we worked so hard
to build and paint
the cutter eagle
running home
after school to sand
the hull smooth
and dream

complete
i gave it to my dad’s
father when he admired it

years later
it returned to me
after deaths
it was covered
in dust and cobwebs
rigged it

as my years passed
it grew tattered and
broken and thrown away
with one of my failed lives

but my ship still lives
rotting on in a landfill in jersey
and here within my double planked
mind making its way across the endless
sea

#299. earth and swan

June 20, 2010

for myself as papa
without my kids again
midfathers day laughing
with lover wife playing
tug of war with the dog
i still know the truth
of the experience heart
love and time gave us
my children and will
wait as long as i can
as you need

#283. lost

June 4, 2010

without a word
the little girl
draws me in
small and bouncing flirt
who pushes me
to my memories
of my own children
lost so long ago
that only their vague shapes
remain to me

#282. rachael

June 3, 2010

the pure water
sparkled less than you did
giggling at two minutes
an old soul teaching me
about the sun through the flecks
of dust on a morning
alive with gold
a tall summer tree rustling
in your waking breaths
is the moment of gift
which is all the fire
that i have of you
daughter

my children
working on playing
out their lives out there
in the world night and day
lighting my life regard
less of me than of experience
of all those others who
are they that hold
my children
i hope they are
safe happy
and self
aware

i am the caretaker
of my father’s tears
my mother’s clay face
doused his fire
the grass grows long
over her ashes

oh death
the changes you bring
are hard to bear
but those same changes
are hope and beauty

the air is somehow
sweeter now

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