Tag: Family

Morning Coffee

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Sitting at our kitchen table,
Eating cereal with sugar,
Watching them go through the careful
Ritual of making coffee
 
Always, bigger kids and grown-ups
With their ceremonies daily;
This one, with a smell like almonds,
Orange light from pewter shining
 
Steam from off of cups while carried,
One who stops for milk and sugar,
While another straight to sipping
Plows into the morning paper
 
Parents can be such a mystery —
What are all these words they’re reading?
Worried brows across the table,
Span that seemed a hundredfold –
 
Sitting at our kitchen table,
Eating cereal, observing;
Memories like fresh-brewed coffee
Full of steam, then disappearing

In Joy

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She brings young love up to the door,
Her family on the other side;
A heart as full as hearts can be,
And eyes alight with pride —

But families don’t always see:
They can get locked up in the past,
And miss the growing moment’s mien,
“Another thing not meant to last –”

But Lord, how much I now believe
That love is love, and not to be
Ignored, put down, or patronized,
Nor pushed aside with pleasantry —

And all there is here is what is:
That boy loves girl, and girl loves boy,
That fire warms, and welcomes us,
And we should greet it all

In joy

How Soon They Forget

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

A boy and his mother, slowly walking
Kids voices behind them, indistinct
His head down, she reaches out to stroke his hair
He says to her, as they reach the car,
“I’m not good at sports.”

Stopping beside the car,
She looks at him, this little man (he’s become)
And says, “Sure, you are.”

“No, I’m not. I’m the slowest in my class.
I’m not, mom. I’m just not.”

And she knew, she’d always known, the day would come
When all the loving lies that parents tell
About how children can do anything, be anyone,
Would meet reality, that big, blank wall
That tells their child,
“You can go no further.”

And even though he has many, other talents,
She knows how soon he’ll forget this day, and this feeling,

Which is

 
Never

in eight plus lines

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

o let that one day not go past
that she should once more sorrowed be;
o please, if i could take that weight,
provide to her self-clemency —

i would. the heart that knows no law
believes: it reaches out in pain
to touch in healing whom it loves,
and tries to soothe in all times and

in vain

{ humble. }

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One.

The mist and rain, a gray wet towel
Upon the earth. The trees in layers,
Steeples, traffic lights – and one,
A straggling car, drives slowly down
A hidden byway, fire hydrant lost,
A wood fence rotting in the damp,
Along a pitted driveway where
A bent mailbox sits rusting.
Pulling in.

= = = = =

Two.

The fire crackles; plaid and coffee,
Outside, inside,
Feet stretched out and music,
Mellower than mocha, looking
Over at the rain upon the window.
Lights reflected warm,
The cold fall mist highlights
The swing of headlights
Into the dull gray yard beyond
Her thoughts.

= = = = =

Three.

Borders of a shared aluminum
Shell, the edge of that small town;
A year apart, and everywhere else
Together. Humble Oil
And Burger Chef nearby.
An era lost, or never found:
And from that place
They each emerged – she married,
He enlisted – and both determined
To get away from all that stained
Their pillows: decades torn
And skin shed wrinkled,
Only Holiday letters, then
His car arrives.

= = = = =

Four.

The mist runs now inside, the gray
Is shared, the once-young faltering;
But love is never really old,
It’s only shivering unspoken,
Cold and rain, that
Brother, sister
Bringing once again the sound
And scent of once
A trailer park
And humble that became
Their long escape.
Too late, it never is,
To do what’s right.

Autumn Ride

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

Mother, daughter, side-by-side,
Colors of an autumn ride,
Soon to leave, the nascent bride,
For so long, her mother’s pride.

    How the colors change and fade,
    How we the see the day arrayed,
    One has gone, and one has stayed,
    Moments, though, we’d never trade —

Daughter, mother, father, son,
In the end, we’re left as one,
What is good can’t be undone
By mere setting of the sun —

Too Young to Know

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems3 Comments

When you’re too young to know,
But old enough to feel,
The anger is too much,
And emptiness, too real.

When daddy’s angry voice
Is ringing off the ceiling,
‘s No wonder that so many
Of our boys give up
Feeling

Random Thought #27

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

My brother and I made games
Where characters moved from island to island
Over different kind of bridges:
Suspension, wood, rope, and stone,
And we drew and colored the playing board,
And different things we taped on playing cards,
Like a stone bridge looking very much like this,
And I come upon it here, and think

I miss my brother

Reroutes (3)

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He worked a farm in summer
To save and pay for college,
Just sun and soil and sweat
He traded in for knowledge,

And though things didn’t go
Exactly as he’d planned,
He told his son that one day
He would understand.

The jobs were hard and varied,
His effort though, unflagging,
His son could never see.
Why work when pay is lagging?

And when the son was old enough,
He wanted his own brand —
Because he’d seen the toil
And didn’t understand.

In time he gained a family:
A daughter by his wife —
He knew there were no limits.
He would give those two his life —

And driving to the farm
His father’s buried on, he stood,
And said, “I understand, now, Dad.
And all of it is good.”