the truth, it breathes but briefly

the truth, it breathes but briefly on the march,
the eyes, they scan so quickly for the dream;
you sat, ensconced, beneath the tree of peace,
the years of fear now ripples passed away.

take love from off the dresser where ’twas left:
(if you’ve the heart to grow a little smile)
then send me news, from underneath the tree
of how you’ve grown, and how your heart has leapt.

for valentines and bears and father’s tears,
for mysteries that flow, to flow again;
the truth, it breathes but briefly on this earth —
but love is all, as it was all… back then

One Father’s Perspective On Having A Child

I had a friend who told me that he never wanted to have a child, because then he wouldn’t get to be the child. I understand that choice, but for me the situation was very different: I had been given so much, I wanted a family I could give to, only to find they gave me far more than I could ever give them.

A Country Autumn – 8

Oh, my child,
We played out on these hills
When you were just girl, and then
The season changed, and you were grown:
The life you wanted needing time
And space and countless years of work
For you to reach.

I walk this path,
And hear two younger voices, mine
And tiny yours; but know that all that grows
Is for a season only, then transforms:
In your case into all
I could have hoped.

There is, there can be
No love like
The love I have for you,
A father for his daughter:
Strong as the earth
Through the glories of changing seasons;
Constant as time,
Ever-present even though you be unaware.

Oh, my child-adult,
We played out on these hills
When you were just a girl, and I
Was closer to the start than finish line,
But you are still my joy,

And I could not be prouder

Than I am

Love Was Made For Everyone

Tell me the truth you’ve come to know,
And I will tell you mine:
That love was made for everyone,
As stars were made to shine

As sunlight on a summer day
Comes streaming from above,
So joy inhabits every heart
That gives itself to love

I tell you this, I tell you now,
That time itself is fleeting,
And what’s been said before, I think,
Is herein worth repeating:

That love is made for everyone,
The interweave that meshes —
So give yourself to what there is,
For every second’s

Precious

Her Father’s Vineyard

Within the vineyard of her honeyed youth
The red wine flows through long and draping vines;
From sharpest grape it runs to sweetest tooth,
Down where the soil and the sun combines

To bring about a type of miracle.
A marvel that she’s not thought on for years:
A thing that’s not the least satirical,
A sober thing of ancient engineers.

For light and flippant are her thoughts these days,
Of vanity and life amid the stars;
The latest trend, the hottest fashion craze,
And all the best of nightclubs and of bars —

She stops and blinks, a teardrop to conceal;
Within her father’s vineyard, life was real

.

Picture / Photo Credit : © Mikhalevich | Dreamstime.com – Vineyards. Watercolor. Photo

Charcoal

Every Saturday, her dad
Would grill in their backyard;
With charcoal hot on cinder blocks,
While she kept watch and guard.

And savory and sapid-sweet
Were those times without care;
Until the day the grill went cold,
And her dad wasn’t there.

See, no one lit those coals again,
Although she looked in vain;
In bars and underneath soft sheets
She sought that taste again.

She could not find her lost charcoal;
Her desperate search – no trace –
Till she woke in a small white room
With charcoal on her face

Good-bye

“God be with ye”
Once was said,
But that got shortened
To “goodbye”

There’s little good
About it, though;
But we use words,
So we don’t cry

But then, of course,
We do them both.
We linger, stall,
And tarry:

It’s hard to
Step away from love,
Even when
Necessary