A Farm Out Here

My father worked a farm out here
To save money for college;
He met my mom that very year,
Though never, to my knowledge

Did he return here after that.
He mentioned it, but spare:
And it took Apple Maps awhile
To find this stretch of somewhere

But here I am along the lane;
The air grows sharper, crisper —
And I stand silent, out time,
And hear the phantoms
Whisper

It’s Not The Bricks…

All the days that were —
All the food cooked on this grill —
All the times that went:
For time just moves on, as it will —

But once, there were two hands
That labored here with love,
It’s not the bricks and mortar that
Such mem’ries are

Made of

If love could make a place for you to fall…

If love could make a place for you to fall,
A place where life would never come undone,
I would pay any price, I’d risk it all,
To try to shield you from yourself, my son
 
There is no heartbreak I could undergo
I would not take, if I could help you see;
But no amount of love has worked so far,
No guidance kept you from your misery
 
Because I’ve seen your joy in minutes past,
Because I know the good that’s in your heart;
Because I’ve also seen the opposite —
The mental conflict tearing you apart
 
If love could make a place for you to fall,
Where I knew you’d be up again, somehow,
I spend my every waking hour at this –
My son, my son, to help you
Help you
Now

I’ve Missed My Father…

I’ve missed my father every day
The long years since he passed away
A man who gave us all he had
Who lived his love and died our Dad

But time shifts colors, light to shade
Our photographs begin to fade
The mem’ries we would most hold tight
Fade imperceptibly
To night


 

(“I’ve Missed My Father…” – 4-5-2014)

I Sometimes Wonder

I sometimes wonder what my dad would say
If he could see the way my life has gone –
I still have questions I would like to ask,
But there is nothing now he can pass on

The last time that I spoke to him, he said,
“It’s time for me to go.” – and so he went —
But with each passing day, I realize,
How much I missed, from being arrogant

For now I find, among the stacks of years,
The things he taught way back when I began:
That brains and money, both, count but for naught,
While honor is the measure of the man

I sometimes wonder what he would have said
To all the many things I could have asked —
It’s funny: he was not much for advice
Except a couple times, when really tasked —

He’d say to look ahead at what’s to come,
And not to waste a day, or waste a night:
But always to remember, in all things:
Too late, it never is,
To do what’s right