Haute Decor

The flawless decor of the rich
Can keep their sleeping kids in style;
But all of that won’t give kids warmth
Or make the moments worth the while

That they might spend with parents who
Spend all their lives on margin’s call:
While love is riches, strange to say
Mere riches are not love
At all

A Place to Launch

Another phase, another type of platform,

A place to launch, a time to say goodbye;

A thousand things we meant to do, but didn’t,

The Fir-tree and The Catcher In The Rye

 

The literary lessons learned in losing,

The hopes of soaring ‘neath a brand new sky —

Another phase, another type of platform,

A place to launch, a time to say

Goodbye

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

{ Big Box }

The places in our lives are part of us,
And I spent days with family in these aisles.
So much we buy just seems ridiculous,
The stuff we brought along for all these miles –

Her cousin was the manager a bit;
We’d see him upfront, sometimes, tall and straight —
They let him go before the worst had hit,
So he, his wife, and kids moved out of state.

And I remember toys – my son was small –
Including some my grandkids play with now;
I know that life just happens, that things change,
But some days it still gets to me, somehow.

    So many turns and orbits by our clocks,
    The once-alive that’s now an empty box

Seasons

In spring, you feel the newness of it all.
Each feeling is a flower, fresh, unique;
Like love or loneliness, each one is pure,
And beauty of discovery hangs round
The edges of the garden path that leads
To who you want to be and where and how —
In spring, you feel the newness of it all.


Summer on the edge of madness
Broken in emergent song;
Love’s a shadow born of gladness.
Nights too short for days so long

Shades come down on pages turning,
Glances lead to bodies burning,
Tangled up in their intentions,
Loves and likes and cites and mentions —

Summer in the glowing garden,
Moments known of passing fire,
Ere the fall comes hearts to harden,
Towards the autumn of

Desire


In the cool of autumn, still
We stood and wondered how,
We’d found each other in
This savant maze

A capturing, a visioning,
A laughter, and a pause —
A hymn, but more of promise, than
Of praise

It came with resignation, and
It went without applause;
A family, a faction,
And a fight —

The autumn sun was fading, and
The days were growing dark,
And we were changing colors with
The night


With time, comes winter, with its chill,
And we must finally go inside for heat,
And memories of the spring,
When everything was fresh and new,
And summer,
When we felt how love could be,
When heat was running wild,
Autumn,
When we stood out in the cool,
The evening cool, and watched
The twilight gather with
Its purple whispers
Of a looming time;
A time we’ve only known
As parable

With age, comes winter, with its rime,
And frozen becomes attitude, and time,
There is a slower pace,
And giving up of contest, game, and race;
But character is fate,
And all we leave’s too early, or too late,
The winter has it’s way
There is only the challenge of each day
And dripping memories,
That melt like icicles from trees,
And spring starts for another heart somewhere:
Another heart and life

Somewhere