Mother's Day

Once a year comes a day,

When we all must pause and say,

“Thank you” to our mothers dearest,

Whether far away or oh so nearest.

It’s on this day that I write

To thank you for your guiding light,

For singing songs to calm us down

Or making changes to every frown.

So thank your mom, as I thank mine,

For she is the root to your vine.

A Day in the Life

Alarm!

Open eyes

look at the time

plenty of time

Close eyes

Open eyes, roll out

stretch back,

stretch down

stretch out

Coffee, Oatmeal, Vitamins

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram

Question pen for ideas -

none

Shower time

Lather, rinse, no repeat

Idea!

Wash face

Turn off water

Dry off,

Dress up

More ideas

Scratch them down

Scratch them out –

Think

They flow from the pen

a fountain of openings

letting the world see

a glimpse of the over

clichéd soul

Forego shaving

Forego hiding

Everything’s out

Like a psalmist and his praises

my beliefs seek the pages

for the ages to come

in hopes that some of them

will seek a change too

What do you do with a BA in English?

You dream
Dream for a better tomorrow.

Traveller's Poem

Standing on the shores of the Hudson Bay,

I found a ghost

With one good song and nothing else to say.

I turned left long ago, and lost my way.

With no host,

I’m standing on the shores of the Hudson Bay.

I listen to the ghost and resign to stay.

No pride or boast,

But one good song and nothing else to say

Lures my soul.  I am but clay.

Wounds not closed,

I’m standing on the shores of the Hudson Bay

Stone in hand, ready to obey,

But hear this ghost

With one good song with nothing else to say.

Now with one good song and nothing else to say,

I’ll stand on the shores of the Hudson Bay.

I’m standing on the shores of the Hudson Bay

with one good song and nothing else to say.

Letters to Dad

Dad,
We've never been great at talking.
At joking we thrive,
but real talk, we're shy.

I recall afternoons spent walking,
learning how to drive,
and asking the question, why?

Dad,
You've been my hero since birth.
Taught me about the world,
let me learn about girls.

You told me of my worth,
to seek love in the world,
and let's not forget the girls.

Dad,
You said, "Hard work pays off.
Do the best you can,
and thank God for what you cannot do alone.

Be thankful for time off,
lend a helping hand,
and remember, you always have a place to call home."

Dad,
My mind soaks in knowledge.
My tongue drips words.
My shoulders bear the weight of the world,
and my feet move towards tomorrow.

Dad,
Thank you.

Dance Girl

Dance Girl dance
To your little hearts content,
Don't hold back,
Now's no time for lent.

Dance Girl dance.
They cannot steal your art.
Let go all
For now you have my heart.

Dance Girl dance,
Go ahead and twirl.
Eyes wide open,
You still hold the world.

Old Crow and Marlboro Red

Coming home from school was never that weird, but this time – this time is different.  This time Dad will not be there.  His deep, raspy voice filled with a little joy, and a hint of Old Crow.  His seven day shadow will no longer scratch my face when we embrace.  No, this is different.

            When teachers asked classes who their favorite authors were many students answered the likes of Lewis, Hemingway, and Tolkien.  But not me.  I always answered that it was my father.  Those other students only had parchments with words from and about their favorites.  I had a man.

            I could sit in a room, with yellowed wallpaper peeling off due to cigarettes, the overpowering scent of whiskey that could make a small boy dizzy, and that computer.  He loved his Mac.  He would never own, or touch, something else.  Nor could I.  He would always say, “If the world ran on Apples, then there would be world peace.”  That was the liberal arts coming out of him.

            As I crossed into the city limits I could feel my heart die.  It died more and more as I continued to my house – his house.  I was shaking by the time I pulled into the driveway.  Parking brake now on, ignition now off, my tears begin falling.  I cannot stop the sobbing that continues for the next five minutes.  He’s not going to come to my window and console me.  His arms are not going to be here.

            I could always turn to him when I was sad.  I could show my true emotions that the world scoffed at.  He let the waterfalls cascade upon his shoulders.  When the waters subsided, he would then cheer me up with another one of his stories.  Like the one about the Rabbit Kings or the Octopus that liked to paint.  “The octopus – Jenny was her name – painted all day long.  With what?  With water colors, of course.”  The mere memory of these bring a smile to my face.  I wipe my eyes and grab the Old Crow Whiskey bottle and go to the door.  Pause.  Am I ready for Mom?  Inhale.  Exhale.  Now’s better than never.  I can hardly feel the door knob as I turn it.  This seems too surreal.  This can’t be anything but a dream.