There's Beauty in the Barest Breath of Sunshine

There's beauty in the barest breath of sunshine,
Wasted on all but those who know despair.
Each wound turns passions just a bit more grey,
Not adding new nor taking old away,
Trading joy for something far less fair,
Yet turning grace to something far more fine.
For such, there is a winding of the way
In which a bleakness, soon become a sign,
Vividly undoes the dying day,
Evoking longings one can hardly bear.
When Life Becomes a Sea of Pain
When life becomes a sea of pain
And every moment agony
I must endure again, again,
It is a curse to have to be.
And every moment agony,
And every longing fixed on death;
It is a curse to have to be
And fight by instinct for each breath.
And every longing fixed on death
Even as I must go on
And fight by instinct for each breath,
Sailing thus, though loved, alone.
Even as I must go on,
You watch me helpless from the shore;
Sailing thus, though loved, alone,
I need you with me all the more.
You watch me helpless from the shore
As I endure again, again;
I need you with me all the more
When life becomes a sea of pain
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Thank You for Having Faith in Me

Thank you for having faith in me,
However hard it was.
An illness is compounded by
No one coming near.
Kindness can take courage when
You see what mania does.
Opening your arms to me
Unravels my own fear.
Thank You for the Heart Your Loved One Gave Me
Thank you for the heart your loved one gave me.
How strange that it should beat within my chest!
All are one, and that is what has saved me,
Nor does one truly die till all find rest.
Know that in your loved one's heart a purpose
Yet drives the ancient inborn urge to be.
Our union is not merely on the surface,
Unraveling the words that make me, me.
The Gift of Life Is Never More or Less
The gift of life is never more or less.
Either days or years are merely moments.
Reverence remains the source of bliss.
More memories do not increase remembrance.
If death must early come, then let it be
Nor more nor less than if it had come late:
A part of a much larger mystery,
Leaving wind and wisdom in its wake.
Longing is the music of our sphere,
Yearning for a time past time and space
In which all that we love is ever here,
Love everlasting, which is now our grace,
Living with us more than we can bear.
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Eighty-Eight

Eighty-eight spends much of life in bed,
Interred beyond her time in drugs and pain.
Grateful only for the gift of sleep,
Having lost the will to laugh or weep,
The shrunken doll repeats just one refrain,
Yearning for the comforts of the dead.
Even so, the trail of pills has led
Into a world she grapples with in vain,
Grasping for a grace she cannot keep,
Harsh and vivid hauntings of the brain
That make of life a stew of joy and dread.
Given the Fragility of Life
Given the fragility of life,
Each of us remains a miracle,
Though new emerged from some bright sea of pain.
When every second feels just like a knife
Entering the soft flesh of the will,
Life whispers soon we will be well again.
Linger, then, along the edge of shade;
Soon enough you will be in the sun,
Open-armed, erect, and unafraid.
Old wounds remind us of fierce battles won,
Nor will our patient faith not be repaid.
Cherrie
Cherrie is now using Debbie's kidney,*
Having lost the service of her own.
Each moment of existence is a gift
Replacing just the one one just has left,
Renewing momently the moment gone.
In such a melody each note exactly
Embodies the full grace of what was done.
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As My Debt Grows, So My Love Does, Too

As my debt grows, so my love does, too.
What you give I cannot half repay.
Your love for me inflames my love for you.
I can't help being moody, often blue,
Irritable, anxious, sad, and yet you stay.
As my debt grows, so my love does, too.
I know I'm lucky to have someone who
Will love me through this, day by troubled day.
Your love for me inflames my love for you.
Gifts like yours to me do not accrue.
Still, it's hard when giving goes one way.
As my debt grows, so my love does, too.
Yet unlike money, love is never due.
Its return is free, in just the way
Your love for me inflames my love for you,
A natural grace, making one of two.
And so this darkness has its own bright ray:
As my debt grows, so my love does, too;
Your love for me inflames my love for you.
As Though I Were Just Flowing, Flowing
As though I were just flowing, flowing,
Leaving not a trace behind,
Zest for life not one whit less,
However blank the roving mind;
Emptiness the space for being
In the moving moment still,
Meaning nothing more than meaning,
Each ellipse elliptical;
Reminiscences like flowers
'Ere the garden was convened,
So sweet the disconnected hours . . .
Aunt Louise
Aunt Louise lived only half on Earth,
Unable quite to leave her prior home,
Nestled in a dream, perhaps by birth,
Though loved--ah, loved!--ultimately alone.
Let her be a lesson in delight:
Of cats and restaurants and small routines,
Undaunted by the nearness of the night,
Improvising much with meager means.
She was for us an enigmatic face,
Eloquent of innocence and grace.
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Snow Is Just the Icing on the Cake

Snow is just the icing on the cake.
Even as the Earth begins to warm,
And we reduce our footprints for its sake,
So will light from dark again be born.
Old customs, rooted deeply in the heart,
Now live on as atmospheric joy.
'Mid pines or palms, mince pie or mango tart,
Seasonal displays our spirits buoy.
Greetings, then, and hopes for the new year,
Regardless of the temperature outside!
Each gift of time is cause enough for cheer;
Each moment yet unlived a blushing bride.
Though the world be dark and warming fast,
In season's joy is something that will last.
Nor will we soon forget to celebrate
Grace so bountiful or gifts so great,
Sensing well the fortune of our fate.
So Do We Mark the Turning of the Light
So do we mark the turning of the light,
Each turning imperceptibly within,
As dawn comes to the coldest depths of night,
Sweet silver hint that day will soon begin.
Our darkest hours are those of greatest cheer,
Nor need we faith to feel the moment's grace,
Still holy, though the mechanism's clear,
Gift of time transcending time and place.
Reason sees no reason for rebirth:
Each moment is an equal place to start.
Even so, we recognize its worth:
The ritual redemption of the heart.
In us there yet remains the ancient awe,
Now overlaid with litany and law,
Grateful to the gods for seasons sure,
Sustained by love unseen and worship pure.
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Sense Makes Little Sense This Time of Year

Sense makes little sense this time of year.
Each has reason to dispense with reason.
As darkness soon descends, the festive season
Shines out upon vast rolling fields of fear.
Old customs still survive, long loved and dear,
Now bought and sold, it's true, as is the fashion,
Still filling faith with poetry and passion,
Giving to dark days a touch of cheer.
Reason says there's little cause for worry:
Electric lights have long since tamed the darkness;
Even winter doesn't wish us harm,
Taught to be a nuisance well contained.
In our hearts, though, time still stirs the slurry;
Now the dark stokes fears of nothingness.
Gifts mean more, and love becomes the warm
Sanctum in which hope can be sustained.
Shine like a Moon upon Your Field of Snow
Shine like a moon upon your field of snow!
Each buried root awaits the touch of spring
As you to your own celebrations bring
Such glory as reflects from down below.
Of mirrors let us sing, and holy light
Not ours, that yet we spread across the darkness,
'Twixt eternity and nothingness
Shining to illuminate the night.
Gardens wait, and naked stands of trees;
Rivers wait, and lakes, and frozen streams.
Eden waits to try again its dreams,
Enduring underneath our cruelties.
The world reflects your moonlight, white and still.
In what you see is what you are, though time
Needs cycles of the wind and of the will,
Granting to each sentiment its clime
So you may each sense of life fulfill.
Short Days Augur Longer Ones
Short days augur longer ones
Even as the cold
Alights upon the early gloom,
Sailing on the wind.
One feels the chill inside one's bones;
Night too soon takes hold.
So we light the festive room,
Gathering within.
Remember those long summer days,
Each a little shorter?
Evenings had a touch of grief
Trailing behind.
In each sharp turn, time delays
Not only change of weather.
Gripped by passion or belief,
Slowly we unwind.
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Wacky Carols

Evil knight, wholly night,
Vests his dough in a young nerd bright.
Even so, the malevolent childe
Loses his shirt in a downturn mild,
Yielding sword and piece.
Now we will never have peace.
Angels often herd on high,
Nodding nimbly all the day.
God says little in reply,
Echoing what actors say:
Less is more-o-o-o-o-or-o-o-o-o-or-o-o-o-o-oria,
As one seeks the way-o.
There is no well, the angels did say,
In search of a hot tub in which they might lay,
Nor more than one shepherd to manage the sheep,
A lover of Oprah, demented but deep.
Praise be the shoppers, toyful and triumphant,
And the package tourists bound for Bethlehem.
Underneath their passions, they remain but angels,
Living to adore Him
As they serve other lords.
Give us what we're asking for, or we will you dismay.
In Heaven God may reign, but we want toys on Christmas Day!
Unless you do, some things you cherish well might go astray,
Like that Longines watch that long has been your joy, long your joy,
If you don't give in, you just might lose your joy!
We Met upon the Internet
We met upon the Internet,
A friendship electronic,
Expressed alone in words and thoughts,
Inevitably platonic.
We live too far apart for us
To mingle in the flesh,
But much more close than family,
Our hearts and feelings mesh.
Your dear, dear self reveals itself
Without a voice or face.
We have our own sweet home within
Our precious cyberspace.
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Recent Studies Have Shone

Recent studies have shone
On fathers with their sons
What many would expect
To buy with common cents.
Four instants:
(1) would expect declining years
(2) refuse to let the parties
Party until (3)
(4) oblivious recents.
Still, the studies co-relate
People who are know-knows.
(What better weigh to meat
Than to gather date-a together?)
Recent studies have shone
Pretty much what recent studiers
Have set out to sea
In tall sailing labs
Whose barque is better
Than they're bright.
Secretaries Seek Some Signs of Pleasure
Secretaries seek some signs of pleasure
Emanating from the inner throne.
Clearly, each is an uncherished treasure,
Running the whole office on her own.
Even so, the voice is deferential,
Though the thought knows well who knows the score.
A moment's pause might seem inconsequential;
Remember, though, that patience wins the war.
In every secretary lives an angel,
Empathetic almost to a fault,
Self-sacrificing, sweet, and sentimental,
Deep within a twelve-inch concrete vault.
A decent word, with flowers or chocolate, may
Yet charm the cherub Secretaries Day.

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
In truth, thou shoulds't be catalogued in fall.
X-rays do show the darling Buds of May
Traveling still along th'arterial wall.
Yet thou has't late become more temperate,
Older as thou art than thy flesh seems.
Nor do thine eyes betray thy body's date,
Even as within thy spirit gleams.
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My Mother Loves Her Animals and Me

My mother loves her animals and me;
And, of course, my sister's* in there, too.
She shows her love quite unmistakably:
She pets us all, no matter where or who.
I haven't sprouted yet a bushy tail,
Nor has my sister* grown a toothy snout;
But I sometimes feel a dog in such detail
I pant and bark and scurry all about.
But I am glad my mother has a love
That cuts across the paths of innocence.
I know that her sweet feelings long will move
Me to appreciate her scents!
*Feel free to change to "brother."
On Passing Air
On passing air
One turns around
To see if any
Heard the sound;
Then moves away
To vacate where
Another might
Inhale the air;
And then, relieved
In gut and soul,
Becomes again
A wholesome whole.

On Your Day Just Want to Say
On your day just want to say
That you can count on me
To be your friend until the end:
Just wait and you will see!
I know that you would be as true
To me for just as long.
No "if" or "but," no matter what,
Our friendship will be strong.
So, my dear, I'm glad you're here
To share my joy and pain.
I care so much, so keep in touch--
I'll talk to you again!
Once I'm in My Bubble Bath
Once I'm in my bubble bath
I like to stir up more.
Half the suds go in my eyes
And half go on the floor.
The fun is in the bubbles 'cause
They giggle on my skin,
And when I stick them on my face
They dangle from my chin.
And when I splash them hard enough
They pop and disappear,
And then my bath time's over 'cause
I've made the water clear.
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From a Secret Admirer

Whose gift this is you cannot know.
My heart is in your keeping though.
You will not mind my writing here
To tell you that I love you so.
I know that you must think it queer
For me to love and not come near
But linger by some frozen lake
This most romantic time of year.
I sometimes give my head a shake
And ask if there is some mistake.
It's lonely out here 'mid the sweep
Of bitter wind and icy flake.
My love for you is dark and deep,
But it's a promise I will keep
As from afar I watch and weep,
As from afar I watch and weep.
Gisela
Gisela would all essences rescind,
Inviting entities to go their way.
So would we all decide what we would be,
Each moment giving way to mystery,
Leaves becoming leopards for the day
As worms are stripped of wombats by the wind.
Graduation Is a Time
Graduation is a time
When our thoughts turn naturally
To vandalism, sex, and crime,
Now that we at last are free.
Our teachers think we're well prepared
To make decisions on our own;
But now, perhaps, they're running scared
As they listen to this poem.
Don't worry, folks, we aren't crazy,
Though sometimes we look that way;
Just annoyed, bored, and lazy
As we make it through the day.
So just like birds out of a cage
Or slaves set free from toil and pain,
We aim to try to act our age
And be for now a bit insane.
For life too soon will close its doors,
And then as we grow old in years
We'll teach our own kids to be bores,
But hopefully they'll stuff their ears
And do as we dream, not as we do,
Facing life a tad askew.
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A Receptionist Is a Person

A receptionist is a person (please note!),
Usually female, whose job is to receive.
Like her male cousin, the wide receiver,
She receives frequent passes from her own team
And abusive hits from visitors playing the field.
At times she is asked to do an end run
Around some office rival,
Or to execute a play
That is clearly out of bounds.
Should she complain,
She might find herself
Standing on the unemployment lines
Or sitting on the beach.
At times she is sorely tempted
To call a strike.
(But that's another sport!)
A Turbonut Is Not a Nut
A turbonut is not a nut:
In fact, it is quite sane.
And though it's smart, it doesn't smart
While others might cause pain.
It has some meat inside its shell,
Though hardly meet to meet;
And while most nuts are oval shaped,
Its feet are quite a feat.
It likes to think, from time to time,
It's Chairman of the Bored;
So mouse or board, it hops on board
A site it can afford.
Well, now I've bored you with the puns
That turbonuts enjoy;
I've done my due--that's all I'll do--
To buoy up girl or boy.
A Valentine Is Nothing Like
A Valentine is nothing like
A chocolate or a rose.
For in a week these shall be gone,
But Valentines remain.
If love were always sweet to tongue
Or fragrant to the nose,
Each day would be like Valentine's,
And we would go insane.
A Valentine just hangs around
Waiting to be kissed
Long after special days have passed
And every days are here.
So one is wise to choose one well
And chocolates to resist.
For in the midst of mania
It's nice to have one near.
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I Sometimes Think that I Could Be Alone

I sometimes think that I could be alone:
Really alone, with neither God nor friends.
The people near me then might well be stone:
Just faces on a frieze that never ends.
And I would travel in my mind towards death,
A world within a world sealed like a tomb.
My thoughts would be as silent as my breath,
And, like my breath, expire at my doom.
Such thoughts would make me shudder, were not you
A world where I may enter and find rest.
A rock gives way within, and I walk through
To be in laughing eyes a welcome guest.
Thank God I have you, friend, that I might stay
And be as I could be no other way.
I Used to Doubt You Cared for Me
I used to doubt you cared for me
When love was bright and blue.
We ran like puppies through a field,
But this I never knew.
We both said we were friends for life,
Not knowing what it meant,
Not knowing how to go through hell
And not somehow repent;
Not knowing love was something hard,
Like stone against the wind,
And life itself might be a prize
The heart would leave behind.
But now I know the depth of love,
And it was worth the pain,
Though not for love nor life would I
Go through that hell again!

I Would Not Ask You to Forget
I would not ask you to forget
How I've betrayed your trust.
I'm asking, though, that you forgive
Because I feel I must.
I can't just let our friendship go
Nor let this silence last.
I know I can't undo what's done,
But, please, let past be past.
Let my mistake be memory
Where you may keep your pain,
While I annihilate this thing
I'll never do again.
And let us once again renew
A friendship that is real:
Limping, yes, but still alive,
With wounds that time can heal.
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I Have a Friend with Benefits

I have a friend with benefits,
Whom off and on I see.
While I use her to get my kicks,
She also uses me.
She's not my girlfriend, just a friend
With whom I have some sex.
Too young to love, we play the game
And wonder what comes next.
We try out stuff from porno sites,
Watching what we do
As though we were on film, and someone
Else was watching, too.
Yet somehow, somewhere even we
Still know we yearn for love,
And wait like withered stalks to feel
That wind within us move.
I Know I Must Have Hurt You, Caused You Pain
I know I must have hurt you, caused you pain.
More, I know that I have lost your trust.
I wish I had that moment back again
To pulverize my carelessness and lust.
Sometimes we have to lose what we most cherish
To understand how much we are in need.
We play with life until we nearly perish
To dare the darkness, though within we bleed.
I need you as the sun must have a rose
To turn its empty radiance to glory,
Or as a nation needs someone who knows
The secrets of its long-forgotten story.
I know my need of you more than before;
Thus for my trespass you may trust me more.
I Know It's Only Half a Year
I know it's only half a year
That you will be away,
But it will feel far more than that
Each long and lonely day.
A day without a friend is like
A meadow turned to sand,
A garden turned to weeds and dust,
An ocean far from land.
Time enters a slow-motion zone,
Repeating endlessly
The tearful grimace of the heart
Till you return to me.
I Love You as My Closest, Dearest Friend
I love you as my closest, dearest friend.
Boys and girls can be just closest friends.
There is no passion greater than the one
That touches not the body but the heart.
You mean much more to me than someone who
I date and undate, want and then don't want.
They're the waves, and you are like a shore
Where I can sit and watch them kiss the sand.
I'm sorry I can't be with you today,
When you should rule by virtue of your birth.
Please accept this tribute of mere words,
Poor substitute for all I am and have.
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Happiness Lies Just This Side of Heartache

Happiness lies just this side of heartache,
As both are set aflame by one desire.
Perhaps one would best never light that fire,
Pursuing pleasure purely for its own sake.
Yet joy can be as fragile as a snowflake,
Full as oceans, brutal as barbed wire.
All your love is all that you require,
The grace that inundates the granite heartbreak.
How beautiful to take on such a burden,
Entering into contract with the void,
Responsible to some judgmental stranger,
'Ere meeting, for the seedtime of its soul!
Sing, then, of a quest that gains no guerdon,
Dearer far than pleasures now enjoyed,
A journey arduous and full of danger,
Yet sacred for the gift that is its goal.
Happy Birthday, Dearest One
Happy birthday, dearest one,
Sweet child of my heart!
We've become one family,
Of which you are a part.
And so I sing out equally
To all of those who are
Mine by blood or fortune blessed,
No more, no less my star!
We are one in love and joy,
In fondness and in worth,
And so as one we celebrate
This day, your day of birth!
Happy Birthday, Mother of
Happy birthday, mother of
A dream undreamed, unveiled at last,
Portion of a past unpassed,
Part I'd not partaken of,
Yet one in which my self was cast.
Before I knew of you, I knew
Inside myself your whispered word,
Remembering what I'd never heard,
The me that was exactly you.
How glad I am that we now share
Directly that long love unseen,
A gift from you that's always been,
Yet now for me is always there.
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Thirty-Six

Thirty-six sets out on her career
Halftime, with her baby on her mind.
If women are emancipated, still,
Remaining issues wait upon the will,
That tends to track the turmoil of its kind,
Yearnings that can sing and soar and sear.
So must she balance melodies with skill,
Interior harmonies, by love designed,
X-rays of a heart that one can hear.
To the Heroines Still Not Well Known
To the heroines still not well known,
Those who would be famous were they men,
And those whose sunlight never fully shone,
Veiled for life behind men's fear of sin:
Now it's time your tales were well told,
Well past time you got your bit of glory!
We need to rescue you so that the old
Slant no longer skews our common story.
Those who love the truth and know the past
Is never past, that stories steer one's choices,
Will want to look for heroines in the vast
Store of women's lives and hear their voices.
For All That You Have Given Me
For all that you have given me,
I can return but love. For you
Bound up the wounds I did not see
And gave me hopes and passions new.
I can return but love for you,
Whose unmoved faith my heart did move,
And gave me hopes and passions new,
And loved me till I turned to love.
Whose unmoved faith did my heart move?
The mother of my heart, not blood,
Who loved me till I turned to love.
And I became the soul I would.
The mother of my heart, not blood,
Bound up the wounds I did not see.
And I became the soul I would
For all that you have given me.
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To the Father of My Children

To the father of my children:
Open up your willing heart!
Take what music I can give you,
Hearing, too, my silent song.
Even as, arrayed in passion,
Finding love, I play my part,
A wonder like a wind whips through me,
Truth unknown for which I long.
How beautiful, this unspent yearning,
Ever for the darkness burning,
Rising like a summer storm!
To My Man on Father's Day
To my man on Father's Day,
On whom my life depends,
My children's cheerful champion:
You are where yearning ends.
My paramour and harlequin,
All I want, and all I can
Not want and be OK.
To My Dads on Father's Day
To my dads on Father's Day,
On both of whom we both depend:
My daughter reinvents my themes.
Years pass, and well-wrought love remains.
Dads are saviors, straight or gay,
Always where our oceans end,
Deliverers of desperate dreams,
Solid land where sunshine reigns.
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The Things You Taught Me I Will Always Know

The things you taught me I will always know.
How could I not? The roots have sunk so deep:
All lessons of the heart that I will keep
No matter who I am or where I go.
Kids learn from what their parents are, and so
You are my book of life, the thoughts I reap;
Only in your arms I quiet sleep;
Under my words your voice sings soft and slow.
From you I learned the rules of right and wrong
Against which I at times had to rebel,
Though with regret I carry with me still.
How lucky I am to have been loved so well,
Even as I pushed against your will,
Relying on a father fair and strong.
Though New at Fatherhood
Though new at fatherhood, you're surely not
A novice at the art of giving love.
With quiet tact you find the perfect spot
Among the needs of those whose hearts you move.
I never feel you slight me, even though
At times your time for me of need is slight.
Though working long and hard, you seem to know
Just how to make our son feel loved each night.
These gifts you give I know cannot come easy,
Although they seem to flow so easily.
You have a lovely air that's light and breezy,
That says: I get from you more than you see.
And so I am in awe of what you do;
You love so well that I love you well, too.
To Be a Good Father, What Must One Do?
To be a good father, what must one do?
First one must love, as the sun warms the Earth,
Nourishing those to whom it gave birth
With radiant pleasure and joy ever new.
And what then, my father, must a good father do?
Then one must give of oneself, as a rill
Flings itself carelessly down a steep hill
To fill up a hollow with heaven's sweet hue.
What next, my father, must a good father do?
Next one must gird up one's loins to protect
Those who might suffer from want and neglect
Were one not loyal, and to one's vow true.
Is there anything else a good father must do?
Yes, there is much more that cannot be said,
Addressed to the heart and not to the head
Of one who desires that passion to view.
But ah!, my dear father, that one is not you!
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I Want to Say How Proud I Am of You

I want to say how proud I am of you
That you have broken free of your addiction.
It's something I don't know that I could do
Were I so sorely tried by your affliction.
My years of growing up were on my own,
As you were in the belly of your beast,
The two of us indifferent and alone,
Most in need of love while loving least.
How sad! That you and I have lost those years:
I, of childhood, and you, of your only child.
But now's the time for joy and not for tears,
For you are well, and we are reconciled.
Whatever life may bring or time may prove,
Know that you will always have my love.
My Love for You Is Hungry as the Sea
My love for you is hungry as the sea:
As turbulent, as tidal, as forlorn;
As deep with unrequited mystery;
As elemental, vast, and tempest-torn.
No mountain is more awesome and enduring;
No moon so full of passion for the light;
No garden more forbidden or alluring;
No watchman more acquainted with the night.
I've learned such love leaves me with little pleasure,
Nor does it die from lack of recompense.
It is from birth a precious, haunted treasure,
Long buried just beyond my innocence.
It is a treasure I now offer you:
That you are loved regardless what you do.
Neither Mourn nor Celebrate
Neither mourn nor celebrate
This day that fathers should be kings,
But let it be appropriate
To sing of sunlight sorrow brings.
This day that fathers should be kings
Our child's death has all undone.
To sing of sunlight sorrow brings
Brings back in tears our dearest one.
Our child's death has all undone
Our joy in life, and yet our pain
Brings back in tears our dearest one
That we might hold him once again.
All joy in life must end in pain,
So let it be appropriate
That we might hold him once again
And neither mourn nor celebrate.
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Happy Father's Day to One Whose Love

Happy Father's Day to one whose love
Asks nothing more than that it more might give!
Praised be those whose self-love selfless proves;
Praised be those who by such pleasure live.
Years of longing find no better plight,
For everything that is, is ever here.
A love that gives, gives unalloyed delight,
Taking in more breath than it can bear.
How lovely, then, to give this day to you,
Embracing who would rather us embrace,
Rejoicing in the ballet old anew,
'Twixt give and give a shy and awkward grace!
So may you ever be on Father's Day,
Despite yourself, the hero of the play,
Accepting from your loved ones what you would
Yet give yourself to them, if you but could.
Happy Father's Day to Those Who Love
Happy Father's Day to those who love
As amply as the angels love the light,
Pleased to be for us the scourge of night
Pacifying rage we know not of.
Yours the passions in the pit that prove
Fierce enough to fend off nameless blight,
And yours alone the rectitude to right
The jigsaws jumbled when the monsters move.
How came you to such competence and valor
Even as we wait to take your places,
Rife with fear, uncertain of our courage,
'Twixt the world and chaos bent on pain?
Since we first knew, we knew no hint of failure,
Desperate as we were for your good graces,
As you must sometimes look back at your knowledge,
Yearning to be innocent again.
I Do Not See You Often
I do not see you often, but
I see you every day.
I've taken you along with me
As I have grown away.
We talk about the things that fill
A life with love and pain,
But our timeless golden time,
Unspoken, still remains.
You will always be my dad,
And I, your darling daughter.
The days may turn like waterwheels,
But that will never change.
The thought of you will make me glad
No matter where I wander.
You are the place that cannot feel
Uncanny, dark, or strange.
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Happy Father's Day to My Dear Dad

Happy Father's Day to my dear Dad!
As you have loved me, so have I loved you,
Pleased to tell you, now that words are due,
Pleased to have this chance to make you glad.
Your years of love and sacrifice have had
For me the force that you would wish them to,
A wind that takes me home to harbors new,
The inner voice in clothes familiar clad.
How might I be myself, except I see
Each gesture in the mirror of your grace,
Remembered as it was when long ago,
'Ere I knew why, I looked to you for love?
So am I of you inextricably,
Defined by trends not difficult to trace
As I grow into someone that I know,
Yet myself in ways that time will prove.
Happy Father's Day to One Not Yet
Happy Father's Day to one not yet
A father, but with well-honed hopes to be!
Praised be those who put aside regret,
Pursuing with fresh joy the sails they see.
Years of grace lie in wait for all,
Failing ever to live up to dreams,
Awash in beauty, clear beyond recall,
The gift that is more certain than it seems.
Happiness comes solely from within,
Exacting reimbursement for its cost,
Resuming where one always may begin:
'Twixt what one hopes and what one well has lost.
So may you soon a joyful father prove,
Destined for that crucible of love;
And may you there be hammered into gold,
Your heart yet burning as your years grow old.
How Lucky to Have Had So Good a Father
How lucky to have had so good a father!
On us his warm, unstinting sun long shone.
We were, of his hardworking life, the center,
Loved for the pure joy of love alone.
Uncanny are the requisites of pleasure,
Coming as they do within the will.
Knowing well where lay his greatest treasure,
Years on years of love he labored still.
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