"A Society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in"
The Fruits of Labour
I am impatient and impulsive
embracing idealism unpredictably
One foot on the threshold of the very dreams
I have manifested.
This magical space in a mundane world.
One foot on a banana peel
in the green grass of a dream even I cannot fully understand
Would it be running if I ditch the mountain I am halfway up?
Traded for the foot of a hill so high
peak lost in the clouds.
This crisis continues
So I keep planting.
Speaking in half certainties
Lovingly covering over my bleeding heart.
Tucking in trees that I may one day soon abandon
to the whims, neglect, or destruction of another dweller.
Pouring my heart into stewarding the soil I may sell.
The birds and bees are happy for the season.
even if only this season.
Humming, chirping, buzzing
and sipping on the nectar of my love.
Authenticity in Unpredictability
I started writing an ode to unrequited love.
but it became a ballad to my garden and the life it nourishes
I was pouring out my loneliness and distress at my seeming inadequacy in romance.
but it brought up my son... the joys and sorrows of raising him on my own.
Fears of failing him.
I tried to write about my spontaneous social anxiety.
My at times awkward nature.
But it was really about the wicked, wild, wounded,
we all inhabit.
What are the real issues?
What does it all mean.
An Other Mother's Man
He is so sweet
with your babies.
the growing life.
Quietly caring for your world.
working so hard
sheltering his family from
the cold world
Complex human being
simplifying existence to carry the weight
but the shoulders of a noble man.
strength of heart.
depth of character.
A prayer for you: long may your love live.
and another for the rest:
may we all be so blessed in our mates.
Grass tickling the backs of my calves
A smiling small body bounces on and off my lap.
Chasing the dog.
He is thirsty.
Twirling a silk cape.
Swinging glow sticks
making sweet baby cousin laugh
And now the colors and the echos
reach across the night sky.
Finally his always moving, playing, chasing,
bundle of energetic little bones
comes to rest
on my legs.
My arms are welcomed around him
My hair mussing
and face snuggled up to the
tiny nook between shoulder and ear
is not met by squirmy sillygoose-ness
quietly for a moment.
we giggle and "WOW!"
And for this moment
we are the exact same age,
My son and I.