That girl just grows so fast!
Slow…no, but oh how I wish
because I love her so.
Never does a father want
to see his little girl go.
0 - 2
The outside world
was cold and gray
on the day you came.
But the light and warmth
in our hearts
from the new soul
placed in our care
was more than enough for
all to share.
I marveled those first months
at everything new.
Took so much pride in the
things you learned to do.
Learning to walk
now that was fun
but soon you had us
on the run.
Your climbing skills
Put me to shame
quickly I knew
It was time to put down the
video games.
Lock everything up
place everything high.
No telling what this girl will get into
when her limit is the sky.
2-5
What terrible two’s?
Haha…so young for that kind
of attitude.
But mostly sugar
and turning into quite the looker
with a smile that turned
a bad day fine.
Yep, so happy to call you
mine.
Endless summers running and swinging
at the park.
Spending evenings watching movies
and making shadow puppets in the dark.
Nope, back in those days
I don’t think I was ever “me”
more like a tickle monster or pony.
‘It’s the little things…”
I often hear people say.
Well, I’ve learned that on my own
IN A VERY BIG WAY!!! :)
Hair, hair…
LOTS of hair!!!
On the days I was rushing to
get you somewhere
it just didn’t seem fair.
But somehow we made it through
(with the help of a little duct tape & crazy glue ;)
5-9
Well, she’s off to her first day of school.
Her new backpack and cute little shoes.
Another day of new beginnings
it’s becoming clearer that these
will be never ending.
She makes a friend and then another
they’re talking up a storm
Oh brother!!! :)
“Daddy I need a new hat
I need new boots
I think I want to play the
flute.
No…I think I want to
dance and sing.
Please, just sign the form
I WANT TO TRY EVERYTHING!!!
I would like a bike to learn to ride
I can’t forever stay by your side.
Daddy, I would like to walk to school
on my own
but stay right here so that when I look back
I know you are near.”
10….
That girl just grows so fast.
Slow…no, but oh how I wish
Because I love her so.
Never does a father want
to see his little girl go.
Come springtime all flowers blossom
and the leaves on a tree come to be.
When I watch you, my lovely child… sleeping
I think of these.
For what a shame
If the good Lord kept such beauty
away from me.
Slow…no.
But daddies don’t ever have to
really let go.
When you look back
You’ll know that I am near.
Sharing is the key
so, hello world…this is my daughter
the BEAUTIFUL MISS
ATHENA MARIE!!! :)
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Thursday, December 15, 2011
A Walk In Autumn
In a quiet way she speaks…
“You know dead is beautiful
this time of year?”
Her words, while never meaningless
puzzle me often.
and if we weren’t lovers
not soul companions
just strangers passing.
I, with an open ear would have thought
her mind strange.
Her prose foolish and preposterous.
Chuckling gentlemanly to myself
I’d make a note to remember
for such an offbeat lyric would most certainly
make me king of conversation
at evening debauchery
amongst the paupers of intellect.
But I do know this woman
much as a lover
ever more deeply as my friend.
Our walks go as such from time to time
where two uncommon souls bond
over the serenity of leaves falling
sweet smells of fresh baked honey bread
and steamed cinnamon cider.
The laugh of the wind
that will be fiercely howling
soon enough
makes us comfortable today
as we go about wearing out
our soles.
It is ever a wonder
how an overcast sky could
bring so many out
not to dampen
but uplift the spirit.
Nice speech from Heaven
that convinces one can be immersed
in the deep spiritual waters of love, peace and tranquility
without the benefit of a showering sun.
“Don’t you know dead is beautiful this time of year?”
Is a difficult statement to process.
Have the words been simply, unpretentiously framed?
Or is this the best in a mornings
first moments of observation upon a new day
that breaths itself through an open window?
Does it truly matter?
Not so much when the real wonder
is in everything about her and all that is around.
To hang on words is not as meaningful
as the act of being there
holding her hand and seeing
how kids playing in what falls from trees
conjures up the prettiest
smile.
On these, our poor man’s adventures
not too much is really ever spoken.
We are students framed
in this lecture of wonderful
poetry and there are so many
words and phrases
we wish not lost in repetition.
But as the moonlight has no fight
and true darkness begins to prevail
I am asked, in voice of loud whisper
“Will I write?” and
“What will it be called?”
As yet,
much inspiration derived
from the peace that has surrounded me
and the beauty of the company that
has kept me has already stirred the
pen to paper in the mind.
As my first idea
because everything has been for me
about harnessing and loving
the slowness of being alive
simplicity has overwhelmed the ego
so I shall call it…
A WALK IN AUTUMN.
“You know dead is beautiful
this time of year?”
Her words, while never meaningless
puzzle me often.
and if we weren’t lovers
not soul companions
just strangers passing.
I, with an open ear would have thought
her mind strange.
Her prose foolish and preposterous.
Chuckling gentlemanly to myself
I’d make a note to remember
for such an offbeat lyric would most certainly
make me king of conversation
at evening debauchery
amongst the paupers of intellect.
But I do know this woman
much as a lover
ever more deeply as my friend.
Our walks go as such from time to time
where two uncommon souls bond
over the serenity of leaves falling
sweet smells of fresh baked honey bread
and steamed cinnamon cider.
The laugh of the wind
that will be fiercely howling
soon enough
makes us comfortable today
as we go about wearing out
our soles.
It is ever a wonder
how an overcast sky could
bring so many out
not to dampen
but uplift the spirit.
Nice speech from Heaven
that convinces one can be immersed
in the deep spiritual waters of love, peace and tranquility
without the benefit of a showering sun.
“Don’t you know dead is beautiful this time of year?”
Is a difficult statement to process.
Have the words been simply, unpretentiously framed?
Or is this the best in a mornings
first moments of observation upon a new day
that breaths itself through an open window?
Does it truly matter?
Not so much when the real wonder
is in everything about her and all that is around.
To hang on words is not as meaningful
as the act of being there
holding her hand and seeing
how kids playing in what falls from trees
conjures up the prettiest
smile.
On these, our poor man’s adventures
not too much is really ever spoken.
We are students framed
in this lecture of wonderful
poetry and there are so many
words and phrases
we wish not lost in repetition.
But as the moonlight has no fight
and true darkness begins to prevail
I am asked, in voice of loud whisper
“Will I write?” and
“What will it be called?”
As yet,
much inspiration derived
from the peace that has surrounded me
and the beauty of the company that
has kept me has already stirred the
pen to paper in the mind.
As my first idea
because everything has been for me
about harnessing and loving
the slowness of being alive
simplicity has overwhelmed the ego
so I shall call it…
A WALK IN AUTUMN.
That's A Cosby Sweater (Rough)
She calls me in so frequently to sit and watch the show with her that after a while I give up trying to convince her that I’ve seen every episode at least 15 times (even a few episodes in Spanish just for the heck of it) and settle down for a 16th. This particular one is my favorite. It’s when Cosby, excuse me…Dr. Huxtable surprises his parents with a truly unique anniversary gift of having the kids dress up and lip synch to a Ray Charles tune. I already start laughing in anticipation as Rudy’s passionate “Baby” refrain part is about to come. Athena just eats it up, heck we both do…turns out that 16 times is not enough to dull the senses. Apparently, there was some kind of marathon going on and Luvbug and I sat there laughing and having a good time. In the end I think it was too much side-splitting hysterical stimulation for her to deal with because she was out cold sometime in between the carribean themed intro and the “that’s the best elevator music I’ve ever heard” intro. But I sat, watched and laughed (not as loudly as before of course) reminiscing about the days when brother, mother and I use to watch the show huddled together around my mother’s bed in our tiny little apartment. I remembered thinking/wishing, as a lot of kids did I’ve come to find out, that Dr. Huxtable was my dad. Yes, I would fit in perfectly as the second and more handsome son. I wouldn’t cause half the trouble Theo did with all his crazy shenanigans. I was a pretty good student and didn’t eat much or take up too much space (anybody else notice that Theo has an extra bed in his room?). Yep, I “use” to think about that in my real young days of watching the show…but towards the end of its run those fantasies faded as is the norm with something like that. However, something else took form…perhaps, an evolution of thinking in shifting or adjusting the fantasy to reality. The later years of the show, while it still made me laugh as much as ever before, kind of became like a “how to” guide on being an impactful dad. I watched and carefully took note at how Dr. Huxtable loved his wife, how he let it be known by words and actions that his family was most important to them. When his kids screwed up he was a stern force, but not a patronizing one and reassured them that nothing could separate them from his love. He had lessens to teach and encouragement to dish out. In turn he had the respect and adoration of his wife and his kids grew up confident and secure. You might be thinking, Perry….it was just a t.v. show! I’m not arguing that on the “big picture” scale of things, but earlier I wrote that I use to watch the show with my brother and mother. There was no man in the home…or really around. So it was like a blueprint for me or sorta like a social science class every Thursday for a half an hour…
ABOUT A GIRL
There she was. After nine really strange, exciting, confusing, terrifying and hope-filled months my little girl was there in my arms staring up at me, partially. She was probably wondering who the heck I was and hoping that the trauma of the last hour was finally over. She had gone from the comforts and safety of the womb to this bright and noisy world. It isn’t a wonder why she was a few days late. I would have soaked up every last bit of that myself. But, well there she was. I fell in love instantly…but in the following months she made it perfectly clear that I was going to have to win her over. That her love was something I was going to have to fight for. If Dr. Huxtable had taught on something like this, then I must have been sick or played hooky on that particular day. Man, did she make it clear that if she had to be here she wanted to hang with the pretty one – the one that was soft, smelled nice and talked sweetly. She could care less that I was the one that actually wanted a girl! But, I finally won her over…at least I think I did, with shear patience and prayer.
The years are coming faster and faster. My little one is not so little at all, as a matter of fact she hasn’t been little for about 3 years and that’s saying something considering that she still is only 9. It can be sad to look upon her sleeping face to notice after a few months that she’s going to need a bigger bed – that cloths you bought her just a few months ago pretty soon need to be packed up and shipped to goodwill or someplace. You start a school year and in a blink of an eye it’s over - rinse and repeat. I don’t know how she got so old so fast, I mean I’m still pretty young, seems to me she should slow down, take a minute to breath and not be in such a hurry. But that’s wishful thinking on a Father’s part, she’s definitely a girl with places to go. I guess as her dad, learning to accept that and make the proper adjustments is a difficult task, but one that is coming about slowly. It’s very clear that my little girl wants to be something! She wants to dream and feel free to discover what this life has for her. When she talks to me about her plans sometimes it all seems so as-a-matter-of-factly. Of course dad I can be a veterinarian/ famous pops-star/teacher/volleyball or soccer player…it will be easy. As she makes all these big plans I sometimes wonder/worry how I am going to help her adjust to her failures...to dreams that don’t come true or better yet in the words of Steely Dan, moments “when the weekend at the college didn’t go as you planned”. Yes, I fear for that. Not wanting her to ever feel the sting of rejection or face the anguish of doubt. I fear/worry…but then I pray and realize that God does have a special reason why she’s here. That life is life and the ups and downs bring about character and strength. That the most beautiful and surprisingly wonderful things can rise from the ashes of disappointments and worst case scenarios is no accident, but clever design. My job, in a nutshell is to be there for her…to help guide her as best I can…to let her know that I believe in her and to encourage her in the dreams she has. The right one will weed itself out at the perfect moment. I just love the look she gets when the wheels are turning and I’m so very grateful that my little girl knows that she is loved by me and that I’m right by her side.
Athena:
…And she’s laughing so loud
running up and down the field
as the little boy stops to catch his breath
“boy, she’s quick! She aint ever gonna be it!”
I smile at his weezing words with a bit of pride…”I tell you what, tag me and I’ll do it.”
Here I go…she sees me coming for her
and waits
and waits
and wouldn’t you know it…this girl has the nerve to give ME a pump fake!
There she goes
fast like I never was
freestylin’ hair, flowing
long legs burning the grass
in her black and silver glitter Reeboks.
Chasing her down I remember when
we just wanted her to stand
but she started to run before she could walk
there she goes...
Yelling into the wind, “Catch me if you can Daddy!”
And I do
but as the years go by
it gets harder and harder to.
One day she will run and run and run
until a precious daughter’s shadow fades with the sun.
But holding back the tears, I’m thankful that all that is a long ways away
for I refuse to give in to the pump fake today.
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BOY
It was such a hot day and Soldier Field was so crowded. The sun seemed to have a tractor beam targeted right on my seat. With my dark skin I was baking and yet I was having a great time. The event that I was there for that particular day wasn’t for sports or music per se. It was for this thing called “Promise Keepers”. A gathering of men young and old with goals I would say, to help guys reclaim/continue or start a passion for being Christ-centered, Godly leaders of their homes and of the world around them. It was, if memory serves me correct a three day event. I had a blast! At 15 I was really feeling like I was coming into my own as a young man. Arrogantly, although not really realizing it at the time, I had felt I had put a lot of hurts and pains behind me. The stings of my own fatherless life (fatherless, not so much technically – he was “around”) I was sure had been buried. I mean a man that had no time for me I certainly had adapted the mutual response. Very “Cats and the Cradle” without the infectious melodic hook and multi-million dollar result J. The idea was to move forward and I was destined/determined to. This event, along with other circumstances in my life was very encouraging. I observed older men laugh and cry. Powerful speakers gave riveting messages on the power of forgiveness, the importance of family and the impact of being a man in today’s world. Yes, I will repeat that I was having an awe inspiring wonderful time. Then it happened. On the last day one of the speakers had asked all the fathers to stand along with their boys’. He asked the fathers to put their hands on their sons’ shoulders and to pray for them. Now, I don’t know how many people Soldier Field holds but as everyone started to get up I didn’t know what to do so I just sat there. I had no idea that it was going to be so emotional for me…I mean by that time I was used to that feeling. I had accepted it and adjusted right? I thought myself, “well Perry you can use this time to pray for your future boy and just chill until this all over – this moment isn’t really about you because you don’t have a connection that’s required to participate.” For a second I thought that was a noble stand to take – that is, being about the future/present and washing away the bad things of the past. But then, a man, to this day I still don’t know who it was put his hand on my shoulder and then another and another. Suddenly, I felt something heavy and for some reason I decided to look up and it was so quiet – with all those men, who a few minutes ago had been so boisterously singing and laughing it was really odd. It seemed like everyone was standing and the whole Soldier Field crowd had noticed the black kid sitting down. I thought my image was going to be put on the Jumbotron and one of the speakers was going to shout out load; “Perry Diggs, WHY ARE YOU SITTING – WHERE IS YOUR DADDY? WE ALL HAVE ONE – WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU THAT HE’S NOT HERE TO PRAY OVER YOU, TO CARE FOR YOU, TO TEACH YOU ALL THE THINGS A YOUNG MAN SHOULD KNOW? YOU MUST PLEASE LEAVE AND DON’T COME BACK UNTIL YOU ARE LIKE ONE OF US.” Crazy thought I know, but never had I ever felt so lonely and I just, well I started to cry…not cool for a 15yr. old I know.
But that’s just it. What is cool what is not cool? What does a boy know of anything if he doesn’t have someone to show him the way? Fatherless Men can and have done wonderful things without that hand on the shoulder, that nudge in the back to go beyond, that smile of encouragement and assurance that the earthly father given to them will have their back no matter what. I do not blame anything…failures or disappointment on the idea that pops wasn’t around. But, in the quietest moments I must admit that even at almost 31 I do wish that it wasn’t so. How nice it would have been to see someone at the head of a dinner table, to come knocking on my door and ask if I wanted to go and chill, to keep me up me up at night because he wanted my company watching a late night game and making me promise not to tell mother (although of course he would). What exactly does it feel like to hear the sound of my fastball popping his mitt and him reacting like I just thrown the hardest pitch he’d ever caught. Heck, like many times in the Cosby show I often wondered what it would be like to get a stern talking to after doing something totally stupid and irresponsible, but then to have him calm down and explain to me what exactly I needed to learn from what all went down. Sounds crazy, but I feel it truly is what every boy wants and what every man remembers if they were lucky enough to experience it or misses if they are like me.
I thought I’d know everything just by simply not being like him. That I’d find and win over a beauty and just automatically know how to treat her and she would be so grateful to me because of my extreme awesomeness. That my kids would be so happy that I was the greatest dad on earth that they wouldn’t get in to any trouble at school and obey 100 percent all the time. I could look into my mind at my own pops and arrogantly shrug and think, “see this isn’t so hard, loser.” Alas, though…it is hard. Love, parenting…all of it under the blanket of life is very tough. I am humbled dramatically every day…but I feel the better for it. Like a banana, I feel that God shed’s the peel to reveal the real me…my substance. Fathers’ and sons’, what a heavenly dynamic. There is lots that could be said and not said. So much that I’m still working out. I have enclosed the following link to a clip from another “Dad” show I love called the "Wonder Years". I think this powerfully gets across something to me. If you care to watch It I hope it also says something to you.
A COSBY SWEATER
His sweaters really were atrocious. I sometimes wonder if they were from his own collection because I can’t fathom a designer in charge of that stuff really allowing that to be broadcast out to the masses. Funny enough though, Athena from time to time will comment on my lack of dress style. Being a future fashion mogul (I forgot to add that on to the list earlier), She likes it when I wear ties and wishes I did it more often. As I watch the last episode of the show I am once again moved at how special this program was. I can’t help but hope that when it’s all said and done, I’d have more than just a bad sense of dress in common with Dr. Huxtable.
ABOUT A GIRL
There she was. After nine really strange, exciting, confusing, terrifying and hope-filled months my little girl was there in my arms staring up at me, partially. She was probably wondering who the heck I was and hoping that the trauma of the last hour was finally over. She had gone from the comforts and safety of the womb to this bright and noisy world. It isn’t a wonder why she was a few days late. I would have soaked up every last bit of that myself. But, well there she was. I fell in love instantly…but in the following months she made it perfectly clear that I was going to have to win her over. That her love was something I was going to have to fight for. If Dr. Huxtable had taught on something like this, then I must have been sick or played hooky on that particular day. Man, did she make it clear that if she had to be here she wanted to hang with the pretty one – the one that was soft, smelled nice and talked sweetly. She could care less that I was the one that actually wanted a girl! But, I finally won her over…at least I think I did, with shear patience and prayer.
The years are coming faster and faster. My little one is not so little at all, as a matter of fact she hasn’t been little for about 3 years and that’s saying something considering that she still is only 9. It can be sad to look upon her sleeping face to notice after a few months that she’s going to need a bigger bed – that cloths you bought her just a few months ago pretty soon need to be packed up and shipped to goodwill or someplace. You start a school year and in a blink of an eye it’s over - rinse and repeat. I don’t know how she got so old so fast, I mean I’m still pretty young, seems to me she should slow down, take a minute to breath and not be in such a hurry. But that’s wishful thinking on a Father’s part, she’s definitely a girl with places to go. I guess as her dad, learning to accept that and make the proper adjustments is a difficult task, but one that is coming about slowly. It’s very clear that my little girl wants to be something! She wants to dream and feel free to discover what this life has for her. When she talks to me about her plans sometimes it all seems so as-a-matter-of-factly. Of course dad I can be a veterinarian/ famous pops-star/teacher/volleyball or soccer player…it will be easy. As she makes all these big plans I sometimes wonder/worry how I am going to help her adjust to her failures...to dreams that don’t come true or better yet in the words of Steely Dan, moments “when the weekend at the college didn’t go as you planned”. Yes, I fear for that. Not wanting her to ever feel the sting of rejection or face the anguish of doubt. I fear/worry…but then I pray and realize that God does have a special reason why she’s here. That life is life and the ups and downs bring about character and strength. That the most beautiful and surprisingly wonderful things can rise from the ashes of disappointments and worst case scenarios is no accident, but clever design. My job, in a nutshell is to be there for her…to help guide her as best I can…to let her know that I believe in her and to encourage her in the dreams she has. The right one will weed itself out at the perfect moment. I just love the look she gets when the wheels are turning and I’m so very grateful that my little girl knows that she is loved by me and that I’m right by her side.
Athena:
…And she’s laughing so loud
running up and down the field
as the little boy stops to catch his breath
“boy, she’s quick! She aint ever gonna be it!”
I smile at his weezing words with a bit of pride…”I tell you what, tag me and I’ll do it.”
Here I go…she sees me coming for her
and waits
and waits
and wouldn’t you know it…this girl has the nerve to give ME a pump fake!
There she goes
fast like I never was
freestylin’ hair, flowing
long legs burning the grass
in her black and silver glitter Reeboks.
Chasing her down I remember when
we just wanted her to stand
but she started to run before she could walk
there she goes...
Yelling into the wind, “Catch me if you can Daddy!”
And I do
but as the years go by
it gets harder and harder to.
One day she will run and run and run
until a precious daughter’s shadow fades with the sun.
But holding back the tears, I’m thankful that all that is a long ways away
for I refuse to give in to the pump fake today.
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BOY
It was such a hot day and Soldier Field was so crowded. The sun seemed to have a tractor beam targeted right on my seat. With my dark skin I was baking and yet I was having a great time. The event that I was there for that particular day wasn’t for sports or music per se. It was for this thing called “Promise Keepers”. A gathering of men young and old with goals I would say, to help guys reclaim/continue or start a passion for being Christ-centered, Godly leaders of their homes and of the world around them. It was, if memory serves me correct a three day event. I had a blast! At 15 I was really feeling like I was coming into my own as a young man. Arrogantly, although not really realizing it at the time, I had felt I had put a lot of hurts and pains behind me. The stings of my own fatherless life (fatherless, not so much technically – he was “around”) I was sure had been buried. I mean a man that had no time for me I certainly had adapted the mutual response. Very “Cats and the Cradle” without the infectious melodic hook and multi-million dollar result J. The idea was to move forward and I was destined/determined to. This event, along with other circumstances in my life was very encouraging. I observed older men laugh and cry. Powerful speakers gave riveting messages on the power of forgiveness, the importance of family and the impact of being a man in today’s world. Yes, I will repeat that I was having an awe inspiring wonderful time. Then it happened. On the last day one of the speakers had asked all the fathers to stand along with their boys’. He asked the fathers to put their hands on their sons’ shoulders and to pray for them. Now, I don’t know how many people Soldier Field holds but as everyone started to get up I didn’t know what to do so I just sat there. I had no idea that it was going to be so emotional for me…I mean by that time I was used to that feeling. I had accepted it and adjusted right? I thought myself, “well Perry you can use this time to pray for your future boy and just chill until this all over – this moment isn’t really about you because you don’t have a connection that’s required to participate.” For a second I thought that was a noble stand to take – that is, being about the future/present and washing away the bad things of the past. But then, a man, to this day I still don’t know who it was put his hand on my shoulder and then another and another. Suddenly, I felt something heavy and for some reason I decided to look up and it was so quiet – with all those men, who a few minutes ago had been so boisterously singing and laughing it was really odd. It seemed like everyone was standing and the whole Soldier Field crowd had noticed the black kid sitting down. I thought my image was going to be put on the Jumbotron and one of the speakers was going to shout out load; “Perry Diggs, WHY ARE YOU SITTING – WHERE IS YOUR DADDY? WE ALL HAVE ONE – WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU THAT HE’S NOT HERE TO PRAY OVER YOU, TO CARE FOR YOU, TO TEACH YOU ALL THE THINGS A YOUNG MAN SHOULD KNOW? YOU MUST PLEASE LEAVE AND DON’T COME BACK UNTIL YOU ARE LIKE ONE OF US.” Crazy thought I know, but never had I ever felt so lonely and I just, well I started to cry…not cool for a 15yr. old I know.
But that’s just it. What is cool what is not cool? What does a boy know of anything if he doesn’t have someone to show him the way? Fatherless Men can and have done wonderful things without that hand on the shoulder, that nudge in the back to go beyond, that smile of encouragement and assurance that the earthly father given to them will have their back no matter what. I do not blame anything…failures or disappointment on the idea that pops wasn’t around. But, in the quietest moments I must admit that even at almost 31 I do wish that it wasn’t so. How nice it would have been to see someone at the head of a dinner table, to come knocking on my door and ask if I wanted to go and chill, to keep me up me up at night because he wanted my company watching a late night game and making me promise not to tell mother (although of course he would). What exactly does it feel like to hear the sound of my fastball popping his mitt and him reacting like I just thrown the hardest pitch he’d ever caught. Heck, like many times in the Cosby show I often wondered what it would be like to get a stern talking to after doing something totally stupid and irresponsible, but then to have him calm down and explain to me what exactly I needed to learn from what all went down. Sounds crazy, but I feel it truly is what every boy wants and what every man remembers if they were lucky enough to experience it or misses if they are like me.
I thought I’d know everything just by simply not being like him. That I’d find and win over a beauty and just automatically know how to treat her and she would be so grateful to me because of my extreme awesomeness. That my kids would be so happy that I was the greatest dad on earth that they wouldn’t get in to any trouble at school and obey 100 percent all the time. I could look into my mind at my own pops and arrogantly shrug and think, “see this isn’t so hard, loser.” Alas, though…it is hard. Love, parenting…all of it under the blanket of life is very tough. I am humbled dramatically every day…but I feel the better for it. Like a banana, I feel that God shed’s the peel to reveal the real me…my substance. Fathers’ and sons’, what a heavenly dynamic. There is lots that could be said and not said. So much that I’m still working out. I have enclosed the following link to a clip from another “Dad” show I love called the "Wonder Years". I think this powerfully gets across something to me. If you care to watch It I hope it also says something to you.
A COSBY SWEATER
His sweaters really were atrocious. I sometimes wonder if they were from his own collection because I can’t fathom a designer in charge of that stuff really allowing that to be broadcast out to the masses. Funny enough though, Athena from time to time will comment on my lack of dress style. Being a future fashion mogul (I forgot to add that on to the list earlier), She likes it when I wear ties and wishes I did it more often. As I watch the last episode of the show I am once again moved at how special this program was. I can’t help but hope that when it’s all said and done, I’d have more than just a bad sense of dress in common with Dr. Huxtable.
When Thirty Was Old
I’ve had thoughts about life
and its marriage to seasons.
How a boy is consummated
in the warm embrace of young lovers
winters rebellion
and earthed
in summer suns
unwavering fury.
How he grows and blossoms
like the leaves on a tree
and the flowers in a garden
come spring time.
And when autumn dumps all
its colors unto concrete sidewalks
in that childhood of
first steps…
It seems like memories
too vast to remember
how it all unfolds…
in the time
when thirty was old.
I’ve had thoughts about life
in those moments before eyes
knew what they were perceiving.
How freedom at its best and most simple
was about nothing more
than rows of swing sets
for which to fly
and open fields of green grass
for which to run seemingly
into the never-ending.
How the smells of charcoal burning
use to blend itself oh so perfectly
to that of the sounds of laughter
and grooves.
Family and friends…
pictures never fleeting.
I’ve questioned the way of love
the gift and its givers.
Where from fathers, mothers or
others.
How it is born from
speech, a gaze
first touch of soft skin.
Inspiration drawn from outside
to settle deep within.
It always takes two and then
that multiplies...
Oh, how she was enchanting
at first look into her
little crying eyes.
Yes…true love
An undertaking of the foolishly bold.
I’ve been told by the wisest I’ve known
that life is racing
and we run until we no longer can do it
anymore.
For those that are lucky
hairs that have gone and grayed
bones that are tired and frail
will let the soul know that it’s time
to go home.
But let one last slow ride
down that river remembrance
take me back to those chapters
in a story meant to be told...
of the days
when thirty was old.
and its marriage to seasons.
How a boy is consummated
in the warm embrace of young lovers
winters rebellion
and earthed
in summer suns
unwavering fury.
How he grows and blossoms
like the leaves on a tree
and the flowers in a garden
come spring time.
And when autumn dumps all
its colors unto concrete sidewalks
in that childhood of
first steps…
It seems like memories
too vast to remember
how it all unfolds…
in the time
when thirty was old.
I’ve had thoughts about life
in those moments before eyes
knew what they were perceiving.
How freedom at its best and most simple
was about nothing more
than rows of swing sets
for which to fly
and open fields of green grass
for which to run seemingly
into the never-ending.
How the smells of charcoal burning
use to blend itself oh so perfectly
to that of the sounds of laughter
and grooves.
Family and friends…
pictures never fleeting.
I’ve questioned the way of love
the gift and its givers.
Where from fathers, mothers or
others.
How it is born from
speech, a gaze
first touch of soft skin.
Inspiration drawn from outside
to settle deep within.
It always takes two and then
that multiplies...
Oh, how she was enchanting
at first look into her
little crying eyes.
Yes…true love
An undertaking of the foolishly bold.
I’ve been told by the wisest I’ve known
that life is racing
and we run until we no longer can do it
anymore.
For those that are lucky
hairs that have gone and grayed
bones that are tired and frail
will let the soul know that it’s time
to go home.
But let one last slow ride
down that river remembrance
take me back to those chapters
in a story meant to be told...
of the days
when thirty was old.
The Morning Sun...A.K.A Waiting On Athena
The morning sun...
awe, that morning sun.
The morning sun has got those clouds to shake
before my baby wakes.
The morning sun...
awe, that morning sun.
The morning sun must dry the dew
before my little ones feet walk through.
The morning sun
has come along
with a song it wants my
precious to join in on.
The morning sun
has reached full glory
and is waiting on Luvbug to begin
another page in her story.
The morning sun...
awe, that morning sun.
It shouts with rays through
opened window shades
"Get up, I'm here to stay!"
But my love just sinks deeper beneath
the blankets and mutters
"go away...don't you know it's SATURDAY!!!!"
awe, that morning sun.
The morning sun has got those clouds to shake
before my baby wakes.
The morning sun...
awe, that morning sun.
The morning sun must dry the dew
before my little ones feet walk through.
The morning sun
has come along
with a song it wants my
precious to join in on.
The morning sun
has reached full glory
and is waiting on Luvbug to begin
another page in her story.
The morning sun...
awe, that morning sun.
It shouts with rays through
opened window shades
"Get up, I'm here to stay!"
But my love just sinks deeper beneath
the blankets and mutters
"go away...don't you know it's SATURDAY!!!!"
Being About A Troubadour
Homeless in every way
‘cept for in my soul.
Taking the long journey to
Nowhere.
With a battered up ‘ol guitar
And a song as endless
As the open highway
I search for something
I‘m sure I’ve found a thousand times
…yet still I’m restless
And unsatisfied.
So I’ll
Hitch a ride.
One day you will hear the
Noise from a slow moving train
And catch a glimpse of me
leaning against
An open rail car
And my dawns light stretched silhouette
Will say its goodbye as long as it can
As I settle on being about a troubadour.
Out from the hills
I seemingly will appear
like a prophet
Made up from the dust
To come and strum along
Your streets.
But please don’t put faith
In what I say…
Truly there is much more for me
To learn from you.
So lets be friends.
My way would seem fascinating
A journey one sees in dreams
yet suitcases stay un-packed.
Freedom is different for every heart
Night and day.
Don’t fantasize
Because I run and you all
Choose to stay.
Enjoy the song
Laugh and smile
a while
For soon I may be gone.
Loneliness is never good
But alone I’m seldom on my own.
Jesus sings and I listen.
He is an old black man with
Deep blues gene.
He’s a little child running
With holes in his shoes.
He is the beauty of a beat up
Tired woman.
He’s the comfort that
As a steel boot wonderer
fulfillment has finally been obtained
in my randomness.
Those that are many will never come to understand.
Have I loved?
I’ve loved.
In fact...
somewhere there is
A kettle of rose tea waiting
For me.
Put on the fire by a woman
Who waits patiently.
But stars and dirt and
Rain and lakes and
Oceans…howling coyotes
Singing birds, the sun, large mountains
deep valleys and the cracked concrete streets in every city
call to me
and have become that utmost beauty
I can’t live without.
The slow moving majestic clouds
I blame
For my domestic imperfections.
It’s a passion to be part of
The earth’s symphony
That gives me direction.
I hope one day
When you love elsewhere
there will be forgiveness
and you will understand
That I was born homeless
In every way ‘cept for in my soul
As I settled on being about a troubadour.
‘cept for in my soul.
Taking the long journey to
Nowhere.
With a battered up ‘ol guitar
And a song as endless
As the open highway
I search for something
I‘m sure I’ve found a thousand times
…yet still I’m restless
And unsatisfied.
So I’ll
Hitch a ride.
One day you will hear the
Noise from a slow moving train
And catch a glimpse of me
leaning against
An open rail car
And my dawns light stretched silhouette
Will say its goodbye as long as it can
As I settle on being about a troubadour.
Out from the hills
I seemingly will appear
like a prophet
Made up from the dust
To come and strum along
Your streets.
But please don’t put faith
In what I say…
Truly there is much more for me
To learn from you.
So lets be friends.
My way would seem fascinating
A journey one sees in dreams
yet suitcases stay un-packed.
Freedom is different for every heart
Night and day.
Don’t fantasize
Because I run and you all
Choose to stay.
Enjoy the song
Laugh and smile
a while
For soon I may be gone.
Loneliness is never good
But alone I’m seldom on my own.
Jesus sings and I listen.
He is an old black man with
Deep blues gene.
He’s a little child running
With holes in his shoes.
He is the beauty of a beat up
Tired woman.
He’s the comfort that
As a steel boot wonderer
fulfillment has finally been obtained
in my randomness.
Those that are many will never come to understand.
Have I loved?
I’ve loved.
In fact...
somewhere there is
A kettle of rose tea waiting
For me.
Put on the fire by a woman
Who waits patiently.
But stars and dirt and
Rain and lakes and
Oceans…howling coyotes
Singing birds, the sun, large mountains
deep valleys and the cracked concrete streets in every city
call to me
and have become that utmost beauty
I can’t live without.
The slow moving majestic clouds
I blame
For my domestic imperfections.
It’s a passion to be part of
The earth’s symphony
That gives me direction.
I hope one day
When you love elsewhere
there will be forgiveness
and you will understand
That I was born homeless
In every way ‘cept for in my soul
As I settled on being about a troubadour.
My America in the Morning
It’s a slow sun
over where I’m from.
with it’s dirty old buildings
and tall trees.
I catch the pocket change rays
through the small hole
in my window
shade.
There are voices
and creaky steps being made
above me.
The smell of food
and rain dew
alert my senses
telling me what it is now time to
do.
Clothes and shoes
fancy clothes, fancy shoes…
first and second glances
at a steam stained mirror
it will have to do.
The wind hits me
the minute my feet touch
concrete.
Onward workday soldier
who has made following the beat
a repititous necessaty.
Walk along non-broadway
and take a seat.
That slow sun
now begins to run.
Noise tracks
over train tracks.
World moving so fast.
America in the morning
so much like zombies
we all are...
it's haunting.
Not dreams...
not the way of lifes
suppose to be.
And Yet...
a tired face can still
muster a smile,
for everyday you don't lose
you win.
America in the morning...
How I long for nights
falling.
over where I’m from.
with it’s dirty old buildings
and tall trees.
I catch the pocket change rays
through the small hole
in my window
shade.
There are voices
and creaky steps being made
above me.
The smell of food
and rain dew
alert my senses
telling me what it is now time to
do.
Clothes and shoes
fancy clothes, fancy shoes…
first and second glances
at a steam stained mirror
it will have to do.
The wind hits me
the minute my feet touch
concrete.
Onward workday soldier
who has made following the beat
a repititous necessaty.
Walk along non-broadway
and take a seat.
That slow sun
now begins to run.
Noise tracks
over train tracks.
World moving so fast.
America in the morning
so much like zombies
we all are...
it's haunting.
Not dreams...
not the way of lifes
suppose to be.
And Yet...
a tired face can still
muster a smile,
for everyday you don't lose
you win.
America in the morning...
How I long for nights
falling.
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