FATHER AND TIME

It is a wise father that knows his child.
__William Shakespeare

All the clocks that surround us mark off moments as they dissolve;
Steady drum of the second hand tick tocks like a time bomb,
Vanished down beneath the rising rush
Cast outside of reach of all that’s here
Or that frantic hands can seize or bear.

Like time, we will travel forward as moments become lean and swift,
Instances slipped within pale snapshots; smiles of odd, uneasy faces.
Tick tock goes the gesture, the nod.
Plunging seconds speed by exhausted
Below the pitch-black lather of time.

As summers own swimming and winter’s trudging speed through
Second hands rush on, prying the next season to scuttle forth.
Does it matter more what time it was
Or more that a moment’s remembered;
Vanished, frantic, outside of my reach?

All of the clocks shrug at this; my yearning to paint my father true,
To prevent time’s rolling course upon scatty legs made of seconds.
Cease your lean and speedy march.
If I’m to know him, you've got to stop,
Time, before you run out of clock.

© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman

CRASHING THE SURFACE

(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

Sitting here in the dark I’ve nothing but my thoughts
drifting merrily just outside of my reach;
-A log cabin in the middle of nowhere-
-A greenwater pond-
-A full moon-
I am at once reminded of a place of memory…perhaps it is home.
I scan the surface of the water and see the reflection of the moon.
Suddenly an army of great golden lions bursts through the green
with mighty kings riding upon their backs.

A moment ago I was staring into the water that kissed the moon
and now I’m witnessing this glorious spectacle of mighty beasts
crashing through the surface, their riders golden crowns glimmering upon
their foreheads, black hair lifting up off their shoulders as they
lean back and roar triumphant!

Now, as suddenly as they came forth, they are gone and I’m looking
into the still water reflecting a green and glorious moon.

In need of sleep, I turn and make my way toward the cabin.
I will soon look back at the water
hoping to again glimpse the lions
and hear the victorious roar of a multitude of kings.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

FOR MY FATHER

Daddy, years have passed since last you held me
As I lay next to you in bed after having a bad dream.
Years have passed since last I shed tears
Upon your shoulder after skinning my knee.

(I truly miss those days of your steadfast love of child.)

Today, I still might fall, or toss in the night,
But with the gentle memory of your steadiness
And remembering your warm and sturdy shoulders
The tears falling today will be more for longing.

Today, at your party, a grandchild will skin their knee
And go to you, their grandpa, and climb into your lap
Where they will cry and you will easily comfort them
And I will, without a doubt, resent the little brat!

Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman