Posted in life, Parenting, Parenting and Poetry, Poems to my children, Poetry

Tainted Legacy

Running hard and
pounding pavements –
trying to escape my roots;
Damaged, ultimately tainted.
Who wouldn’t,
when
Mom’s a basketcase;
Dad an alcoholic
to boot?

I have no friends.

I can’t talk to them;
And not because
that door’s not open…
Moreso because
I don’t want to be like them,
and yet somehow still –
I’m hopin’…

Things will change.
I tell myself this;
Not sure at this point if
I really believe it
or my forced ignorance
is
unhindered bliss.

I still have my kids to raise
and wondering if they feel
the same ways
about me…
Keeps me up
for days.

I can’t help
but surmise
that maybe
I’ve fucked this all up…

Lateness of the night
as decided by fireflies –
While they sleep,
I refill my cup.
It’s only insomnia…right?

In a tumbler
or two, maybe three…
Solitude is dangerous,
it don’t give us
Us free.

It hurts to consider
I’m much like my parents,
selfish and bitter
and…
Unable to stare “it”
in its eyes –
Never once have I really
been good at goodbyes.

But today is its own change,
though I know that seems strange –
One day my children
will explore untapped wilderness
of lonely desperation;
Unrepressed, raw, and deranged.

I can only hope
what they find in those
shadows
are [the] refrains needed
to overcome,
rather than to simply just
cope.

I’m running, I’m sweating,
I’m hot as hell…
Harder and faster,
and faster, still –
toward all my bullshit,
it all rolls downhill…
an unlikely avalanche
of censorial guilt.

Welcome to the house
that my pain built.

I’m moving up, rising above;
All I can think to do
is pour into them
all my patience
and unconditional love.

Legacy is cyclical,
generation(s) of ritual
branded into us
with blood, and also, victuals.

Bones only hold the tired,
quiet as that’s kept…
Small wonders my father and mother
ever truly slept.

Posted in New Work, Parenting, Parenting and Poetry, Poems to my children, Random, Self-discovery and growth, Thoughts and Ruminations, Uncategorized

Ra(w)rity

With just a simple thought,
the firing of a synapse,
the striking of nerves,
the launching of cells,
power emerges.

The power to create –
willed
with only an unspoken command…
rawness and rarity.

The epitome of true talent;
How beautiful the mind is
that even subconsciousness
affects reality.

 

18 September 2019
Posted in New Work, Parenting, Poems to my children, Poetry, Uncategorized

Sunflowers of Purple & Light

Bars in your run-on sentences,

Unrehearsed profundity in your energetic words.

Your every movement an art,

poetry in motion…

Even standing still,

your beauty is unprecedented.

For each smile you bestow,

my heart laughs in return.

And each tear you’ve shed –

daggers to my unburdened soul;

they water the sunflower

in hues of purple & light

that grew when

the universe celebrated your arrival.

Beautiful dynamo,

chaotic in nature

yet smooth as aftermath.

Sage as love,

you are balm and bandage to both heart and soul.

Every breath you draw

is one I’d give

to ensure you always smile.

Posted in New Work, Parenting, Poems to my children, Poetry, Uncategorized

Ripple Effect

Eyes of shimmering black velvet,

rivaled only by stars;

with lights that twinkle from within like diamonds.

Smiles seldom but true,

words few but direct.

Approaching life as it comes,

with unexpected, yet deliberate sincerity.

As steady and patient as the day is precious;

you rush for no one –

even as you tightrope the precipice between

boyhood and adolescence; gracefully,

and with feet grounded firmly.

Your disposition adapts from moment to moment,

even in precarious uncertainties…

My peaceful spirit,

unassuming in nature and fiery in temper.

Solid strength of demeanor –

Keeping all around you balanced yet on their toes…

Your presence reverberates wherever you are.

Ripples of calm and unobtrusive energy

that emanate from their originator

the effect that of a pebble on a pond,

light at first, momentum building within each new undulation

forming from the sheer inertia

of the tiny waves before them.

You, my child, you are change itself –

inspiring others to evolve

just to understand the dynamic soul you are.

Posted in New Work, Parenting, Poems to my children, Poetry, Uncategorized

Renaissance Virtuoso

To you, beautiful manchild –

you, who sees the colors

of the souls around him.

You who senses the destiny

of the world beyond.

And you, who masters everything

he imagines;

Renaissance virtuoso,

conductor of art.

Quiet confidence in how you listen

to the rhythms of intangible energies.

You, with a child’s exuberant innocence

and the sageness of souls millenia old…

To you, who soothes all he touches,

You, full of tranquility and light.

You – so introspectively driven

you’re mistaken as shy!

Smiles that come slowly and impishly;

Eyes full of spirited intellect.

Look at you, how you’ve grown;

from boy to unfledged man –

You move with grace and love

and speak in warmth and gold.

Changing yet constant –

yearning for past’s comfort

while reaching for future’s terror

You, my son, my magical boy

full of color and gentle strength.