Dear Dad

I've spent too much time hating you
and now I miss you.
You died before I could say
important things
like I love you,
I miss you,
you taught me
but not enough before you left.

I thought you were a prig,
controlled by logic,
your heart a cold grey thing.
But now I know,
you did the best you could
with what you had.

I forgive you
and I apologise
for judging you.

Hope springs forth like a river
In the heart of man till life’s end
That he be blessed round and round
His future better than yesterday
Hope comes in and bears the storm

Like a mother in the heart of man,
She does not rest till the child is calm
When the travails of life weigh him down
Hope gives solace to the weary soul
She comes in and bears the storm

I recall a chuckling clear cold stream
shaded by oaks and cottonwood
where egrets and the blue cranes stood
while searching for catfish and bream
feasting on them when they could

Riffles raced o'er rocky shoals
between the pools so deep and green
where bass and crayfish could be seen
when sunbeams pierced between great boles
and through the canopy's thick screen

(following http://new.neopoet.com/node/broadway-lovesick-puppies )

..you and me,
that’s all.

the stage is set-
for the second coming,
as I take center-stage
I am
illuminated,
by the spotlight
irradiated,
by the eyes.
imperceptible
in disguise.

the curtain’s lifting
the fog, settling
the lights, dimming.
the spotlight, shifting
to your face.

Once More, With Love
Each one on this old,
now new Neopoet
is a classic
I learn from the very core
that each one of you reveals
from the fathoms
of your hearts!
How I wish I too had
Such a fathomless heart,
As love sinks deep
In each poem I read
My mind does plead
Oh Loved
When wilt thou accomplish
Such a deed
I wonder and shudder
That’s all indeed.
Your poetries are jewels
Strewn across the Internet
I have by now fully screened
But nothing comes in-between

Here
in this garden
is where I commune
with my God.
He is the earth beneath my fingernails,
the joy in my heart,
the squeals of my children
as they dance
in the dirt.

He is the face
of the flower
flourishing in my light.
The colour of sunset,
the darkness of night.

Here
in this home,
admist this mess
is where I worship
my Goddess.
She is the bubbles
in my babies bath,
the eggs, pickling in the jar
and the laughter
between a husband and a wife.

the days are getting shorter
that means longer nights
thank God!

I don't like waiting until nine pm
to get a fix of night-time impulses

the night
my place
my natural habitat

an odd vitality arises
with the star spangled sky
maybe it's the incongruous lighting
of street lamps, neon,
and stellar speckles
exciting my optics into perceiving
quirky, impressionistic art scenes
in shadows and beams
never quite revealing all
and always leaving a small mystery
to ponder

From the very edge of shadows
imagimotions play with sight,

hidden in those layers of darkness
lies an essence that rules the night.

Of course, she shouldn't wait impatiently
but, raindrops urge repast,

her cognitive skills are wavering
so, this decision may be her last.

So, while this fair maiden is forced to wait
inbetween the drops of her mind,

recollection urges her independant feet
to seek purchase, so as to find;

a place where solace rules the day
where one's confidence can't stop,

Echoes are the shadows of the past
Like ghost of lives in silent streets
In events and episodes of history
Which continue long after ending

Echoes are the wars we have fought
Like thousand lives in twin towers
Weeping in Afghanistan and Iraq
Terror begets terror in anti terrorism

Echoes of earthquakes and tsunamis
Washed in rising tons of sea water
Into the opened womb of the earth
Drowned lives in tolls of thousands

Dusk begins to fall
as the light of day
makes its escape

I hear thunder
rumbling in the distance
I look out my window
and see dark clouds rolling in.

Moving like hell bend smoke
they overtake the clear sky
hail comes crashing down
making way for what is to come
as fear constricts my every thought

A “Hooded Stranger” appears
but there is no face
to recognize
A cape hangs from its shoulders
dancing in the winds from hell
as if it is alive