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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Poems about Fathers and Grandfathers I I translated the first six Native American poems for my father when he chose to enter hospice and end his life by not taking dialysis … Cherokee Travelers' Blessing I loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I will extract the thorns from your feet. Yet a little longer we will walk life's sunlit paths together. I will love you like my own brother, my own blood. When you are disconsolate, I will wipe the tears from your eyes. And when you are too sad to live, I will put your aching heart to rest. Cherokee Travelers' Blessing II loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Happily may you walk in the paths of the Rainbow. Oh!, and may it always be beautiful before you, beautiful behind you, beautiful below you, beautiful above you, and beautiful all around you where in Perfection beauty is finished. Cherokee Travelers' Blessing III loose loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch May Heaven’s warmest winds blow gently there, where you reside, and may the Great Spirit bless all those you love, this side of the farthest tide. And when you go, whether the journey is fast or slow, may your moccasins leave many cunning footprints in the snow. And when you look over your shoulder, may you always find the Rainbow. Sioux Vision Quest by Crazy Horse, Oglala Lakota Sioux, circa 1840-1877 loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A man must pursue his Vision as the eagle explores the sky's deepest blues. Native American Travelers' Blessing loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Let us walk together here with earth's creatures great and small, remembering, our footsteps light, that one wise God created all. Native American Prayer loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Help us learn the lessons you have left us in every leaf and rock. Ultimate Sunset by Michael R. Burch for my father, Paul Ray Burch, Jr. he now faces the Ultimate Sunset, his body like the leaves that fray as they dry, shedding their vital fluids (who knows why?) till they’ve become even lighter than the covering sky, ready to fly ... Free Fall by Michael R. Burch for my father, Paul Ray Burch, Jr. I see the longing for departure gleam in his still-keen eye, and I understand his desire to test this last wind, like those late autumn leaves with nothing left to cling to ... Sanctuary at Dawn by Michael R. Burch I have walked these thirteen miles just to stand outside your door. The rain has dogged my footsteps for thirteen miles, for thirty years, through the monsoon seasons ... and now my tears have all been washed away. Through thirteen miles of rain I slogged, I stumbled and I climbed rainslickened slopes that led me home to the hope that I might find a life I lived before. The door is wet; my cheeks are wet, but not with rain or tears ... as I knock I sweat and the raining seems the rhythm of the years. Now you stand outlined in the doorway ?a man as large as I left? and with bated breath I take a step into the accusing light. Your eyes are grayer than I remembered; your hair is grayer, too. As the red rust runs down the dripping drains, our voices exclaim? "My father!" "My son!" This poem was written either in high school or my first two years of college. Sunset by Michael R. Burch for my Grandfather, George Edwin Hurt Sr. Between the prophecies of morning and twilight’s revelations of wonder, the sky is ripped asunder. The moon lurks in the clouds, waiting, as if to plunder the dusk of its lilac iridescence, and in the bright-tentacled sunset we imagine a presence full of the fury of lost innocence. What we find within strange whorls of drifting flame, brief patterns mauling winds deform and maim, we recognize at once, but cannot name. Sailing to My Grandfather by Michael R. Burch for my Grandfather, George Edwin Hurt Sr. This distance between us ?this vast sea of remembrance? is no hindrance, no enemy. I see you out of the shining mists of memory. Events and chance and circumstance are sands on the shore of your legacy. I find you now in fits and bursts of breezes time has blown to me, while waves, immense, now skirt and glance against the bow unceasingly. I feel the sea's salt spray?light fists, her mists and vapors mocking me. From ignorance to reverence, your words were sextant stars to me. Bright stars are strewn in silver gusts back, back toward infinity. From innocence to senescence, now you are mine increasingly. Salat Days by Michael R. Burch for my grandfather, Paul Ray Burch, Sr. I remember how my grandfather used to pick poke salat... though first, usually, he'd stretch back in the front porch swing, dangling his long thin legs, watching the sweat bees drone, talking about poke salat? how easy it was to find if you knew where to look for it... standing in dew-damp clumps by the side of a road, shockingly green, straddling fence posts, overflowing small ditches, crowding out the less-hardy nettles. "Nobody knows that it's there, lad, or that it's fit tuh eat with some bacon drippin's or lard." "Don't eat the berries. You see?the berry's no good. And you'd hav'ta wash the leaves a good long time." "I'd boil it twice, less'n I wus in a hurry. Lawd, it's tough to eat, chile, if you boil it jest wonst." He seldom was hurried; I can see him still... silently mowing his yard at eighty-eight, stooped, but with a tall man's angular gray grace. Sometimes he'd pause to watch me running across the yard, trampling his beans, dislodging the shoots of his tomato plants. He never grew flowers; I never laughed at his jokes about The Depression. Years later I found the proper name?"pokeweed"?while perusing a dictionary. Surprised, I asked why anyone would eat a weed. I still can hear his laconic reply... "Well, chile, s'm'times them times wus hard." Keywords/Tags: father, fathers, grandfather, family, child, children, son, daughter, granddaughter, grandson
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