Poem for a sleeping child
There’s a wish to wander in your cool innocence
and cruise the thoughttides of no
responsibility—so easily you wipe your
shoeless feet on the ever waiting door
mat of socialization. How can I help you keep your
tender "souls" intact—your tread from
wearing thin out of align so as not to
fall flat. Your easy grace put to an
unfair test of ill-will winds blowing
carelessly at your soft back. I long for your sweet
calm at rest so deep so empty filled with
solid happiness—you know you are loved
beyond any measure that’s human or infinite. If
I could walk with you for a moment and peek
quietly at your conscience-----but no-it's yours
and no Dooleys allowed. Forgive me to
want to intrude on your ever pleasant play-would you
share with me like the kernel of rice or
squashed raisin-I might, but only if we all
can go. Keep it hold it for as long as you
can-as it suddenly disappears without a trace
never to be found again lest you become your
own sondaughter and learn to bask on
the outside looking in—---and be content. I
will live to never intrude on your soulspace,
but will always knock first. I am sorry ahead
of time for any pain I cause—for my mat
was torn treaded , muddy and ragged—my
sleep had no wanting witness. But I promise
to watch over you all ways.
Dave Collins collincd. Song, Poem for a sleeping child, by stanley jordon
On the wings of two angles I was brought into this world…
My mother and father I’ve called them since I first spoke,
To their arms I ran when I first walked…
When my heart was not calm
Their love would come…
When no one believed
They saw what others couldn’t see
When I would cry
With a calm sigh they would smile
And the whole world would stop and the pain would die…
They taught me to not lie…
They taught me to be human…
On the wings of two angels I was brought into this world…
My mother…her beauty puts the stars to shame….
My father…his heart stronger than all the men that walk among us…
I thank my lord for giving me
The biggest treasure on this world,
Love that is clearly out of this world…
Family, the enemy of our souls wants us to believe
The lie that we are alone
He wants us to believe
That we are treading hopeless road
But the cloud witnesses who urge us on
Tell us another story
The road we tread with light and beauty and fellowship
My friends, we are never alone
Keeper Of The Woods
By: Kitty Jones
He stands 7 ft. 8 or so we are told,
When they tell us the stories of long ago.
At night he roams through the woods with care,
Loving on every creature, all that is there.
People say he’s a big strong man,
Big broad chest, yet long thin hands.
They say when the night it clear
And the stars are shining so.
If you listen really close you can hear him talking to Doe’s.
They call this man the Keeper of The Woods.
Mans ways about life he never understood.
They spoke of him as being gentile and loving in all his ways.
Giving back the gift of life that God had given him every day.
His love was shared with everything around
From the birds in the air to the grass on the ground.
I was told a story of someone setting a fire,
The flames would not go out they just kept getting higher.
The fire burned 3 days and nights,
Killing everything, nothing left in sight.
They say at certain times of the year as you look across the land
You can see the figure of a 7ft 8 inch man.
And if you come back 3 days later you’ll be amazed at what you see.
A 7ft 8 inch man crying on his knees.
I don’t think that anybody really understood.
The simple loving blessed life of the Keeper of the Woods.
I never met Grandpa
so I do not know
if he ever went dancing
or stubbed his toe.
But I do know
Grandma loved him.
And Grandma died
when was in 8th grade.
So we didn't talk
I am afraid.
But I do know
Grandpa loved her.
Alms Inn, there is the place again, and here
I, far away, muse in the house I grew
O this village of my love, has grown too
The golden hills with lilacs filled, the sweet
Soft of morning dew, and my dusty feet
Leaving his brighter sun for school and care
Whilst he with poetic dreams filled the air
And orange blossoms buzz with fragrance fair
And O, orange blossoms buzz when
In my mind I hear his voice again.
Father, fragile though festive fold of hills
Where drought walks dissonant on dribbled dreams
Your memory abides here still, and bright streams
Of laughter where you paced or sat unveiling
History and poetry and farmed feeling
Of the world. Like a nightingale's voice spills
Through the village gate, sublime as sacred thrills
The organ dissipates, and crannies fills
With thy deep eloquence and pride
And thy wide eyed child by your side.
Regal of an African line, birth low
Amidst the Maroon bramble, up you came
Out of the German mire of blood, a flame
Carrying bushman and midwife through night
The falcon feathered for the frolic of flight
Over foreign spires, in the bright rainbow
Father, still your footsteps that path does show
Mud deep, bright towards the future we go
Athlete, scholar, tempest and mist
Man above men will foes insist
And I today churn in praise my new lines
Waking like a womb of fresh beginnings
A virgin voyage of my form, deep gleanings
Of the mind's creativity. I bring
It, tribute to you, blush before my king
For whose awesome form my love matchless pines
Seeking your worth in joys of new designs
To carve your honor on our human minds
First of our black place to unfold
Upon white space petals of gold.
This proud veterinarian, this wave
That pulse across the Caribbean's shores
This first in rank in all the shackled chores
This noble patron of the arts, this child
Of business, that upward through nights here toiled
To say I am free, stir now gloomy grave
You shall not hold him forever a slave
When jubilee comes, and our God shall save
For of all the joys that is known
He loved his God, and grace was shown
Time and us are leashed memories
With time I tell love's true stories
And so its oft, when love in fancy strays
I to Alms Inn, where my boyhood still plays
In St. Elizabeth, behind the brimmed drays
Here in white pattern of dust I reclaim
The glory of my father, all my name
For we are nothing who have no past, sir
No identity the shard soul to stir
Shorn from the traditions of father's ways.
Father Poppy, The Mr. Everyman----
Mr. Security, Mr. Predictability,
Mr. Easily Lovable!
I love you, Dad---
If you sat down and
though about it for
just one moment,
You would see that you
are Mr. Everything to me,
to your precious grand-daughter
Maddie, to your two beloved sons,
and to my mother,
your life-long partner and confidant.
Your life is a fine example
of security and love,
wrapped in a blanket of warmth
and knowing you will always
be there, no matter how high
the tide gets!
c2013 Julie Rasley
Dee’s father bought a fancy, family sled
to her amusement and joy
He shocked the town pulling this sled around
With his good, shiny Model T Ford
Memories run through Dee’s mind
At the family hardware store,
she would climb the latter up to the loft
and sit inside the sled stored there,
reflecting on cool-warmed times-
a father’s smile…a heart sublime
-For my Grandma Dee
May 30, 2014
It was just around mid-morning
I recall exactly what I was doing
The feeling felt all too familiar
The vibe was peculiar
I had that unmistakable hunch
I guessed what was nigh, the crunch
My phone rang, not once but twice
I was tempted to let it beep thrice
But nay, not on this day, not today
The news that came crushed my Sunday
Dad had passed on, Dad was no more
I cried not but my heart tore and felt sore
My life had instantaneously changed
A novel void had just been created
Mum would be all alone
Save for six sons loving her to the bone
We will not despair but hang together
Duty bound to take care of our mother
It’s a sad sight to see the family deteriorate
But dad's life gave us something to emulate
He granted us, his children a chance in life
He always was very faithful to one wife
He taught us well till the age of seventy three
Now who will be the new root for our family tree?
We have uncles and aunts, cousins and nieces
But no one to properly anchor the jumbled pieces
Without him, we are but lost and fragmented
We are like a team dismayed and all so disjointed
We’re gradually losing a generation
That’s why I cry for my true champion
My hero, my idol, role model, my icon
Dad, there is nothing that I wouldn’t do
Just to spend another day with you
Coffee in a cup, makes a cup of coffee;
just as an aroma from within, makes the air,
smell of flowers in the spring
...a sweet thing, like sugar cane is to the tasting,
and the tasting is to stirring the dream,
making flavored coffee
a drink in the morning.