Poems About Children Iii

Poems about Children III Miracle by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy The contrails of galaxies mingle, and the dust of that first day still shines. Before I conceived you, before your heart beat, you were mine, and I see infinity leap in your bright, fluent eyes. And you are the best of all that I am. You became and what will be left of me is the flesh you comprise, and I see whatever must be—leaves its mark, yet depends on these indigo skies, on these bright trails of dust, on a veiled, curtained past, on some dream beyond knowing, on the mists of a future too uncertain to heed. And I see your eyes—dauntless, glowing— glowing with the mystery of all they perceive, with the glories of galaxies passed, yet bestowing, though millennia dead, all this pale feathery light. And I see all your wonder—a wonder to me, for, unknowing, of all this portends, still your gaze never wavers. And love is unchallenged in all these vast skies, or by distance, or time. The ghostly moon hovers; I see; and I see all that I am reflected in all that you have become to me. Always by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Know in your heart that I love you as no other, and that my love is eternal. I keep the record of your hopes and dreams in my heart like a journal, and there are pages for you there that no one else can fill: none one else, ever. And there is a tie between us, more than blood, that no one else can sever. And if we’re ever parted, please don’t be broken-hearted; until we meet again on the far side of forever and walk among those storied shining ways, should we, for any reason, be apart, still, I am with you ... always. The Gift by Michael R. Burch for Beth and Jeremy For you and our child, unborn, though named (for we live in a strange, fantastic age, and tomorrow, when he is a man, perhaps this earth will be a cage from which men fly like flocks of birds, the distant stars their helpless prey), for you, my love, and you, my child, what can I give you, each, this day? First, take my heart, it’s mine alone; no ties upon it, mine to give, more precious than a lifetime’s objects, once possessed, more free to live. Then take these poems, of little worth, but to show you that which you receive holds precious its two dear possessors, and makes each lien a sweet reprieve. This poem was written after a surprising comment from my son, Jeremy. The Onslaught by Michael R. Burch “Daddy, I can’t give you a hug today because my hair is wet.” No wet-haired hugs for me today; no lollipopped lips to kiss and say, Daddy, I love you! with such regard after baseball hijinks all over the yard. The sun hails and climbs over the heartbreak of puppies and daffodils and days lost forever to windowsills, over fortune and horror and starry climes; and it seems to me that a child’s brief years are springtimes and summers beyond regard mingled with laughter and passionate tears and autumns and winters now veiled and barred, as elusive as snowflakes here white, bejeweled, gaily whirling and sweeping across the yard. To My Child, Unborn by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy How many were the nights, enchanted with despair and longing, when dreams recanted returned with a restless yearning, and the pale stars, burning, cried out at me to remember one night ... long ere the September night when you were conceived. Oh, then, if only I might have believed that the future held such mystery as you, my child, come unbidden to me and to your mother, come to us out of a realm of wonder, come to us out of a faery clime ... If only then, in that distant time, I had somehow known that this day were coming, I might not have despaired at the raindrops drumming sad anthems of loneliness against shuttered panes; I might not have considered my doubts and my pains so carefully, so cheerlessly, as though they were never-ending. If only then, with the starlight mending the shadows that formed in the bowels of those nights, in the gussets of storms that threatened till dawn as though never leaving, I might not have spent those long nights grieving, lamenting my loneliness, cursing the sun for its late arrival. Now, a coming dawn brings you unto us, and you shall be ours, as welcome as ever the moon or the stars or the glorious sun when the nighttime is through and the earth is enchanted with skies turning blue. Transition by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy With his cocklebur hugs and his wet, clinging kisses like a damp, trembling thistle catching, thwarting my legs— he reminds me that life begins with the possibility of rapture. Was time this deceptive when my own childhood begged one last moment of frolic before bedtime’s firm kisses— when sleep was enforced, and the dark window ledge waited, impatient, to lure or to capture the bright edge of morning within a clear pane? Was the sun then my ally—bright dawn’s greedy fledgling? With his joy he reminds me of joys long forgotten, of play’s endless hours till the haggard sun sagged and everything changed. I gather him up and we trudge off to bed. What does it mean? by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy His little hand, held fast in mine. What does it mean? What does it mean? If he were not here, the sun would not shine, nor the grass grow half as green. What does it mean? His arms around my neck, his cheek snuggling so warm against my own ... What does it mean? If life's a garden, he's the fairest flower ever sown, the sweetest ever seen. What does it mean? And when he whispers sweet and low, "What does it mean?" It means, my son, I love you so. Sometimes that's all we need to know. Keywords/Tags: child, children, childhood, father son, dad, daddy, love, heart, dreams, tie, blood, wonder, forever, baseball, fun, laughter, adventure