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Poems about Fathers and Grandfathers III

Poems about Fathers and Grandfathers III Success by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy We need our children to keep us humble between toast and marmalade; there is no time for a ticker-tape parade before bed, no award, no bright statuette to be delivered for mending skinned knees, no wild bursts of approval for shoveling snow. A kiss is the only approval they show; to leave us--the first great success they achieve. Passages on Fatherhood by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy He is my treasure, and by his happiness I measure my own worth. Four years old, with diamonds and gold bejeweled in his soul. His cherubic beauty is felicity to simplicity and passion-- for a baseball thrown or an ice-cream cone or eggshell-blue skies. It's hard to be "wise" when the years career through our lives and bees in their hives test faith and belief while Time, the great thief, with each falling leaf foreshadows grief. The wisdom of the ages and prophets and mages and doddering sages is useless unless it encompasses this: his kiss. Boundless by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Every day we whittle away at the essential solidity of him, and every day a new sharp feature emerges: a feature we'll spend creative years: planing, smoothing, refining, trying to find some new Archaic Torso of Apollo, or Thinker... And if each new day a little of the boisterous air of youth is deflated in him, if the hours of small pleasures spent chasing daffodils in the outfield as the singles become doubles, become triples, become unconscionable errors, become victories lost, become lives wasted beyond all possible hope of repair... if what he was becomes increasingly vague--like a white balloon careening into clouds; like a child striding away aggressively toward manhood, hitching an impressive rucksack over sagging, sloping shoulders, shifting its vaudevillian burden back and forth, then pausing to look back at us with an almost comical longing... if what he wants is only to be held a little longer against a forgiving bosom; to chase after daffodils in the outfield regardless of scores; to sail away like a balloon on a firm string, always sure to return when the line tautens, till he looks down upon us from some removed height we cannot quite see, bursting into tears over us: what, then, of our aspirations for him, if he cannot breathe, cannot rise enough to contemplate the earth with his own vision, unencumbered, but never untethered, forsaken... cannot grow brightly, steadily, into himself--flying beyond us? Frail Envelope of Flesh by Michael R. Burch for the mothers and children of the Holocaust and Gaza Frail envelope of flesh, lying cold on the surgeon's table with anguished eyes like your mother's eyes and a heartbeat weak, unstable... Frail crucible of dust, brief flower come to this-- your tiny hand in your mother's hand for a last bewildered kiss... Brief mayfly of a child, to live two artless years! Now your mother's lips seal up your lips from the Deluge of her tears... Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Cherubic laugh; sly, impish grin; Angelic face; wild chimp within. It does not matter; sleep awhile As soft mirth tickles forth a smile. Gray moths will hum a lullaby Of feathery wings, then you and I Will wake together, by and by. Life's not long; those days are best Spent snuggled to a loving breast. The earth will wait; a sun-filled sky Will bronze lean muscle, by and by. Soon you will sing, and I will sigh, But sleep here, now, for you and I Know nothing but this lullaby. Sappho's Lullaby by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Hushed yet melodic, the hills and the valleys sleep unaware of the nightingale's call, while the pale calla lilies lie listening, glistening . . . this is their night, the first night of fall. Son, tonight, a woman awaits you; she is more vibrant, more lovely than spring. She'll meet you in moonlight, soft and warm, all alone . . . then you'll know why the nightingale sings. Just yesterday the stars were afire; then how desire flashed through my veins! But now I am older; night has come, I’m alone . . . for you I will sing as the nightingale sings. NOTE: The calla lily symbolizes beauty, purity, innocence, faithfulness and true devotion. According to Greek mythology, when the Milky Way was formed by the goddess Hera’s breast milk, the drops that fell to earth became calla lilies. Generation Gap by Michael R. Burch A quahog clam, age 405, said, "Hey, it's great to be alive!" I disagreed, not feeling nifty, babe though I am, just pushing fifty. Note: A quahog clam found off the coast of Ireland is the longest-lived animal on record, at an estimated age of 405 years. Autumn Conundrum by Michael R. Burch It's not that every leaf must finally fall, it's just that we can never catch them all. Epitaph for a Palestinian Child by Michael R. Burch I lived as best I could, and then I died. Be careful where you step: the grave is wide. Of Civilization and Disenchantment by Michael R. Burch for Anais Vionet Suddenly uncomfortable to stay at my grandfather's house-- actually his third new wife's, in her daughter's bedroom --one interminable summer with nothing to do, all the meals served cold, even beans and peas... Lacking the words to describe ah!, those pearl-luminous estuaries-- strange omens, incoherent nights. Seeing the flares of the river barges illuminating Memphis, city of bluffs and dying splendors. Drifting toward Alexandria, Pharos, Rhakotis, Djoser's fertile delta, lands at the beginning of a new time and "civilization." Leaving behind sixty miles of unbroken cemetery, Alexander's corpse floating seaward, bobbing, milkwhite, in a jar of honey. Memphis shall be waste and desolate, without an inhabitant. Or so the people dreamed, in chains. Keywords/Tags: father, fathers, grandfather, grandfathers, child, children, childhood, son, daughter, grandchild, grandson, granddaughter, family, families, mother

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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