Notes found on the refrigerator August 2018

a wonderful rain

as the mist behind sun dries

enemies of peace

 

so …as the song goes

why do our heads hang so low

down in a valley

 

rising with a Love

as spring does resurrection

“We shall overcome”.

 

let’s get up with Joy

and show them our example

life goes back and forth

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A Father’s Wedding Card To: Jessica and Dylan

“Over and over and over you begin.

Drop, fall, falling and fall

 In love again— as the seasons pass,

See your hearts reflection

Looking through the window

One elbow on the windowsill.”

 

You grew from a seed, fallen from an oak. In your fall

You were embraced in the womb of bright-colored fallen leaves

—quilted for the comfort of winter

—made just for you.

 

It is nature’s well-attended consummation.

 

Cleansed by snow, baptized in spring rain,

 Encouraged by the earth beneath you,

The sun of life above you—

You grew with patience, understanding, and perseverance.

 

 Now, having watched all seeds grow: let me fall again

—in age with roots entwined and with fallen branches

To nourish you, with patience, understanding, and perseverance

—to build your own home in harmony with nature’s beautiful quilt,

 

As you drop, fall, falling, and then fall in love again

Over and over and over, you begin.

 

 

A Father’s Delight

 

Children scamper

Wild, yet not hurried

Like a rose blooms;

Patiently above the ground.

 

Their life packaged in wonder,

Discover, what never was buried

Beneath the sun or the light of the moon;

Excited each time something is found.

Nothing is forgotten in their pockets,

Understanding nothing is left behind.

 

 

 

War

 

Papa is in the garden

Weedin’ pullin’ sweat drippin’

Momma told me to “stop playin’

And go git him some water.”

 

I’m a big boy now,

Time to stop playing soldier

And help out with the growin’.

 

Grandpas ‘s in a wheelchair,

Grandma ‘s rockin’,

Momma ‘s peelin’ potatoes,

And baby cousin sleepin’. 

 

Time to stop playin’ soldier

And help out with the growin’.

 

Well is gittin’ dry,

Hard to keep pumpin’.

Big brother? died in Viet Nam.

Big sister? died in a country unknown.

 

Time for me to stop playin’ soldier

And help out with what’s bein’ grown.

 

Momma told me to “stop playin’,

Go get me some water too,

Don’t need you next,

to be leavin’ me alone.”

 

 

 

Feeling like a dandelion rose

As I was younger, the lawn looked beautiful

I worked hard. Pushing

The spacious green against the woods

Without fatigue.

 

Accented by the fresh scent

Of cut grass

I would go to the edge

Look into the woods

 

Step in, walk a bit

Then sit

To enjoy the view.

Especially looking through

 

The trees passed the lawn

Leading to our home

Adorned

With the flowers of youth.

 

As I get older, I do less.

The trees are creeping

In along with

The weeds,

 

They’re taking over the lawn,

Making it easier

 Though, to take my walk

To the edge of the woods,

 

To step in and sit with

Sweet melancholy;

Looking past the small lawn

Feeling like a dandelion rose  

 

Seeing an empty house

Having flowered and gone

To seed.

 

New Years Eve at Mill Street

~~Baked beans in the pot simmering with salt pork, hot dogs browning in a small amount of butter, brown bread wrapped in aluminum foil nested by the bean pot warming from the oven baking two very large pans of macaroni and cheese, all slowly drifting filling the house with the scent of a familiar night. The matriarch, still re-arranging Christmas decorations as the children and family drop in, is shuffled off with hugs and greetings. They shed coats for plates, salt and pepper, bread and butter, and toast the cusp of a seasons’ joy and the beginning of a new year.~~

 

The morning dishes, put away washed and towel dried

by the grand children, who, one by one drifted in last night.

Grandpa pegs out last, losing his second cribbage game

to a thirteen-year-old; “smart young fella with numbers”.

Smiling, the boy gets up and pushes his chair up against the table

with a soft kick, wishes his senior “better luck next year

 if he can hold on and survive that long,”

 patting the deck of cards unknowingly cryptic.

 

More family arrives with homemade dishes and table ornaments

some placed gifts, for those relatives unseen on Christmas,

under the small well-lit tree, that grandpa boasts

“was negotiated down to ten dollars by grandma.”

New born, wrapped in the arms of entering parents,

begs to be held, cooing for first salutations,

especially those who live “very” far,

but, whose love, promising the child,

will always live nearby.

 

No need for gifts, they all arrived.

 

Rocking chair creaking,

child asleep,

grandmother humming.

Grandfather, after meeting with the family

waits his turn.

(Having lost his job last week

with his confidence “hat in hand”,

understanding his limited options

and where his life now stands).

 

Looking around the house, he cracks a smile

remembering his prime, rocking his last child;

singing quietly with the innocence

 of purity in the comfort of his lullaby.

 

The mill is officially closing at the end of this month.

 

He picks up the child from sleeping slipping arms

and starts to hum softly.

The mill whistle shrieks’ a long, long, blast

telling him that the fourth shift ghosts were punching in.

It was eleven-thirty, December 31, the last shift.

His severance check went into savings this Christmas;

his skills outsourced, betrayed by an economy

 for a life diminished.