If I could raise my son just one more time,
I'd hold each moment, make it so sublime.
I'd linger longer in his laughter's glow,
As I watched this fine young child grow.

I'd read one more story, his favorite tale,
Encourage him, should he ever fail.
I'd savor the questions, the endless "whys",
Marvel at wonders through his young eyes.

Wake, little one, or free enterprise freaks
will efface all that makes you human.
Break, little one, from the geeks of newspeak,
who seek only to master the student.
Shirk, little one, those jingled amusements,
their delusions so cosy and soft.
Swerve, little one, the popular movements
manoeuvring routes to the trough.
Spurn, little one, the invisible worms
entrenched in the vents of your brain.
Turn, little one, from the wages they earn,
do not tread the dull round in vain.

Like a candle dead in the dark
A lamp light snuffed out
Words are like mythical birds
Ones that can’t fly
Words born to walk
Wingless dodos just fall over and die.

Like disobedient children, ones we can’t control
Today my words fail me, all withered and old
Whereas the day before yesterday and many years ago
Like a mountain stream, the words always flow.

Son, come sit beside me here,
The years have flown, yet you're still near.
My hands, once strong now tremble slight,
But my heart holds steady, burning bright.

I see in you the man I dreamed,
A life well-lived, or so it seemed.
Your laughter echoes days long past,
When time was slow, and youth held fast.

These lines upon my weathered face,
Are maps of love, of time, of grace.
Each wrinkle tells a tale of you,
Of scraped-up knees and skies so blue.

Born a hidden hand, a silent guide,
A natural gray cardinal — never in the light.
He pulled the strings behind the stage,
A ghost of wisdom, veiled in age.
He fell a thousand times or more,
But rose again, though bruised and sore.
No glory songs, no crowd's applause,
Just scars that whispered of the cause.

These chickens no longer know the call
All chickens used to know
A call warning of danger
Because a hawk had been spotted

The hens would run with their chicks
To hide them in the thicket fence
As the rooster stood ready
To protect and to defend

I gave the call yesterday
And none of them reacted
They went on scratching the ground
Looking at whatever it is
They have always been looking for

I am fine first thing, in the morning,
As many things consume my day.
Fine until the next disaster,
Comes tumbling my sorry way.

I will be fine until I've eaten,
Until the rumbles start to come.
Fine until that food,
Churns in annoyance around my tum.

I will be fine until the evening,
When I watch the news on my TV.
Fine until the wars and suffering,
Is all that I can see.

Yet, I won't be fine at night
When I lay my weary head,
Trying my hardest not to worry
And tossing around my bed.

So quiet is the place,
cold 
no heart to furnace the thought, 
no verse to sing 
The words sink
In her ink.

I complained about my ankle that always protests
when a chill wind wraps around me.

She offered her umbrella against the rain,
and put her hand to my mouth,

saying "If you're quiet, you can see things
you'll distinctly remember now that you're older."

One pure emotion is not nearly enough
Our hearts are filled with much more stuff

Feelings that often evade the mind
Are often those that we cannot find

There are no signs we can clearly see
Only feelings that belong to me

A baby born with sparkling eyes
A smile, a laugh, gurgling sighs

A wedding with your family in tow
Creating havoc in the pews below

A casket with a beloved parent inside
Bring thoughts that can never be denied