It’s been a few years now since three generations stood in line for Father’s Day photographs.
Now at the head the view is different. Men in my family call each other buck. Tradition passed down several generations. Big buck the eldest, Buck, little Buck, and Buckleys for grand children .
The torch was passed three years ago September. It’s a struggle to fill big shoes. I still look to his example and hope to measure up.
The task to prepare the next generation never ends. Even more importantly when it’s your own tribe. Each generations wisdom passed down. Stepping up and bring them round
Smiling faces stare at beautiful people making beautiful words to each other. Parents proud all around sentiment overload.
Songs sung Mother’s and son danced. Crowd claps tear sneaks down hide it with a casual wipe of the eye. Wish I could hide sensory overload.
Daises on the shore
Daises waving serendipitously
amongst the blades of grass
I pick one and lay it down
So to erase the frown
That trembles from your lip
A representation of what has been lost
and what might be gained
When time heals the pain
That clouds over the shining sun
That glistens off the waves
Pounding on the shore
In timeless waves of sorrow
That one day may return to joy.
Breath frozen in a moment.
Predestined from the second
You appeared at my door.
Swirling blond, sparkling eyes
Bewitched into your charms
Powerless to resist
Smoother me with your kisses
Feel the power of your touch
As I rock with you to spent
Rest with me a while in the glow
Question my integrity stab my soul.
Pull my heart out dripping red
Sacrificed on the alter of who has to be right.
Flirtatious whimsy my only fault.
Is that not redeemable?
Late on a summer afternoon
Your smile as bright as the summer sun.
Hair golden fragrant as fresh cut hay.
Through the daisies we will run
All to celebrate our love this summer day.
Walking hand in hand through tall grass
Throwing down a blanket trimmed in red.
Pulling you into my arms sinking fast.
Rolling in our wild flower laced bed.
Watching the sun in a downward spiral sink
Its redness matches your ruby lips
Not taking one more moment to think.
As my hand slides down your hip
Into your eyes do I stare.
And for your constant love say a prayer.
Conversations in Dreams
The path glistening in the moonlight of dreams
originating from Eden’s gate.
Presenting opportunities to transform clay into light,
while illuminating the divine in the corporeal realm.
Climbing towards the light of perpetual peace and grace.
If only for a chance to see God’s face.
Midnight missives in dreams undefined.
Forgotten by morning but there nebulous
in the static of neural transmissions and ghost memories
That will not completely fade.
Guiding paths crisscrossed with moon shadow and doubt.
Towards fate incomprehensible to reason
but reassuring none the less, giving structure
to an orderly universe.