The Swing
by Timothy Steele

She shrieks as she sweeps past the earth
And, rising, pumps for all she's worth;
The chains she grips almost go slack;
Then, seated skyward, she drops back.

When swept high to the rear, she sees
Below the park the harbor's quays,
Cranes, rail tracks, transit sheds, and ranks
Of broad, round, silver storage tanks.

Her father lacks such speed and sight,
Though, with a push, he launched her flight.
Now, hands in pockets, he stands by
And, for her safety, casts his eye

Over the ground, examining
The hollow underneath the swing
Where, done with aerial assault,
She'll scuff, in passing, to a halt.

"The Swing" by Timothy Steele from Toward the Winter Solstice. © Swallow Press/Ohio

A couple poems I have written to/for my Dad ...ones kinda old from when I was a teen . my Dad died from masive heart attack at home everyone called him chief cus he had 6 of us kids and he was half American Indian...
anyways Dad I miss you even thought I know your right next to me and inside me...I MISS YOU EVERYDAY!

CHIEF HOUR PASSING ( DAD) 1979 T .M. B.
Whatever you have seen along the way ,
Did you see it all again that day?
Were you bound to the bed against your desire?
Did GOD come to you and call you a liar?
Were there any lights that were calm and cool?
Did you reach the end and feel like a fool?
Was there any chance of “ waking up “ again?
Did you break from the heat unable to defend?
Was it like you have been there before?
Recognition so strong you couldn’t ignore?
Did you go out on a granted wish?
Or did you go out on a swinging fist?
I watched you helplessly slip and slid
Nothing but gaze as you went to another side
If your pained now or not I cannot tell
I just know it was some kind of hell!
When I saw you so dark purple and blue,
I knew I was to far late, nothing I could do.
I stayed with you till the very suffocating end.
I gave my tears ; but the rule would not bend.


-----------------------------------
Chiefs alter (for Dad a.k.a. “chief”)
My chronicle returns to chiefs alter,
That is bolted to cement-covered starting line of foreshore.
Rambling and saunter the stretches of beach between spaced accesses,
Emerging onto the jetting bouldered destination,
A small tribe gathers to mug up noshing the stash.
Retracing as cool smooth sticky sand cradles my feet.
Climbing back threw warm white powder, that squeals beneath me.
The pack assembles to drench crystal ocean dust away.
Now ashes have been mixed in this dirt and sand.
Here songs are many, waves of far off times splash into my ears.
Bringing you granddaughters you’ve yearned to know.
The ocean churns up sparkled seashells at their feet,
Breezes whisper soothing dreams into their souls
A large tribe gathers to mug up.
Along pointy rocks that poke the oceans side.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lULU_-L-v3U

"Superstar" - Luther Vandross

My ex-husband came into town when my son was on leave recently. They spent a day together at my mother-in-law's house with the entire family.

My son was playing around with his young nephew on the piano, so everyone gathered around. A few of them are extremely talented and accomplished musicians/singers, so my son was always too embarrassed to sing and play in front of them when he was growing up.

My ex-brother-in-law asked him to play a ballad. I attended a concert my ex-BIL gave last year - a tribute to Luther Vandross. He has an amazing voice. My son started to play this song on the piano, and the two of them stole the show.

I spoke with my MIL (she's not an ex to me), and she said they had a wonderful time together. They were amazed at my son's talent - he's never had lessons. Naturally, they all claimed he got it from them. She said my ex-husband was strutting around like a proud peacock all day.

Tom Clay - "What the World Needs Now"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhhZ2PDl-aM&NR=1

CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD

by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

FLOWERS preach to us if we will hear:--
The rose saith in the dewy morn:
I am most fair;
Yet all my loveliness is born
Upon a thorn.
The poppy saith amid the corn:
Let but my scarlet head appear
And I am held in scorn;
Yet juice of subtle virtue lies
Within my cup of curious dyes.
The lilies say: Behold how we
Preach without words of purity.
The violets whisper from the shade
Which their own leaves have made:
Men scent our fragrance on the air,
Yet take no heed
Of humble lessons we would read.
But not alone the fairest flowers:
The merest grass
Along the roadside where we pass,
Lichen and moss and sturdy weed,
Tell of His love who sends the dew,
The rain and sunshine too,
To nourish one small seed.

Her hair was up in a pony tail,
her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
and she couldn't wait to go.

But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay home
Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid;
she knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
of why he wasn't there today.

But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home..

But the little girl went to school
eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees
a dad who never calls.


There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats

One by one the teacher called
a student from the class.
To introd uce their daddy,
as seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
a man who wasn't there.

'Where's her daddy at?'
She heard a boy call out.
'She probably doesn't have one,'
another student dared to shout.

And from somewhere near the back,
she heard a daddy say,
'Looks like another deadbeat dad,
too busy to waste his day.'

The words did not offend her,
as she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher, who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back,
slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
came words incredibly unique.

'My Daddy couldn't be here,
because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
since this is such a special day.

And thoug h you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All abou t my daddy,
and how much he loves me so.

He loved to tell me stories
he taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
and taught me to fly a kite.

We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him.
I'm not standing here alone.

'Cause my daddy's always with me,
even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
he'll forever be in my heart'
With that, her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
beneath her favorite dress.

And from somewhere there in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love
of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
but its message clear and loud.

'I love my daddy very much,
he's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
but heaven's just too far.

You see he is a Marine
and died just this past year
When a roadside bomb hit his convoy
and taught Americans to fear.
But sometimes when I close my eyes,
it's like he never went away.'
And then she closed her eyes,
and saw him there that day.

And to her mother's amazement,
she witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
all starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,
who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
they saw him at her side.

'I know you're with me Daddy,'
to the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
of those once filled with doubt.

Not one in th at room could explain it,
for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.

And a child was blessed, if only for a moment, by the love of her shining
star.
And given the gift of believing,
that heaven is never too far.
--------------------------
anonymous-

Women sit, or move to and fro--some old, some young;
The young are beautiful--but the old are more beautiful than the
young.

Walt Whitman
__________

I'm staring in the mirror,
Bemused at what I see;
An older, calmer, woman
Is looking back at me.

She isn't wearing makeup;
Her hair is turning grey;
But how on earth this happened
I really couldn't say.

I used to be a seeker
With sunshine in my hair;
I'd dash along the corridors
With little time to spare.

Now, life is moving faster:
As others pass me by,
intent on being first in line,
I sit and watch the sky.

author unknown

The story of my life.

"Alone Again (Naturally)" - Gilbert O'Sullivan

In a little while from now,
If I'm not feeling any less sour
I promised myself to treat myself
And visit a nearby tower,
And climbing to the top,
Will throw myself off
In an effort to make it clear to who
Ever what it's like when your shattered
Left standing in the lurch, at a church
Where people 're saying,
"My God that's tough, she stood him up!
No point in us remaining.
May as well go home."
As I did on my own,
Alone again, naturally

To think that only yesterday,
I was cheerful, bright and gay,
Looking forward to, but who wouldn't do,
The role I was about to play
But as if to knock me down,
Reality came around
And without so much as a mere touch,
Cut me into little pieces
Leaving me to doubt,
All about God and His mercy
For if He really does exist
Why did He desert me
In my hour of need?
I truly am indeed,
Alone again, naturally

It seems to me that
There are more hearts
Broken in the world
That can't be mended
Left unattended
What do we do? What do we do?

Now looking back over the years,
And what ever else that appears
I remember I cried when my father died
Never wishing to have cried the tears
And at sixty-five years old,
My mother, God rest her soul,
Couldn't understand, why the only man
She had ever loved had been taken
Leaving her to start with a heart
So badly broken
Despite encouragement from me
No words were ever spoken
And when she passed away
I cried and cried all day
Alone again, naturally

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCZGqcMZ6Jw

The Rider

Naomi Shihab Nye

A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,
the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.
What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.
A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.