Now and forever

You have always been great at games...
but never was it as plain to see
as when (and how easily) you took to this,
a game amiss of definite rules
and well-worn tools in need of revision,
but never clouded your vision of how you would raise her.
You selected, appraised, and collated the ways,
developing a motherhood manual of your own,
through courses and the instincts that stirred in your belly,
perspectives renewed and a model for many
of willpower, and gusto, and inspirational poise;
determined to set yourself up for success,
and when the time came to push
you gave it all. Nothing less.

In a way, that was all expected.
You're the strongest woman I know (by far);
this challenge would never rock you.
But in another way, you entirely surpassed
even the strongest of our estimations,
revealing the mother I always knew
was deep in the heart of you.

Happy first mother's day, you beautiful soul.
Once again, you've excelled and amazed.
You're a natural, you're incredible, you're a love to behold,
you're a mother,
now, and for all of your days.

Forever inaugural

Not every day will be like this.
You can’t rely on this temporary serene
that comes of not poisoning or hampering your soul,
for the slow and boring days will come again
and again and again, and only then
will you know if the lesson has been learnt and burnt
into the habits of your new way of being.

It is pain to be forever inaugural,
never celebrating the anniversary of being renewed.

The plan I had

Some years ago now, I was challenged to write a 10 year plan,
if for nothing else but to devise direction,
but it left me disappointed
in its lack of dreams,
each milestone marked by dollars saved,
and children made,
albeit that felt like lofty goals,
aspiring for prosperous normalcy
and stability.

Here I am, 8 years later,
homeowner, married, fathered, naturalized,
in a new city with a great circle of friends,
career a little askew,
fitness a little off track,
and though some token goals
on that 10 year plan
have gone unanswered by year 8,
what I have experienced and achieved
far exceeds my expectations
and imaginations;

I thought I’d set lofty goals,
but had I known how I’d smash
right through them,
only to discover a reality much richer,
one of our own making,
one shared,
as I had prayed it would be
that night long ago when I stared alone
at the beauty of the moon.

Bourbon vs Scotch

When tasting Bourbon
you are aware of the fast expertise
crammed into its hot, caramel flavor,
reveling in its excitement,
like a fiery prodigy.

When tasting Scotch
you are walking through fields of barley,
fingers brushing through centuries of craft,
whispering celebrations (and sad affairs)
in romantic wisps.

SUMMER

S oft understanding murmurs my eternal reverence.
U nique moments memorialize existence, rendering shadows
M ere mists; even rain shines unbeaten.
M ay every reality seek us, moreover
E ach rare star utter miraculous messages,
R eciting stanzas unwritten; making mysteries emerge.

Summer Unearths Meaning, Marking Everything Renewed.

I see you in her

I wake a hundred times a night
to hear, to see, to feel you breathe;
on tenterhooks for any sign
of struggling, or spit-up, or a gurgling wheeze.
And when you finally dissolve
(with heavy eyes, and wrapped in place),
I roll to my side to see your mum’s eyes
but what I see instead is your face.

In my half-awake state, sometimes I’d see Summer when looking at Ashley sleeping.

No matter what, you made it through

No matter what, you made it through,
and I’m so proud of you.

Our love began in saddened eyes,
coincidentally shared by two;
no matter what, you made it through.

Your dream return to Texas skies;
you freed your heart to go pursue,
and I’m so proud of you.

You took my dream and recognized
how many shots to make it true.
No matter what, you made it through.

There are not many who trusts and tries
this many times to say “I do”,
and I’m so proud of you.

Till forty weeks you exercised,
then pushed the miracle that you grew.
No matter what, you made it through,
and I’m so proud (so in love) with you.

This is not a poem. This is not a test.

I am a poet.
I am a photographer.
I am not a drinker.

I love my coffee in the morning,
my tea in the afternoon,
but alcohol is not part of my plan,
it is a rare treat.

I am a husband,
I am a father,
I keep my body fit
and my mind sharp,
I do not waste my time in a haze,
I do not lose the early mornings to pain.

I am intelligent,
I make good, long-term decisions,
I am funny,
and I form strong relationships,
I do not have drinking buddies,
I do not go out on the piss,
I treat my drinks with ceremony, and respect.

I am alive,
I am interested in experiencing the world,
I do not numb myself from it,
I do not romanticize the image of drinking whiskey,
I recognize that cocktails are fun,
I partake only on occasion,
but enjoy making them for others, too.

—

Update: it took till March 2024 to actually commit to this vision of myself.

Something is different

Maybe it was the cold morning,
bundled up on our walk for coffee,
hustling back so I could head to the hospital,
car seat inspections,
practicing the motions of buckling in,
maybe it was that imagining,
or the nostalgia of brewing a cup of tea
to stave off the parking lot chill,
there’s just something different in my vision,
in that part of me that’s self aware
and aware of everything around me,
it feels like a center is forming,
an inward force that pulls it all together,
a dazzling core that opens my eyes,
it is love, I think,
an evolution thereof,
in a way I have never quite felt before.

unswallowed

Deep, impending moments
press their weight into the fabric of our being
a gravity that pulls us to the inevitable core
and we claw claw claw at anything that’ll keep us unswallowed

Wouldn’t it be easier

Wouldn’t it be easier
if all the sins were buried too;
turned to ashes like the flesh
that brought to life the quiet crude
which should have stayed a fantasy,
and even then examined hard;
for all the living in that moment,
the life of love that you discard.

Wouldn’t it be easier
if all my family showed me ‘how’
instead of all how not to be,
as if I could simply not allow
the drink, the smoke, the wondering eye
to rise in me like the meeting of storms,
not lessons learned or lines in sand,
my soul holds on to prior forms.

Wouldn’t it be easier
to treat you as an effigy
and not a victim of an ancient thread
that binds us not with empathy
but mutual disappointment
for what we could not overcome;
an unattended funeral awaits for those
who falter and succumb.

Now you can’t see the mountain

Now you can’t see the mountain,
the smoke that silks the hazy green,
the layers on layers of silhouette peaks,
the sheer descent that seeks the deep,
the heat, the breeze, the forever-view
that better men have led me to.

It used to be

It used to be that when the waves
delivered me toward the shore,
the ocean reeled and wound the strings
that knotted through my salty heart.

It used to be that the shrinking land
in turn diminished every woe,
and opened up the world beyond
the sun, the moon, the forever-fold.

It used to be…but the gravity has shifted,
in the heart of this nation are the dreams that I have lifted,
are the roots that I’ve buried,
are the branches that I’ve tended;
full-steam ahead, before I’m dead,
let it grow where once it ended.

Effigy

This campfire is an effigy
of the man I was before your heart
began to beat like pulsing flames,
and drew from me the soot and dark.

All the things they say will go away,
I throw them to the fire and pray
the trade is fair, and the tales are true;
that life will never be the same with you.

There is no rush

I know we say we cannot wait,
but take your time, there is no rush;
too soon you’ll bloom, outgrow your room,
and leave our home with hollow hush.

Of course we’re excited for the moments,
but they’ll end as fast as they begin,
so let’s savor what we can never again:
watching you grow even now from within.

I know we say we cannot wait,
but take your time.
There is no rush.

It won’t be our last

When we fell in love, we fell in fast,
fueled by the loss of loves we surpassed,
but this time it’s forever; for every year that’ll pass,
each kiss is a promise that it won’t be our last.

Before you were even you

Remind me, when I’m old and blue,
when all that’s left are empty rooms,
how much I feared the love that grew
before you were even you.

Indulge me when I’m working through,
adjusting from the life I knew,
where once was one, now three from two,
before you were even you.

Forgive me when I’m feeling new,
when all I know feels half untrue;
what little time to try accrue,
before you were even you.

Believe me, when I’m got, I’m glue.
Where hopes are few, we’ll hold them too.
And I know it seems impossible,
but I felt a little clue…
the universe reached out to me
before you were even you.

Feeling Green

Imagine if that’s all it took;
of all the ways that goodness slipped,
to find it soon upon the hook
two days afar since when you sipped.

And still! It promises no harm.
And yet! It poses as a cure.
For how it gleams and glows with charm.
For why your faith must yet endure.

You’ve long awaited feeling green -
that pang to undermine wears old -
what was foresaw shall be foreseen
as greens unfold as mines to gold.

Standing Still

I envy those who bear the rain -
already soaked, why spoil the fun -
they are the same who know that pain
is but endured, and not outrun.

It passes (as they knew it would) -
head-starts on all who turned and fled;
I oversee what’s understood:
their standing still to get ahead.

How they became

We rise toward the freedom-peak,
and summit at the clear survey,
expecting higher scales to seek,
but find that down’s the only way.

We clamber from the panic-crowd,
and back away from every fate,
retreating into empty clouds
that snare our steps with hollow weight.

We fall right through the nothing-edge,
and lucky if we catch upon
ascending air that forms a ledge
on which to furl and fossil on.

We wake to days that other’s don’t,
and count the ways we’ve lived the same,
contending that it can’t - it won’t -
become of us how they became.