Something I wrote many, many years ago for my daughter. I would say it each night before kissing her on the forehead and tucking the covers in tight around her. Was strange that I had come across it and it brought back memories. It used to be such a ritual getting her to bed every night, it would always start with:
I love you little...
I love you big...
I love you like a little pig...
Then we would start a little banter:
Love you Kelly...
I love you more dad...
No I do...
I love you more than anything in the world dad...
I love you so much that they don't make a word for it... even more than that.
Now she is grown, 26 years old, married and has given me three beautiful grandsons. It is so hard to believe that when I look at her now that she is that little curly red headed baby that I used to rock to sleep, sing to and run through the house with. All the "airplanes" and "horsey" rides as I listened to Linda, "Ron, please be careful, she is not a toy". But she was wrong, she was daddy's toy. The one I would think about all day while I worked and couldn't wait to get home to. I can still see her little face looking out the living room window waiting for me to come home. Patiently with a smile I could see her, at least from my angle of view she seemed patient. Linda would tell me that she would be dancing at the window letting her know I was home.
All the boo boo's...skinned knees, elbows, bumps and bruises...pain kissed away, tears dried and on to things to take her mind off it.
Time passed and I watched my little girl grow and soon our good nights were fewer and fewer, she felt she was too old at the age of 9 to go through our little ritual. I did not want to lose that and I thought of ways we could elevate our good night ritual to a more mature level. So I sat one evening after she had went to bed, I had been reading Lord of the Rings to her and she said she wished she could have lived some place like that, so it came to me...
now to sleep...
perhaps to dream...
to dream the dreams only a dream weaver can dream...
to catch sight of mystic light...
beyond the universe's realm...
where dragons fly and wizards vie for a place in a requiem...
where no man walks and no voice is heard and time stands vigil over all...
in this place so far away only dreams come to call...
....sweet dreams ....I wonder if before she closes her eyes now at night if she thinks of those nights I would read to her and we would exchange our good nights...
Good night my little Princess...I miss you...
Later...
Dad
Now I feel I have been challenged, but in an appreciative and constructive sort of way. To break away from the "rhyme" and express what it is I feel. A very good and respected source of mine and someone I have to admit I admire very much for the person they are has "opened" my eyes in another way of expressing how it is or what it is I am feeling. Never in my life have I tried something outside of my "norm" as habit dictates to most that we follow the guidelines that we are taught. But something they said, not in their comment to me, but in their blogs I have read before on more than one occasion has compelled me to at least try. I do not want to "stagnate" and become just another person with a blog.
The idea of writing poetry that does not rhyme to me is something that is new and in some way I feel a bit ambivalent to try. Yet in some way I feel I should meet the challenge, not to prove anything to anyone other than myself and honestly I believe everyone truly likes a challenge. Where would we be today if it weren't for the fact that people before did not stand up to the challenge to change things and make things a little better for us, themselves and their loved ones. That word I have read so often in their blog comes to mind, we would "stagnate" and like algae soon die off. Fortunately we are a more complex species that inhabit this world, one gifted with the ability to think, to reason and to grow.
So Momo, for good or bad, for better or worse, this is for you...thank you so very much.
It comes to me in quiet moments...
Like whispers on the wind...
Then like a pebble tossed in a pond...
It sends ripples across the surface of thought...
Once thought to be elusive...
Now is within my sight...
I reach and grasp each word...
To set to paper with pen...
They seem to come in torrents...
From where they are born within...
A first attempt is all I can say....
Later....
I had a dream, a wonderful dream...
Of a time so long ago...
No troubles I had it seems...
Nothing to prove or show...
And in this dream that I did dream...
The sun shown bright and warm...
The nights were bathed in soft moon beams...
A time I could find no harm...
Gentle breezes brushed my face...
Cool grass beneath my feet...
Life passed at a gentle pace...
Each day new to greet...
Seasons changed before my eyes...
Colors of autumn displayed...
Leaves being taken to the skies...
Like a visual symphony being played...
Frost on the window of early light...
Snow in drifts so deep...
Patterns of ice to dazzle the sight...
For future dreams I keep...
Green shoots break the melting snow...
Buds on limbs bare leaf of green...
I came full circle in nature's show...
And became a part of it it seems...
I had dream, a dream so serene...
No pain or sorrow I knew...
I stood alone and I did not lean...
My first dream without you...
So many people have I talked with that have read my page, some laugh and tell me I am trying to live out some fantasy, others try and tell me I am holding on to my past. We all deal with life in our own way, I do not criticize or make judgments on how you decide you will deal with yours. My past is nothing more than who I am today. So say what you will it does not matter to me, for in the big picture what you say will have no impact on my life. If I wish to express it for others to see, then that is how I will deal with it. It is a pity that those who criticize in such a negative way cannot express themselves or are too ashamed of their past to let others see.
It is who I am, my past is what has made me, just as yours has made you who you are today.
I have been trying to write a poem, but it seems I am stuck on a stanza and the words just won't come to me. Strange that this happens, usually I have no problem in expressing myself, but for some reason I find myself at an impasse. Maybe it is the subject matter or it could be that the subject I chose to write about is still too close to me to express. Whatever that case may be, I guess I will just set it to the side for a while and come back to it at a later time, maybe then the words will be there.
I have noticed the change in the season this year has led me into deeper thoughts about my life. Could just be my age and the past dwells a little more on me now during this time in my life than when I was younger. Strange how when we were young, we looked at tomorrow, where we were going or wanted to go, but as time goes and we see more of our lives behind us instead of in front of us, I see myself looking to where I have been. One common thread I think there is, is that we still dream, but the dreams have changed. I see things a lot different than I have when I was younger, then I could not see the things I see now in the simplest changes that happen in my life. That even the smallest pebble thrown into a still pond causes ripples. Maybe I am starting to come to grips with my own mortality. Things that used to bother me, even scare me no longer affect me the way they do. One being death, when young to me death was an end to all things and the thought of being laid into the ground and covered with earth was morbid to me. Now I see it as inevitable, something we all must face and to be honest, more as a restful reward. It is not that I am looking forward to it, just not afraid to face it any longer.
Another I have come to terms with is limitations. When I was younger, I used to think there were no limitations, no boundaries in life, but have I come to realize there are limits and boundaries set. That they are there for a reason and I have learned to respect that. Maybe for our own protection or that of others. I guess there is a reason for fences after all. I know when I was younger I saw things of this nature as a challenge to me and I even tried to recapture that on here at one time. But as that pebble was thrown into the pond, I kept to see the wide range of the ripples on the water and their effect, not just on me but on others, many others even though it was directed at only one. The positive and negative effects.
One positive outcome in this is that I am able to express myself. That my thoughts have not stagnated and I have found an outlet or release to that cluttered mess in my mind. Being able to construct a few words into a cohesive thought, a chance to reflect and through that get a bit of insight on myself.
Even a blind pig finds an acorn in the woods sometimes....
Later...
P.S. Jazz..I promise I will finish that poem....
I went to the flea circus last night to watch them perform. Strange that I did, they have not changed their act since they opened their performance. For the most part all the players were there as well as the spectators I am used to seeing. King Flea and his minions were in form, his jester, worm tongue and his lackey present performing their usual tricks and keeping the audience amused with their predictable stunts. It amazes me that they do it without a safety net. I imagine that with the amount of repetition over the years they have been performing this same old act one is not required.
I always enjoy watching his lackey I guess the best. Following his every word, licking at his feet, curling up around him as he praises the performance. I especially like to watch it jump and yip at his feet as he instructs his court and guides them through their performance. I have noticed though that he has yet to teach it any new tricks, I guess jumping through hoops is about as far as he could get with it and with some you have to keep the bar low anyway. So he still keeps these at a pretty attainable level. I guess he just likes his little lackey to be there so he feels wanted.
His jester, well, this one is a story in itself. It is gender confused. It really doesn't know what it is as it kisses everything that walks across its path. A sad little jester who's repetitive antics only add the its pathetic nature. Their predictive quips remind me of those little billows of dust on the slats of mini blinds. Someone sees it, knows it is there, but ignores as no one really pays attention to it anyway. Maybe one day the wind will blow through and bring in a fresh thought, but they will need to open the window first. I honestly think that this one will be the first King Flea turns his attention to, this one is not as loyal as the others and is quick to lick the wounds of a host they had been inhabiting once King Flea is out of their presence. Soon this pathetic little jester will incur the wrath and spiteful nature in full force once they are replaced. But it is fun to watch him grovel at his King's feet hoping to keep his favor, I just hope his lackey doesn't feel left out as this encroaches on their territory.
As I scanned the stage I saw his worm tongue. Gently slathering his ear with its vicious lies. Stroking his ego and keeping his thoughts trained on others so as to stay out of his sights. I guess that is why his normal position is behind him and maybe for him it is easier to kiss his King's posterior that way. But I guess they too serve their purpose in the court of idiots that gather around him.
I failed to notice his Queen tonight, she was absent from the stage of fools. Guess she was out seeking another's attention.
The finale is always fun too watch, it too is predictable. I like the watch the host shake the fleas off as it leaves.
Later...
I walk alone in yesterday and think of the paths I have taken. Where they led me to as each day passed into the next. Of ones that have shared these paths and ones that have left an impression on me. In quiet contemplation as I silently shuffle through memories like leaves at my feet, she still comes to me. It seems I live in an apparition, an ethereal world where she comes like a vaporous mist. And as the poems I have written, her name comes in the wind to me and still it settles gently on my ear.
Am I that obvious? It seems no matter who I talk to they can see, sense it. It seems as though no matter how I try and mask it, it is seen. This hollow smile that I wear, this empty laugh I laugh only reminds me and is no defense against the memories that seem to cloud the present and brings into sharp focus the past. I speak of no tomorrows now, for it is in these memories my tomorrows are at.
No longer can I look at a rose in bloom or watch the sun break the horizon as it heralds a new day, once again the memories come rushing in and I am reminded of yesterday. Memories like leaves that are scattered before the wind, blown in every direction as I hurry to gather them up so I at least have these.
This loneliness that befriends me now offers no comfort when these memories come creeping in. No warmth can it give or solace for the pain I feel. This memory I cannot escape, it is in everything. A song that was shared only tortures me and reminds me that I am alone in these moments of quiet despair. An unshared cup of tea, an unshared thought speak to me through memories as I caress a face that is not there.
As you can see my heart is worn on my sleeve, but today the memories came flooding back, the rising sun played upon a rose today...
Wo Xiang Ni...
An Echo....
When you find you are lost, always go back to where you started...
