James

James for poem

 

a day looms in the near future

laden with unknown fears because

it is, or it could be, a turning point,

a signal, a way-point. Certainly it will mark

a departure and the loss

of our red haired son with his given name

into the company of other men

other souls who seek solace in extremity

who will bawl his name and push him

to limits we his parents never could

never would

and in those moments of strain

where God may not be found but god invoked

this boy, this man, our progeny

must know that our love

will not desert him in that liminal state

he finds between his youth and his future

and he will come to know what I have learnt

that he is powerless, yet as a child of love

he carries us, our love, our future seeds

and he is goodness if he so chooses

Storm

Storm. pic

 

 

The light is wicked

lascivious in its portents of fear

laying waste to familiar sights

it mocks

as we retreat

a blitzkrieg emerging rudely

from some previous complacency

 

All along the coast

a frustrated tsunamiĀ  rehearses

with a roiling fist the desecration

it would unleash

if everything were to come together

in a fusion that mankindĀ  would recognize

as an answer to sleights.