father
How nice to share a wrap with you,
In this chaotic life.
It needn't be so easy though,
Need not be so sorted.
Need not be so thinly pleasant,
Our lives run deeper still,
To hidden sites eternal and unbreachable.
Harmonics at this winking hour,
A homely song just out of words,
But hum to fill the heavy air,
Father and son make simple sound,
And lightly turn the heavy air,
To fragrant with the simple sound.
Roasting in the sun with Dad,
Along the heaped up concrete so,
Atop the sprawling brickwork so,
Aside the neat cube hedges tall,
Our legs don't haste like prior days,
But walk half fast,
But walk half slow,
And meet in middle heel to toe,
And roast in Summer rays,
For lunchtime walks do friendships grow.
Family scramble,
Flying down on a mumbling Dad,
And the duvet is thrown,
A tumble bumble of words,
And a wittering weave is sewn,
The window blown -
Right open, see the heat is on high,
And the scramble is now.
*May I have the covers back?*
Reed nestled in my jaw,
I try to form a pleasant tone,
Yet a little squeak leaves near ears sore,
Early practice is to bad notes prone,
But it was just for fun nothing too hard-core,
Just to know how my dad feels when in the zone,
And blasting out great jazzy tunes through solid doors.
Long shadows dip into the swirling buckets of blue,
The darkened trees reach up and paint the sky,
And a beautiful cyan urfurls into navy,
I see childhood marbles in the shades,
Rolling over thread-bare carpets,
And striking fast and true on scattered glass between,
My father grafted memories so,
From when he was a boy like me,
And scattered gleaming blues and reds,
By the gutters and on the side unseen,
They bounce better on the rigid bricks,
But now we play on carpets clean.