Tag Archives: parent and child


I come downstairs, and she doesn’t hear the door open.

or my steps on the stairs, because she is playing the drum set

we keep down here, that I bought for her for her birthday.

She is totally into her music, and the midmorning sun is

soft and honeyed on her shoulders, and there’s a small

smile upon her lips, just lost in the rhythm and the beat.

I stand on the stairs a moment, watching her, in this

moment so pure and free, just doing something that

makes her happy, that releases her mind from flesh.

She finishes and I clap and she blushes, then bows from

the throne. I walk over to her and kiss her head, squeeze

her shoulder, tell her lunch will be ready soon.

She tells me that Jasmine and Jo had talked to her

about playing with them on Saturday Night in town,

and she is so proud, and I am so proud of her, in return.

I walk back up the stairs, as she puts away her drumsticks,

and follows behind me, and for a moment on this Saturday,

all is well, between us and the world and God above.

Blood Tide and The Black Machines

She rides her motorbike down the slim, unlined lanes of the country.

               The tawny fields of tall grain whipped in the cool morning breeze.

               Little farm houses off in the distance, behind grey stone walls.


               You’d never know what had happened here, all those years before.

               The land has healed, the trenches and barbwire all gone from sight,

               Though the bones and blood and the sorrow still soaks the black soil.


               She finally stops at the empty foundation by a tall and twisted tree,

               The one she knows from the old photograph, her father smiling in

               Uniform, a beautiful woman kissing his cheek, whom she doesn’t know.


               She pulls a copy of the photograph from her pocket, looks at it now, trying

               To find the remmnants, the ether of that happy afternoon, that sweet

               Moment before the blood tide and black machines washed them away.


               But it’s just an empty foundation, and an old dying tree, nothing more here.

               She still doesn’t feel close to him, feel his spirit coming near to her own,

               Just here in empty countryside, chilled despite the fact that it’s August.


               Her father is back home, and hard to reach, lives in books and theology,

               In internal debates about the hand of god and the fates of the angels,

               Not in the voice of his daughter, not in her madness he passed on down.


               She puts away the picture, starts the motorbike again, and roars down

               The road, onto the sea twenty miles distant, to the waters over which

               The Red Dragon came, and has returned now, the blood changing nothing.

Sad Ballad of Paradise

500 miles to DC, from this death burned town, this empty plain.
The wind with the creep of winter, the bitter snows and darkness.
Me and my daughter running through the day, hiding in the night.
Me and my daughter trying to find someplace safe, to rest, to live again.
 The rich cities, the places of power, the lords of the air hide apart.
All others left behind, not even slaves or cannon fodder, just tossed aside.
The dead walk, the world broke, and me and her are even on the run.
Winter is on it’s way, and there’s nowhere to find solace from the cold.
 Hiding in a tree house as night falls and we hear those damned howls.
I hold her close, and rock her and sing to her, some sad ballad of paradise.
I always promised her a tree house, and here we are, but it’s all changed.
Finally, we both drift to sleep, to someplace upon in the stars, beyond death.

My Daddy Goes Up In The Sky

My daddy goes up in the sky,
in the space ships that rip the night
with flames and fury and a fiery tail
to places far, far, far from me.
He sends back pictures of Saturn’s rings
and the bright, bright nebulas he passes.
He sent a rock from a world so few know.
Dusty and grey and shimmering in the dark.
People out there, exploring the galaxy,
need clothes and food and water to live.
My daddy brings them to him, my dad flies there.
I miss my daddy as I look at the stars out my window.
And then he comes back again, in his red and grey suit.
I hug tight, so glad to have him back, that’s he okay and here.
He laughs and says “Who’s my brave little hero?”
But I always know he’ll always have to go away again.