A Summer tune on Father’s day (Poem)

It’s hot outside.

Not hot like Alabama

Or any of the deepsouth

But in the Minnesota

summer sun, the warmth

brings solace on this sleepy afternoon.

I am on the back porch

Under the shade

In the June summer air.

Legs kicked up,

breathing deep, trying to soak

the free moments as they come.

The TV flickers

bunny ears spread wide like

a waiting hug.

The US Open, cheering

sounds of the outdoor fairways

whisper in my ears.

It’s father’s day…

The summer afternoon

Hums along to the growls

and groans of mowers

And passing traffic in the street.

Ethan, my five year old

Is rocking in the chair across from me

it creaks out a mellow protest

as he hums his own tune.

It’s funny the things we learn

When we’re young…

Wisps and flaxen strands

blonde hair blowing

Lips puckered as he

faces the brush bronzed

Three cycle fan…

His humming echoes on and out

As the fan blades carry its dissonant melody

Along the sides of the house.

He is amused and keeps on his

funny little melody that only he knows.

This is summer bliss

The sounds of the tournament

In my ears, with eyes drooping

Soon to drop closed like the curtains

In the rooms upstairs, welcoming the shadows

and the dreams waiting in the wings.

A summer breeze blows

Through the small backyard,

chasing leaves, swirling in circles

down the walkway and up the stairs

Of this deck…

Ethan continues to hum his song

and gets some backup singers

As the fan blows the summer

Dreams along.


My Christmas Sofa.

The wrapping paper, all ripped from the packaging is strewn on the couch and the floor. The bows have oddly landed on Christmas tree branches, the cat and the carpet. All of the children are exploring their presents, while the dog in the corner gnaws on a Christmas bone. In the twinkling lights of Christmas morning, with presents unwrapped, the tree begging for release and house eviction, and the smell of a cooking roast in the kitchen, the small voice of rest beckons to me. It isn’t very loud, but for a meek whisper which had, for two months, be drowned out by the hustle and bustle of this life. That voice whispers now into my ear, “Christmas is here”, and I find, with eyes drooping, the soft fabric of the living room sofa. That pillow, that had been someone’s seat, though still warm from gift unwrapping, makes a splendid pillow underneath this heavy head. Propping up my feet, following the countless miles of the ebb and flow of this to and fro lifestyle…ah, it feels good!  Isn’t it funny how the holidays makes us pace the carpet, chew our nails, sending hyperventilation into the record books (mine was six weeks long this time around)? Now, with calloused feet de-socked and propped, and head upon this pillow still warm…that long winter’s nap calls and finally I will answer her siren’s spell. Some where in the background the noise of the television drones on, children laugh, bicker then laugh again…soon I will drift off, like a Grizzly in the wild into a hibernation state…but for a short time expelling the world, rejecting the pace while matching the tempo of a slumbering heart beat with shallow breaths…maybe a snore will be expelled, who knows?! Though here on my Christmas sofa, I am content to remain for but a moment disconnected, prayerfully undetected…let me slumber but for a bit.

Merry Christmas, and happy new nap…I mean new year!


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