Letter of Apology/Forgiveness

It started as an apology

from a father to a son

for the times I wasn’t there when I should have been

and for the times I was there

when you needed to figure it out on your own.

I hope my diligence to have you do better

was never taken to mean you weren’t good enough.

For the times I didn’t say. ‘I love you’

when you really needed to hear it.

For the times when my silence

may have been mistaken as a lack of caring

when really I was scared

because I didn’t know how to help you.

For all the times that I was proud of you

but I never really learned how to show it.

That’s when I realized

this was more than an apology

from a father to a son.

It was also a note of forgiveness

from a son to a father. 

Small World (Rondel)

her world has gotten awfully small

a bed, TV, a clock, a chair

and there’s a little table there

that holds a phone so I can call

 

she’ll watch the Red Sox playing ball

but can’t recall her favorite player

her world has gotten awfully small

a bed, TV, a clock, a chair

 

she can’t afford another fall

and moves around with extra care

with special socks that she must wear

to bathroom only down the hall

her world has gotten awfully small 

Dead End Road (Huitain)

 

it’s my choice, it’s my decision

to live along a dead end road

just the way that I envision

the pace of life is somewhat slowed

and no one cares if lawns get mowed

where kids ride bikes on roads of gravel

and maybe learn a better code

to help when life starts to unravel

A Simple Seashell

A single candle lit the room

where many of our nights prevailed.

Enough light to reveal

the soft curves and the warm glow

of her naked body.

Enough light to expose the details

of the small seashell

she wore around her neck

on a thin silk ribbon.

It was a shell I had found for her

on our first walk by the ocean.

It was a simple seashell

very smooth, highly polished.

It had a golden translucent hue

with a naturally worn hole

where she attached the black silk ribbon.

She wore the shell everywhere

and every day

right up until the day she left.

She left it hanging from the rear view mirror of my truck

where it hung for a time

reminding me of her beauty

and of the pain of her departure.

It hung there until my next visit to the ocean

where I held it in my hand for a minute

before relinquishing it back into the sea. 

As Memory Fades

 

I can still envision

the tiny green flecks

in her alluring brown eyes.

I remember how the summer sun

always brought out the highlights

in her strawberry blonde hair

and made a few small freckles

visible across her nose.

I still recall the beauty marks

she had on her back

and the small scar on her left wrist

from crashing a dirt bike

when she was eight years old.

I can still see

the pronounced detail of her collar bones

flowing gently into the curves of her shoulders

I can remember almost everything about her

except for her voice.

I can no longer remember

what her voice sounds like

and that makes me sad.

A Change of View (Huitain)

 

we view the world through weary eyes

and see the things we want to see

so it should come as no surprise

we seek out people who agree

but maybe that is not the key

by seeing different points of view

instead of people just like me

I’ll look for people more like you

With Shaking Hands (Villanelle)

 

She holds her child with shaking hands

as motherhood becomes her role

life has a way of changing plans

 

while no one fully understands

she struggles not to lose control

She holds her child with shaking hands

 

with hurried vows and wedding bands

but marriage never was her goal

life has a way of changing plans

 

so as the family expands

and she resolves to pay the toll

She holds her child with shaking hands

 

but with the increase in demands

she struggles not to lose her soul

She holds her child with shaking hands

life has a way of changing plans