.
for Cbear
.
.
.
hey
mr. daddy,
have i gotta’ news flash for ya’
might wanna’ wake up, and smell that java
ya’ know
your little girl?
she’s 13 already, goin’ on…20?
yeah, she really is, some kinda’ person now
her
ear buds in
those curls bouncing to beats
she’s livin’ in texts, Instagram and Iphone apps
and
she’s like me
music sings, so deep in her soul
she’ll text just to tell me, that a song made her cry
and
she’s like me
just Being, in her solitude all day
’cause she’s creating, she’s not feelin’ lonely or bored
yeah,
she’s so like me
we both, feel the pain of this world
wish we could end all war, and we could all live in peace
.
.
. I’m Yours
.
Listen to the
music of the moment,
people dance and sing
We’re just one big family
And it’s our God-forsaken right
to be loved loved loved loved loved
.
as always, this poem was written to the beat
of this joyous song, and can played as a soundtrack.
.
through all my troubled life
a scarred and imperfect heart
strumming a mournful reverb wail
into the stillness of my lonely nights
the numb and deafened ambilvalence
of this oft times heartless world
just looking for someone
to hold me tight
to love me right
and then somehow Through
all those crowded strangers
you appeared dressed in your
brightly expansive heart, yours
a birthright to love without fear
and mine to fear the love i need
and on our very first celebration
streaming every tear i never cried
i wrote Nil’s song on that mirror hidden
behind the blue hydrangea bouquet
i handpicked for you in our yard
then this shy boy did what he
thought he couldn’t until you
…what he thought he never would
holding you close in my arms and
swaying slow dancing to the rythym
of a song i wish only i had written
and whispering my love to …you
you, who could still love me for
everything i wasn’t and
everything i would never be
darlin’…
‘Today I’m thinkin’ about the world we live in
All the love and hate that’s floatin’ around
All the times I felt so lost and helpless
You stood by me, you never let me down
Still I keep throwin’ up these walls
Most of them I’ve built with stones
You tear ’em down and bridge the distance
Knowin’ we ain’t here to be alone
So let your blue heart open wide
Let’s never leave our dreams behind
It would comfort and restore my pride
If you let me be your valentine’
and now with these hopeful eyes we see
our eleventh summer on that warm horizon
and through every up and down
and every in and out
and even life or death
yes, we’re still here
‘Our differences are part of life
Still love will pass the test of time
I want you everyday and night
Girl, won’t you be my valentine?’
sure, the blue bouquet it faded
but the song all my truth remains
marked and always will on our mirror
and you’re still here
sharing
caring
forgiving
saving me time and again
…oh darlin’
my sweetest savior
my beautiful tomboy Scout
you know i’ll pick those hydrangea when they’re blue
and though your shy boy might have his own words now
could our song ever be written better than it was?
.
‘Valentine’ Lyrics by Nils Lofgren, Bruce on harmony, Ringo on drums
.
Our eyes meet
grey to grey and
her skin color mine,
though reaching down
to kiss her forehead
seemed easier that day.
Hands could always effortlessly wrap around
my fingertips meeting at her sometimes ponytail,
or mingling among those tangled golden curls.
And when did her head snug in at my chest when we hugged?
Like the kitchen door frame penciled ever higher in our old house,
maybe our bodies will mark those imperceptable passages now?
Time it seems to move so slowly until that day, when it doesn’t.
.
The inspiration for this diary was the perfect Sunday I spent with my 12 year old daughter. ( who will officially be named Little O. We talked about the new school she tested into and will begin 7th grade next semester, about her friends and the school she will be leaving, her piano recital and the math placement test she took the day before and thought she did well on both, about all the sports teams she’s on now, we swapped YouTube videos, she helped me choose a new 4g phone and we played catch in the local schoolyard. Later that night, she did drawings of Japanese anime while I wrote this poem, combining the two videos we shared earlier that day.
Little O and I have a long tradition of sharing YouTube videos and we normally trade one or two with each other on our visits, usually music, sometimes science related or funny animal videos. When she was younger she loved FailBlog and we used to laugh for hours as she played them over and over, but that day she sat me down to listen to a few songs by Birdy, a young singer/songwriter whose big break came just recently, when one of her recordings was chosen to be in the movie soundtrack for ‘The Hunger Games.’
Please,
Play the Birdy music video and just let it play while you
read the poem, then play the time lapse video with sound off.
If you give the poem a nice slow read, the music should end
just as the last frame appears in the time lapse video.
.
.
Little ‘O’, I have a video for you to watch.’
‘Cool.’
‘Daddy, listen to Birdy, she’s only fifteen, she’s from England.’
‘Wow, that’s an incredible voice for a fifteen year old,
how did you find her music?’
‘Her song was in ‘The Hunger Games.’
‘Did you like the movie, I know you loved the books?’
‘The books were much better.’
‘Yeah, you’ll find that will probably happen a lot.
Her songs all have a sadness to them,
I love sad songs though, I always have.’
‘I do too, daddy!’
‘This whole album is a melancholy mood piece,
I like it a lot. Do you know what melancholy means?’
.
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She arrives looseygoosey through the door, light on her toes
despite a few days of separation, for years the weekly ritual,
our grey to grey eyes meet and her skin color mine, though
reaching down to kiss her forehead seemed easier that day.
My hands could always, effortlessly wrap around,
fingertips meeting at her sometimes ponytail,
or mingling among those tangled golden curls.
And when did her head snug in at my chest when we hugged?
Like the kitchen door frame penciled ever higher in our old house,
maybe our bodies will mark those imperceptable passages now?
Time, it seems to move so slowly until that day, when it doesn’t.
.
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who could know then 