a parent’s tale

silk cotton sheets

in a curled up book view

was her late night vision.

five a.m.

wake up call delivery,

and the pre-dawn coffee brews.

kiss the stirring child good morning.

breakfast of cartoons and cereal smiles,

sending her off onto the bus –

and in a moment of realization,

once a baby in your arms

now grows into a childhood,

in a world she’ll seek herself.

oh, days like this,

“where did the time go?”

iron out the wrinkles

and the mid-afternoon snooze.

sesame street rhymes whistles

as the vacuum motor roars.

toys march out

and then back into treasure pile

laptop work,  deadline files.

a mother welcomes

a daughter hello smile.

dinner simmer’s,

homework sinners.

her goodnight whispers,

leads her to a storybook dream.

daddy’s little wonder,

a mother’s little miracle.

silk cotton sheets

and a curled up book view

was her late night vision,

two a.m.

and in only three short hours,

curtain calls.

 

 

c.2015   bgw

image on the outside

still up

thinking about everything between

here, there and all together

it’s all messed up

all in a jig saw puzzle jumble

only with you, can  i put it all together

please wake me from this dream apart

it’s not what it was before

thinking about everything between

here, there and all together

thinking about everything between

here, there and all together

it’s all messed up

all in a jig saw puzzle jumbled

only with you, can  i put it all together

here

i beg you from the beginning

all together

this is where i can find you

image on the outside

this is where i can find you

c. 2014  bgw

to a new season

. . .  there are so many things i can say, so many things that i want to write.   and reading this may be a little confusing  at first.  but as you re-read it a couple of times, it may make more sense.  there are a couple of ideas i wanted to dive into,  but instead i just let a flow of my thoughts be what it was,  sentence by sentence,  as i wrote them down.   but as i sit at my desk shuffling the sentences and words,  editing, wishing that i had my spell checker,   the early morning  hours that passed by,  greeted the heavy tiredness as it slowly shut my eyelids.  i quickly open them as the aroma of coffee drifts past me.  and there,  in a cup i pour and the steam quickly disappears into the air.   looking up around in my office,   the sunshine shone through the drawn curtain,   dimly illuminating the room,  giving it  a golden glow.   and there i am,  sitting and staring  at a blank page,  doodles on the page were supposed to be the words i wanted to write.  but this writer’s block presented to be something greater,  she is a wonderful distraction.   but that was a while back,  and my mind swims through this persuasion of  numbness,   slowly  drowning in the sea of emptiness.  seeking and searching to fill a void that is as deep as a canyon.   an early morning haze,  driving through this early morning traffic maze.  stop and go and the silence fills the air;   thinking i should have stayed in my dream like daze.   endless thoughts and emotions cover my mind like a thick fog rolling into a cityscape;    she seeped through the cracks of voidance,  everything i kept to myself,  the book that was my life,  tightly shut and put away,  she found it,  and read me well,  she was the only one who knew who i was.   i wasn’t supposed to let that happen,  and now i’m left with the never-ending question of what happened and why.   //   and now, a new season is before me.   just a passing memory comes and go,  like an ember refusing to die.    concrete pillars cast shadows down in between the beams of sunlight radiating the mid afternoon’s heat.   a new season.  standing before me was a challenge –  staring me straight in my eyes.   and i’m looking it down,  ready to take it on.   and as i leave work, i remember that i am no longer in that city,  but i’m in this city.   a new environment,  new surroundings.  i’m blinded,  but by familiar surroundings.   my walk home from work,   the memories that followed me here,  plays peek a boo with my head.    i must move on.  she holds the colour in my world,  but  i must push forward.  this new season that is before me,  the fall leafs are falling through the winter,  and straight into spring,   new leafs.  the sunshine shone through the drawn curtain,   dimly illuminating the room,  giving it  a golden glow.   and there i am,  sitting and staring  at a blank page,  doodles on the page were supposed to be the words i wanted to write.   but this writer’s block presented to be something greater,  she is a wonderful distraction.  a new season,  blindly looking across the way,  what will i find?   will the paths cross again,  lost at sea.  and the doodles on the page were supposed to be the words i wanted to write.   but this writer’s block presented to be something greater.  . . .

c 2013 BGW

a relaitive dream ; searching for the need

. . . . . . the words of an untamed tongue filled the air.  it started earlier in the day;   a blind sided punch in the face,  by invisible words and an invisible intention.  the smooth flow of the enjoyment of the day,  interrupted by a rip tide of  a hurt feeling.  what we said,  tossing back and forth,  word after word,  like a catcher and the pitcher,  we toss the words back and forth,  until one  errors the ball,  and one becomes victorious.  but as stubborn as both of  us are,  we refuse to give it up,  and we make this mound into a mountain,  never even seeing the damage we are doing.   every word, like a dagger,  with holding the anger;  not wanting to fight;   i hope you can see it.    because the anger can never overwhelm the love i have for you,  the feelings are just too strong,   take it or leave it,   here i am.  we ride this wave,   hold on,   hold on;   here as we save.  the door slams and i am left here,  talking to the walls;    i need you to help me fix this ( quickly).  quietly, opening the door,   i hear your  sobs,   tears ;   there you are,  with your head in your hands.   where do we go from her?.   i hate to see you cry,  and seeing crying breaks my heart.   and the love quickly sneaks back into the temporary cloaked heart.   i stand there,   seeing you sob and i ask myself. ” what i have done?”.    to make you cry,   was never was my intention.  it was a moment where i didn’t think of consequence,  and now im paying the price,  backfiring and hurting myself in the process.   what have i done?   i come quietly,   sitting next to you on the beds edge.   i put my arm around you,    and the comfort warms,   and your head sits upon my shoulder.    calmly,  the words speak,    spoke in a soft manner,    and the environment softens.   and when the explanation rolls out like the red carpet,   we find ourselves there,   in the spotlight.  in this moment,   we become stronger.   a defeat never winning the game,   because we have a lifetime to win the series,   break out of this temporary mold,   and  there i am.   to hold you close,  tell you softly,   im sorry.   the words of an untamed tongue filled the air.   it started earlier in the day;    a blind sided punch in the face,   by invisible words and an invisible intention.   i tell you i’m sorry,    ill pick up the pieces,   a heart like broken glass,  can you pick the pieces of this heart?;

all the thoughts  and all the words;

keep me awake on  some  nights –

the pictures that are in my head

act like a short film;   keep me wanting more

wishing that you were here,  riding through this,  with me tonight

here with me,   i hold you within my arms,  whispering  the love,  filling my heart.  . . . .

the next morning and i awake from my deep slumber.  wipe the sleep from my eyes,  and i leave you there sleeping.   i return to my desk and i start the writing that has built up inside this wondering mind.   there,  i find you and i,   laughing ing in a park,  child in the sandbox;   here we all are.    maybe im the trouble,    and maybe im the paradise.    and that’s where we find each other,    in the sandy paradise,    and i reach out and my fingers touch nothing but the loneliness of emptiness,   and the memory haunts in side .  i need you; to talk to need you.   i reach out,   and my fingers touch nothing.   only the loneliness of emptiness.   haunted by the memory of your presence,   the memory;   never having  passed.   the memory haunted ,  but only sighted by these eyes.   my mind stirs and finds you beside me.  laughing once again, a laughter long since forgotten; where are you now?.   the bodies linger still.  turned to dust,  inhaled by the generations,   no longer recognizably human compasion.   and i am alone.   consumed by and consuming spirits of another sort.  accompanied in conversation by the clink of ice,   in the heavy bottomed glass,  the sloshing  of the scotch within.    i am;   the last king of the lonely.   the face in the end.    the face in the end, there i am.   i wake only in the emptiness,  and you are not there,   you are not there.  but there in the mist of the days dawn,  i come upon the face,  that is you.   oh yeah,  there you are.    but i’ve been lost, somewhere in space,  the coming back down,  maybe wishful thinking,  but here i am anyway,  and waiting, i missed the show.  come back down,  into this atmosphere,  once again, im with you.  and here you are,  hand in hand,  there we are,  giving each other our hearts,  i need you, and you need me.

all the thoughts,   and all the words

keep me awake on  some nights –

the pictures that are in my head

act like a short film;   keep me wanting more

wishing that you were here,  riding through this,  with me tonight

here with me,  i hold you within my arms,  whispering  the love,  the  filling of  our hearts.  we are complete

we are complete. . . . . .

and there, the summers air fills

dry and  unforseen.

where does that leave us?

a faceless memory

forever never saying i love you

never was in my cards,  do you see me, now

with a little discretion,

saying i love you,   and never coming out and saying it

because you already knew it,   and there i am..

trying to say im sorry,  and pretending that im ok,

when im torn in pieces,  deep inside this  heart,  can you pick up these pieces?!!

i need you,  seeking the support in you,  and never seeing you,  and now you are gone

but that’s ok,  and ill be there, catching every tear drop,  every lost  “z” in the snore

here i am,  and here you are,  looking above what we show,  and  this regret turns to promise…

and here we are…..

c. 2013  BGW

growing up too fast (in a blink of an eye)

. . . .  i  remember the day we brought you home from the hospital.   wrapped up snug in the warmth of the blanket,  eyes shut tight,   sleeping peacefully.   your mother and i laid you down in the bassinet beside our bed.  fast asleep,  there you are.  regardless if it was just to watch you sleep,  or if it was time for your feeding and changing,  we couldn’t take our eyes off of you.  the lying on your back soon turned to you crawling,  and your crawling soon became your first steps.   the cries became baby talk,  and the baby talk became your first words.  and soon after your six month birthday,  was your first.  all too fast.  one through four, and now, today birthday boy,  five years already,  like a blink of the eye,   the time flashes by.  the room quickly fills with the smell of blown out birthday candles and hand clapped cheers.  superhero plates,  balloons, party hats and streamers.   a small group of friends gather,  singing and watching.  what did you wish for?, birthday boy;  was it for the bike,  slip n slide or  for the baseball and glove;  can you teach me to throw and catch, dad?  and as quickly as the candles were blown out, the presents unwrapped, and cake eaten,  you and the other five five year olds run out and  jump back into the pool.   a warm spring day,  happy birthday.  kids playing,  adults conversing,  grilling,  this is your day,  my son,  my birthday boy.  as i grill the hot dogs my mind wonders,  finding it hard to believe that you’ve grown so fast,  where has the time gone.  gone by too quickly,  already.   but here,   we celebrate your birthday,   our  pride and  joy.   with amazement i  just watch him play,   cannonball and splash.   quickly going back into the moment of grilling,  thanks to your mother,  she tells me that im on fire;  and  just in time to prevent a dog catching on fire,  black and charcoal’d.   i look towards her and laugh and tell her that, for a split second, i thought she was talking about me.   as i fix another round of dogs,   we watch you play,  and we stand in awe of the gift,  that is you.   disrupted by your baby brother or sister kicking,  your mother goes and sits on the porch chair,  and by her side,   and i reach my hand over her belly,  to  feel the baby’s kicking; moving.   again, i sit in awe.  one birthday party will soon be two.  brother and brother or brother and sister.  jumping up to  finish the last of the grilled food, we serve it up and eat.  and the small group of kids and adults gather once more,  for a second lunchtime meal,  grab and go.  afterwards with a catsup mouth,  ball and glove in hand,  you ask if i can teach you how to throw and catch ball.  i smile and gladly pick you up and carry you to the front yard,  where it’s just you and me,  and green grass in  between our toes.   the peace of the front yard,  birds chirping,  the new baby leaves rustling,  and the distant noise of the party still going on, in the back of the house.  after a few lessons on catching, your mother comes around and joins us,  to actually just watch us,  and take pictures of you,  our little birthday joy.  ball cap,  glove and ball  in hand.  tossing the ball straight to the ground,  frustration sets in,  and you run for comfort in your mothers arms.  tiredness starts to creep in  and your mother carries you as we all head back to the party and say our thank you’s and good-bye’s.  sun set, sets in and the air cools.  as everyone is now gone,  and  after we finish cleaning up,  we head inside and up the stairs.  drawing a birthday bubble bath,   i sit and listen as you tell us your favourite parts of  your party, which happens to be the whole thing.   you change into your birthday pj’s and hop into bed.   after your mother changed into her pj’s,   she joins us by your bed and helps me with reading your bedtime story.   and before the first page was turned,  you were out like a light,  holding teddy tight, dreaming.  and there,  your mother and i,  looking over the angel in our home,  wrapped up,  snug in the warmth of your spider-man  blankets,  eyes shut tight,  sleeping peacefully.  just like we were,  five years ago to the day.   the bassinet has turned into a big boy bed,  baby blonde hair,  now dark brown and curly,  baby blues  has turned  a bluish green.  and our baby is not a baby anymore,  he is now our young boy,  our birthday boy.  growing up too fast.

c. 2013 BGW

a hidden pain : original copy*

* this is the original copy i wrote about my dads death,  to all readers,  i warn that it is descriptive and honest.  so please read with caution.  the other copy of  “hidden pain”  is an actual short story, and this is more in poem form.  and this will be the last i write about my dad.  thank you for reading.

. . . . i stand from where i was sitting.  the grass,  dry and thirsty.   i close my eyes,  and take a deep breath.  to feel the breeze,  the sunshine on my face,  i am here.  you lie beneath the shade of the oak.   grass,  brown and dry from summers drought.   its been thirteen years since i last saw you.  it’s our own personal drought,  sought and lost.  off in the near distance,  the locus sing.  silently,  the breeze passes by,  cooling the easy of the shade.   gently,  a leaf falls unto the ground below.  the shine of the sun peaks through the trees leaves and branches, and blocks my vision.  //  is it you that hold the answers that i long for,  as the questions pile,  as my life ages.   silence makes noise,  in my ear,  forever in my head.   your guidance,   your wisdom comes forth as the song of the birds. //   the conversation that we have,   my mind turning to that night.   what was your thought,  while you took your final breath?   eyes wide open,   you didn’t even see me try to help you.  lying there motionless,  helpless,  i felt the same.   when the desire to stop came,   it was already too late,   i just can’t imagine.   falling  to  your knees,  you blacked out,  your heart stopped,  dropping the rest of your pills all on the floor.   what was your final thought?   was it about the family who loved you?   or was it about the son,  that was sleeping,  in the room,  next to yours?   i could have stayed up,  possibly saving your life;   just by talking a little bit more,  but instead,   the words  of you liking my music and that how proud of me you were,  were the last i heard.   goodnight, son.   now,  the house that you grew up in, is now the house you died in.   i found you, dad,  in the morning as i woke.  lying in the corner, your face purple, breathless. wiping you face free from the vomit,  i try call for the help you needed,  i checked for your nonexistent pulse,  and it was all too late.  and all the memories, flashed before me,   as shock covered its dark cloak over my face.   your eyes were open, but you didn’t see me try to help.  as your body was carried out,  covered in a black bag,   again, shock covered its cloak upon me,  but this time it was on my life.   you felt alone,  but you weren’t alone.   i was your biggest fan.   there must have been something there,   that made you feel and think otherwise.   but sometimes i feel alone, dad.   and sometimes i think that there’s not much difference between you and me,   father and son.   but im not going to end my life because of momentary feelings.   if only i stayed up to talk more.  there wasnt a damn thing i could have done.   father and son. //  so what was your last thought as your final breath came?   that was what i was thinking,  as i stood from where i was sitting,  right by the same headstone i picked out thirteen years earlier.   i close my eyes, and take in a deep breath,  feeling the breeze,  the sunshine on my face,  knowing  it was you, giving me that hug,  you never were able to give me. . . . . . . .

c. 2012 BGW

wishing you were here

. . . . . .sitting, with brief episodes of walking, pacing. there i was, right by the riverfront.  there, majestically stood the city.  a heavy curtain of  fog was starting to lift,   as the daylight broke,  giving the city an overcast illusion.  good morning.  and there i am, possibly sitting in the best seat in the house.  not because of the town i was standing in, but because what stood before me, on the northern bank of the ohio. behind me, the mile long freight train whistle blows. and as it’s crossing the old iron bridge, you can hear  the click clack of the wheels hitting the rail joints.  a deep breath, i sigh. i look around, american football autumn day, i’ll come back,  baseball springtime game.  the water has a calm current today, as the small soft riverbank surf washes up by my feet. i take the short walk over the bridge.  trying not to look down through the grated floor below, i keep my eye on the passing of boats.  as the bridge walk ends, there the city starts. // window shopping for a while, passing the time,  local shoppes,  big time merchants.  in town grocer, mom and pop farmers market.  the hustle of the traffic, a distant scream of sirens. i pass an office building covered in marble, shiny metal moldings, offering me satisfaction for my hunger, all too modern.   so i left before i got into it. and i head towards walnut and find the local pub.  and as i grabbed the golden door handle, a memory snapped into mind, and there we were, five years ago.  blue eyes and all,  all other surroundings blurred.  sharing a  rendezvous  with conversations that could have gone on forever. and now they were just plain over.  i opened  the door and walk through a maze of tables and chairs, and once there,   i sat at the corner booth and order myself  an author g,  and i find myself  missing  you again.  the lunchtime crowd filters in and as quickly as it came, it went.  and like the wind in the trees, i never did see you come in. the little bit of hope dashed and disappeared. the number of times  i thought about letting you know that i was in town, never equaled to such.  memories flood, and i grab my last sip. i must move on.  leaving the scent of  fish and chips for the sounds of downtown traffic honks and loud highway parties, i wait for the walk sign to turn, i push up my cuff and read the time. quarter past one. still early,  but way too late.  i cross where the cars have halted and came across vine.  a street where a king’s court reigned and looked down upon me,  never giving them a second glance.  there, a few blocks down,  the shadow of the genus of water covered the brightness of the sun from my eyes for a moment  and  i looked up upon the bronzed statues, a breeze blows, and a cool mist from the falling water floats by.  studying the faces of all the statues, i walk around it. and i come across a crowd of people clapping and cheering around this girl, seeing that a man just proposed. and a crooked grin of  happiness came across my face. and i paused. i lingered. frozen as if i was a part of the fountain.  and there, i turn a quick pace back to where i started. and as quickly as i walk, the memories flood back to me. it was here in this city, the town i fell in love with,  i fell in love with her.  there was no real escaping her or the memory of her haunting beauty,  just like thew city,  itself.   all i was doing was looking for some  r&r  and the memory caught up with me, it wasn’t supposed to, but it found me.   back to my new  favourite  walnut street pub,  i order another author g and pull out a scratch piece of paper and jot down  a few lines.   word here, sip,  word there.  and like a bad habit,  i look at my watch again, three o’clock. early enough to where i’m the only soul in the place.  silence and room to think.   i take my drink and move to the same corner booth i had earlier.   there i sit and do some serious thinking about everything.  and as i take another sip, i glance and notice that a couple of corporate hot-shots walk in and walk up to the bar and order themselves a drink.   it’s now ten past four.   the after work crowd starts trickling through.  it’s where the corporate big timers mix with the blue collars. sharing a pint, throwing darts, we are all the same after four or five.  looking down on the piece of paper i was writing on, it is now full.  i reach in my blazers inside pocket and pinch a piece of paper out of it. and as i unfold it, i notice that it already had some writing scribbled on it.  and there, in front of me was the same piece of paper i received from you five years ago with your number on it.  i laugh at first, because i realize that i  haven’t cleaned out my jacket in a while.  finishing off my drink, i reach in my front pocket of my jacket and push in those numbers that i have come accustomed to dialing in my sleep.  one at a time, heart beats faster, doubt arises,  last number and all i need to do is to hit send. . .i take one deep breath. . . .  i freeze for a moment,  and  i hear her voice,  “hello?”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .c. 2013 BGW