Dec. 19, 2017

Poem

Children make Christmas. This is especially true for me and my grandchildren. They have altered everything and become beacons for me. I feel so rich, grateful and delighted to be around them. So here are some words about them.

Besotted

They called him Harvey,
it’s not the same
as any label in the clan.

He grows into it though
becoming what that name
might look, feel and how

embraced, covered by its form
carrying and carried for a year
shaping and shaped into its norm.

Bright mind, wide smile, huge eyes,
feint tint of auburn top,
more kinks than curls the way it lies.

This bursting blasting strain
of endless moving child
deep ploughs the brain,

churns what is not him
until it recedes train into tunnel.
He is the desktop saver.


Walter

The baby has become a boy:
loud in shouts,
bright in smile,
infectious in laughter,
lively in walk, run and dance.
Engaged in the world,
with everybody in it.
Secure, sure, demanding
captivating in gaze
he reaches through your eyes
to the very depths of your toes.