Works in Progress

Oh, how time has flown,

These five years, since your passing.

And yet, much remains

As it was before you left;

Consistently progressing.


Not that you would know;

So invested, as you were,

In the status quo.


Wait! That last harsh barb,

So bitter and unworthy,

Harkens back to grimmer times;

Long buried seething fury.


So, the status quo

Remains beneath the surface

Like long neglected hunger.


I suppose healing

Sojourns can consume lifetimes;

And perhaps, even longer.

Danger Will Robinson!

As these leaves begin

To sport their autumn colors

My mind harkens back

To nearly forgotten youth, 

Many hours spent

Crafting Halloween costumes

At my father’s side.

His vision and artifice

Transforming trash cans,

Plastic pipe, and flashing lights

Into my cherished robot.

Into The Woods

Camping is no longer

a thing filled with excitement.

Too accustomed, I am, to comfort

and electronic entertainment.

Yet, here I go again,

inviting discontentment

while seeking to engender

filial bonds without resentment.

So, into this, I plunge,

to strengthen our attachment

even though I am assured

of our relationship entrenchment.

But, truth be told, it’s hand in glove;

there is no bounding a father’s love.