I seem to laugh too loud

and often at the wrong moments

yet again at times I sense

near perfect when another

is within grasp of either

the laughter or the tears

 

the would-be poet

with a greater surname

than talent…

 

the dance between

ego and confidence

whether in the poet trade

I have found my voice

or over-search for the words.

 

whether in voice

or kept within

another voice says

-just shut up and write-

 

and burn the floral incense

and sip the cooled coffee

and don the writing

grey chapeau

and play upon the keys

as if a piano black and white

eighty-eight

 

and a man my mind drifts

to the few lovely maidens

I have held

and would have wished

to have held

whether in passion’s pleasure

or as in held in comforting sake

as a she would need

or as I would need…

 

and then again I drift

to bigger wishes

as would people

rather to choose

to live in peace

whether be they much the same

or be they of great difference

 

and we tend our little planet

and with its gifts of beauty

whether built or grown

as if a demure yet grand garden

of all hue and tone and texture and colour

 

each blessed shade of blue and of red

yellow and green and pink

and even the moments of the grey

and of the black

 

the yellow-white twinkle

of distant stars on the

dark canvas of night

so quiet to call me

to embrace the evening…

 

at moments I drift

as with the lapping tide.

 

and then again being a man

though aging with little grace

I slip back with thoughts

of the women I have held

or would have held

had the moment been found

 

the commonality of joy and tears

of hunger and sweet so feasts

that do tease and please our lips

 

and this moment I pause

and would say only because

it sounds a certain way;

 

be soft and fragrant the night

as my soul flickers

as a lone candle flame

dances soft in the unseen

movements of the air

this gentle eve to be…

 

It is Father's Day 2007

And my eyes are still red

yesterday family and friends said our good-byes

to my father...

 

Even better than a great man

though with his own human faults

he was a good man

and no better can truly be said

 

my much young son

came to his casket open

though my child was too young to know

asked him to -wake up-

and all there would have asked the same...

 

i had known someday this day would come

i so hard tried to steel my heart

to face this day with personal strength

and only some little strength

did this day come for me and us all...

 

my former wife and my young son

[not understanding] did come

and hold my hand

and try to know and accept my tears

 

-for my father was better than a great man

he was a good man-

 

 

 

               A  five or ten minute slide show

of photos of my dad as a boy

in service in WWII

of my dad and mother married

some 60 or so years ago

of him with his own kids

 

               even more of my dad Jack

with his dogs to walk along

nearby railroad tracks

and then together with wife,

               mother-grandmother Ruth

 

my father, so well-read, and yet silly worried

that he held no diploma;

though more well read

than so many of his time

and those even again younger...

 

i cried this day

along with even more sad

his grandchildren

for they were given

               a blessed grace to see

the special love this man held

for family and friends.

 

for so many cared of him

who did not know

he had become so ill

 

               I feel he knew his time

was beginning to come.

And my heart knew

he decided he could not stay

with us and what he felt

 

               that it would be too hard for him

to become a burden for others

for he would rather keep

his own truth within

that his own time had sadly come.

 

he did not want to go

but it would hurt his heart too much

to have to stay so long

as have hopeless time

to have to say good-bye

after his body had begun to fade

and that others would be left to care for him

after that time when

he could not do for himself

as he had always done before...

 

and I say again

my father, even better than

a great man. was indeed,

a good man.

 

i mean not to claim

anything this moment for myself

rather only to say

as I did that day:

 

               "It is time old man

to take your rest,

you did good."

 

For how can a man advance in years

and be so special a father

and again a grandfather

and have quiet and decent folk

step forward and say in their own way;

 

               "Jack was there for me,

he would tell me the truth I knew,

and he cared."

 

I cried and my former wife

rubbed my back and shoulders

as pictures of my father

holding his grandchildren

and dancing with daughter's in law

at their joyful weddings

               came to be shown

 

               and the photos of dad

petting his favorite dogs

after those last pleasant walks-

 

my father was a special man

for being a common man

of work and faith and family.

 

the love all gave that final sad day

when life and death finally demanded

we say good-bye...

 

I tried to steel myself for that day

but could I not go beyond

that better love he showered

upon his young grandchildren

who were not ready yet

to say good-bye to as good a man

and even better grandfather

than could ever be…

 

And this I know

speaks again to my father

-being better than a great man

for he was a good man-

and no better a tribute can truly be...

 

P.J. Whitman 2002 17062007

days some I have passed are keepers

some again I would repaint or toss

 

sipping some draft

in my writer’s chapeau

and would-be chateaux

I tap away at keys

in pleasant daydreams

of peaceful days

and evenings with a lovely lady

whether be light repartee

or in passion’s bliss

 

oh my, do the dreams matter?

say I again, do the dreams matter?

 

I dream of days

when you and I would accept

one another for the good

and even the not-so-good

when anger and dispute diffuse

as long as they be silly and sad

of only the moment

and not because one holds

against the other such basic stuff

as race or creed or national origin

 

As I age less graciously

and less gracefully

I would beg hope

my silliness and my

less-than-sweetest moments

come from momentary glitches

in character and not

from deeper kept angers.

 

…and who ain’t got issues?

 

but let me tell ya a little secret

about maybe doin’ the bad things

or said to be bad…

 

it be so about intent

and maybe not caring about

who may be hurt

by acts questionable taken

and this be key

 

we be not perfect beings

and we be all great with fault

and many great with good

and most so in between

-and so it goes-

as Linda Ellerbee said

on the television

some time ago

 

and still on a warm and still

summer’s day

I dream of peace

and being in a lover’s arms

whether upon a clover filled meadow

by a clear sweet flowing stream

or lying soft and quiet

holding another in my arms

in a candlelit place

with lavender or perhaps

vanilla incense kissing the airs

 

and what indeed do

the little things matter

at each day’s end?

 

peace and hope and love

and dreams

so abstract but so real

for what be real

but what we perceive

becomes real -for it all

comes back to each our own thoughts

and what we feel to be real…

 

the moments of personal nobility

not nobility or advantage by birth

but of momentary crisis

that sometimes a one of us rises

to bring forth a small or great

special act of heroics

or of grace or of kindness

 

at those moments one does not think

of anything beyond that moment

-a singular challenge-

-a one mission now-

without concern for self

but for who is in immediate need

 

for those who have walked there

you know and you know

and no thanks be needed for you

though better in your heart

that those you love

saw something in a special light

 

just the slightest touch of vanity

but for those close to you to see

for you lived it, you did it,

and you know and you know

and so you need not the public award…

 

oh yes, I be a dreamer

of light and dark heart sometimes

much worse has happened than I have seen

though quite enough I have seen

 

I pray a universal prayer

not of one faith particular

but of any faith that knows

of a highest power

 

…that peace and hope and love

         do reign supreme;

         not particular to any race or creed

         but to the all of us

         yes, to the all of us.

 

I would say a poem or a prayer

or sing a song from any place

from any creed to bring

a little more love

a little more peace

and keep hope alive

and give dreams so precious flight

higher and higher still…