Like the towering tree.
Many round rings.
Deep tap root.
Twisted trunk.
Branch hanging from limb.
I move with the wind
Category: <span>Spirituality</span>
Tribes moved to her rhythm
But the dancing has stopped
Mother Nature obscured
Tribal hearts cry
Spirit ancestors
Let us dance again
Today is her birthday
No not Ms. America My Mom Born in Eire Turned 96 Her Mother told her long ago.... "You're so sickly you'll live to be 90" Worked in London 1945 Only building left standing for 3km She danced Upstairs ballroom, downstairs Irish Seems the Irish were always downstairs Crossed the Atlantic in 1954 Had a room far down the stairs Dragged the pram up those stairs For seven days Baby needed fresh air Had good intentions Learn your timestables Do the dishes Get a paper route Fireworks fill the sky
Easy to become one.
Not so easy to be one.
Unconditional love is required.
Arrows to the heart inspired.
Surrender is mandatory.
You hope……
those stories.
those hugs.
those laughs.
those checks.
those words of encouragement…helped them on their journey.
In the end.
Only a Father knows the truth in his soul
As arrows dissolve
In a heart full of love
On a trail above the sea
He is walking toward me
Limping but determined in his old brown coat
A steady pace
Step by step
Limp by limp
Bright brown eyes meet mine
To busy moving forward to do much else
Frayed green Frisbee in his mouth
Young pup in an old brown coat
Goldmine abandoned.
Hatchling too.
Wind swept sycamores.
Leaves cover ground.
Swirling wind in the void.
Exposing long buried woe.
Not loved, No love but dog.
But love found again.
A Mother Lode.
Then a dark moonless night.
Not even a glimmer of gold.
When the sun rises we can see.
Rejoice, Rejoice.
The gold is always in the mine.
Just look inside…..behold.
Walking the fields.
3 year old lad lags far behind.
Gently holding a flowering branch.
Pure intent.
Watching, Watching.
Vibrant color moving across leaves.
Absorbed in the moment.
He does not interfere.
Watching, Watching.
Ladybugs on branch.
Child’s fascination.
Bush.
Flower.
Child.
Beauty of the moment.
Watching, Watching.
Swallows streaking.
Silently swooping.
Sweeping side to side.
Ballerinas without shoes.
Dance in dimming rays.
Silently above green grasses.
Acrobats, Angels…
Dancing through the trees.
Caressing the Earth’s curves.
Picking off insects mid-air
Wet, cold evening light.
Glasgow 1926.
Mother gone.
Father liqueured.
Two small boys.
Tommy is the eldest.
6 years of age with brother of 4.
In charge of the house.
Beaten like his mother.
Two small boys.
Small in stature.
Barefoot on cold streets.
Red mane of hair.
He learned to fight.
Two small boys.
Military service not soon enough.
Brothers in the Scottish Brigade.
Needed boots in the tropics.
Had to fight.
Had to kill.
Two small boys.
Force marched in the heat
Like his mother being beat
They learned some Japanese
Two small boys
206 were captured
Toiling in the mines
Brothers separated in hell
Two small boys
Only the strong survived the streets of Glasgow
Fists & cunning won the day
Only 6 survived the prisoner of war camp
One small boy
We arrived in America on a ship.
My Father a master carpenter.
Tools in a canvas bag.
There was opportunity in America.
Immigrants could thrive.
Streets lined in gold.
My Father bought a new hammer
and a box of nails
There was opportunity in America
and immigrants did thrive