Daddy’s Playground

 

Daddy’s Playground


An old green colored shed tops a makeshift

Work area that once was a housing unit

For my brothers’ cage of birds, snakes and such.

Now it is filled with various sized bolts;

Some of which even the Same size, may be

Totally difference for the need…

The aged fingers reach for yet another.

The area is covered with wheels, handles and motors.

The smell of gas and oil is sometimes nauseating.

But from sun-up to sun-down…with a few short breaks in between:

We can always find

Daddy

Tinkering with lawnmowers. . . edgers:

Sharpening blades

Unclogging fuel lines

Replacing wheels

All of which have yet a few good blades to cut.

The fingers work tediously long hours

While sitting on a stool

Comprised of an old bucket with a board on top

Finished product…

A labor of love and frustration thrown in;

Here and there…

They’re wheeled out to the road, curbside;

With a sign – for sale –

And the waiting begins.

But the aged fingers reach for yet another to

Conquer – with his loyal companion at his feet

His Dog…Sable…

Daddy begins the task that will yet continue

To fulfill his hours under the old green colored

Shed; searching fingers reaching to find the

Right tools and bolts to

Sharpen blades

Unclog fuel lines

Replace wheels

Sitting on the short stool…the bucket and board.

Until the setting sun brings a dinner call

From Mother:

We know where we can find Daddy

In his playground –

With wheels and blades of steel.

Angels Cry

Dear God

I hear the angels cry

They’re weeping tears

Are sad

Babies dead

Why

Dear God

I hear the angels cry

Ones we love

Cradle the body

Lifeless now are they

They’re weeping tears

Are sad

Babies dead

Why

Dear God

I hear the angles cry

 

Deborah Register©2006

3.28.95

 

**This was from a feeling a felt while in Texas on the border, leaving and going back home to Florida … A few days later:  April, 19th;  was the Oklahoma City Bombing.

Remember the Child being held in the arms … and those children lost?

 

 

 

White Darkness

White Darkness

Around you, are dark shadows in the night.

You are aware of the stillness in the air, but, not understanding the calming peace coming within you.

But a fright, the darkness of the shadows,

and its hold of:

The unknown…

The unseen.

Relax – as in a white room with no way of escape, but a reason for being; such a calming peace, from the dark shadows; and clothed; as the day of one’s birth.

Darkness around, but yet the feeling of fresh a new reason. To find solitude – not fright – but inner peace of white, the stillness in the air; and the calming peace. Relaxed you feel safe from harm.

It’s Death.

Acceptance of a new beginning,

or perhaps just an end.

Certainly a change – destiny.

No longer to be faced with fright of the dark shadows. But to find final peace within oneself.

As the stillness of the air, the white rooms’ serenity brings a calming welcome end.

An understanding of the darkness, the shadows,

to become white calming hope of life’s final purpose on earth

Death; Life.

 

Deborah Register