Dad hid behind his cigarette,
his golf clubs ready,
his burly arms flexed to tee off,
his day planned for him,
a big dinner
and then his cross-handed grip struck the Top Flight
far down across the creek,
his son proud
watching his dad's power,
wondering if he'd ever hit the ball that far.
The day was short. the thoughts were long.
my pen hand ready.
my creased fingers jerked to move.
my time slipping away.
bright sunny days.
and the moment flew on to the next way along ahead.
no notice or turning of head.
moments and time stepping on.
We always remember our dads in a certain way - like something that they do best; or sometimes the things they said. It's a wonder how children can remember everything.
This is my personal inspirational book of poetry. It contains many poems written for family, friends, and relevant life situations. Hopefully you will find some that will encourage and inpsire you in whatever arena you are found in your circle of l
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my pen hand ready.
my creased fingers jerked to move.
my time slipping away.
bright sunny days.
and the moment flew on to the next way along ahead.
no notice or turning of head.
moments and time stepping on.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Beautiful write!
Sandie Angel :o)