Home is a place in the heart.
At Play
You call it freedom,
Those afternoons on your dappled horse,
Kicking up dust sparkling in wet ocean air,
Cantering round and round solitary paths
Worn around your father’s estate
Where an old Mexican woman with scars on her knees
Scrubs heel marks off the Spanish tile.
Your orange and white tomcat snags a butterfly,
Yanks off a fluorescent wing
With his needle-nose teeth.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Bedtime
Josh who is growing older says,
“Good night Dad,”
And I say,
“Hittin’ the hay?”
And Josh who is growing older says,
“Guess so,”
And I say,
“Sweet dreams buddy,”
And Josh who is growing older says,
“See you in the morning,”
And I say,
“Not if I see you first!”
And Josh who is already quite the young man indeed says,
“Yeah, right dad.”
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Called
Fair youth’s enthusiasms
Echo distant in this quiet garden
Where I try to envision
Such thoughts as now drive my son
Out into the world,
Away from home.
I would spare him error and injury,
But cannot
Without hiding him away.
I would see through his eyes
That I could better understand,
But who can live another’s life?
That which I know is of my own universe,
And while there is much that is universal to all,
My young man now walks upon his own feet,
Called forth by his own soul,
And by the fatherless world.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
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