Ode to Socrates

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I knew nothing before you
Not a worthwhile thing
When to climb to heights
Why all feels imprecise
Where I ought to look
To sometimes not think twice

I knew nothing before you
Nothing that meant a fig
How I have it all
Why I love baseball
Not even my name
To rise again, post-fall

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Windward

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There was ev’ry bit the beautiful breeze
The wind in their hair bore the proof

Sweet and temperate
And on occasion, when circumstances necessitated,
Such as each bygone day and now and the ‘morrow,
Fierce

As abandonment, windward or leeward
Sets a compass mark true, does it not?

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Love’s Body

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I felt the opposition
The tension in their shoulders
And expectation in their eyes
As the youth of their love wondered why
Why the stand-off?
For the air is ambient and new today
It is still early
In my hand, find this toy….
Heed this!
There need be no eleventh-hour
Love’s body begged

Some Son

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He’s the start of a poem and the end of it too. He achieves types of feats we aspire to do.

Watch him at work -he’s perfecting the task. “Has he rocket for brain?” you will find yourself ask.

Inclined, while he plays, to spot where atoms land. Then when I look close, I see slingshots, not hands.

As gifted with talent beyond any you’d see. He’s a capital G. He’s a capital T.

Landscape

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As They fall
Or try to jump
Some refusing, debating gravity
Some letting go easily
I watch
I come close
I attend
To their this season’s stamina
To their next year’s rebirth
Early arrival
On time, or delayed
Let the Weather so decide