from Peter John

Archive for the ‘Parenting’ Category

Love Survives


Photo of George Clark Stone walking across wilderness bridge with fishing pole

George Clark Stone May 25, 1936 – November 4, 2012


Love Survives
By Peter John

Do you search for an answer in the rising Sun?
Do you reach out for comfort from the Moon?
Does your heart long for friendship when the day is done,
When the sky seems dark too soon?

Love survives in the desert.
Love survives in the sea.
Love survives in the memories
Of you and me.
From before we are born
To beyond our lives
Love survives.
Love survives!

When you welcomed your brother who was on the street
Did you offer him shelter from the rain?
At the crossroads where happiness and sorrow meet
The joy overcomes the pain.

Love survives frigid alleys.
Love survives fields of snow,
But it still takes a burning
For a hearth to glow.
When our vengeance has answered
Our hateful drives
Love survives.
Only love could still survive.
Love survives.

It dangles our hearts on a web between
The best and the worst we can feel.
For love sends a scalpel to slice our souls,
And love brings a balsam to heal.

Love survives every promise we fail to keep.
Love endures every fault we pass by.
After anger and envy have wept to sleep
Love alone still survives.

Love attends to the sunshine
But can offer the shade.
Love inhabits the hovels
That our hatred made.
When the night’s creeping darkness
Has left us blind, fear arrives
Love endures it and survives …

When you’ve found all your answers in the sunset’s glow,
When you’ve danced with the moonbeams on the sea,
When I’m never returning, only then you’ll know
The depth of your love for me.

Love survives — I remember
Tender nights, you and I —
Love survives when we wish
That it could simply die.
From before we are born
To beyond our lives
Fate contrives,
Anger weakens,
Hate deprives.
Love survives.

—-
(c) 1991 Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved.
COntact the author for permissions.
—–

Read Why it's important to say "I love you"on the Mind Candy Blog

Advertisements

Autumn Weeps


Image of "Autumn Weeps", Croveted Tree by "The Amazing Noodle"

Photo of crochet sculpture "Autumn Weeps" from Instructables.com. Used by permission of Kerri Lincoln of "The Amazing Noodle". Click image to visit "The Amazing Noodle" on the Web.

Autumn Weeps
by Peter John

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

Broken hands on faceless clocks
That tide will never turn –
Friendly animosities
That bridges never burn –
These are all of yesterday
Our children care to learn.
These are all we dare to leave behind

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness.
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

Jagged scars on swollen breasts
That healings never smooth –
Raped emotions throb in screams
That drugs will never soothe.
Yesterday has offered these
To help our children toothe,
All we hope their teeth will never try.

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness.
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

These have marked the women’s days,
Crystal cages,
Passion plays,
Scattered leaves and prophecies
All wasted by the wind,
All the fruit of all that men have sinned.

Running in a walking race,
Cursing in a pew,
Promising a harvest
From a seed that never grew –
All our children smell the bread
We ration to a few.
Who are men to say which children die?
Who are men?

Smile in Summer’s sanity.
Wail in Winter’s madness.
April rains the teardrops shed
When Autumn weeps in sadness.
Autumn weeps.
Each secret keeps,
And Autumn weeps in sadness.

Immage of nest and eggs detail of crocheted tree sculpture.

Detail of "Autumn Weeps", Nest and Eggs. Used by permission of Kerri Lincoln of "The Amazing Noodle". Click image to see more surprising details at Instructables.com . See more of "The Amazing Noodle" on Facebook, http://www.facebook.com/The.Amazing.Noodle?sk=wall

—–
Poem “Autumn Weeps” © 1991 by Peter John Stone. All rights reserved. Contact the author for permissions, which are on reasonable terms.

Simon Says


Simon Says
by Peter John

Simon says take one step backward.
Simon says jump up and down.
Simon says pretend you’re laughing
Even if you want to frown.
Spill your milk, or question roads
The grown-ups fear to tread —
Now you’re out, you stupid child.
That’s not what Simon said.

Simon says go out for baseball.
Simon says you play to win.
Simon says arise and shine and
Take your dose of Ritalin
Play for fun, or try a different
Drug to still your head,
Now you’re grounded foolish kid.
That’s not what Simon said.

Simon says to pay your taxes.
Simon says that men don’t cry.
Simon says to drop for push-ups,
Shoot your gun and kill, or die.
Call the game insanity,
Refuse to even play.
Join the ragged ranks of
Honored madness held at bay,
And soaring genius crucified
‘Cause Simon didn’t say.
—-
(c) 1991 by Peter John Stone All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

My Mother Was Always Pregnant


My Mother Was Always Pregnant

by Peter John

Weaned on a Miss America-Sandra Dee-Donna Reed- Diet
She tasted the dream of a million Annette Funicellos,
Saved herself for marriage, surrendered
Twin burdens of classes and waiting,
Buried graduation in a family plot
With dreams of ivy halls and stethoscopes,
Strapped on her mandatory rucksack of “laters”
Started making babies,
Started shaping me.

My mother was always pregnant.
Ten years from the first morning’s green gilled
Annunciation, six cycles of sickness and distention
Four and one-half years some half-foreign
Life sucked her blood.
Beach bunny body blossomed, bloomed,
Bloated, blood pressure stretched higher
Scores across her belly.

My dutiful mother was always pregnant,
Every midnight bump another abysmal alarm
Across sleep’s shallow threshold,
One more weary bookmark binding
Countless screaming “if-onlys” to her back,
Peeling seasons of her soul
Raw, sanity paying time’s harsh taxes.

My mother was always pregnant.
Four and one-half years of mood swings
Four and one-half years of weight gain
Four and one-half years of spikes
Stiffening her spine. Four and one-half years
Of sandpaper shuttles in her knees,
Her “could’ve” cargo welded
With futile fragments of identity.

My mother was always faithfully pregnant
And mourning, mourning,
Mourning the pilfered promise,
The stolen valedictorian
Future finding cures, healing
Threatened tomorrows. Targeting
Intangible enemies, her
Swaddling ferocity flailed narrow
Leather stripes, belt buckle discipline
Never bruising the Simon Says
Notion that nothing else mattered
As long as she stayed pregnant –

And my mother was always pregnant,
Gritting teeth through locked eyelids
Against regrets sent from
Satan, till now —
Three times a night her bladder pushes
Tired legs to elusive relief —
Three times a night her white linen gown
Ghosts her drifting frame down
A creaky corridor —
Three times a night gnawing
“Nevers” nibble through
Sheltering dreams, reality
Splashes through whatever
Shallow sanity she’s recovered,
The toilet flushes,
And one more midnight reminder of everyone
She might have been spins
Into oblivion.

My mother was always pregnant.
My mother has not slept a full night
In forty-nine years.

– – – – –

copyright 1996,2010 by Peter John Stone. All rights reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals. This poem originally appeared in the anthology Nobody’s Orphan Child published by Seattle’s Red Sky Poetry Theatre —

%d bloggers like this: