One of the projects that’s been taking up a lot of my time has to do with just this: fathers and sons. It’s a huge project which, while it hasn’t come out yet, has to be kept under wraps (have to sit on my hands and do a jig to stop myself from shouting it out to you, my friends! 😆 )… but I was inspired to write this poem. I should probably mention here that I normally shy away from sharing my poems as they come from such a raw, vulnerable part deep inside of me… but I dare to write it here because you, my dearest friends, make me feel safe. (And that’s the best way I know how to express my trust and affection for you) 🙂
Hope you enjoy it…
The Legacy of Ripples
They amble in quiet cadence
hand in hand
to the edge of the lake.
His chest swells with quiet pride
as the little one bends down
by the water’s mouth
And gently, carefully
sets sail to the paper boat.
Together they watch it,
this newspaper ship,
as it glides across the glassy surface
till it is but a dot in the distance.
Looking down,
he spots a stone
hidden in the blades of grass.
He picks it up.
Winking at the little one,
he hurls the piece of earth into the still water,
the little one’s gaze fixed on that rock
flying through the air
landing with a plop into the water
quickly descending into the bosom of the lake,
leaving only a trace of its presence, its weight, its impact
in the ripples that begin round its exit point,
little waves, slowly but surely
moving, w i d e n i n g , e  x  p  a  n  d  i  n  g ,
reaching out like embracing arms
till it almost touches the foot
of the little one
who stands in awe, mesmerized, entranced.
The son looks up at his father,
smiles and tucks his tiny hand
into the work-worn one.
They walk away silently,
but the ripples are seared into that young mind.
Many sunrises after,
the memory of the quiet soft waves
will accompany him when he returns
to this very place
With another tiny hand in his own grown grasp
as together they stand by the water’s edge
and watch the same ripples begin again…
liv.e simply 