Nowhere in all the land were there found women as beautiful as Job’s daughters, until … (Job 42:15 plus.)
I am the son of Titan women,
Born of water and of blood;
Born of Heaven’s will
and of the burning sod.
I am born of Terra
and of Sarah too,
A son of Adam, and
our “Father” Abraham,
included in the loins of faith.
I am the son of strong STRONG women
and the sire of the same,
I have tasted fire,
and added to the flame of life.
Trace me backand you will find
Irish maids and Cornish lords,
scallywags and dumblewits,
pagans, saints, and tumbled hordes
mighty pillars, bloody swords,
and …a fire that burns back to Eve.
And now …what’s this?
Would I throw my little spears
until I hit (as if by chance)
some distant planet on the run?
I read some guy who says that we
are but the natural end
of very natural means:
The sexual love of our earthly parents.
But, if he means no more than this,
I kindly disagree-
God works his artistry
through media of matter and the crave;
He put this fire in our bones
and placed the beauty of my wife
within my eyes.
The fact that it was physical
or that our brains were blazing hot,
would not delete His plan in anyway.
We would borrow from an ancient code
lifted up like surging magma,
Ever breaking, splitting twisting
in this tree of man;
And we would join that twist and play,
mixing like epoxy -information-laden parts until:
Three new Titan women stand,
made of half a Titan, made of half a man;
and the wisdom of the Master Artist.
And God steps back from his canvas pleased.
Kayla, My first born--
You came into this world
with a perfect pumpkin face.
And I can see that first-face still,
stretched and welling underneath,
Staring lovely like the moon at me
with timeless eyes of moss.
Ireland was good to you.
You wear her hair and spunk.
But does is seem
that you were meant for different times?
I picture you in France
beneath the brush strokes of Monet,
the little redhead girl beside the gate
with water can … but No,
even that’s too current.
You were made for castles and for knights,
or for some distant timeless time,
kinder to small kids
who walk around in dreams,
and nurse heat-dazed hornets back to health,
even as you pour compassion
on a worn-down mom and dad.
Indeed, we sometimes wonder where your mind is,
half-an-hours’ homework pressed into two hours!
but, when you place your pencil to the sketchpad
weave poetic line, or put your heart to ivory
I think we know where
your brain’s been…Between the stars!
My beloved Ede:
Your name, colored in the essence
of three women:
Edith, mother of our Charles -- Granddad McGinn,
Edith, wife of Francis S., a hero in my life,
and Edith, a little Mennonite girl whom I remember
with fondness, as she laughed
in her long dress and bonnet.
It appears, there is only one thing
that may eclipse your very direct beauty
and blue eyes …
A mind that races quick
and dishes whit, even as you live with
nose buried in some five-pound book.
We call you the brain kid,
but I know an even bigger heart
that drinks in love
or spreads it like a mop.
(And now, you stand behind my shoulder
reading, wondering, will you get your fair share?
Did I say, more or better things of you,
or what can you run off with, to rub in?)
You are our queen of drama,
Quick with verbal sword, or quick to take the hit,You cackle, laugh, or weep,command, charge, or screechwith Shakespearean ease.May I recommend a future as conductor?or (as often joked), the President.
Or better yet (my dream)Missionary for the causeof Christ.
I turn to Anna,our banana (sorry)our little muscle kid.
You know we sometimes saythat Kayla and the Ede, got the genes of mein thicker distribution, ButLittle one, my love… you got your Mom.
You are strong and tenacious, pretty and vivaciousstubborn, and alive and witha tough sense of “funny” to boot.
You find humor in the black/white of languageand demand we mean what we say.“Okay, One seconds up!”
Who taught you to tease, or to climb the rope with ease?Charge the soccer goal with fearless speed.
Who taught you to be stubborn?or enduremost every knock (or missing teeth)without a tear.
My only fear for you is that you makeit to adulthood in one piece.
My only fear for “them”(These men of tomorrow)is that they survive their broken hearts.