Michael J ORourke2

You are my Dad... speaking to me
...vibrant truths of love...an unuttered rhapsody
Like the unscythed fields of grain
You wait for God's 'harvest Train'.
...

I have middle-age secrets to tell my son
While running in China with my meetings done
I wish I could read him my poetry tonight
With the unclouded moon casting her autumn light
...

Stretching toward the morning sun
I hear your little cry
The maple boughs move with the summer breeze
While angels parade on high
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The beauty of a child asleep
The precious token of a heart to keep
The silence that mystifies the night
The prayers that keep the grotto bright
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The last night at Lourdes
Too spiritual for words
Eternal Hope Our Lady brings
Giving us all roots and wings
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The soul reaches out to touch today
My angelic new-found friend
Hearts full of hope-aching to pray
An illness-Mary will end
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When you and I turn old and gray
With silver memories neatly tucked away
We'll smile at Mary's role that night
Hands clasping hands- with a touch just right
...

After the 'stations' we strolled the paths
Across from the grotto's healing baths
We later went to the 'observatory tower'
To take in views and rest for an hour
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You with the star on your nose
Playing with Sydney and Devon, I suppose!
What charms God gave you when you were born
Flashing that smile in the cold every morn'
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Letting my eyes descend from the cloudy day
With the wispy wind wiping tears away
Your candle-a glowstick with luminous light
Your smile-like an angel to calm the night
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Our lives brought love to this world
Yours brought love to me
Elysium...I know it well
It comes each anniversary
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Lourdes I have visited many times
Pilgrims and Malades I will never forget
The wondrous beauty of forgotten rhymes
The richness of prayer- an eternal debt
...

The East river... dark and oily beyond the moors
With a pretense of wit, led me to Lady Libery's shore
Beneath Wall Street's monolithic expanse
The seagulls delight in my momentary trance
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Among the people whom you know
One towers above your infant breath
The sole empress of your being
Brave enought o hope for... your auroral cry
...

It is not that the muse of Vivaldi's Cafe
Casts a spell on my crevassed state
Not that the murals nourish any childlike desire
To creep back into the womb - and re-emerge
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They warned me, Conor - of that newborn paternal pride
Pushing friends, family, work - and even frivolity aside.
I laughed and said that life would go on
With yet another dimension to muse upon
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If I could walk this world a noble man
With princes and kings and dukes and earls
I'd travel to palaces so regal in view
And lay my gifts of sapphires and pearls
...

If God would let me fingers paint
An image of a perfect saint
Who would deign to walk this world with us
Without a halo...without a fuss
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When Alex blew his kisses
Our souls were all made whole
Such love and smiles to light the sky
Our hungry hearts he stole
...

The language of the woods came to me
In colors of crimson and Irish whiskey
Along with the wind-strewed leaves
The gentle clouds breathed through the maritime forest
...