The Precious


Kaitlyn Swearingen

“The most precious on this earth is Love” – Lavinia Valeriana

“You are my “Peter Pan” she said, her bright blue eyes dancing reflecting the bright full moon that cast it’s magical beams through her bedroom window. “What are you then, “squirt”, I asked her trying to look as serious as possible. “I am your precious”, she said, her blue eyes turning into stars and planets and becoming a universe all-consuming.

In a world where time stood still, when all memory had gone to sleep. All our secrets held our hope, spinning circles, jumping rope. To the moon, you would cry with the fiercest look that made me smile. Such is this, and such is that, you drew the pictures, of our compact. Beyond two stars, second from right, magic perfected, when we took flight. In dimensions did we ride, upon the words of which we spoke, incantations so inspired by a story or a joke. Came we to another land in a box made for a boat, rowing water with our hands, until our laughter finally broke. Tis the season, which I fly, fight the witch was your reply. Make me precious throughout the land; I said I will for I am The Pan. Be they ghouls or evil cares, I will fight them upon a dare. Be my precious, my princess lord, as she knights me with a cardboard sword. Be my precious for all the years, never let this magic disappear.

So it went from night to night, when the dusk turned to moonlight. For the full moon went nowhere, stayed it steady within our lair. How full enchantment can make you grow, when your own seed has turned to gold. In a minute of childhood find, immortality in your mind. Not an interest or a care, when the moon is in your eye, throwing caution to the wind with my precious by my side. Thinking time will never end, thinking this time will never die.

Now the day came when time appeared, second hands from everywhere and on my scalp appeared a gray, and my precious went away. Such was this, and such was that, fading pictures of our compact. Still at times upon the phone, when I hear her voice so clear, just a bright note in atmosphere. How it takes me to a time, never ending how sublime. Moves me beyond two stars so near, second from the right, this way my dear. Succumbs me to a different land, knights me as “The Pan”. From the cradle to the grave how my precious saved the day. From the cradle to Neverland, full of wonder through times of sand, through the veil hand in hand. Through the veil hand in hand.

“You are my “Peter Pan” she said, her bright blue eyes dancing reflecting the bright full moon that cast it’s magical beams through her bedroom window. “What are you then, “squirt”, I asked her trying to look as serious as possible. “I am your precious”, she said, her blue eyes turning into stars and planets and becoming a universe all-consuming.

For my own immortal precious Kaitlyn. -04.02.21 – דָנִיֵּאל

West of Denver


Underneath, ground, choking, I’m not sure what happens if I udder a sound. For surely it is, for surely, it could be, that any key that touches my ear, says you are down, oh yeah, it says you’re down! I’m fifty-six years, of sightseeing, things a human shouldn’t see, all the strangers in heaven say they are relying on me. I’m here on Kiowa Peak, west of Denver, you SOB’s can come on up for me, for I’m homecoming, not less a stranger in an alien land. I’m a lost father taking a different stand, but still I’m homecoming.

And I looked down upon the heavens, looked down upon the trees, a father lost in something, so heavy. Here I am above timberline, west of Denver and only G_D can help me see.

Daddy was autistic, a wonderful sort of man, I see things too, keys in music, I’m better than Billy Joel, a phantasmal piano man. I’m further west of Eden, beyond Steinbeck’s, “Red Pony” brand, a prophet in America, like my daddy said on a “Father’s Day” I will rise, and I will head for homecoming, west of Denver, I’ll be the best man, my kids ever met, up here were nothing that’s evil, can get to me.  Open your arms, Orion, I’m homecoming.

Up here above America, the universe in June is still found crisp. The place I have found within my soul, is neither dead, but it’s alive with a kiss, and it says this is the place you must find your life, that visitor, you have hated your entire damn life. That place in fire, golden flames where the Colorado sky meets the devils eye, on high, west of Denver, homecoming. I see the ridge now, ruby red, a sun setting, on the edge of a lineage gift.

And I looked down upon the heavens, looked down upon the trees, a father lost in something, so heavy. Here I am above timberline, west of Denver and only G_D can help me see.

Underneath, ground, choking, I’m not sure what happens if I udder a sound. But you know, as a father, as once I was a son, here west of Denver, I’m homecoming! – 06.18.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


יפה No Shadow Can Touch

(Still Beautiful)

Comes a time when ashes fall, when you dance through nights, and fall, and dark valleys draw you close, touch your heart with such a force. Comes a time when balance breaks, upside down, a smile forsakes, and lies and wounds on inward shelf, bruise your soul, your inward self. Comes a time in future past, when you meet yourself at last, when the sky splits from itself, makes a challenge you cannot stand. Walk it through, a pass so high, no shadow can touch you.

(No Shadow Can Touch)

She moves in the tombs of light and sound, those places searching where life is found, and as I told her so long ago turn around, and turn again. Upon pavement, upon glass, upon quakes the ground in grass. What of teaching, what of spell, those words I breathed into your childhood well? When you cry, when you break, reach for that tiny box in place. Know its love, the light inside, spells we crafted, with no divide, way upon the mountain side. There I said it, a circle round, there I said it, there implied, still beautiful.

(Still Beautiful)

Comes a time, an error makes, all that’s golden comes and takes, and all that cries, an instant move, terrible moments, a liar’s bait. Comes a time when G_D turns around, changes laws, your hearts cut down, splits a seam inside your dream, bellows rages your shames complete. Comes a time in chains and ruin, when your craft can’t find the moon, trains stop running a plane flies by, life is speed through gravestone skies. Walk it through, a pass so high, no shadow can touch you.

(No Shadow Can Touch)

She dances morning on into noon, and takes the place she’s born into, burning oxygen it flames so fast, and as I told her at altitude turn around and turn again. What tomorrow it brings so fast, is here today it will not pass, what we learned my girl and me, to lead the way, for others to see. Know your kingdom, know your stride, know your magic, your light inside. Bring your wisdom, from mountain days, when I your daddy was known to say, there’s not a thing that’s touched your brow, though shadows happened and daemons tried. There I said it, a circle round, there I said it, there implied, still beautiful.

For my daughter Kaitlyn who is still beautiful, and no shadow can touch. – 04.17.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Faith upon Goodbye


We stand two feet apart in the terminal at Ben Gurion, his yarmulke off center, looking as if any gust of wind from the Mediterranean would turn its course on his head. “My time to go son, I hate goodbyes”. He stands there, lanky, the breadth and measurement of Moshiach, the eyes of redemption, his brown eyes entertaining lessons from some distant land. “I don’t know Dad, Goodbyes hold the sound of love, hello’s the timidity of happiness”. “I’ll take the goodbyes”.

“It’s a little bolt of lightning spat across the sky, while my daddy holds me, it sounds just like goodbye. Split the air that’s sat there, then it said goodbye, mixed a lot of color, what a joy filled ride. You have always told me, truth is when you leave, G-D it sounds like rapture, my heart cannot beat. When I feel those tears start, rational and true, sound of salt that’s dripping, that is love not new. In your thoughts my daddy you have sounded out my years, made my current value, fought off all my fears. G-D has held me nearer, close that I don’t see, all the points of danger that bring harm to me. What comes from my senses is all that I hear, and it sounds like psalms sung, love within my ears”.

Son I held you breathing, curls against my chest, and the sound of life song, gave my soul some rest. When I laid you backwards and I said goodnight, your breathing got much louder, your love within goodbye. There are open pockets, within the air I fly, each time the plane goes downward, I’ll know exactly why. When it comes to living, reminders of just why, G-D will say he loves me, a reminder for when I die. Just a little further son, I say goodbye, my love is more than memory, its faith upon goodbye!

The yarmulke, looks centered now, weaving through the crowd. Goodbye tearing its way into the roots of my soul. I don’t know if I can ever remember a hello! – 12.22.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Barber’s Song


Stan moves a little closer with his scissors holding court, the kingdom of my hairline for a boy it’s going short. The smell of talcum powder is enough to drive me mad, and a copy of a Playboy sits open near my dad. What tune of Kenny Rogers played, that made old Stan sing, as he moved on to his clippers, and made my neck a sheen, the better part of manhood spent was getting my hair cut, as the bib went on around me, and the chair got jacked on up. My dad he parlors wisdom with the man who knows his part, they talk of Richard Nixon, local weather as an art. The barber shop is boiling hot in winter, fall or spring, but damn well near an ice box when the heat of summer clings. A barber with a well groomed face, a union at his back, those times with dad and Stan McQueen were the framework of my past.

So cut just like in 72, when everything is green, when my whole open world, has yet to feel a brutal sting. Sweet smell of musk or just old spice, nose hairs a far off thing, my barber Stan and just my dad, the best the world can bring. So Kenny Rogers sang a song about *”Ruby, out the door”, and as it is, I hear my dad, “were fighting a lost war”. A mind like mine still sees brown hair, falling to the floor, and Stan’s strong hand near his face, some tears he can’t ignore.

The lather strong upon dad’s face, his eyes set skyward blue, they close in peace, as Stan shaves, the way a good man’s do. Kenny sings, *”she’s leaving now, there’s slamming of the door”. The sound of steel upon dad’s face, the face that I adored. A barber’s song, I can’t erase, its keep’s me feeling warm, and so Stan say’s “remember this, boy it fights the storm, boy it fights the storm”.

So cut just like in 72, when everything is green, when my whole open world, has yet to feel a brutal sting. – 11.13.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

*lyrics “Ruby” – Kenny Rogers

.

Bless me Father (A Dad’s Psalm)


Bless me father, I’m walking with children, is this the way you walked with me? In the winter, the snow is heavy, sometimes your footsteps I can’t see. Is it my focus, my lack of diligence, do the powers of wisdom not love me. Bless me father, I’m walking with children, their little burdens protect for me. In the morning, before Orion, before the dew drop touched the leaf, in a cache of the heavens weather, two gifts of Hashem, they chose me. That’s a man with scars of weakness, lets fulfill his ever need. In a moment, sweet emanation, first comes, two loves, entwined in childlike harmony. Bless me father, what makes me father, can you teach me cartography?

She’s a countenance on many quarters, she’s a wild wind in the reeds, she’s a child of moon and water, Augustus birthday, in love received. He is born on Yisrael’s shoulder, a Virgo kingship, for his border, blessed of favored, I do conceive. He’s a specter that saves loves weakness, a man of wonder, this too I believe. In the quietness, of holy order, I’m a father of two degrees. A book of shadow, in a spirit, I ask my father for what can be. Bless me father, my questions wander, have I given as I received, have I sheltered with forgiveness, have I cherished grace bequeathed?

Bless me father, I am older, now this grey it falls on me. Bless me father, a son, a daughter, a grace of lineage a family tree. They are grown now, a little older, enchantment breathing, prosperity. They carry seedlings from my altar, they carry love that sustains me. Marks of placement on my shoulders, phantom feelings of when they rode on me. Bless me father, for this I treasure, no greater skill has set me free. A dad’s psalm passed down from a father, in its mystery I can see. Bless me father, I’m walking with children, is this the way you walked with me.

 

For that fraternity of Dad’s, of which I am delighted to belong. – 06.14.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Melody


A song set in simplicity that has no rhyme or reason to be, a tune set before there is melody. Glazes of splendor, two in sweet paradigm you have grown before me. Stunning, like the substance of G_D’s dominion in me, placed purity of the love we made. Times you will climb, times you will fight, and when you fall you will shatter me but I will never turn away. The moon and stars, did you see them tonight, did you know they reached for you and then fell from the sky. That’s okay, that’s the reason I pray, and most of the time the words meet your destiny and fall into a mystic grace. The love I feel sometimes is displaced, and truth be known like my father before me you will never know its candor, until the morning sunlight hits your face and you touch my ghost at play. In quality I sired you before the face of G_D’s thunder I begged you to be blessed before second place, and in compassion this life’s wilderness was replaced with the elegance of YHWH’s refining fire that stands before me. There are warnings, attributes and words of linen fine I could utter, choices, blessings, instructions, rare psalm’s I could sing on a summer’s night. They would only take away from what has already been placed in you. So I remind you, I place you in the travesty of this atomic age, and place your hearts before you for only one holds you. You are chosen twice like two twins before his endless space and time, in compassion resting glowing cherubim’s before your fate. My faith, my belief, you are two risen before me, resting like peridot and sapphire without a care. A path before you arises, a change before you someday soon. It comes to harvest like a daemon full of puritan spark. I will be there, through the veil, I will see you, looking back at me. I will watch you run to quiet the storm, and like the song you are, that song set in simplicity, that one with no rhyme or reason to be, you will create melody. דָּנִיֵּאל
03.09.2014

Daughter by Father (“השם is your shepherd”)

Father and Daughter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daughter of cuts and asylums that hold no dreams or dares.  Grey marrow that throws no shadows, by word you breathe and summon twisted cares.  Machinations of thunder, strange discourse bewitched by a jaded age, there are no answers here.  In prophecy of Yisrael your life was won in a post-adamic age, I will not surrender you here.  Your cranial utterances embrace no syllables, your wild eyes no crime.  Between gestures and blindness I hold you in my hand you will know your Father’s time.

“השם is your shepherd”

Spartan, in a bloodless age, challenged by a wayward ark!  Hereby full display this outrage born without pure spark.  Child other heavens cry, for jubilation is within contention.  This sudden strife!  Sheol will know its walls fall and in my heart, I release your fury.  Though this ground shake, I am stone, I will not be moved.  This spine taste no tissue, it creates no art.  In light and rhythm, I did fashion what you cannot bear, and while these dark knights behold the storm, you will know your Father’s care.

“השם is your shepherd”

Misplaced daughter of years and deluded schemes!  Visual design haunted by modern elusive ineffective dreams.  Infant reflection by revelation fact in distance between us beholds the storm.  Drawings by razor, character the answer between lashings sleeping in torture where you are torn.  In magic, I hold you, daughter by father, loved before you were born.  Designed by light music, artistic decree, rain it is pouring while angels cry.  In worlds that birth interest, while snakes dance in glass, your father will sing love songs your daemons will be at rest.

“השם is your shepherd”

Related articles