Crackling Leaves and Soup


My father is here to

entice art from the sky,

his instrument of choice,

a sort of….

musical obscurity,

an ancient  silver rising

of voices and tide.

He swings a racket

to capture dreams,

and earths them …..

like lightening,

crackling leaves

and soup.

He is a lover of marmalade

bitter and orange

and his smile you ask


his smile is

a winter fire

a lullaby

his smile is Shangri-la.



27 thoughts on “Crackling Leaves and Soup”

  1. What a marvelous poem–I love “and earths them,” especially.

    Is this drawing one of your early works? I love the stern expression you give your father! I can certainly see why his smile would be “Shangri-La”!


    1. That is exactly right on the smile front! its not COMMON so when it happens and especially when it is directed personally it is life sustaining… this is one of my 4 yr olds drawings of Harry Potter 🙂 but it looks like dad !


  2. Aww. So playful and yet so solid. It’s cool to know people who are like that, that you can describe this way–that you actually HAVE to describe this way in order to capture that flame in their characters. Through your poems, I’d actually describe you somewhat similarly. 🙂


    1. ahhhh my… there was a time in my life that I dearly wished people could recognise the similarities between myself and my father, i look just like my mother so very few saw past that… Now I am happy to see it for myself and get a delightful thrill when others notice! I also emulate many of his less endearing points !


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