crickle camp fire crackles
from trickly drip mist bog
sip fine pine sap wine
atop birchwood swamp log
wet wood smoky choky at
impromptu bonfire night
midsummer daze-y haze
from rainbow flame light
translucent and transcending
tongues untied by the wine
ancient wisdom descending
helped by fire, weed and vine
t'was ever thus, this ritual
immemorial riddles break
eternity's secrets told round
primordial old growth lake
woods-wise elders saging
on life mysteries engaging
in papal enclave debating
acolytes attending on the aging
I was young by the lake
in paradise I called mine
I walked among giants once
upon a faraway long ago time
with an elder wise as a god
nattering on freely we did
never shushing nor shaming
keep mum was all he forbid
demanding I ask my questions
treating them all with gravitas
no matter how trite or common
only foolish was the unasked.
unschooled yet wise past words
this trodder of untrodden way
hoping my markings please him
because of him they have their say
he was more than Irish charm
he'd charisma, gin and IT
with a splash of lemon pine
blarney with no bullshit
transparent where he could
opaque on his own pain
translucent when needs must
blurring bad with twilight rain
I've tried hard not to stray
to printer's black ink rhyme
all it gets us is hurt by
my endless jitterbug with time.
he passed so quietly it hurts
no footprints left by our sea
it's my job to share Opi's opus
to the jungling entrusted to me
I shall be the elder now
sitting shiva by our lake
holding court with my littles
in a perfectly Granda wake
I love you Grampa-Opi Kinney. Moja droga ja cię kocham.
Rest in peace.
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