#daddyskill #5, Lullabies

Sing that baby to sleep. If you don’t know any songs, make them up. If you only know the collected works of Soundgarden, Spoonman or Black Hole Sun will work just fine.

Here is a lullaby that I made up for our sweet little girl.

I’m gonna love you in the morning, sweet baby child
I’m gonna love you in the noontime, sweet baby child
I’m gonna love you in the evening, sweet baby child
I’m gonna love you, all your life

I’m gonna hold you in the morning, sweet baby child
I’m gonna hold you in the noontime, sweet baby child
I’m gonna hold you in the evening, sweet baby child
I’m gonna hold you, darlin’, all your life.

William Stonewall Monroe

Tippy toes: a poem of fatherhood

Tippy toes: a poem of fatherhood

Tippy toes on tippy toes,
Let it come, let it goes.
Make up your mind,
Change your heart. Better,
Resolve in heart, endeavor
Let the mind be flexible,
Let the wisdom that a father knows
Sit still for a while, let it build, grow
Everything does not need to be known
And not everything known needs to be shared
Keep the hearts,
Newborn
Hold them dear. Keep them.
Keep them close.

William Stonewall Monroe

Flash Fiction: The Unmoved

He had the look of the unmoved, the look of one of the steady, stone men, cut from the earth before memory came to being. Chiseled.

The unmoved stood outside the village, inward facing, reminding us that all too often, it is for the battles within ourselves that require the most vigilance.

“Father?”

Upon hearing my voice, he moved his head, disturbing the surface of his reverie. His eyes, nebulae ever changing in color and complexity, met mine.

The unmoved had no eyes, they simply knew and know. When you truly see, and understand, you have no need of eyes

“She’s beautiful”

He looked down at his granddaughter, sleeping in his arms.

William Stonewall Monroe

Newness: sometimes your the pit crew

Suppose there was a day that you could wake up, and all things, new and bright and shiny were working together for good and love in the middle of life’s hurricanes. A chosen above and mist below, horizons and fault lines, verizon and wait your times.

Never never owned by the precious moments that slip by but fully owning them, taking in the breaths and letting them go, one at a time. Not the time you could have predicted, but the time you have, the time you love, with the people you love.

It is in these times that sometimes, life asks you to be the race car driver, and sometimes life asks you to be the pit crew. Embrace your crew or your driver and run this crazy race.