Posts Tagged ‘cancer’

Fishing on the Bushkill

When all that meant everything
Was a fire burning deep at night,
With friends to share life’s comic air,
The moon above to steal sight.

That was right, that was right, a time
And place suspended still somewhere.
A vault, untouched, unnamed, floating
Above those who wish they could stare.

Protected there my father lives
At that scout camp Resica Falls.
In his teens and full of living,
Hearing that Pennsylvania call.

One summer out there out posting
Past the main camp to staff Fawn Run,
My young father was on the edge,
A place where deep thoughts had begun.

He had time in those woods alone,
And ran his post when campers showed,
He’d often talk of Bushkill Creek,
Of its bronze color and how it flowed.

He’d make a fire, grab his rod,
At evening time he’d fish the creek,
Time spent in that flowing sweetness,
Relying on brown trout to eat.

Like a bear that is so content
To fish and eat and sleep so well,
Under stars from heavens glow,
The years to come no one could tell.

What thoughts my father had before,
Standing there on Bushkill’s shore,
Before he lost love and fought a war,
When life was moments, nothing more?

Did he know what the future held,
Or simply watched the river flow?
Was Vietnam even a thought?
Into that jungle he would go.

Did he know he’d be scoutmaster?
His sons to be and that boy the same,
All destined to be Eagle Scouts,
I knew the man that boy became.

Navigating rivers and life,
In that protected vault of then,
Trout, Brotherhood, Spirit, being
Among the links of boys to men.

Deep in the woods where wild calls,
Links that are not seen, are not heard,
Father’s gone but the Bushkill flows,
He has become that secret word.

Some of his ashes flow there now,
To keep the Bushkill’s spirit safe,
To guard by way of bird and fish,
To strengthen love and heighten faith.

What thoughts my father had before,
Standing there on Bushkill’s shore,
Before he lost love and fought a war,
When life was moments, nothing more?

Kyle McHale      2011


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The Trees are With Me

Me: “For if I could endure it all
To make it through this dreadful fall,
When my father left with the leaves
To catch and glide that color breeze,

I may see what my father’s done,
Taking pride as his oldest son,
That clarity in autumn light,
That calling out, those pleasant nights,

Where I can send a fire out
Of whipping tails sending up,
Into the space my father went,
Warming all that pain he felt,

And gently touching life’s great web,
Listening to what those trees said.”

The Trees: “We have your father, he is here,
We have his heart out everywhere,

Let us touch you with our grace,
Your father’s heart’s in natural place,
When you gaze towards heaven’s glow,
When you are lost and want to know,

The Great Maker has taken care
Of his brave spirit in the air,
For you know what type he was,
Part wolf and bear, eagle and dove,

Part sea and land, part guiding hands,
Part father, brother, teacher, friend.
You see we needed him so much,
So that his soul could finally touch

All it earned in a mortal life,
To never feel a lonely night,
But you must stay and find that out,
Seek guidance in the spirit clouds,

Then closer to the heart you’ll be,
Yours and his beat beautifully.”

Me: “Dear trees I’m still travelling lost,
I stand where place and time do cross,
I’ll stay with fire close to ground,
I’ll stay lost and hope I’m found

By where my father’s heart has touched,
By how he filled my life with love.
Enjoy his heart in autumn moon,
I’ll see him again but no time soon.

Be at peace with everything,
I’ll look for you when eagles sing.”

Kyle McHale      2010

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To you, to you, I pray to you,
For all you did, and all you do.
What’s left of you for us to see?
You dressed in black tranquility.

An open space, a casket grave,
Reminds us beauty that you gave,
And at your final resting place
We sat, we cried, wished for your face,

But not in ground and left to fall,
We placed you in a Turkish wall,
My hands said farewell then let go,
A moment I ignored to know.

But then I knew that you were there,
Because those wings of flapping air
That you loved in butterflies,
Beautiful movement in the skies,

On the large arched window glass,
There stood a large green creature that
Some of us saw and pointed out,
Keeping quiet, wanting to shout.

It sat with heaven for a time,
No place for this large butterfly,
Maybe it was a lunar moth,
Either way, my breath stayed soft,

Until the pastor’s words were done,
Then opened the glass into the sun,
The lovely spy took magic flight,
Then graced us with movement delight,

And circled round the podium,
Then flew out to kingdom come,
Into the golden open spot,
A summer field, golden hot,

Swaying grass and wild flowers,
Forgetting long dreary hours.
So we knew you said goodbye,
You knew we loved you, so did I.

Your family felt the pain the most,
And knew a time of your ghost,
I want your children to grow well,
Beautiful, with life to tell.

In all things and flying motion,
Your faith in God, and the ocean,
A painting that you gave me once
Of crashing waves and sandy bumps

Calms me down when life is steep,
In all those waves the oceans keep
Your love against the shores of sand.
I let you pass right through my hands

To let you go and be with Him,
Where faith meets love and all else ends.

Kyle McHale      2010

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