King

      
       The lone boy banged

        His stick against the

      Wall percussively

      Summoning the tribe.

       Yet no one came -

      Climbed  upon

      The flat sunny green

      Garage roof -

      Sat cross-legged

      As a chieftain
     
      Gazing timelessly

      And dreamily

      Over his domain

      Ruler of the land .


       I watched him ,

       Knew him and  loved him -

       He was myself .
   
                           

Footnote to the poem below The word daemonic, is aword that is not even found in all dictionaries > From what I understand of the word is, the daemon is a certain essence - of a place or of a person- the deeper essence of oneself, even ones genius- something that is neither good or evil - and thats why one cannot find it in the dictionary - too difficult . But its the driving force of our lives !Its as if all our lives we are driven by some unknown energy of which, what we think of as the personality is only a small part And that is our daemon ..

                                       Dad


             My father was how a 

             Father should be,

              Tough, inscrutable,

              Volatile,
              
              And daemonic.             

            Before he died ,he asked

             Me to plant his beloved

            Sweet peas in the green house

             ( although he probably knew,

            That he would never

            See them flower. )



          Upon my wall hangs 

          A pastel of his,

           Of a lightning stricken tree -

          Gaunt , with dead branches

          Reaching  earthwards -

          But from its ancient trunk ,

          Are burgeoning shoots and leaves -

          Birds flying high above

          In the heavens .



               Yet he, steadfast to the last -

       Shunned the vain consolation,

      Of souls immortality .