Ah yes, well we do infect our children with our own insecurities and it’s a crippling thing.


Fear of Flying

The time of childhood, all things remembered
sticky and sweet, skinned knees and friends
hugging unselfconsciously, with open arms
Fathers flying kites, boats rowed through lakes
Teaching by adult example, fear of flying

Sand castles, on their sun splashed beach
hiding blueprints of a life to come
Who knows when just a child, the width
of that foundation, how strong the mortar
Welded in conformity, following commands

Making their lives, hardly weaned
a deconstruction, teachings spoken false
Carried from us, to some breeding place
the seeds of all this discontent to sow
in fertile furrows of their children’s minds

Generations, yet unborn
need no infection of a parent’s seed
Each newborn, slipping from the womb
comes perfectly, wondrously into light
To be only left alone, never crushed

Cradled, rocked, picked up now and then
Dusted off, smiled at, sometimes hugged
The light born in those eyes, is quite enough
to show a path, no one else may ever see
that leads from youth to middle age, eternity

I Understand
Your eyes say the loan committee
would like me better
in a Borsalino hat
And feel absolutely all the more secure
if I wore Georgio Armani
while making application

I understand

There was a time I felt the same
before the last five loans
all were paid on time
Then I knew the way to play the game
in those days when guts
were my only asset

Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection

THE SMELL OF TWEED
AND TOBACCO

available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.