ONLY CHILD
I am alone.
    I walk thru
    the seasons
Listening for the voice
    I’ll never hear
Looking for the face
    I’ll never see.
Only memories remain...
    His laugh
    His music.
Silently I mourn
    the loss, and
    the tears flow
Invisible to others
    and only for me
    because I am
So very much alone.

OLD SOUL
The memory of you
is ever fresh in my mind;
      Unchanged,
      Always 25.
As I age and move
      Through life,
      There, you remain;
Always younger,
      Never, ever
      Older;
But then,
      You were never
      Younger.

PENCILDOG RECORDINGS®
©PHIL GUYER, 1994
Coming Soon…
      Nothing New
            Sounds
Sounds
      From The
            Inner Space
Of The Soul
      Sounds That
            Are Around You
Sounds That Exist
      Already
            If You Listen
You Can Hear Them
      Yourself
            If You Can’t
Buy The Tape!

OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR
ARE LARGER THAN THEY APPEAR...
I can make anyone
    look like him
    in my rear-view mirror;
Bald, shiny head
    wire-rimmed sunglasses
    goatee;
Shadows just right
    to produce what
    I want to see.
Then they pass by
    and all hope
    fades to reality.

AFTER THE HIGH
I miss my kid.
If I could have him back
For just one moment
I'd hug him tight and
Tell him that I'll
Love him forever. . .
Then I'd wring his neck.
I miss my kid.

BORN MUSICIAN
You were the song my soul sang
Before you were ever born;
But the song wasn't real
Until you wrote the music,
And gave it back to me,
Unknowingly, with love.

You are still my precious child
And even though you're gone -
Your soul still sings to me
When I hear your music,
And I remember.

BACKYARD BLUES
In absence of
lightning bugs
on this warm
summer evening,
my thoughts
turn to you,
And how you’d enjoy
this backyard paradise
created in your memory.

It wasn’t here
before you left,
with it’s orderly disorder
being perfect for you -
and it would be
like you to drop by
to sit awhile.
even though
I can’t see you.

I miss you,
my son,
my own
lightning bug;
Did you
take them
with you
when you left
To light your way?

INGRAINED RITUAL
I can’t remember
when I stopped saying
my bedtime prayers
or even why;
And wonder now if,
my son, in his most
darkest of moments
kept up the ritual,
with some hope, or
abandoned it
as I did.

I’m starting to
silently pray again;
I understand
the words better;
and even though
the times have
changed, the words
are essential to
one’s well-being
while here, now,
more than ever.

WEEKEND WARRIOR
He died on
a Saturday;
and since then,
Saturday
has never been
the same.

SCATTERED MAIL
In memory of you
On no particular day,
I will try to make
A kind of peace
With your father.

His ways are not
Your fault, or mine;
Just his own.
Futile words
Could explain,
If one would care
Enough to ask.

I will just mail
A part of you
That I keep in the tin,
And send without a note;
There are no words
At this time anyway.

Maybe I should give
Him credit, and
Maybe he’ll understand,
Just maybe,
On no particular day.