Posts tagged ‘Annie Trizna’


My first daughter, Annie, was born in 1986 and I began writing poems about her. Lynn followed in 1988.
I sent two of my ‘father’ poems to New Worlds Unlimited and they published them in 1987 in their anthology, Memories of the Halcyon Days.
Since each of my girls was about two, I wrote them a poem for their birthdays reflecting on the past year. That tradition continues.


My child smiles
and I look into her eyes
and she knows nothing of the world.
And that is good.

My child cries
and she knows nothing of the sorrow
the world can give.
And that is good.

My child laughs.
And that is good for the world.


I looked the Lord full-faced
and saw my daughter
and I knew there was
something greater than I.
I saw my daughter discovering the world,
feeling new textures, wondering at new sounds
and I wished she could know
all I know and more.
I hold her close and feel the future,
Feel my past having purpose.
I feel new life.

January 28, 2011 at 6:15 pm 2 comments


The year was 1986, and my wife was pregnant with our first daughter, Annie. Eighteen months later, we had our second child, Lynn.
Being one who never thought I would marry, having a child was more than a miracle in my life.

That year, New Worlds Unlimited published two of my poems in their anthology, Secrets of the Poetic Vision.

The joy I felt at this time in my life is obvious in this poem.


My wife is pregnant
and the joy floods in.
Never expecting another life from mine
I stand amazed
and watch you grow
a love within my love.
I’ll tell you things,
I’ll teach you things,
I’ll show you the past
and stand amazed
as the future unfolds.
And I’ll hold you close
when life threatens.

This second offering is the result of a camping trip I took with my very good friend, Andy Lowe, to Yosemite National Park.
He introduced me to my wife, Joni. I think she has forgiven him.
On that trip I began the beard I now sport. Back then, it was brown. Now it is a dignified white. That is about the only part of me that is dignified, and that is questionable.
My wife and children have never seen me without a beard.


Granite faces etched with power,
The power, whispering in silent walks
through the sentinel pine
and those stone giants gaze down
with visages as old as time
and the whispering is there.

The night, a new moon night
with blackness deep and rich
and the power whispers
through pin-prick points of light,
speaking to us of other worlds,
whispering to us of our insignificance.

And the whispering continues
but chance to listen and its roar will deafen.

January 24, 2011 at 8:04 pm Leave a comment


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