I thought I’d share a few poems in celebration and honor of Father’s Day and the Summer Solstice today that spoke to me.

Perhaps they will bring a moment of reflection, as you pause in gratitude for what they symbolize in your own life.

This first poem isn’t about a father, directly, but embodies what fathers and father figures do in life. The “old man going a lone highway” builds his bridge, which is what “dads” do for their kids – they are bridge builders.

Me and my dad at Niagra Falls when I was about 3 years old

THE BRIDGE BUILDER by Will Allen Dromgoole

An old man going a lone highway,

Came, at the evening cold and gray,

To a chasm vast and deep and wide.

Through which was flowing a sullen tide

The old man crossed in the twilight dim,

The sullen stream had no fear for him;

But he turned when safe on the other side

And built a bridge to span the tide.

And here are two Summer Solstice poems to honor Mother Earth with and cherish all that she gifts us.

IN OBSERVATION OF SUMMER SOLSTICE by Christina Countryman

In recognition of the blessing of being alive on this beautiful planet

With great gratitude I honor the four directions

To the east and all that lay in that direction…

May the air and oceans enfold you in glorious beauty

And all creatures thrive upon your shores in health and harmony

Blessed be

To the south and all that lay in that direction…

May your mountains and rivers wash clean water to the sea

And your lakes and forests shelter all who dwell there

Blessed be

To the west and all that lay in that direction…

May the big sky of your plains sparkle with crystal clarity

And gift all life with healing rains and glorious sunshine

Blessed be

To the north and all that lay in that direction…

May your midnight sun shine upon a planet filled with hope

And the possibility of a peaceful world be made real

Blessed be

From MAYA: POEMS FOR THE SUMMER SOLSTICE by Gillian Harding-Russell

Blossoms blowing through the solstice – 

Come April’s cool rays, tender of apple blossoms
pink-kissed white gives way to tang of May’s
honeysuckle withering off-whitish yellow

vegetal nubs on a branch and to intensity
of June’s lilacs, joy a poignant pain on the brain as she walks
through glass doors under fairy arc of sprinklers

into wet-cut grass aroma of a summer day
as if she were passing into the pixel perfect of a movie
paint box blue and green, another country

(far from memory of winter’s white shadow of trees
bristling with hoar) when at her foot she notices
a dandelion turned from sunny coquette to old lady

white-haired fluff, and thinks she might have glimpsed
a midsummer god-light grinding gears on some invisible
wheel towards the shortest day…