Circa October 7th 2020 papa passed away

Professed paean pronounced

and adroitly produced
upon spirit of deceased

named Boyce Brandon Harris.


First year anniversary since

cremains distributed across four winds

his soul remains alive within me.


Impressed upon mine consciousness

birthdate announcing home birth

April 9th 1929, my father

gasped his first breath of air

head populated with black curly locks,

when he uttered that initial blare,

nor preschool instructors extant

to teach him building blocks

inherent in double helix strand,

paternal grandfather (mine)
designed many a fancy chair

passed along blueprint
pertaining to curious lad
forever challenging himself to dare.


Though me dada gone with the wind

well nigh three hundred sixty five days

impossible mission to forget being pinned

with profound grief now sorrowful phase

diminished, nevertheless vague upbringing
regarding late father roughly limned

especially recalling dada's mien ways.


Him biological circumstance found

being youngest of three offspring

and second ably linkedin heir

whose inquisitiveness found him

roaming (courtesy donning roller skates)

Manhattan island far and near

plus or minus penchant
with science and mathematics

intelligent quotient in stratosphere

those mental cogs, wheels and gear

found those piercing black eyes to peer

way beyond New York City skyline.

Demise of him who helped beget me

softened harsh rebukes figuratively rained

upon noggin of yours truly

sole son wishes father understood

my psychological maelstrom

flush with monsters under boyhood bed,
and voices inside traumatized head.


Latent smarts did create career

path, which whipsawed him

thru multitudinous exotic places he did dare

to traverse – from Korean front

to General Electric where

he secured employment

as mechanical engineer

within aerospace, industry


completed my academic projects with flair,

who essentially earned me passing grade

just by the chin whisker hair

and by physical might,

I wished he served as bodyguard

when kids did jeer

me quiet skinny boy, who felt intimidated

when bullies spewed names with a leer.



  • L. B. Mek

    sorry for your loss
    may he rest in peace

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