' ''''''''' ''''''''' ''
most times, i wander past troubled winds of shore
when dark sighs heave upon a hazed door,
the crux of crosses seems to welcome me
listening to whines of own stories seeking plea,
and the wings of gray clouds immerse in cries
pausing, i carry gratitude with grace still in my eyes,
when moments are lid covered, like mourning shawl
my senses stoop ever weary as they begin to fall,
then I hear a chuckling of street kids spilling the day
as if hours are given by a Maker to strum and gaily play,
by then; I hold His LIGHT, a sliver of it begins to bloom
erasing crumbs of doubt in shades of twisted gloom.
once, thrice by the armchair are letters spread around
mostly payables , some due end of month’s mound
neck shrinks till coffee brews, like soft smoke in heat
thanking the Father for a home that sings in mellow beat
with smiles easing burdens that seem heavy weight
for heart’s growling hides many things like love, hope, and fate,
my eyes, my skin become plump again, and dear life wanders by
prayers whisper 'all is right', a joyful world wraps a mellow sigh,
looking up at the night’s ray, simple pleasures cannot be bought
I bow for His mercy and let go, to rest on His Light ever sought.
all rights reserved
" """" ''''''
Robert Ball's Honoring the Father Contest
by: nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud
When I was a boy, my father used to say,
Why don’t you behave, and do it right away?”
And as I started growing up, I always knew who’s who,
With him sat in the driving seat and me the child at school.
Now as time marches ever forward, as I watch my children play,
And giving them the same advice: “stop that now and do that right away.”
The years keep on advancing, sometimes I feel so low,
Now him within his twilight years, as his memory starts to go.
Recollection of the journey, and how it made me feel,
As he is now the passenger, and I sit behind the wheel.
Copyright © nicholas windle
Give me vodka, give me rum
I love the feeling of being numb
Give me a glass of Hennessy
I don’t care, just give it all to me
Everything is getting blurry
Why am I so filled with fury?
Alcohol all day and night
The only thing that feels all right
Can’t live without a single sip
I need the taste right on my lip
I killed myself with a dreadful thought
I’m the thing I cursed and fought
Mirror told me all the truth
I saw myself, I saw my youth
I’m filled with sorrow, I’m driven mad
I am just like my dreadful dad
Can I stop it? I don’t know
Addiction throws me back and fro
Alcohol is my fire of lust
Burning me as if it must
Killing my innards, destroying my mind
All because life wasn’t kind
Trapping myself, now I want to break free
Could somebody ever rescue me?
I need to escape; escape this obsession
The hardest thing is fighting addiction
Stuck on a battlefield, this is a war
I’m falling apart; revealing the scars
Alcohol, deadly love, dark passion
I’m crying, raging and battling addiction
Copyright © Julie Alcin
Millicent Portia Ponsonby-Smyth
Could speak fluent French by the time she was five.
By the age of just eight she was top of her class,
There wasn’t a test that she couldn’t pass.
English and maths she coped with just fine
And quantum mechanics she’d mastered by nine.
Her parents were proud, but a little concerned
That she’d never have fun if she stayed in to learn.
Her father said, “Millicent go out and play.”
“But father I’m reading so here I shall stay.”
“Being so clever is great there’s no doubt,
But once in a while you need to get out.”
She said, ”Pater, please listen I’m happy to study,
And if I go out there’s a chance I’ll get muddy.”
That very night she was taken off guard,
She discovered a sum that was simply too hard.
She stomped round her room in utter frustration,
She just couldn’t do this quadratic equation.
Gnashing her teeth and tearing her hair
She kicked out in temper at her teddy bear.
It flew through the air and bounced off the wall,
So she kicked it again before it could fall.
It bounced off her head and then off her knee
And suddenly Millicent giggled with glee.
She continued all night to kick it around.
For hours she kept it from touching the ground.
In the following weeks she practiced some more
And saved all the money she earnt from her chores.
She went to the shop, bought a ball and some boots,
And learnt how to dribble and learnt how to shoot.
Every day after school she went to the park
And practiced her football until it was dark.
She continued to study the books and the sport
And paid close attention to all she was taught.
13 years later Miss Smyth is delighted
She’s the first girl in history to play for United.
Copyright © Rufus Reed
On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day
Copyright © James Fraser
The tragedy of a Miracle started today
Our Lord’s brutalized body passed away
Of all the tragedies in the history of man
This is one I try to grasp, but never can
For some reason I find it impossible to see
We crucified the greatest man in our history
Through all of the gain and all of the loss
It was a predestined coin man had to toss
I wonder how Pilot must have felt that day
He washed cowards hands in a cowardly way
Beaten and tortured, his skin ripped to shreds
As a thorny crown dug holes into Jesus’ head
While nailed to the cross he had one final goal
Through the mercy of love he saved another soul
He saved that soul and then our Lord Jesus died
Can you imagine the countless tears that were cried?
As we all know Jesus' body was placed into a tomb
To my minds eye it was no less than a spiritual womb
And from inside that womb salvation was born
For the tomb was found empty come Sunday morn
This is not how the story ends it is only how it starts
The Lord now lives up inside each one of our hearts
Even those lost in Prison, the ones like I used to be
Can turn to the Lord and then they will be set free
Freedom is a thing that I think we all strive to find
It is etched in our heart and engraved in our mind
I was locked up in a cell nestled tightly away
Facing several years that I would have to pay
Up inside of that cell I made my own decree
A true miracle was taking place inside of me
I was a very evil man and I was so proud to show it
In the wink of an eye I was transformed into a Poet
I learned there is only one way to truly be free
Ask of the Lord, “ Jesus please come unto me”
And just as the Lord Jesus Christ rose up out of his tomb
We can all live with-in the comfort of his spiritual womb
Copyright © Michael Jordan
As I looked upon my Daughter Michaela it was clear to see
Two big beautiful blue eyes were looking back at me
When I got home from Prison and she was 5 days old
Speaking of holding the warm after absorbing the cold
The happiness of childhood was looking up to see
A little bundle of love that was looking inside of me
She would lie upon my chest and then she would fall out
I think safety in her daddy’s arms is what that was all about
She had a beautiful smile as well as a beautiful glow
As I looked at every tiny finger and every little toe
Then when she opened up her eyes everybody knew
“Just take a look at those blue eyes she looks just like you”
No ones knows where life may lead but I know in my heart
Made my end then started again so this baby would have a start
From the darkest night to the brightest light I can help her Soul
Perhaps in the overall scheme of things that always was my goal
I don’t think things are ever quite that easy, only thing I know
When it comes to beautiful babies, my little girl steals the show
Written for the Beautiful Babies Contest.
Copyright © Michael Jordan
A woman shattered the night, with her agonizing scream
Sacrificing her might has dawned realization of a dream.
She has given me a wonderful heir, to bear my name
And left her sweet memories, for the spirits not wane.
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago
It’s such a windy day, what a delight
Daddy says I can go and fly my kite!
We head for the beach to have some fun
Dashing onto the sand I run and run
My kite so blue trails on the beach
I wish it were in the sky out of reach
Suddenly a gust of wind whisks the kite up high
Soon it’s dancing in the bright blue sky
I hold on to the string with all my might
The breeze is strong; the kite takes flight
A tail of red ribbons flutter from the kite
Seeing the kite weaving is a wonderful sight
My legs begin to tire and the wind drops
We head for an ice cream at the shops
Daddy and I have had such a lovely day
If it’s windy tomorrow we’ll be back to play
Contest: Oil Painting 4 & 5
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
God has a plan,
And it is out of my hands.
Copyright © Kevin C. Martin
Nature’s Single Dad’s
THE LEAFY SEA DRAGON
Gracefully swaying without need for speed
Are creatures of beauty, disguised as seaweed.
Up to twelve inches long from tail to snout
These delicate creatures just drift about.
They carry, as they move like galleons in sail,
Silk-like appendages, leafy and pale
On back spines, projecting as masts on a ship
Sailing the oceans, they rise and they dip,
To the rhythm of moon tides; full or neap,
They travel the seas; these Dragons of the Deep.
Through weed-covered reefs and meadows of sea grass
There’s neither a neigh nor a moo as they pass.
They resemble sea horses in flowing silk gowns
Drifting on rhythms, dancing up and then down.
They slow dance through the water just moving around
No fire, no flames from these dragons; not a sound.
The mother will lay two hundred eggs on Dad’s patch
Of soft sponge, where safely they’ll hatch.
The sun flashes golden as she drifts on by,
While in the shadow on his tail, his offspring lie.
This single Dad of the deep tends a new generation,
Of Leafy Sea Dragon eggs; a fascinating creation.
Less than one inch when first hatched from the eggs
As newly formed babies; ready for life without legs.
They drift as if they feed, gaining the silky covered bone
To a length of twelve inches by the time they’re full grown.
The cycles of the moon dictate the rhythms and motion
Of this Leafy Sea Dragon in the great Southern Ocean.
The Leafy Sea Dragon is just one of Natures' Single Dads worthy of a mention for the survival of the species.
Copyright © J Eliza JAMES
With warmest regards and the saddest lament
I write this small note with the best of intent
The newspaper’s account of your husband’s death
Made me feel as if I was short of breath
As the son of a Veteran who twice went to war
I’ve often wondered, what my life would have had in store
If my father had not returned home one day
And I had to share my grief on public display
I was not born the first time he went away
And was just ten when he left again, somehow feeling betrayed
I didn’t quite understand why he had to leave
It took a while to learn not to grieve
I read that you have two little boys, just six and eight
I can’t imagine what you say to make their restless dreams abate
My mind used to play out my greatest fear
Misplacing his last tape recording, saying his coming home date was near
On return tapes to him, I played guitar and talked too
Trying to make him feel like he was home, even if untrue
I write this note to help me remember
That even though my father returned in December
Many that go off to war, do not
And sons, daughters, spouses and families are caught
In a process of grieving that abates only with time
It takes as long as it does, there is no magical chime
To help you and your sons with your journey that I feared most
Enclosed is a contribution to their foundation host
Not at all a fair trade, just to help provide for their well being
I know you remind them that their father’s love is all seeing
Copyright © Shawn Sackman
Forth he went upon the sea
grizzled and tough as he could be.
But when the old salt came to shore
he'd look for Jenny Lynn some more.
She was lost from him for years;
he'd shed a bucket of bitter tears.
Dreaming of the day they'd meet
the old man had a heart so sweet.
Someday he would find his daughter.
Till then he'd spend life on the water.
for "Sweet and Salty" contest
Copyright © Deb Wilson
So many things I want to say,
Knowing many who have gone astray,
So many castles build on sand,
But mines, is a solid rock, on which I stand,
So many forgotten little sheep
They have drowned in pools too deep,
So many questions that cause demands,
But mine, rest in the fathers hands.
We can shake our hands to the sky,
Beg for answers and scream our cries
We can let bitterness come between,
Curse others, fight and scream,
But when we lay it at his feet,
The holy fire causes all troubles to become obsolete
Learn to listen and then you will understand,
That we were made to be more than just human,
We are reflections of the creator’s infinite plan.
So many give up when they fall,
But God is greater than it all,
So many children run our streets,
Because they don’t know a love that is complete
So many trials cause despair,
And many tears plead its unfair,
But when you realize this is the master’s land
And that the finally is ABSOLUTLY grand,
You turn away from what they say
And allow the FATHER to lead the way.
We can shake our hands to the sky
Beg for answers and scream our cries,
We can let bitterness come between,
Curse others, fight and scream
But when we lay it at his feet
The holy fire causes all troubles to become obsolete
Learn to listen and then you will understand
That we were made to be more than just human
We are reflections of the creator’s infinite plan
Read His word and you will understand.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written: Father’s Day 2012
Copyright © Sabina Nicole
Mother and father love their plain ponytails and Lionel trains.
Then infancy crawls to scrap knees, tea parties. And headphone blast fast tones accompanied, by the arrogances of “me”.
Old Lionel trains sleep and ponytails worn plain train to feed or seek maternity.
Then mother and father love their plain ponytails and Lionel trains.
How I hate change.
Copyright © Michael Hawk Moore
When we we’re young we we’re deeply in love
My daddy said no but cupid was watching us from above
And they we’re never going to let us fall apart
No matter how much my father wanted you to depart
And as he tried to separate us we fell in love even more
We’re not going to worry because we’ve been through this before
I remember when you were throwing pebbles on my window
And my father just wanted you to go
But I was begging you to stay
I looked for you when I thought you went away
Romeo, Romeo where art thou
They’re trying to tell me how I feel; I need you now
I was starting to feel like if I’m lonely
But you were never gone, you’re always beside me
He pressured us so much that we both died
But in this life our love is revived
And now we have time to do all things we wanted to
I was meant to forever love you
Because you’re my Romeo and I’m your Juliet
And we knew it the first day we met
We’ll be together even if we have to run away
If I ever go a day without you everything would be black and gray
This is our love fairy-tale
Our love is real so it will never fail
Copyright © Julie Alcin
A broken promise, demoralized man who is incapable of being true,
A thoughtless coward, oblivious clown, this is what I think of you,
A woeful chicken, a runaway guy is how you're now portrayed,
A selfish critter, a prideful morsel is the reputation you have made,
When flesh spoils in a slaughter house the smell of you comes to mind,
For your manipulation has made you completely colorblind,
In your mothers soil you were the bad seed,
As you grew up we realized you were just a weed,
A fragmentation, with no revelation is who you really are,
A scab that stopped healing, the beggar who keeps on stealing, now just another scar,
A predicable cycle, a sick little mess, a hidden agenda that isn’t well dressed,
A miserable liar, disposable fool, too bad you weren’t like an infertile mule,
Just like a wolf, you would consume your own,
For apparently humanity was something you were never shown,
Just like wild animals that abandon their first litter,
You fit right in, you unoriginal quitter.
By: Sabina Nicole
Copyright © Sabina Nicole
When I was about twelve years of age it was plain to see
That my father was quite dim not nearly as bright as me
Stupid words and inane sayings embarrassed me to hear
I cringed at what he’d say or do when I had friends near
‘Don’t talk with your mouth half full’; as we ate he’d say
‘Fill the bloody thing’; he’d add with laugh like asses bray
Then came the age twenty one and my eyes opened wide
As I listened to my father now with deep unbridled pride
Wisdom flowed from learned tongue upon my older ears
Amazed at all that he had learned in those nine short years
6th in Contest 'My Parent' by Francine Roberts
Copyright © Eamon Duffin
Oh Father I give to you my wife who gave her son,
he is one of two, the other life never really begun.
She held him as baby and made his lunch as a boy,
through strife and struggle he still is her pride and joy.
She loves him more than she ever said,
but each and everyday she tucked him into bed.
Watch over him father as he left to serve with much pride,
but please be with my wife who is struggling deep inside.
She taught him well and this will serve as a strong foundation,
but he needs you to perform the duties requested by this nation.
Give him the strength he needs for the tasks set before him,
for my wife awaits to hold him and see him laugh again.
This I humble pray as her husband...
Edward J Ebbs - Winter 2007
Copyright © Edward Ebbs
Man does not wish to be thought
of as an animal in any way
But the acts he ascribes to animals
he performs each day
There is no gluttony found in animal-kind
They eat to live but in humans it's the
other way you will find
Animals seek an abode that provides
While mankind's grasp his reach exceeds
The animal world seeks mating to further
In these matters mans interest often
He's turns the action of mating into
In so doing has brought about its final
All these things prove man is not an
animal after all
He's very much less, an experiment
doomed to fall
Copyright © Elizabeth Smith
The morning was dark when I first held my newborn son
The tears overwhelmed as smiles did break my mouth
Proud was I this gift of such loving grace
Proud this little man would some day soon say my name
He peed in my face the first time I changed his diaper
He kept me up while restful sleep avadded the darkening hours
Countless dollars to feed clothe and sitter
The bathing the changings the illnesses all did mattered
A little man did my son grow to be
He fit just perfect upon my hurt knee
We patty-caked rode the horsey and sang Jesus Love Me
For I was his hero when he became three
I carried him to school that first day
I shared in his life and encouraged the right way
We discovered sports but his interest did fade
He wanted music- music he could play
He broke my heart on several occasions
His fight at school a pitiful grade a call from the police at three
A father first is tuff for I loved him so
He did correct his misdeeds as I watched him grow
As for this day- particular indeed it is to me
My grown up son still hugs on me
In his straight forward manner he sat me down
I am getting married were the words which made me smile
This morning is still dark when I did open my eyes
I took to recalling the years of raising my child
It is life as I have realized the circle is round
Hopefully a grandson will soon be found
Copyright © Mark Goodson
Dad never knew his father. That soldier died in a war.
All Dad heard was brief stories of the man that went before.
Grandma had some pictures and some medals on a wall.
But Dad never knew his father which was what mattered most of all
I’ve done some family history, and seen the ship’s manifest.
I’ve heard again the story of the good ship Lafayette--
How Grandma and her children searched the waves for periscopes,
Knowing that one torpedo could blow away all of their hopes.
This could have been in any war. Soldiers die and families flee.
But this was the family story that was handed down to me.
It started in old England, then to an immigration line:
A 3-year-old at Ellis Island, in July 1939.
They fled their burning country, to be called “war refugees”.
With help from an old uncle and a kind community,
Grandma made a new start here in the land of liberty.
They learned that Grandpa was killed in ‘44 in Italy.
I found online the letter, that my Grandma didn’t see,
About how the Sergeant-Major’s infantry company
Was caught out in the open by Wehrmacht artillery.
The letter said he didn’t suffer. Was he really killed instantly?
I never knew my Grandpa, though I was named after him.
Though I served a different flag, I was a soldier like him.
I’ve seen my father’s scrapbook, and Grandpa’s medals on the wall.
But I never knew my Grandpa which was what mattered most of all.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday
I can hear the horses snorting, outside my bedroom window,
Even though it comes, from so many years ago;
Cotton from the cottonwoods flying through the air,
Making whitened dapples on my palomino mare;
The hounds are all out baying, it must be dinner time;
In my tiny little neighborhood, I was never scared of crime;
Family surrounded me, aunts and uncles all around,
It was quiet on our little street, no sirens made a sound;
My cousins and I would play outlaws, and we’d hide out for a day;
Making mighty forts from the fifty tons of hay;
It never really changed much, as I grew up through the years,
And remembering that it’s gone, always brings me close to tears.
(My Parents sold the house I grew up in last year - It still breaks my heart)
Copyright © Tirzah Conway
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Juice in the video, sick in the car.
Untidy bedroom, scattered toys,
girls playing nurses with little boys.
Dogs' tails being pulled, a cat's on fire,
interrupting the moments of love and desire.
Passing the blame for their little crimes,
playing with frogs all covered in slime.
Screaming their heads off in a plush restaurant,
having a tantrum when refused what they want.
Arriving home late covered in mud,
not going to bed when they know they should.
Non-stop talking while dad's watching telly,
splashing the walls with ice-cream and jelly.
Chocolate stains on their Sunday best,
painting funny pictures on granddad's vest.
Why do parents' voices echo from afar,
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Copyright © Ken Duddle
If I don't turn around and leave this place
I'll surely explode and punch you in the face
You have no clue it's manure you spread
I'm feeling so angry I'm seeing red
Like a Chinese torture words drip on my head
You blabber so much I wish you were dead
The words you say are like nails in my brain
Piercing it over and over again
I hang my head down looking at my shoes
You have the power so I sing the blues
If only you'd stop things might be okay
Yet you keep going on day after day
What are you thinking as you talk and talk
I need to get away go out for a walk
If I do not you're in for a surprise
It's hard to see out of two blackened eyes
My poetry soup friends, do not worry I am not in a bad place.
Thinking back to being a kid and wishing I wasn't powerless.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
I am ten and crossing home.
Two players missed it, as it rolls on and on.
An error if you're scoring the play,
but I call it a home run on my first day.
I am ten, and I have found my first love
in a tattered ball, and a hand-me-down glove.
I am twenty, and I am throwing hard.
Beading sweat, please stay in the yard!
Each pitch thrown with a hope and a prayer.
Scholarship athletes can't be only fair.
Medical school looms larger than the Show.
A privilege for few, but I don't want to go.
I am thirty and I cannot put it down.
Sundays the old men come around.
Love of the game a common bond.
The bat is no longer a magic wand.
Reminiscing about those bygone days.
I can no longer beat out those close plays.
I am forty, and I watch with delight.
My own boys throwing with all their might.
A lump in my throat, a moist eye.
I contentedly look on and sigh.
I've passed down the love to the next generation,
and I wouldn't trade that for a standing ovation.
Copyright © James Nichols
By holding his finger i with my little hands learned to walk,
And by repeating after him some heavy words I learned to talk.
Falling several times during walking I with the support of my father tried again and again,
I also remember the moment when he gave me shed during the heavy rain.
When I achieve something great inside him celebrations he makes,
But does and should scold me when I do bad mistakes.
From him I have taken true inspiration,
And being someone like him is not only my dream but also my despiration.
Through him I always find the right way,
" Try to convert your dreams into reality " is the line he always say.
He was the one who held my hand and taught me to write,
So that ahead of me my future is bright,
And he cares for me whether it is day or night.
He always stand alongside me whether I win or lose,
Through him I learned how to the right path choose.
He is the one who stays hungry when I don't eat,
And in the cold he becomes my warmth and gives me heat.
I give my father a tribute from the bottom of my heart,
And I hope that our bonding of love never goes apart.
Copyright © Rachit Bansal
< Coco was his name
Spider monkey all the same
Dad worked for zoo
Feeder of Coco too
Brought the little guy home
Boy did Coco love to rome
Droppings here and there
Mom covered up his dairy - air
Shoulders he did seek
Knocking younger ones off their feet
Bananas and salted nuts
Made Coco dance and strut
Each day a animal of new
Dad brought home from the zoo
But the one I'll remember the most
Was coco who shared my daily toast
Como Park Zoo
St Paul Minnesota
Coco And Daddy
Can You Imagine
A Monkey Playing
With 10 Kids LOL
Copyright © Katherine Stella
Yarns and laughter once flowed through my father’s old chair,
With its smile shaped cushion that’s in need of some repair,
He laughed as he told his stories and reeled us with his charm,
As we wormy wriggled on his words with no fear or alarm.
He smiled with his eyes and blinked as the memories rose,
His tortoise shell glasses were perched wisely upon his nose.
Regal stories of yesteryear when he was in his prime,
For reasons lost or disregarded, now a shadow lost in time.
His smile made us happy as we sat and listened true,
Of friends he met, or grew up with, some we even knew.
Now the chair is silent, though its cushion tries to smile,
I hope to find a shadow there when I check once in a while.
Just memories fill the void where once laughter filled that chair,
With its smile shaped cushion that’s in need of some repair.
18th July 2013
Copyright © Seosamh De Burca
there are many women who's life has been a tragedy.
we all know that is not the way it ought to be.
tragedies, unfortunately, are equal opportunity employers.
they strike all, no matter what race, creed or color.
think of the woman who are denied their basic rights.
they do what they are told and are instructed to neither fuss nor fight.
they have been taught through experience that they have no value.
so through life they go lacking self esteem & confidence,
with no dreams to pursue.
yet these are the strong women who have endured life.
countless, endless nights of sexual assault and she wasn't the wife.
if she were the mistress it would have been her choice to make;
but she wasn't, she was too young and for daddy's sake.
she endured the pain of being defiled....
threatened, young, afraid, her confusion was compiled.
daddies weren't suppose to do this ......
not to a child.
to mommy she went hoping she would be saved, after a while.
but mommy wasn't sure of the why's and how's.
how do you stay with a man who is a sow ?
how do you raise a family when you don't know?
is the child telling the truth or is she lying?
no ... it isn't a lie because you feel like dying.
so the daughter grows from child to woman.
carrying with her this tragedy that will always remain.
she has confronted, accepted and knows she isn't to blame.
she has grown to be confident, successful and quite sane.
forgiving is what she has learned to live by.
she had to deal with the pain and her mother the why.
as for the both they will mend;
but for the other he will surely spend.
the rest of his life in an eternal hell,
for he was under the devils spell.
Copyright © Jacqueline Newton-Kowalsky