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Mother Father Poems | Mother Poems About Father

These Mother Father poems are examples of Mother poems about Father. These are the best examples of Mother Father poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

GRANDPA

*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*

Hi, grandpa it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass
Do you remember the tears grandma sang before she passed?
The way she looked into your eyes, 
Moments before she said her goodbyes
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma, she doesn't want you to cry.

Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Do you remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed brushing my hair with her hands
Love the way she rocked me to sleep every night until I grew. 

Hello, grandpa!
I stored your hearing aid away
Do you remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer? 
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina dance
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma lived in
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandmothers favorite scarf.

Hello, Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Do you like the way she looked in that pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
I like the walking stick she handcrafted, the day your needed support
It kept you in balance every time we took long hikes in the woods.

Hello grandpa, it's me again! 
Here I sit holding your hand
I have no more tears
Soon you will see grandma
Please tell her hi, and I know you will be there the day I die
Bye, grandpa
Give grandma a kiss, and tell her I miss her

By; PD


Details | Rhyme | |

Suicide Mind

What makes the decision
To flick the switch
To end ones life
For the sake of it
 
Troubled, debts
Bullied at school
Fork in the road
To let death rule
 
Mums, dads
Daughters and sons
What ever affects them 
They just can't outrun
 
Sadness and tears
By all left behind
Will they ever understand
Suicide Mind


Details | Diamante | |

Precious Gifts of Love

God/Jesus Loving, Good Saving, Blessing, Guiding King, Lord of Lords, Savior, Creator Teaching, Leading, Fishing Powerful, Almighty Father Father strong, industrious building , directing , sacrificing family head, director, leader, manager hardworking, supporting courageous, patient Mother Mother caring, kind nursing , assisting, guiding teacher, adviser, counselor, caregiver, leading, molding, supervising tender, understanding friend Friend loyal, warm brothers, sisters giving unconditional love whom we can hold on to and trust, so,love and honor your father and mother one of the commandments of God Above are precious diamonds and gifts of love, Safely kept in my diamante- poem treasure box.
August 18,2012 First Place Contest: Diamante Judged: 11/13/13 Sponsor: Poet Dr. Ram Mehta


Details | Couplet | |

On The Moon

Thea, grandfather Alferd's dog died, she was so old and sick
Now is Thea on the moon, says Adrian who is six

Michael Jackson died so unexpectedly and abruptly
He is on the moon and plays with Thea, says Adrian who is a big fan

Betzy, grandfather Arild's dog died, she was also old and sick
Now Betzy is also on the moon with Thea and Michael Jackson and play all day

Great Grandmother died so unexpectedly and abruptly
Adrian who is six had difficulty understanding

Adrian who is six cried many tears for Great Grandmother
but comforted himself with the fact that she is sitting on the moon and
makes waffles to Thea, Michael Jackson and Betzy.




04.11.2012
A-L Andresen :)  - A true story -


Details | Free verse | |

Brother Of The Quill

Brother of the Quill
Join me in a dance
For mother sings nightly
And father sleeps within a trance
Deerskin feet 
they'll never hear our steps
Through hemlock and the fields of wheat
All night long we will dance
Moon Mother lights our way
And our ancestors shine as bright stars
We will run as the wolves
And sing from our hearts
Brother of the Quill
Join me in a prance
We will shoot stars with our arrows
And wish for another dance
Deerskin tents
They'll never hear the swish
Of when we sneak back in
And fall asleep before Father wakes again


Details | Free verse | |

'Love me with your Time'


I might make a noise right now There will be a time when I go silent Will you miss my racket? In those days of silence? I will no longer yearn for your presence Like I do at this very moment Will you wonder? Will you wish? For that good morning? I might be a nuisance right now I might ask you the same thing over and over One day Some day My voice will go silent All I ask today is be patient with me Please love me; with your ears Please love me; with your time Before all you will have Is my grave and the memories…
"Thoughts of the aged - loneliness don't discriminate " ©134517022015


Details | Rhyme | |

Little Yellow Socks

* Written for my daughter, who really does have a precious pair of Little Yellow Socks.

Little Yellow Socks
       by Amy Swanson  12/5/2008

Little yellow socks
running down the hall
"Slow down with those socks on,"
I'd yell... too late, the fall!

Little yellow socks
padding softly late at night
climbing up into my lap
one more hug, out goes the light.

Little yellow socks
follow me with squeals of laughter;
Oh how she loves to run in them,
Begging me to come chase after!

Little yellow socks...
now not being worn a lot.
My little girl is growing up,
No longer just a tot.

Little yellow socks
will be cast aside someday
I must guard these precious moments;
in my heart, they'll safely stay.


Details | Blank verse | |

A Brief Childhood

In the back of my head, in the garden shed,
I see him as clearly as fresh white paint:
A little boy sat on the creosote floor, 
Dragged grazed knees hugged up to his chin, 
So familiar, so resonant and never faint. 
He shivers and weeps on the wooden ground, 
Alone, almost silent, with hardly a sound, 
In retreat from a world he cannot understand 
That Is ruled and defined by a callused hand.

It's his seventh birthday and a slowing flood 
Of mucus and blood flows from swollen lips, 
A tooth bares a nerve and a jagged chip, 
But the pain means no more than dandelion clocks 
Or cuckoo spit; the act alone the gestalt of it.

Some days he would walk for miles, 
To see beyond the next hill, around the bend, 
Kicking slowly along, his shadow twice his size, 
Dwarfing him, tracking him, a passive friend. 
Perhaps to find some haven, someone to 
Take him in, rescue his heart, and want him;
But strangers, though kindly, approached 
With the dusk and it always ended the same way:
"Where do you live?" they would say
And thoroughly drilled, he would quietly reply,
In emotion drained monotone,
His address and number of the telephone,
And they always took him back home.

Some days he would walk for miles,
To sit on the edge of the viaduct, 
Perched perilously with nothing to lose, 
Dangling feet in small scuffed shoes, 
Dropping pebbles and stones to the 
Rocks and undergrowth far, far below, 
Imagining if he may fall in their stead, 
What then would be left to know?

The fall down the stairs snapped his ankle
Like a spindly twig, fractured some ribs,
Dislocated his jaw.
The children's ward, antiseptic and bright,
Young nurses in uniform, starched and white
Were so kind to him, he almost cried, bringing concern
And orange squash and a paper straw.

Sometimes it’s like this when things go wrong, 
A scapegoat is needed to blame things on. 
People thought him shy, with head bowed low, 
Lost in comics and books, lost in himself, 
Denying the threat of another blow. 
He was not shy, just hiding and biding, 
Keeping his head down and trying not to show.

Life is a scoundrel, and time a cohort thief, 
Stealing a childhood with no reprieve, 
Leaving only the slow burning sense of relief, 
That an unpleasant childhood seemed mercifully brief.


Details | Narrative | |

Night Angel

They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
The man.
The child.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
The terror
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Agonizing
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A passer-by.
A doer of good deeds.
He stops.
He sees.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
Bravely
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
He runs.
He hides.
The passer-by,
Believing he saved
A child
From a long, cold walk,
In reality
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.


Details | Free verse | |

My Micke boys

                To be called ..
            ~   Grandma is a Honor ~

        I have been blessed with 4  Grandchildren

       ~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb "  He is God's Angel ~
   ~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~

     For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
       he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
      ~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
 
              Time passed another gift to see
               we are " Mickes" and Loved 
            Our Dad held the title in Baseball 
                   ~  that's how we roll ~
           those children are Grandmas hero's 

       The Irish they love big and Family is everything 
        The brothers will protect the beautiful sister 
              ~ as many lads will be calling ~

        Every time my Grandson hits a home run
     There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand 

       It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs 
           ~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
     either baseball or Art  ~ you shall find your gift given

                These children have been blessed~
                 ~  a beauty to hard to describe 
        If you think not ~~  Take a look at the Mom  
                     That girl can stop Traffic   
                    after raising three and still~ 

          "Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "

     May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell


Details | Personification | |

Pulse

One moist patch, like dewy grass,
surrounded by a field of weeds,
emerges first and breathes at last, 
through openings, the air it needs.
Cut off from, and cut off of;
counting on, and counting in;
from down below, to up above - 
A smack on tender, crimson skin.
	There is a pulse.

One spring bud, like seedling stems,
surrounded by a garden wall,
is standing out from all of them, 
despite the fact, they're just as tall.
And though the bud has not yet grown,
the soil and the water see
more than just the seed they've sewn.
They see the flower it will be.
	There is a pulse.

One tall stem, like climbing vines,
surrounded by its petals' plumes,
shares its elegant designs,
and stretches as it blooms.
And when the wind begins to call,
the flower spreads it's pollen 'round.
It falls in love, and loves in fall,
and falling love renews the ground.
	There is a pulse.


Details | Free verse | |

Since First I Saw You

Since first I saw you, it was your eyes,
mesmerizing, your gaze transporting
me to a realm, not of fantasy, real,
where young men go when cupid’s
arrow takes root.

Since first I saw you, it was your lips,
captivating, holding me frozen 
in anticipation of our lips brushing
for the first time.

Since first I saw you, it was your voice,
a crescendo, light, invigorating, 
each word you speak intensifies 
my hearing, enveloping each
note, time ceases as I hang motionless
savoring, memorizing.

Since first I saw you, it was your hair,
long, flowing, gently rising above
your shoulders as a slight breeze
passes through sending waves
of your essence my way. 
The sun magnifying each strand, 
highlighting the minute
variances of invigorating color, 
creating a halo effect, a portrait of
your beauty forever imprinted.

Since first I saw you, It was you,
my love forever more for you,
only you.


Details | Epic | |

To My Wife Grandpa Murray's voice

I wandered and travelled
Nor knew where I'd gone .
Life became a problem;
T'was one long cruel song.

My problems seem to multiply;
They came from every side.
I vowed to find the answer;
by this I would abide.

I looked into nature
And tore apart my mind.
Then put them on the table
To see what I could find.

I found that I'de been greedy
and avaricious, too.
Whenever projects of mine failed
I put the blame on you.

I found that I was lonely;
I thought you didn't care.
But what I really didn't know
Was you were always there.

You tried to fill the void
That always was in my Life.
you tried to ease the sorrow
You've been a real good Wife.
 
                           Yvette & Grandpa Murray  
          From James Murray to , Janet Murray ..his beautiful wife.
" In great respect of Grandfather Murray's poem he wrote for my  Grandmother Murray "


Details | Free verse | |

The Pilgrimage

They fought the tide to own this land
A fight I did not understand
They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
But yet,…by God,……they owned the pride

In retrospect, I'm still ashamed
It was, my flippant pilgrimage
I had come a stranger to this place
About to step upon the moon,
A cratered space of rocks and sage
Of rolling hills, with no escape

She saw it differently, of course 
Although her body weary, worn
Her eyes were strong, ...she saw a home

Her age was then, what mine is now
It had been her home, and it had been her vow
To come again, just one more time.  

I was thirteen, and dragged along
I overlooked the great attraction
I could not see the satisfaction
I missed the light upon her face

She saw the youth she left behind
Her gray eyes drinking up the sun, 
I saw the dust, I saw the bones, 
Where she saw beauty,  I saw none .....
 
Nothing more than a sea of weeds, the crumbling brick, 
A place to shuffle my restless feet

But stories came, and they sunk in….
And now I view with wiser eyes…
She told me all these things back then…but now, I smile,… remembering.

     They had to fight to own this piece of land
     They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
     And yet,…oh yes,…….they owned the pride


                                                 ~~



Recited on youtube       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAchI2nu9yY

_______________________________________________________________
For Deb's Contest:....2nd Option..(With age comes wisdom, understanding and
                                                  appreciation. I am never too old to keep learning
                                                  and value those who came before and made me
                                                  who I am.)



______________________________________________________________


Details | Free verse | |

A Word

My son,
This journey begins with a step.
always remember these words I told you
they will be your guiding light in darkness

My son,
Do not slumber with your two eyes closed,
When you own a pot of gold
The eyes of traitors are watching.
The storm might be uncontrollable
But always listen to the desire of your heart,
Its sighs are the ultimatum of success.

My son,
Do not yield according to the desire of the body
It will take you to the highest mountain
And thereafter, a big fall.
Do not call your friends traitors
You never know if they are truly for you.
If the World turned against you
Don't be dismayed
hold on to steadfast love

My son,
Do not spit on those guiding hands that ratify you
they are those sent from above to lead you
Do not engage in a battle,
You never know what will become of you.

My son,
Do not listen to the words of fools,
They will sting you like scorpions.
Do not yield to their advice,
You will get drowned in their foolishness,
And stabbed by their expectations.
Do not accept their gift,
You will get entangled in their deceit.
Do not listen to rumors
They are created by your enemies.
If they ask for forgiveness,
Always look at your back.

My son,
I have seen things,
I have heard words,
They were mine, but now your possession.
Listen to these words 
They will make you grow in wisdom.
Listen to the stars,
The sky is more than your limit.
Abide by these words,
They will make you a leading light.

My son,
Cherish these words of wisdom,
And you shall be the canopy of the cloud.
Meditate on these word,
And the moon shall be your stepping stone.


Details | Bio | |

My Origin

Where do I come from? Well we all come 
from somewhere. I was born in a small 
town, here in in good old U S of A. South 
to the border, by the Rio Grand. Mission 
Texas is the town's name.

My real parents came from Mexico. My
grandmother, it was said  - she came from 
Spain. My grandfather was indian. He fought 
in the Revolution. Both were on my mother's
side.

On my father's side, never knew too much, 
only that the grandmother died kind of 
young. The grandfather died years later, but
I never got to know them.

My father left my mom, when I was only three.
He never came back. My mother gave away my 
sisters, than later she gave me. She only kept
my brother, maybe she couldn't keep me.

I was raised with a nice lady and her husband.
I learned to call her mom. That title she had 
earned and my respect most of all. My parents
that raised me were poor, but made sure I had 
something to eat. My mother made my dresses 
so that I could go to school.

I learned to read and write and enjoyed school
very much, but I had to quit at fifteen to help my
parents out. Years later I went back and finished
my High School. 

I did not go to college , or mastered in any degree. 
I am what you might call self taught. For about thirty
years I worked with electronics and did my job well.
I gained respect from my bosses and high top
engineers.

My parents taught me good values that have helped 
me  through out life. I am not ashamed of my 
origin, of Mexican Heritage I came. I am what you
would call a TEX. MEX. and I live up to my name...

Just a little about myself. Hope
you enjoy it.

written by Lucilla M. Carrillo


Details | Free verse | |

UNGRATEFUL CHILDREN A parent's lament

UNGRATEFUL CHILDREN   A parent's lament

Children
   	with Wings
    	and Talons
Pounce on the fleetest of hearts
 their
 
Memories	

Soar        
                 over the
                 Blood Transfusions
    		Hospital frights of prematurity
             			 of EMS sirens
                              HIV trembling tests 
   		 Asthma Tents
   	
                Breathless Worry atop cloud kissed Trees
   		
                Sleepless Nights of bully battles
  		
                Struggles with Education’s foes
   		
                 Mad Escapes from Fathers of Violence
   		
                 The teary wave good bye for fledgling endeavors
			Day night day night day night…unending
   	and

Land  on

      Slight Imperfections and Imagined Slights
            or the

Shortage of Cash
        for  
                    Trips
                    Technoshit
                    New Shoes 
                    New Cars
	or other
Dreams
                         You 
                      Couldn’t
                         Buy.
 


Details | Sonnet | |

Gratitude

The pool grows green through the leaf cover.
Large pears hang upon ancient tree.
Mocking Bird sings chanting to his lover;
As the dew sparkles, like water in the sea.

Crepe Myrtle has turned red how time has passed.
Moma admired some trees said they were pretty.
Daddy dug up  a few runners, oh! memories from past.
In most things, think of daddy how witty__

Daddy brought (them) here to brighten moma's life
To give her something pretty to enjoy.
Today I enjoy them, this is reallife.
Now as I look at them they are my buoy

Clouds are coming in hiding the sun rays
But their light and life brightens my days_

For Nancy's contest;

Contest name: Gratitude


Details | Quatern | |

Harridan in a Housecoat

~Harridan in a Housecoat~ Four small children sent for care as their mother was taken so ill No father could they reach for them so they were sent off at someone’s will In the night taken from their beds, no word spoken, hearts full of dread Taken to a town far away and not knowing what lay ahead. A huge housecoat descended down like a crow devouring road kill At the side stood a henchman, pointed nose, dark hair, and vengeful Warning words left in theirs ears "be good or else there will be trouble" “No one wants you now you know, not your parents” she burst that bubble. The housecoat and the henchman dealt out their ghastly deeds To three of the children she vented her spleen, her willing helper dealt her needs The fourth child the baby, she showered with kisses and good food to eat She bought her clothes and dressed her well, and spoke to her words so sweet. The three all under the age of six did dread each and every night When scrubbed with scrubbing brushes, their skin looking red raw and tight. She had to get the scum off them because they were now in care It was obvious that no one loved them, that’s why they were there. Frightened and timid were the three, but the youngest was well looked after Jealousy did form in the minds of the three - it robbed them of their laughter The harridan in the housecoat with her willing henchman Thought up little tortures finding the Achilles’ heels in each child one by one. The housecoat and the henchman were in for big surprise When the father sent for the children, she couldn’t believe her eyes Bribery she tried on the siblings so the children would never tell But there is not one that would condemn her to her well preached hell. The housecoat and the henchman a mother and daughter no less A good churchgoing family with their holy pictures to bless Evil in their deeds of torture and of mental games The harridan in the housecoat and the daughter with no name.
© ~GG~ 6/08/2012


Details | Free verse | |

Grandpa's Wink

One night I was trying to put a wide-awake and unruly child to bed.
She slipped, and slid, and giggled as she ran everywhere else instead.
But then I finally caught her as she climbed upon her Daddy’s lap.
He ask her why she wouldn’t go to sleep and monsters is what he got.
So Daddy told her a bedtime story that calmed her down at last.
His chair sat by the windows, where he could see the sky.
She’d noticed that he sat there nightly starring at those stars.
He told her to look for one that winked for it was Grandma saying good night.
Another one would be Grandpa who would take her cares to heart.
And one would be her Guardian Angel to keep her safe at night.
But the best of all would be God who would be there to plot her daily course.
Then look at all the twinkling ones…. They are the Angels as they rejoice.
And the Aurora Borealis is the music to those stars.
Now listen very carefully, and watch with all your heart…
And you will see you’re not alone in your bedroom late at night.
For how can you be alone with so much going on just for you?
Then Daddy gently picked her up and took her off to bed.
Now she wouldn’t go to sleep unless the curtains were open this night instead.

Then years later I was listening as she put her own precious wee one to bed…
And you will never guess… She said exactly what her father had said…
I went back to that old chair and thanked her Daddy for his wisdom thru the years…
And as I looked upon the stars… he winked good night to me, I’m sure…


Details | Quintain (English) | |

Chef - Dad

If he were my Dad, he would be the best.
A distinguished Chef that taught me to cook.
An ever loving Heart, beats in his chest.
His spare time , he writes a Poetry book.
When its done; as a Poetry Family; We should all take a look.
.
I have a distinct advantage, in the Culinary Arts.
“Dad” was a self made Chef : Loved by Culinary : ALL.
You have an distinct advantage, with your Ever Loving Hearts.
We climb the stairs of Poetry; to the Poet Laureate’s Hall.
We spend half of Eternity, reading Poems upon the wall.

He's a teacher, a Chef, a poet; a husband that Loves his Wife.
Allthough she now lives in Heaven, as she has for forty years.
His heart has found someone new; that has given him new life.
Barbara Jean, whom I call Mom; has dried up past forlorn tears. 
He is a man deeply in love with everyone he knows, he loves all his peers.

This is a Quintain I wrote for Francine Roberts Contest "  English Quintain Contest
Dedicated to "Dad  and Mom" Harry D. Johnson aka Harry, HG, Liege and Barbara Jean
Gorlick aka BG, Mom I wrote this Dec. 3 I added the third stanza today Dec. 14


Details | Free verse | |

Pure Of Heart

Wise Grandfather Shaman, 
I am pure of Heart,
I bathe beneath the Moon, 
and dry beneath the Sun,
I listen to the Wind,
I run with the Deer,
I hunt with the Wolves,
I fish with the Eagles and Hawks,
I ride with the Wild Paints,
And roam with the Buffalo,
I grow with Grandmother Tree,
Ever learning from her Wisdom, 
I am skilled in Warrior Ways,
A strong Hunter, 
A compassionate Listener,
A patient Tracker,
I have gathered with the other women,
Contributing to our tribes growth and strength,
I leave no tracks of moccasins in the soft clay,
My heart is pure,
And I wish to continue my journy,
Wise Grandfather Shaman,
Allow me to enter your lodge,
I will smoke from the sacred pipe,
My heart is pure.


Details | Rhyme | |

Where Has Dad Gone, Mama Dear

Where has dad gone, momma dear?
Hush, my little lamb.
Your dad's gone to the thicket dear 
And mad old Abraham

That man went early this grim morn, and took his sharpened knife
And with him took his own first born, to offer up his life
With servants and with firewood, both, they journeyed to Moriah
And on the hillside there they built an altar and a fire

And Isaac, when he heard the plan, went willingly, it's odd
That he should let that daft old man, so worship his cruel god.
Your father, he was passing by, and heard but could not see
And foolishly could not deny his curiosity

So closer did your father scramble peering through the thorns
Unaware of how the brambles tangled with his horns
Just to see a crazy man who planned to kill his kin
Your father did not understand the danger he was in

For then again that mad old man started hearing voices
His god was speaking to the loon and giving him new choices
And so his plan to slay the boy came about to falter
And Abraham, he took your pa and dragged him to the altar

But that was never fair, mama, can you tell me why
When Isaac he was all prepared and well prepared to die
And all had been decided on, so what cruel trick mama
Was played upon that grand old ram, who was my own papa?

Life is not fair, my little lamb, nor is it like to change
And fate plays tricks on all of us, both sinister and strange
So you take care, my little lamb, with this advice from me 
Do not visit places where you know you should not be

The moral of this story dear, is take heed of the odds
And stay away from two-leggies worshipping their gods


Details | Verse | |

Green Bikes or Ham

The deadly white of winter had descended.
Mountain high piles of snow braced the phone poles.
Mufflers donned we left for school unattended
for mother lay crying in her bed, we were not whole.

Father left many nights ago it seemed
we did not know the why, the what or when, just then
what would we do for Christmas, mother screamed.
In this earthly sorrow two little girls cried again.

All of eight was I, and she was but three,
No tree was dressed within the cold, white, rented farm house
only paper chains no sweet cane candy   
the kitchen cupboards were bare even for the mouse.

The night bleak, mother pulled us on a sled
to Gran's we went, through snow and cold for dinner time.
Ma's heart had gone, when Father left her bed
Downcast, we trudged without Daddy's car, we climbed.

We came home and settled in, night brought surprise
our Daddy had come home, and it was Christmas night
he brought me a bike, a green and white prize
But all I cared about was the smile in his eyes. 


Details | Narrative | |

Fractured

My grandfather on my father’s side, was a pecker-toothed sidle who raped his 
daughter when she was just ten. He threw down vodka from an eternal well and took my father out to buy prostitutes when he was just fifteen... It was here that my father first learned the true value of a woman. Mercifully, a permanent steel brace got loose at the Pennsylvania steel mill where he worked and crushed Grandfather into a pool of blood and urine.
     My father was a dried seed rattling in an empty gourd… he had grown up 
hardened with leather-stiff roots exposed too long in the sun. My mother knew 
that he wanted to rape me, so I kept guard with knives and ran away whenever I could. I went to bed fantasizing how to sneak into his bedroom and kill him with 
the kitchen carving knife. 
      My older brother hadn’t adjusted well to the chaos either, so he put all his expectations and dreams into a matchbook and burned down three houses in the neighborhood. He secretly, robbed his friends of their valuable coin collections. He grew weary and confessed and was taken to a local Mental Hospital for evaluation. At fourteen, I needed a good stiff drink! I was transferred to two different foster care homes and grew up like a weed.
     My mother Dolly was an auburn haired porcelain bisque, matt finished doll from a
discriminating collections of dolls... her father's dolls. She was not a witty woman 
but silent, afraid and alone. She gave birth to three children who grew up like 
wild dogs while Dolly made Betty Crocker weekends and otherwise TV dinners 
until she grew tired... very tired.
      One day the brothers were playing with Dolly tossing her back and forth… 
like a ball, one to another... until we dropped her. Fragile, she shattered into pieces 
on the gray cement patio. My father came out determined to put the pieces back 
together but clumsily, he repeatedly stepped on Dolly crushing the refined 
fragments into powdered dust.


Details | Couplet | |

Marble in Columns on Green

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


Details | Rhyme | |

A faded leather notebook

A faded leather notebook filled with lines he'd never read
  Was never far away from where he slept
The book that she had written since her love was but a seed
  A book so full of her he always wept
She never let him read it and he teased her every day
But now he held her poems as he missed her every way

Each page is filled with all her hopes her love and yes her dreams
  Each verse is filled with him in every line
His life is now an ancient suit that's split in all the seams
  Each day another step on his decline
She was the only reason that he woke up every day
The woman that he loves and now he misses every way

He tried to read the sonnets that his son said were so sweet
  But never could he read beyond the first
For all the lines were tortures his endurance could not meet
  With every word he thought his heart had burst
She had written in the notebook at the end of every day
And her poems are the loving that he craves in every way

And now the leather notebook lies there clasped in lifeless hands
  He'll never read the verses of her heart
But his mourning son beside him has a soul that understands
  His father never had the strength to start
He will treasure all the poems that were written every day
They're the story of his parents whom he loved in every way


Details | Quatrain | |

A Dark Tale

I laugh as I think of it now, the dire warnings of hell
Nothing could scare me it didn’t matter, on this teaching I never did dwell.
I wondered why one dark night, again begging for sleep.
No fear of death of dying no foolish promises to keep.

It was then I found the answer as I slipped down through the floor
Could this be a dream or am I now no more.
Has death come upon me, I feel the air exude from my chest
Through eons of time yet seconds, maybe days or years at best.

Before me an evil thing but there are no brimstone and flames
“Now we will see this hell you mocked and you will know my name.
You never flinched about the hell threat but you are now here
Not only that I am your father and now you will know real fear.”

He breathed in deep; my skin scorched, it left my body in one piece
The agonies, I must be dead my skin floating in front just like a fleece
My muscles sinews and skeleton were all that I now had
“I thought you were my father I screamed you can’t treat me this bad.”

A thousand legions of devils all came round mocking me
Each breath they turned my way seemed to rip parts off of me
“You will learn to master them but until then you have to pay
You start at the bottom in this work.” then the hounds of hell did bay.

“To inflict the tortures required to give me the satisfaction
You must first suffer them all, that is my attraction.
When you have suffered them all you will know what to do
My work will be in your hands this is my legacy to you.”

“But how can you be my father?” I screamed as the hell hounds tore at me
“My mother was the sweetest woman on earth and all around could see.”
“Ha! I am the devil why would I want a whore,
 They are already down here; it was sweetness I searched for.”

“Your mother scorned me, she did not believe in all the hellish games I play
So I showed her my powers and you are with me from this day.
You should have listened to the teachers teaching of my home called hell.”
He waved his finger at me and the screams I could not quell.

Now I wish I had listened and taken an earthly fear
It could have made a difference, I may not now be here.
I take delight in dismembering and gouging out the eyes
Flaying the skin off the ungodly, yet I do it for a prize.

One day I will rule this place then my turn will come
I’ll leave this underworld one day and do what my father has done
I’ll take a woman for my wife the sweetest there ever walked
And pass on my inheritance to the offspring that hell balked.
©~GG~23/07/2012

 


Details | Fibonacci | |

Betrayal Of The Soul

.
A
Young
Mother
Rocks baby
Singing  happy song
Love in its purity bonding
Daddy slips into the arms of another woman


Details | Rhyme | |

How Can We Hurt The Ones We Love

How Can We Hurt The Ones We Love?

How can we hurt the very ones that we love?
How can we easily neglect our God above?

It seems like I often heard about many victims
Many times, it’s from a loved one who’s been with them!

The hate and the anger that boils from deep within.
Often “boils over” toward our family and friends.

It’s the love of Christ that we need to find!
His love can totally cleanse our life and mind!

The hearts of many families are bruised and broken.
By the harshness of many of the words spoken.

If we would allow Jesus to rule and reign.
We’d have little reason to murmur or complain.

If we would yield our lives to the master’s will…
The emptiness and brokenness, he shall fulfill!

If we could allow ourselves to sit at Jesus’ feet…
He can make any family totally complete!

If we could just listen to what Christ has to say.
His words of life would brighten our day!

As a family…  Won’t you give HIM a chance?
And allow his love to change your circumstance!

Won’t you allow his spirit to bind you together?
You can experience his peace today and forever!

He can change your family throughout!
This is his will and what God is all about!

By Jim Pemberton