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Narrative Dad Poems | Narrative Poems About Dad

These Narrative Dad poems are examples of Narrative poems about Dad. These are the best examples of Narrative Dad poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

My Favorite Devonshire

  What the Quack!
I dont want my poems in Poem Zoo!
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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.


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The Last Goodbye

The last time I took Pop to the big lake, the wind was so strong,
it nearly blew his wheelchair over, I knew just where to stop...
at the top of the hill, the windiest place!

I left him alone, he just looked out on the lake unblinking,
rewinding moments, that made him who he was.

In days past.....

He told me the story of his best friend in high-school, who wanted
Dad to go along with him duck-hunting on that sunny, warm morning in fall... 
1940, Dad had promised my Mom (not yet married!) he would go with her 
on a picnic in the bluffs along the Mississippi.... so he declined.
From sunshine and 70... to freezing white-out conditions up and down the river,
many lives were lost that day, including my Pop's best friend.... 
the Great Armistice Day Storm lived on in Pop's heart...
Dad went to his friend's funeral.

Or the time.....

 Dad took my Grandpa (Mom's Dad) on the first vacation he had
 ever been on! Grandpa worked until he died...... the Company
he worked for had tricked him, letting him work 29yrs. 11 months,
and 28 days, then firing him two days before his pension would kick-in.
Pop took him fishin' for the first time in his life! bought him a straw fishin' hat too!
Dad kept baitin' his hook and Grandpa caught 6-fish before Dad could cast a line!.... 
Pop called him 6-fish Bumford after that! and us kids weren't allowed to touch
Grandpa's straw-hat from that fishin' trip..... Dad kept it on a hook in his work-room
 in the basement, with the words "Six Fish Bumford...My Best Friend"
 scrawled under it on the wall (I still have it)

In a while, I knew it was time to bring him back......he had finished
looking out on his life....

.......he was ready to go


Details | Narrative | |

I Lost a Whole Weekend (Please Pardon My Rant)

I am your champion, I fight for your cause,
my love and devotion give some people pause.

When I saw you I knew you, just like with your dad.
I guess our deep happiness makes some people mad.

I work hard at my job, so that we can live,
and hear me now, son, when it's time to give,
I am the one who ups the amount,
I've done this more often than I can recount.

I also work so your dad will be covered,
for doctors and dentists and allergists and others,
and who do you think pushed him to go
to the skin doctor some two years ago?

From the moment I met you, you felt like my son,
but this is a battle that cannot be won.
When your dad and I married, I didn't steal him away,
he's just as devoted to you to this day.

I heard someone had told you that I was "controlling,"
(I can't even write this without my eyes rolling).
Who insisted your dad fly to LA to see you?
Who worked overtime to pay for this venue?

I encourage his freedom, I've not clipped his wings,
his happiness, above all, is the important-est thing.

I will not be silenced, nor be vilified,
and it just breaks my heart when you take HER side.

I am LOVING and GIVING and ALL THAT IS GOOD,
and I'm tired of being so misunderstood.

So, pardon my migraine, it wasn't intended,
my strength just gave out as your judgement descended.

I lost a whole weekend, I slept like the dead,
I was just too defeated to face down my dread.
I kinda' felt reality shatter, unsure what was real,
like in "Jacob's Ladder."

We're getting no younger, your father and I,
the older we get, the faster time flies.
I love you as if you were my own child,
I'll not carry this burden unreconciled.


©Danielle White


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Straying Juvenile

My younger sibling, I brought you painfully up,  you brought me "pain"  fully
I myself struggled through  constant hard times, your constant struggling with yourself, hard timed me
I cleared a pathway through life for you, you clearly thought the pathways were lined with gold 
Today I had to repair,  Mums front door, the door you caused to be kicked down yesterday
I love you and will defend you, even when you are wrong, which as you know, you never are
You lost your parents some way back and now it seems you somehow lost your way




I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

You cannot mess with men like this, they follow no set rules
Wealth becomes a god to them, they do not suffer fools

I pulled you from a hole today, I pulled you from a hole
The talk was death to stinking thieves, I saved your very soul

You lost your mum and dad so young, is that why you rebel but life is not a one way street, I lost them both as well

You brought me lots of grief tonight, you brought me lots of grief
I brought you up as many things but one was not a thief

I handed back, the things you took, I gave them all right back
The men who stood at mums front door had shot guns in a sack

The offer that they offered me,  was one,  to not refuse
Return the goods the "bastard took"  or read it in the news

If mum and dad were still alive, for this you would pay dear
If mum and dad were still alive, do I make myself clear

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid




Details | Narrative | |

He Loved You

He loved you too, you know
Loved you like his very own
In away you were
You came into his life as my friend
Through the years you grew to be my brother in arms 
Along the way you became the son he never had

He loved you as a friend
He loved you even more as a son
A son he never had
When things began to spiral out of control
You stayed when so many others ran away
You helped when I couldn’t

You meant a great deal to him
You never looked at him differently 
Nor did you treat him differently
You stood by his side
When he fell, you stood by his side and mine
You were willing to help me fight his battle for him 
You were there from the beginning 
You were there until the bitter end
Always remember my friend, my brother
He loved you more than you’ll ever know


____________________________________________________________
Dedicated to close Family friend Rodney Howard. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.


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The Best day of My Life

I always thought that I knew love
How intense that feeling could be
But, you were my gift from above
Just exactly what I'd need

I never thought I'd be a mother
I thought that time had past
It was a shock to believe another
For I was pregnant at last

I was 39 at the time 
I felt kind of tired and old 
My doctor said that I was fine
And a child is precious like gold

It wasnt always very easy 
Being pregnant, working each day
Some times I'd get kind of queasy
But, eventually it went away

Tests, ultrasounds, bloodwork , all were fine 
An amnio to see if you were okay
Monthly appointments, filled much of my time
Everything was progressing each day

I worked until the day before
Your grandparents flew out to see
I was very ready, couldn't take no more
Wanted my child for just for me

Finally the day had come,when I was to see my son
I got up early, got everything ready, even checked your room.
Slowly I drove to the hospital ,awaiting for the fun
For this was it what I had waited for, i'd see you before noon. 

At the hospital they readied me
A Doctor put a catheter in my back
My Mom and Dad rushed up to see
Their grandchild in a wrap

I told them of my nervousness 
How I forgot the words to say
So together we as a family
We were able to pray

I had to wait for a long time 
Emergency twins were on the way
They said I was next in line 
In the holding room was where I stay

So at 930 they brought me in to the room
They draped a sheet in front of my face
I hoped my head wouldn't  zoom 
I wanted to start this race
 
At 9:54 you came into my life
Your Dad ran to the end to see
The child that was bore by his wife
We became a family of three

My eyes filled with tears and I felt joy
It was all so new, I never had felt it before
Here's your child, perfect, handsome, and its a boy
For on that day my love for you grew even more

The bond between a mother and son
Is a story that can't be told
To look into your little eyes, I was overcome
My memories of that first time will never get old

So on this day when you had came 
Was the best day I could have ever thought
Never mind fortune and fame
To have a child is a lesson in life that can never ever be taught. 


Details | Narrative | |

On this day

   On this day, I’m sitting in this empty dome, yet to be filled with graduands, reminiscing
   Flipping through the images, of my trajectory, stored in my memory.
   I remember back then when dad had no money for my school fees
   His job was barely enough to keep food on the table; Mom was the breadwinner.

   Dad and mom were always arguing; dad was always on the move
   But mom kept breathing down his neck.
   Dad was visited by a chronic illness and he embarked on that immortal journey
   It seemed like everything had fallen apart, but mom kept grinding to ensure I never   lacked; and I kept faith too that everything would be alright.
   I started working hard to see my dreams through, with my eyes fixed on my goals.
   There are many unending walls to be climbed; and tough rows to hoe
   Many demons are out soaking up grease in my engine no matter how greasy I try.

   Sometimes things don’t always play out the way we forecast
   And we don’t make sense to people who always judge our moves
   But everything happens for a reason, sometimes beyond our control
   That’s what destiny is all about?
   I know I’m befuddling your mind now?
   Hush don’t worry too much, rest your brain!

   When I see how much I’ve grown and what I’ve learnt
   It trips me out, though I lay a guilt trip on myself for my aberrations
   The destination is still far away, but surely not a cul-de-sac
   I’ll keep my heads up, with dad’s words: never give up on yourself
   Now I need a mockingbird to sing for my soul on this day.


Details | Narrative | |

The Cook and His Dish

Pity her as she cried 
On the floor, ragged, she lied
She's covered with odd bruises
And hell things on mind cruises

She was there left alone
Mourning for help at home.
Hungry and parched she was,
Hoping someone would pass

“Click! Click!”, the door knob sounds
At last someone’s around.
Who’s there? Who could that be?
At last! She will be free!

But it widened her eyes
Scared and again she cried
‘Twas a man who appeared
Went to her and she feared.

He touched her hair and said
“Hush! Hush! Just go to bed
Stay quite, don’t be a heck!”
And kissed her on the neck.

Poor girl, she just abide
To the man whom she feared
“Why is he doing this?
I’m his daughter, why’s this?”

In the bedroom they were;
Father started kissing her.
Poor lil girl can’t defy
If she speak up, she’ll die.

“Oh my Lord, please help me,
I can’t take it, save me.”
Said her mind as tears flowed
Grieving in pain; she moaned.

Then suddenly she smiled
From what she heard outside.
A sudden hope in her eyes gleamed
From something she perceived.


She heard her mother’s voice
"I'll be saved" she rejoiced
“A miracle for me
Lord replied to my plea.”

And the door opened
Mother saw what happened
Shocked and startled she was
Then screamed for help, at last!

Mother bellowed and slapped him
Outraged and said to him
“She is your daughter!
Why did you rape her?”

Then neighbors came
Naked -- poor girl was ashamed
Dazed and shaken they were
Staring at poor girl and her father.

Then two cops came along
Grabbed the father for his wrong
He panicked and dreaded
Denied all he acted

Livid and offended 
Lil girl stood and stated
“Oh yes, that man raped me,
Not just once but many times.” 

Then her father uttered
“My dish is my daughter.
I’m the one who made her,
So I should also taste her.”

Wretched from what she heard
She spoke not a single word
Woeful and quite, she sniveled
Suddenly collapsed and fell

At last poor girl’s now free
From nightmare and agony
Yes she has a father
But she’s his dish not his daughter.


Details | Narrative | |

mom and dad

mom and dad 
my all time favorite heroes 
who take on the days task 
of the everyday running 
of running our lovely home

they compliment each other 
in everything they do
dad the bread winner 
and mom the home maker
and help each other were
the other has failed

they do not show any fear
whether times are good or not 
and make things seam all perfect
even when they are not 

can not still figure out how
they managed to pull this off
cause my life is not as perfect
as they made our home seam


Details | Narrative | |

The Stranger in the House

I wander through this house
As silent as a mouse

Though it is my own I feel I've been away
I'm rather speechless, having not much to say

I see my brother working in the shed
Just passing the time as if he's seen red

I see my other brother smoking a cigarette
With no enthusiasm... has he too seen red?

I do my daily routine
Pace, contemplate and clean

Though something is not quite right
This summer day bears no light

I come into the living room
Usually lively... filled with joy

Now it's naked and abandoned
Like a toddlers chest of old toys

But wait... I see Mother on the couch
She's sad with wet crimson face

She doesn't even say hello
Has my coming here been a waste?

"Why are you crying Mother
Have I done something wrong?"

She just sobs and sobs
... a rather disquieting song

My father looks down at her
With a smile

But something about him
Seems quite vile

"I miss him... I miss him so much"
She cries so helplessly

"Who do you miss Mother?
I don't understand what you mean..."

My dad buts in with no consideration
Revealing horrible secrets in such wicked display

"Alright, alright... I confess... I killed him!
But quite you're crying about it, it's better off this way!"

It all comes to me
In such a sudden burst

I feel the intense hatred
So much it hurts

I'm not here... I don't exist... (at least not anymore)
I'm the stranger in the house!

But soon I'll get my revenge
I'll make Father feel as tiny as a mouse!

I know what you've done
I should've known all along

I will tell everyone
And correct this home gone wrong

I'll come to life again! I'l---






Wait...

Rooms dark...

Blanket wet... I feel cold...

Why am I laying down? Was all that just a---

"Morning son! I've made you breakfast;
Scrambled eggs and french toast, your favorite!"

Could he really? ... no...
Just a dream...



NOTE: This entire dream actually happened to me. The only thing that was fiction was the part about my dad making me breakfast in the morning.



For Russel Sivey's Dream Contest

03 - 19 - 2013


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Dad's Toolbench

In the garage there stands a bench
With many kinds of tools
He organized them tirelessly 
For many hours at a time
He had a place for everything
A slot, a circle cut, a drawer
The wood on top had many cuts 
From battles and other wars
He kept the bench impeccable
Knew every place his tools should go
Designed his own space and his rules
If you take, you must replace,
It goes where it belongs
In better condition than you got,
These were the words he told



Details | Narrative | |

LIGHTNING

When I was a young lad growing up
There were many things I wanted to do
Like riding a bronco in the rodeo
And growing a Fu Manchu
I guess most boys have a silly wish
I was no exception I had one too
To be allowed to cuss a blue streak
Or at least a bad word or two

But Daddy told me I better not
There would be a high price to pay
So I was limited to the phrase "good grief" 
The same line Charlie Brown used to say
Well there was nothing cool about Charlie
Guess Daddy didn't really know about that
But he said if I ever dare swore
I'd get struck with lightning and go splat

One day I was walking up my driveway
Playing catch with no one but me
Bored to tears with nothing cool to do
When I noticed the sky was totally cloud free
What was the chance of a bolt of lightning
Really striking in that painfully described way
If I was ever gonna chance a vulgar tirade
I thought it might as well be today

I started with a whispered swear word 
I waited to see if the clouds rolled in
But you know nothing at all happened
Across my face I grew an excited grin
Within minutes there were no more whispers
I was shouting long blue streaks
When behind me I felt my ear twisted
It nearly knocked me off my feet

It was Daddy and he wasn't too happy
He took me into our house ear first
Said we better not do this in the kitchen
Don't want your Mother's dishes to burst
So into the garage he marched me
Daddy took off his long leather belt
Said son, "Have I ever told you what I call this...
It's called LIGHTNING and you're getting dealt!"

3-3-14





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ARE YOU MY DADDY

I'm on a dusty backroad journey, in the Pearl of Africa;
They don't invest in road repair in the country of Uganda.
It's a pot-holed highway, that seems to go on forever;
We're in a worn out SUV, and our group is crammed together.

Finally, we pull off this road, to a sight I've never seen;
They call it a "Highway Orphanage", truly nothing there is clean.
There's just two broken down huts, and a large field of clay;
And the sun is beating down on us, it's the middle of the day.

The Chief tells us a tragic story, that's repeated almost every week;
How children are abandoned here, to a future that's somewhat bleak.
Mothers of these little children, so very desperate to simply survive;
Travel the long road to Kampala, in hopes of work to keep them alive.

Its here they leave their precious child, and sometimes more than one;
I'm sure they're confused and brokenhearted, when the sad deed is done.
The clothes on these children are old and torn, and many have none at all;
And they aren't left with any toys, there's no games, stuffed pet, or balls.

There seems to be scarce food here, and there's no close running water;
But I'm sure the greatest lack, is these kids don't have a mother or father.
Some of the children sit in the shade, but most are sitting in the field;
For them it's just another mundane day, till I walk over and kneel..

They are just starring at me, I wonder what they could be thinking;
"Who is this large, sweating, white man, with eyes that keep blinking?"
But soon my friendly smiles are returned, and the kids are drawing near;
Within minutes I'm a human jungle gym, and the children have no fears.

What happens next I'll never forget, if I live a hundred years;
Just the very thought of it, brings this grown man to tears.
One of the little climbers, gets real close to me and speaks;
"Are you my Daddy", he whispers, my knees instantly go weak.

A great well of emotion erupts, words still can not describe;
Feelings so overpowering, it was impossible for me to hide.
And one by one the children whispered, those same sad words to me;
Their little mouths would hug my ear, and say "Are you my Daddy?

*On the crossroads out of Kampala, Uganda

Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: Heart And Soul 


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Darkest Moment's Passing By

it was already dark outside silence had totally ruined the night only my lampshade in my room was at my side trying to comfort me in all my sorrows and trembling fear inside as soft tick-tocks of the clock were heard my heartbeat increased its rate I asked, “Are they reckoning that few time for him has already been left?” I began to feel, I was already in abyss of despair the phone had rung for the second time my mom and aunt once again were at the other end of the line thunder storms blasted followed by a torrent of rain when they asked me to talk to my dad to finally say goodbye to him I tried to talk to him but he could no longer answer me despite the silence at the other end I didn’t stop begging him I cried and cried out so hard as the darkest moment started creeping through my veins until my aunt answered the phone in lieu of him begging me back to let him go, so as to release him from all the pains to say the word goodbye to my dearest dad was the hardest thing to do in my whole life it had totally broken my heart and seemed as if I was losing my mind so, I kept crying out and begging him to fight he’s miles away and I couldn’t just reach him out or to be right there on his side I knew he can hear me, so I kept reminding him about what I’ve promised when I went back home to spend a short time and took care of him I’d promised that I’ll fly right back home after my work to take care of him again and walk him out of the door together we supposed to walk around our house with his arms on my shoulders my aunt begged me for the last time to finally free him it was against my will but I decided to do what was best for him when he was finally gone, I unconsciously screamed alone in my room miles away from home, I was in deep pain I felt like I was totally engulfed by the darkest of the night I rolled my body on bed, crying out loud and hugging my pillows so tight wishing someone had to put me into trance, so I closed my eyes while in prayer, I imagined him waving goodbye as he finally went up there through the brightest light
Feb. 23,2013 ©2013by Leonora Galinta Second Place Contest: New Poem Judged: 2/24/13 Poet Sponsor: Poet Linda/PD


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The Saddest Christmas I Remember

Love is a season
And holidays mark the seasons, like signs in the road
Reflecting the bumps in our journey, but showing us a way back home...

Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down
It was long past midnight, Christmas eve
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me
It was if they were trying to fill our void with color
The block was filled with a hundred black windows
And the blackness somehow seemed more appropriate  
There was no Christmas tree in our house this year
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
                                                                            had taken all the strength he had...
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together...
It was Perry Como, I think....somehow I remember how he sang "Ava Maria"...

My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week
He had helped bring us a bit of cheer....at least for awhile...
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly...

The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed
I wasn't sleepy....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping, 
                                 getting ready for the sun to shine on Christmas morning...

I started to head for bed, but noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box...
   The little box that kept the sugar cube house
It was one that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old... 
         Little sugar cubes stacked into walls and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Ladies' Home Journal....surrounding it with little trees, and 
people skating on a mirror for a pond, things we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store
Carefully packed away last year, on Mom's last Christmas....

Throughout the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the 
fireplace mantel....as Mom would have done .

When the freckled morning moved into day...
I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me.  He had covered me with a warm blanket.
He held me and we cried together.
After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch 
from our old evergreen tree.
We decorated that bedraggled branch...it wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had
But it brought Christmas back to my family...


For Constance La France's contest "Your Saddest Christmas Ever"
Carrie Richards


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yet I remember his sweater

 I dreamt of my Father whom passed 3 years ago, 
 as I awoke , he was standing with his beige silk business slacks on 
 In truth, it may have been not a dream but his ghost telling me something ..
 he was a fine looking man and this time with no illness, 
   ~ yet I remember his sweater ~
 over 15 years the last time I saw my Father , he called to tell me Grandma passed"
 His beautiful Mother, and he wanted me present at her Funeral processions.
 I was important to him and my Grandmother , as my children were too.
 His heart was broken as we all are not exempt from pain in our lives..
 So his presence was much different then the last visit alive.
  ~ yet I remember his sweater ~
 he was here to tell me something
 his face beautiful and luminance with a certain serenity
 he appeared just before I awoke in full form 
 The beige pants, nice shoes, Italian, a white shirt underneath that sweater 
 I remember the sweater being of a fine make, cashmere and purple..
 I never wanted my Fathers money when he passed , just a sweater , his scent 
 being refused to grieve with my siblings and blood , refused any little thing of his
   ~ yet I remember his sweater ~

I love you too Dad , Your youngest girl.



   

 
 


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Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears
	

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.


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I don't want a weekend Dad

You spot me in the Distance
Start jumping on the spot
For me the view is torture
As I'm waiting for the clock

The seconds take forever
The hands they seem to stop
One thousand thoughts of your smile
Between the tick and the tock

But then I see you running
And I know that it is time
My heart lifts with your laughter
As we hear the hours chime

Can I stay with you forever
With hope across your face
I don't want to live with Mummy
I don't like this place

You tell me all of the things
That make you feel sad
Please don't take me back on Sunday
I don't want a weekend Dad


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A Talk With Dad

Hi Dad, I guess we all will see our time and all will pass
Sometimes I lie awake and cry, longing for another chance
So much I never said, so often I said too much
Once in a while i'll drive by where Grandma's house was
Stop and reminisce awhile
Wonder what Mom's childhood was like in that old farm house
Remember you saying how you loved the place
Talking about how you walked all those miles to see Mom
At night the sounds of crickets and the truck traffic miles away on 54
Fourth of July gathering on the back porch and in the yard, beer on tap
Burnt fingers holding sparklers at night, Grandma's cooking
Old Jack barking and howling, uncles throwing horse shoes
Kids playing baseball in the grass between Grandma's and Chick's place
Did we lose the Utopia we dreamed about, never recognizing it
What I'd give to take you for a ride again, through your old haunts
Caught up in the nostalgia of your childhood and mine.
Times were tougher, times were better, Paradise lost.
You measured riches in family, friends and neighbors
Somewhere, somehow the present generation lost that
Seems as I got older, you got wiser,  couldn't see it as a child 
Never said I love you, Dad often enough
Never said thank you, Dad for the lessons on life and living
Got to go now, i'll say a prayer for you and mom
Who knows, maybe we'll find that peace within us
That we had growing up and you were here.


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Grandmother

"A child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts."

			W. Wordsworth
								

I am your grandmother.
I spent 24 years making
parenting mistakes, so I think
I'm pretty well trained now,
pretty worn down, open-minded
and accepting.
I think we'll be good friends.

At sixteen, your mother 
said she was having a baby 
and held up to me the blue pastic
device that tested her urine stream
like when she held up the blue ribbon
she won in kindergarten for the best
easter bunny nest made from marshmallows 
and dyed yellow coconut.

Then she threw the blue device out 
into the space between us on the bed, 
like it was the best card in her deck, 
her ace in the hole.
Your father waited in the other room
sitting in the thick silence,
afraid to breathe and miss
my response.

You and your mother did all the work,
but I was there at your birth, 
Standing alongside, coaching your
mother to good contractions until
I was exhausted from gritting my
teeth and pushing too.

And your dad was there, too,
but closer to the business end 
so he could be the first to know the sex.

 
An unsolicited psychic had told us
you would be a girl, 
and when your dad was told,
he sulked all day 
like it was a conspiracy 
between the women to produce 
only other woman.
He wanted another guy, 
someone to give the men the edge, 
a male child.

When your mother's body could 
keep you from the world no longer,
your head appeared, eyes tightly
shut and a pout on your lips.
Your dad was watching closely,  
the shoulder, the belly and then
his arms flew up in the air 
like he'd made the touchdown
and he cried, "It's a Boy, 
I told you, I told you,"
like he and I had placed a bet.

But then he saw how much
I could love the boy child.

I'm a pretty good grandmother, 
and I think we'll be good friends.


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NO SANTA CLAUS

NO SANTA CLAUS?

Brother Billy told him,
“Aint no Santa Claus”
Timmy didn’t want to believe his sibling
Just the very name of Santa was magic –
Santa Claus
Those fur-lined endings
Anta
Aus
The colorful red suit
Splendid black boots
Wide leather belt
And that snowball on top of his hat
“Delivers presents to the world?” scoffed Brother Billy
“Aint no way!”
But Timmy, at Christmas time, didn’t think with his head
Timmy thought with a child’s imagination
And the season gathered his conscious round with colors,
    music and sweetness
Mom and, especially, dad didn’t object to Billy’s scolding
“Timmy    after all    is old enough now” dad advised mom
“I’m never putting on that damn suit again!”

Timmy thought and thought 
Couldn’t sleep that Christmas Eve night for thinking
He positioned himself on the seat at the big bay window in
    his room    wrapped in a blanket    knees up to his 
    shoulders    and    watched the moon
Watched till his eyelids began to droop
No Santa
Mom found him asleep around 1:00 a.m.
She and dad had been busy wrapping presents
She    lovingly    picked him up and put him to bed with 
   Growl    his big stuffed bear

Around 2:30 a.m. – mom had been thinking and thinking
    just like Timmy – mom checked to see if dad was asleep
Then!    grabbing the jingle bells from under the tree
She climbed the stairs to Timmy’s room    opened the door
    a crack    looked around    as though anticipating escape
Then!    with a joyful smile    shook the bells vigorously!    

                      
 
 

   

                      
 
 


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Christmas Eve from Mouse's Viewpoint

It’s Christmas Eve and through the house There creeps a curious little mouse. He climbs into the big arm chair And finds the cookies waiting there. He only takes the smallest bite. Santa will find his treat tonight. He gazes with wonder at the tree And the bright wrapped gifts left there to be A mystery tale to tell his spouse, When he gets home, this curious mouse. What an adventure it has been, He has drunk of some spilled over gin, That had been left upon the table. His wife will think it is a fable He has concocted to amuse her. She is home-bound, we must excuse her. He once came home all out of breath To say he had been scared to death By a huge rat with fluffy tail. She noticed he was very pale. “While I was nibbling off some cheese To bring to you, my love, to please. He almost had me in his paws. I’m sure he wasn’t Santa Claus”. But this night is so very quiet. He spies some fruitcake, has to try it. It reminds him of that sip of gin And wonders if his head will spin. He hears a noise, runs for his life, Carrying fruitcake for his wife. Christmas morning, spread before their eyes For the baby mice, a grand surprise. Their mama had fixed a Christmas meal From food their dad managed to steal. A bit of butter, a glob of jam And a fairly good-sized piece of ham. Bread crumbs saved from other forays. They had enough to eat for days. Those little mice would never waste it. If they didn’t like it they’d still taste it. This food their mamma set before them, Their dad risked his life to get it for them.


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letter to Eden

My deplorable emotional collapse. 

Lucky for me, she happened to be in her many hour siestas!

My dear sister amelie came over (previously arranged to pick up some rocks that z mama rolled in a pile) and upon opening the front door all internal hell broke loose!

Utter torturous sadness tore thru every fiber of my being - hence a logical explanation conclusion per the abdominal distress that thankfully diminished. 

Aside from helplessness as of crumpling like a heap of cards, an extreme fright gripped me at the thought of yourself and shana returning to ramshackle mishmash.

Early today, she many hours sweeping (what her hands formerly hurled from the upstairs bedroom or glass and/or plastic containers blithely tossed on the kitchen floor) with some improvement.

Though, i might need to spend later today (Wednesday) gutting the refrigerator and discarding any potential alien life forms.

A prediction that a. you and shana will be quite sad leaving the tranquil home of the dunning family and b. stepping back into a place where disorder and entropy feast.

Please try to express sentiments per how you feel toward me! Such emotion might well be, but not necessarily limited to (just guessing) -- > anger, grief, hatred, loathing, rage.

Despite your impression or reaction toward and/or against me, i do value you more than any precious gem!

Matthew can honestly claim that "mother" acts considerably more pleasant to me. She politely greets me with what her "GOOD MORNING MISTER HARRIS"!

This message blurted soon after she espies me shuffling to the bathroom tending to that human toy let trees.

This and other of her cheery inquiries for attention (talk, contra dance, back rub...) find me practically catatonic at such ordinary desires. 

Years on end never er or rarely found me to experience this personable facet, yet...SHE WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH OCTAVIA LAMB NOR GAYLE BAIR!

As (possibly) mentioned in the previous email, i too shared similar antipathy, hostility, offer dollops of voluble vulgarity!

At some juncture in the recent past, a strong objection against reacting in that manner (no matter the three musketeers - as referred to by thee senora and chief television watcher), spoke to this papa in crudely fierce, immeasurably lambasting tone.

Matter of fact, i emailed Octavia to inform her of the legal documents en-route to her home in gap, pennsylvania and reiterated appreciation for our (albeit unwelcome and long overdo) stay at blank greentree lane.

No intent to augment change in the counterpart. We seem to be diverging in any former opinions. 

Now, (meaning within the recent present)
 numbness freezes and seems to cease up desire to be alive
sometimes i do not care if the grim reaper takes me for an eternal drive
aware that you and shana would be well tended in that busy bee hive
comprising cheerfulness, delight, happiness, liveliness, joy, kindness mirth,
 et cetera where amity, comity, energy...does strive
among lovely offspring of shari and Andy, both troopers against challenges 
 as if...he married a heavenly wive. 

Shari and amelie encouraged me to express churning agitation within me
which best be conveyed now rather than per your return, 
where communication will be done as ease a lee.

Omg! The hour fast approaches four-ante meridian. Gawd cooks the time away. The task to organize the refrigerator hardly seems like a choice! You may not even notice since, (though the kitchen floor swept) aversion to enter the eatery might deter courage. 

Your risk to board a plane considerably less than the hazards that lurk in said innocent locale.

Take care my dear. 


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YELLOW BAG

I am his daughter
I am all he has
With a vow to buy the yellow bag
In a car park, he work and work so hard..
----------------------------------------------------

Outside a store,
Our eyes goofy wide
As the yellow bag
Gone and bought by someone
My daddy beg but the man who bought
Seem deaf to my daddy's plea
Rather stop for a talk
He pushed hard my daddy's chest
While his wife beat my daddy on his head
Me and the little girl having the yellow bag weep.
But I wept more for I'm seeing daddy
Hurt. Speechless. Helpless.
We went home crying 
I hugged my daddy telling him
It's okey if no yellow bag
As long as we are together it's enough

He loves me that much 
That when the same little girl
Came and told him
She knows where to find another store selling yellow bag
My daddy go! 
Excited that finally 
he will buy me that yellow bag.

She volunteered to help my daddy that day
But somehow the cold white dressed ground
Will be the culprit of my daddy's pointed crime
I am at home then 
waiting for daddy 
to come home
Alone, staring to the clock's running hands
The next day, 
outside
The rain pouring hard 
Lots of camera clicking
My dad handcuffed by policemen
They are taking him away
That day, our built dreams 
are swept away...
I heard all the people shouting.
MY DADDY A BAD MAN..
My daddy whose only love is Me.
In the prison,
 they stomped, beat and accused him 
Again and again..
But he didn't fight back
He kept silent.
A riot broke in the prison
Almost a man was a struck with a knife 
If my daddy didn't come in between
He used himself as a shield
Again an inmate start a fire
My dad regardless of the warden's cruel acts
He run through saving his life
He save twice somebody's life
Yet, still some shout: MY DADDY A BAD MAN.
His death an axe to my heart
His co inmates and the warden filed petitions for my dad
Yet, on his trial the blind justice
Those REAL BAD MAN
Came to knock down my dad
Scaring and threatening him
Telling him lies that they too will kill me
As like his daughter found lifeless 
with my daddy before
If he denies the crime
Cause of his incapability
He was accused and abused
My poor angelic daddy
Forced to admit a crime
That never in years he could have done......
------------------------------------------------------
I am his daughter 
seeking justice
alone and hurt,
yearning for my daddy
but ready to forgive-
only I want 
to clean my daddy's name.


Olive Eloisa
7:00pm
September 25,2014


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Confused Beliefs at a Tender Age Part 1

It's safe to assume I had a pretty unorthodox childhood. The blunt of the trauma and confusion being from an innocently named building known as the Stonehouse. Though after the assembly broke up, I believe they changed it to Foundations. Doesn't really matter. My beliefs were muddied back then, when I was a tyke just making it through the day with as much happiness that I could muster. My siblings, however, had it much worse than I. My sister Michelle, thirteen years my senior, grew up without a television set. It's not because we were poor or anything. I wish I could say we were, however; I would even like to say it was because mom and dad were strict and didn't want TV rotting our brains, but unfortunately that's not the case. Watching TV is the work of the devil... didn't you know that? Well I used to believe that anyway. I remember sitting in the living room watching it in secret while dad was away. I remember him saying, in a stern voice "So it seems we're watching TV now, is that it?" It wasn't a question though. He stormed out of the room and we didn't watch anymore TV. He was an Elder of the Stonehouse Christian Church. And that meant business. The great sins according to that house of God were as follows: no guys shall wear sleeveless shirts, nor shall they take off their shirts while swimming (it was always so fun getting that soppy mess of fabric off my chest, after a day at the pool), no one is permitted to listen to any other music besides gospel (the funny thing is that we weren't supposed to be discriminating towards anyone, you know Love Thy Neighbor and all that jazz. No one told me why we couldn't listen to Southern Gospel, though), no fighting back, Turn the Other Cheek, gals should wear dresses, not jeans, their hair must be long and luxurious, and so on and so forth. Even sports were frowned upon if seen from Satan's Telly.



To be continued on in Part 2...


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The Bike

I remember it like it was yesterday.  I was probably twelve when Mr Kimball, who lived across the street, asked me if I had a bike.   I said “no”, and he asked if I would like one.  The answer was obvious.  I followed him to the cellar where, leaning against a wall stood an old Iver Johnson bike frame with two flat tires and no fenders.  It was beautiful.  Mr. Kimball said if I wanted to fix it up, I could have it.

I wheeled it home, washed it, and painted it black. My dad and I removed the tires to reveal two rotted inner tubes.  My dad said I would have to buy new ones and he would help me put them in.  It took me two months, working two paper routes to earn the money necessary, but I finally had them.  Good to his word, my dad and I put them in and used the old bicycle pump in the basement to inflate them.  I cannot tell you the ecstasy and exhilaration I experienced the first time I rode that bike.  It had multiple speeds, depending on how fast I could pedal.

I went everywhere on that bike.  You seldom saw one without the other.  I remember saving enough money to finally buy fenders.  The were shiny chrome and I thought they were beautiful.  But as is the way with young boys, after having them awhile, I decided to customize them by cutting them down to half size.  In my infinite wisdom, it never occurred to me that if I rode it in the rain, when I got where I was going, I would have a streak of mud down the middle of my back.  A minor detail.

From time to time, I would fasten a stiff card to the frame so that it would contact the spokes, making a sound not unlike a small motor.  Or at least I thought so.

That was so many years ago.  Since then I have graduated to cars and have owned many.  But I can't think of one that I liked better or that meant more to me then that old second hand bike.


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How Hard Could it Be Part 1

How hard could it be to take my first step?

“Come to mommy, you can do it.”

“Oh you're home. Hon, look at him go.”

As I take another step, he picks me up.

He hugs me tight but gently and kisses me on the cheek.

I feel so safe, loved and happy. Perhaps that's how it was.

(I really don't remember back that far.)


How hard could it be, my first day at school.

My mom meets me at the front door of the building,

hugs me and says, “How was your first day? Did you have fun today?”

He comes home after a hard day at work and mom says,

“Hi Hon, it was Den’s first day of school.”

He picks me up in his strong arms and says,

“I knew you could do it.” A hug and a kiss on the cheek.


How hard could it be to learn how to drive a car or a truck?

“Den, come with me. Let's take a short ride down the road.”

We both climb up into Dad's blue 1955 Chevy pickup.

He stops on the back road, gets out, comes around and says, “Scoot over. It's

your turn.”

I start the engine, push in the clutch, shift and we start out slowly.

I'm nervous, I speed up, clutch in, shift again.

Oh crap, I shifted into reverse, truck stopped abruptly and backfired.

Dad looks at me, “But you did it.“ He hugs me, a kiss on the cheek.


How hard could it be to go away to college?

I'm so glad she has a phone so I can call my mom and dad.

“Hi Den, how are things going? You've got a B average.

That's great. I knew you could do it. I love you, see you soon.”

“You met a girl? What's her name? Wow, see you soon. I love you”

“You want to marry her? Big step; in Holland? Okay, we love you.”

How hard could it be to have a family?

“Oh, it's a girl. Mireille, that's a nice name.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.

“Another girl, Michelle, that's a nice name too.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.

“You finally had a boy, Michael, good choice.” Hug and a kiss.

Birthdays, holidays, weekends, visits back and forth, phone calls.

He loves them all, unconditionally. Hugs and kisses all around.


How hard could it be as life goes on?

He watches them grow up, get married and have children.

He loves them all, unconditionally, hugs and kisses all around.

We take short trips and mom and Dad go with us now and then.

We go camping and mom and Dad visit us now and then.

Every time you left, hugs and kisses all around. Always, “See you soon.”


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Our Father Chapter One

"Our Father which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
in earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom, and the 
power, and the glory, for ever.
Amen".
The two sisters Mary and Elisabeth said the Lord's prayer 
every night.  On their knees, in unison, in the room of their
father and pastor Zechariah Love Israel as he watched.
"Very good Mary and Elisabeth.  Now get the Bible and read
a verse".  The oldest sister Mary got the Bible off the nightstand
and turned to Genesis chapter six.  "And it came to pass when
men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters 
were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters 
of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all 
which they chose".  Raising his hand for Mary to stop reading.
Zechariah walked over and took the Bible out of her hand.  He
then had the two sisters turn towards each other and undress 
each other.  "Daddy please not to night.  Elisabeth and I don't 
feel well".  "Now Mary you both know the Lord God will heal 
you through me".  The crimes and acts that Zechariah commited
that night was unspeakable.  Every morning Mary and Elisabeth 
would try to scrub the betrayal of their father off their flesh.  
"Our dead mother must be crying her eyes out in heaven"  Elisabeth
said to Mary as they got ready for church.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The Brown Philosopher
aka The Green Poet aka Red Seven


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The Smith Boys

At Sixty-One I write these stories not for fun or prosperity....
Or profit.....

You have to understand the times.....It was the Fifties....
The Smith boys..all three of us...
Greg, my brother Reggie and Me...
We had it all....and didn't know it.
Our Summers were spent
Running wild...In Ontario California....

Mom would tell us get out of the house
In the morning....So she and my sister
Could clean the house in peace....

Yahoo....

My big brother Greg always had
An adventure for us....and Reg and I
Were always up for whatever he had planned....
Let us not forget that Greg was only Ten....
And I was a tender kid of Eight....

This adventure as I recount was
Greg's idea....

He told my Dad that his grades were good
And a trip to Holey Jim's Canyon was in order...
A place my Dad had taken us before....
Trout streams and shade trees....

He told my Dad that he'd make sure we
Would be okay....If  he would give him five dollars
for food for five days...  

Yep!  It was a done deal...
Against Mom's appeal...
We said good bye with fishing poles
And blankets In hand we watched them drive away....
No fear we shared as we were
The Smith Boy's.....

I remember Mom crying just before they drove away...
Her little boys away from home....and all alone...
But hey...it was an adventure....
Dad knew the value he was teaching us...
 
We swam and played and fished all day...
At night we built a fire....
Bathing was a thing we did
In the morning....after the fish stopped biting...

I remember going with my brothers to a 
Little store....they had an ice box machine there...
For five cents you could choose a soda pop...
My favorite was an Orange Crush....

Sitting on an old wood bench outside
This country store...I was in heaven....
We ate peanut and jelly sandwiches
For most of the five days...as far as I can remember....
And slept under the stars...

I think it was the day before Mom and Dad
Were due....when playing and running...we found
To our dismay a hive our honey bees...
Run...run...Greg told us....
I was just behind him....the bees were made as hell
As I ran.....poor Reggie last in line...

While I know we all got a sting or two...
Reggie got the worst....
His eyes were swollen almost shut
His face was just a mess....

But a true Smith he was and never did he complain
As Mom and Dad drove into camp and took us home
That day.....
What a great adventure we did have....The Smith boy's
Us three great traveler's unafraid.....


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Womb for Sale?

Ever since a little child,
Away from the family he was kept,
His  protests were ruled out,
Searching for the reason,he silently wept.

No affection, love or bed time stories for him,
Always sad and dejected, his childhood was grim.
He longed for his mother's love,yearned for her time,
Unfulfilled desire of a little boy,what was his crime?

Away from home to Bangalore he was sent,
In a hostel to live alone,he had no intent.
Though dejected initially, he learnt to live alone, 
Study ,work and earn, he soon became a gemstone.

Career enhanced and to Mumbai he came,
Appreciated for work, he rose to fame.
He met a girl and friends they became,
Cupid Struck and in love he was lame.

Happily, they decided to tie the knot,
His neglected childhood, he totally forgot.
Happy in love and enjoying his fame,
Life for him became a successful game.

Then one day his mother called,
All his happiness was suddenly stalled.
She demanded his house and his money,
She dictated ... he abandon his honey.

He fought, protested and decided to abandon her,
She said something that made his eyes  blur.

"I hate your dad and your handicapped brother,
And sent you away,so I could join you later, 
I made dad pay for your education and so you earn
I gave you birth....so now you have to return"


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Fond Memories Of My Dad From Dustin

I want to share a few, Fond memories of my dad, With an experience or two, Of the times together we had. He was a carpenter by trade, Just like Jesus used to be, But the full time job with mom he made, Was taking care of me. I remember things we did together, When I was five years old, My first fishing trip, buying my first heifer, And letting me ride a steer in a rodeo. Fixing a racecar up together was fun, It was for me to race someday, Even though it was work that was done, It seemed more like play. It was in April of 2001, When my dad helped me find a steer, I named him Blazer and he was the one, That I thought would bring a winning year. I looked forward to the pick up day to be, When my dad would be breaking in the steer, And it would be just dad and me, Because my mom, of that, she had a fear. Before he had a chance to break her in, He had a heart attack and had to rest, He told me that I’d have to step in, And just try to do my best. I was a little worried and not so sure, If I could even really do this stuff, And since it had always been my dad before, I waited for my dad to guide me when he had strength enough. My dad wanted to help me more but he was too sick, So I tried even harder this time around, And Blazer sure didn’t like the show stick, But I finally got him to walk with me on the ground. And the time came that I knew then, Blazer would be ready for the Auction show, But my dad had another heart attack again, And I realized there was life lesson for me to know. The lesson that I have learned here, Is that sometimes we really do, Take for granted our family will always be there, But you never know when they won’t be able to help you. As the brightest star in the sky, Reminds me of Nana, my dad’s mother, There is now another bright star near by, For dad and the love we shared with each other. Written for Dustin 5/27/2003 Florence McMillian (Flo)


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Final Days- Decisions 2-25-02

Mom is becoming very tired.
She has trouble remembering
   The meds Pop takes—and when.
A lot of good it does to remember.
We have found pills all over
   Where he cheeks them and 
Blows them around the room.
He is bitter and asks,” Why
   Is God doing this to me?”
“I’ve tried to be good and kind.
   A Christian.”
He called Morris to the room
   And asked for the 357,
Knowing he might be the only
   One to hear his plea.
Morris denied his wish, and cried.
He called us all one at a time—
   And gave us guns from his safe.
Ammunition kept at a distance.
Ralph and I went to the driveway.
    “It’s sad,” he said. “Someday
 They’ll bulldoze this to the ground.”
“People will forget it was here—
   Like we never existed.”
We’ve got to call Hospice,” I said.
Or we’re going to lose them both.”
   A final bed.
The decision had been made.


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Mr Lynch

 

The house was mostly dark, save a dim light on the porch.  I moved up the crumbling walk and stopped before a paint peeled door.  Grasping the iron knocker, I tapped three times, hearing the sound echo in the bowels of the house.

“Who is it” a faint voice said.  “Go away”.   “Trick or Treat” I cheerfully called.  After a moment or two, the door slowly swung open.  Standing there was an old man, bent at the hip, holding a cane with a serpent head studded with ruby eyes. He was dressed in a rumpled black suit of some vintage.  His hair was white and stringy, in much need of being cut. On his neck he had a red mark as if his collar were too tight.  “What do you want” he growled.  “I’m here collecting candy” I said, holding up my bag for him to see.  “It’s Halloween”.   He mumbled something, then said “step in, I’ll see what I can find, and turning, shuffled off into another room.

I looked around.  Everything was covered with dust.  The clock in the hall uttered not a sound.  If it weren’t for the old man, it would look like no one lived here at all.

Soon he returned, bearing a candy bar of questionable vintage.  Dropping it in my bag he said “now leave” and pointed with his cane towards the door.  “I haven’t seen you around here before” I ventured.   “I sleep a lot” he said.  “Now go, leave me alone”

The next day, while I was sorting through my confection treats, my dad picked up the candy bar with the faded wrapper and said “where did you get this”  “I haven’t seen one of these in years”.  “I got it at that big old house just down the street” I said.
My dad said “son, you must be mistaken.  No one lives in that old house.  It’s been vacant since old Mr. Lynch hung himself there right before Halloween, about twenty years ago.


Written for "A Creepy, Scary, Haunted House Poem Please' contest
Bob Quigley
Sept 19, 2011


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Final Days 2-15-02, 8:00 AM

Well, Pop is resting now.

He didn’t get to go home on Thursday. The Oncologist 
wanted him to have either Hospice or Home Health Care.
                                                                                               
He wouldn’t sign a release for evaluation for services. Mom 
said he was rude to the social worker in charge. I can
imagine. She called last night at 3:00. The nurses said he
 
was raising hell. He woke up disoriented and wouldn’t take 
meds to calm down. He said they were peddling dope. I 
asked him what it was and he said methadone. The nurses
 
laughed a little. I can understand that. He really sounded 
like Pa Dillard. Pa was also very confused in the latter 
stages. When I got there, he thought Mom and I had locked
 
him in a room without anything to eat all day.  Said he was 
starving. Wanted to know why he was in the hospital at 
Archer City, of all places. Kept looking for his cap and pants.
  
Said it was time to go home, to Kamay. He must have 
forgotten he had told me earlier they had sold the house 
and didn’t have a thing to their name. Still can’t find his
 
cap. And now he has a trick leg. It won’t mind him. He tries 
to get up, at least he wants up, and so I help. He can’t 
stand. So he lies back down and tries to make his trick leg
 
go back to bed. I take care of the leg for him and cover him
up as he is no longer hot, but cold and shaking just a little. 
I don’t think Mom will be able to handle him at home.

He has made three references to “taking care of it himself” 
and the Dr. asked Mom if there were any guns at home. Oh 
hell! Are there any stars in the sky? Mom has the key to the 

gun safe. But, does he have another key hidden that she 
doesn’t know about? I don’t know, but he can’t get up to get
a gun anyway. I don’t know where we’ll be when you get here.

Call ahead to find out. Love, Dad,                                                                                                                             Or, brother, as the case may be.


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Purgatory Chasm

The autumn leaves crinkle beneath my feet
Their radiant colors dulled
I see the reds and yellows as vibrant as they were
The last time we came here together.

I hold you in my hands,
The way you held me when I was a child.
Your urn jostles softly as I scale the cliff
To our favorite spot.

I open it up, and look at you one last time.
Bits of bone sprinkled in the ash,
Like the time we came here after the first snow fall,
The defiant leaves of abundant autumn
Refusing to be masked by light dusting.

Off the tip of the rock,
I turn the urn,
You flow out over our favorite hike,
As you would have wanted.
We pass through this trail
One last time.


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Final Days 2-20-02, 9:00 AM

Pop watched some of the Olympics with me last night. It was the first time he had watched television in over two months. He wasn’t refined enough to appreciate the figure skating, However, liked the speed skating quite a bit. He said it was more like track and he liked the Summer Olympics more than the Winter. He asked me for a shave and I obliged. In the past this was always by my suggestion. He’s been having quite a few visitors and I think he wants to try to be presentable. Mom says he embarrasses her when they have company. He can’t always hear what’s going on in the other room and calls for her. “Ruth Ellen, get your ass in here!” is not the proper way to call for my mother. Ralph E. has already cleaned his plow about that once before. I’m not sure how much he’s really aware he’s doing that sort of thing. I’m sure he’s lonely and stir crazy and just wants her company most of the time. Maybe that helps keep his mind off what’s happening. I’ll call if there’s a change. Love You Both, DAD


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There's a Horse In Our Garage

Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.

Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents  a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.



For Horse contest  took 7th place


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Our Father Chapter Three

At the end of every worship service Zechariah stood at the entrance of the church and shook hands 
with his members.  "Pastor Zechariah you really out did your self this time" said sister Naomi as she 
shook hands with Zechariah.  "Why think you Naomi it really warms my heart to hear you say that".  
I'm going to warm more than your heart.  Naomi said to herself as she exited The Voice of God 
Ministries.  When all of Zechariah's members were gone he and his daughters piled back into their 
family car and drove to Neptune a seafood restaurant.  Zechariah asked Mary the church's treasury 
how much money did the church raise.  "$400" answered Mary.  "That's a little light" Zechariah 
voice was filled with disappointment.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka Red Seven aka The Green Poet aka The Brown Philosopher


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A Reformed Daughter of the USA


Perhaps it was a bit of old moral Navy nostalgia misting from Dad's brow as he taught us moral just rule.
At times in my life, honoring my father and mother; one of the ten commandments-- a must though it seemed when my father passed when I was a teen was the hardest thing to do. Living with these regrets of sin, and my uncle Bink introduced a slow gin fizz over dinner with my Aunt, to ease the tension of not shedding a grieving tear the day he passed or after. After all, the veterans were at the casket and someone had to represent.

Living in sin, leaving the foothills of Appalachia at the age of sixteen (not more than six months after I talked to God in that cornfield and was so angry with Him for taking my father when he needed to be here to protect me).  I set out on my long journey to see the world and need and come back to serve Him (was my only hope) when in fact, my highest scores of the states district Sat's were repelling from a C average grade school girl. 
Dad said on his dying bed he wanted me to be a nurse, or rather as the “humanitarian” I became at eighteen; perhaps someones distraught, personal nurse.

The three children, two of which were planned by a Common Law husband. I was a responsible, nurturing mother and wife. Perhaps, it is what held my emotions together after all the drunken beating he offered up.  It seemed as though emotionally  I could not do anything by myself. Tattered and scattered was I.

Dad taught my brother and I old school military boxing; my brother three years older and touched with the fever (a crying little girl not wanting to hit my brother at first) I excelled to a losing champion, still today. I never won a fight with a man, and that includes two officers I seriously accidentally hit in reflex order.

Today, I know my writing is a gift.
I know motherhood is a gift as well as being a daughter of my dear Mom that is frail now at 80. I somehow don't measure up and shall never to her just honesty always paying her bills on a limited income, before they are ever due.
Murmurs etched in my heart and soul, of a common advice from her frantic yet stern voice, “You'll never make anything of yourself with that writing; as my pen steadily purges and flows a steam of blood rights of an United States Citizen, on Veterans Day.
When will my ship come in? (perhaps it was pirated, and sent with the barges of plagiarist  rhyme, sold off by a romantic)

 Here's to the rich and famous that can't pass through the of a needle-- as I light a Camel Wide, and pray for them all a rich blessing.


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A chance to say goodbye

There once was a woman
that was a wife and a mother
who one day got sick
then called and cried to her brother

She was alone at the docters
when she found out about the cancer
she called her family right away 
but nobody would answer

The woman was so scared
she was only 25 
when she found out that she had
not much time to be alive

The woman wasnt happy 
about living her last days
she did not know how to react
she just sat there in a gaze

as day by day went by
she was more then fun and flirty
till she died on Christmas Eve 
at excatly 11:30

As the family cried and cried
the oldest son scremed "why
why did she have to leave us 
without even saying bye"

as he cried himself to sleep that night 
she talked to him through dreams
she said
"son im very sorry that I had to go and leave"

she said she really loved him
and that she really cared
about how he went through life
without seeing his mother there

He said he loved her so
with his great big giant heart
and that nothing will ever keep 
him and his mother apart

When he awoke the next morning
he told his dad about his dream
about seeing his mother happy
as happy as can be

The father said "thats good son
that you got rid of all this pain
in just one night of sleep 
now look how much you've gained"

The son just flashed a smile
he new his dad did not understand 
that he got his chance to say goodbye
and let go of his mothers hand


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The future is in good hands

With outstretched arms,
he beckons me.
PLEASE uplift, me!!!!

Staring into his eyes,
I can't help but relent.
To spend this lifetime,
building roads to brighter days,
moving mountains out of his way, 
Hoping that someday,
he would appreciate.

 Just as my dad and his dad had done days and moments before,
I wish there was something I could do,
so much more.

If it were up to me, I'd give him the world!!!!!
But all Ican give for now
is hopes and dreams,
and tell him to explore.

As a gentle smile cast across my face'
I take it all in..........
realizing the future is in GOOD HANDS.


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Our Father Chapter two

Ever morning Mary and Elizabeth would try to scrub
the betrayal of their father off their flesh.  "Our dead 
mother must be crying her eyes out in heaven" Elisabeth
said to Mary as they got ready for church.  "I wonder what
his congregation would think of him if they knew?" replied
Mary.  "Girls are the two of you ready yet?  You don't have 
time to gossip".  "We're ready" said Mary.  The Israel family 
piled into their family car.  As Zechariah drove to his church
The Voice of God Ministries he quizzed his daughters with 
Bible questions.  "Elisabeth how many books are in the Bible?"
"There are 66 books in the Bible".  "Very good Elisabeth.  Mary
who were the parents of John the Baptist?"  "Zechariah and 
Elisabeth".  "Very good Mary".  The Voice of God Ministries is
the biggest Evangelcial church in all of North Carolina.  Every
time Zechariah Love Israel approached his church his heart
fills up with pride.  "We are the light of the world.  We must 
guide the people to God" said Zechariah as the Israel family 
got out of their family car.  "Let's get ready to welcome our 
members" grabbing Mary and Elisabeth by the hand Zechariah
and his daughters entered The Voice of God Ministries.  Zechariah
was a preacher who was known for his over the top sermons.
With his knowledge of the Bible and his great speaking ability he
held his congregation in a trance.  At the end of every worship service
Zechariah stood at the entrance of the church and shook hands with his members.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The Brown Philosopher 
aka The Green Poet aka Red Seven


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One December Night (Continuation 1)

One December Night (Continuation 1)

     Before they could get to the front door to see, their dad shouted down, “Don't go there.  
Let me!”  “Wait children.” he said from the top of the stairs.  You girls go and sit at the table 
in your chairs.”  “Why are you up and playing about?”  Those are the words Father asked in a 
shout., Quickly, he walked down those stairs on that night to see what was there outside in 
the moonlight.
     The girls in their chairs looked away from Dad's glares. And in the next moment, Mother 
bounced downstairs, too.  She had heard all of the ruckus and scampering around.  But 
she had not yet heard the loud kazoo sound.  She saw the girls sitting at the table with the 
kitten.
     “Come to the kitchen.” Their mother said.  Let's have some cookies and gingerbread. 
After making hot chocolate, she continued to say, “We can look at the stars.  Honey, come 
show 
us mars!”  They sat at the table underneath a skylight.  Hot chocolate and cookies were 
already in sight.
     But before they could take their very first bite, the door flew open.  Oh, what a fright!  
There silhouetted in the light of the bright glowing moon, the bumpy old toad stood, humming 
a tune.  And right beside him close to his feet was a bright brown sack with a blinking red 
bow.  “Merry Christmas.” he said, as he walked right on in.  He sounded like Santa and he 
had a big grin.  
     But they did not know him.  He wasn't their friend.  What should they do?  For whom 
should they send?  He wanted to stay.  They thought he should go.  What would they do?  
They did not know.
     In the very next moment, he took out his kazoo!   “A Kazoo!  A Kazoo!  I knew.” shouted 
Sue.  He pulled up a chair.  They started to stare.  He sat down at the table, the best he was 
able.  A frog at the table!  Whoever heard of such?  And Dad did not like it.  Oh, no, not 
very much!  The frog there beside them at the table where they munch.  Picked up a cookie 
and ate it with a crunch.  It should not be so.  Let everyone know.  That bumpy old frog 
simply must go!
     Dad started to tell him to get out of their house.  But about that time across the floor ran 
a mouse.  So, Dad grabbed the broom and chased the mouse about.  While the frog at the 
table calmed the children's frantic shouts.  
                          (To be continued...)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)


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don't want to get married

your life right now has everything
the only thing missing is a wedding ring
remember when aunt Louis said marriage is best
i'm kinda scared is what you confessed
she said it's scary at first but give it time
making the first move is not a crime
you know she means everything to you 
you said my girls mean alot to me to
she said that's all the more to marry her
then you said how can you be so sure
as much as they need you 
they need a mother to
so man up brother and say i do
we've had this conversation before it's nothing new
and just because your my sister doesn't mean i have to listen to you
don't listen to me than you never do
but the decision you make now
later on is going to haunt you



P.S. this poem is telling the story of my foster dad talking to his sister who is trying to 
convince my foster dad to get merried to his girlfriend


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Dad

His Dad had been fighting for years.
Never knowing when to take up arms,
But always needing to be prepared for war.

The pain would begin slowly,
Only then to accelerate into mass fury.
Small heart attacks had become frequent battles.

It may have been arrogant on his part,
But he believed if the big one hit,
His presence could be his Dads safe net.

He found himself spending more evenings at home.
And on the night it happened he was there,
Watching Dateline on the couch a mere ten feet away.

He yelled for Mom while grabbing the aspirin.
There was no use, it happened too fast.
His Dads body lay limp, and the war was done.

Watching his Dad pass will not haunt him.
For he knows his presence brought serenity,
He has far too many good memories to allow distress.

His Dad is now with Jesus.
The battles are no more,
Praise God.


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Mom's Tree House Apartment

Mom’s Tree House Apartment


Step inside, warm feelings greet you…

On the entryway wall, President Kennedy signed a condolence letter
from 1962, addressed to my Grandma, thanking her for Grandpa’s service in WW1.
Below, perched on an old credenza, the Milk Glass Chicken still delights her
grandchildren with a treat hidden in the Baby Chick alongside!
Glancing to the right, Dad’s Rosary collection (much used) hangs majestically,
a reminder of long-gone family members from cloistered communities, Mom
and Dad revered.
In the living room, above the expansive soft couch that always finds a family member
dozing peacefully after a long-journey home, a massive burl wood  frame cradles
A fox -hunting lodge scene, with participants positioned around a blazing hearth,
regaling the hunt, while enjoying a pint.
Consuming Dad’s last days, I joined him for countless hours deciphering every person
In the painting, assigning rank and position to each, with intense minor details,
Joyously discovered, as if for the first time! A memory Dad possessed from his youth,
fox-hunting with his Dad.
In her bedroom, along the wall, Dad’s English Saddle, gallantly laden with his favorite
things, settles the atmosphere.
I pick up his favorite red hoody, and still inhale his courage. 
  
 


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Go-Go Dancers From Outer Space

 This Halloween, I tried something different. I went as a Go-Go dancer! The Hardly Boys
Get clues when they solve mysteries. My dad thought it was a good idea for me to take our
Monkey Scooter along, because every good detective is a Butt Pirate, he said.

Things went along smoothly until Scooter saw our neighbor's penis and chased it up and
into his skin. I almost dropped my crack/cocaine, but luckily, Scooter doesn't rape very soft.

We then went to Bob The Builder's house to meet him and his little sister. I hate Trick or
Treating with fat pieces of B.s. like her. They are no fun! But Bob The Builder's dad said
we had to take the fat crack whore along.

Well, it was a good thing I was a Meth addict, because Bob The Builder's vagina ran away
from us and we were really scared that it was lost. Luckily, Scooter ate his little sister
out.
So everything was OK, I'm such a rapist!



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Fortune Cookie

Sunday evening, suburban New York,
we ate at the corner Chinese restaurant,
its fish tank hypnotic, the smiling 

welcome from the Chinese woman 
caressing menus to her chest, 
who led us to the booth which stuck 

to my legs as I slid across to my 
designated spot. Dad promised 
me a fortune cookie on the way out, 

which I took from the bowl by the door. 
We ate spareribs, licked our fingers 
and laughed, trying to pick kennels of rice 

and long noodles with splintered
chopsticks. We praised the food, 
but wondered why we often left hungry

for both food and fortune, after extracting
mine from the smashed cookie, reading then
putting the crumbled paper in my pocket, 

to be found weeks later, hoping somehow 
the words would have changed 
and the little paper whispered 

truths about my own future,
rather than just giving dad the
numbers for his weekly lottery.  


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Once Upon a Christmas 1954 Part 1

.              Each year as Christmas rolls around, as I buckle under the pressure and stress of 
shopping for gifts for people that already  have everything, I find myself remembering that 
Christmas of 1954.

	Dad had joined the army that year and we  moved from the East Coast of Canada 
to Ontario, leaving behind our extended family and the only home I had ever know in a small 
fishing village along the Bay of Fundy.

	Now we stood gazing in horror at the rows of ugly buildings sitting on barren land 
in the middle of nowhere.  This was the housing provided by the army and was a major part 
of the wage agreement.

	My mother was inconsolable until dad rented us a small apartment over a Chinese 
restaurant in downtown Barrie.  There was no remuneration by the army for forfeiting the 
housing, so it left dad with a very small pay-check

	Pay day was once a month and we usually ran out of money in the last week, so, 
off we would go to the pawn shop with dad’s prized possession; his short-wave radio, won for 
superior marksmanship.

	Being kids, we finally adjusted to our new world as we watched the Santa Claus 
Parade march below our living room window amid the honking horns, blaring bands and 
throngs of people lined along the streets as far as the eye could see as we laughed with glee.

		                              ~~~
	
	We had seen them on our way to school in the window of the bicycle shop; 
gleaming with chrome spokes and handlebars and hand grips adorned with multi-colored 
streamers.  There I would stand until my feet grew numb from the cold, daydreaming of 
riding back to the East Coast.  I could actually see the sun glistening on the waves as I raced 
along the ocean on the way to grandma’s house.  More than once I had to stay after school 
for being late. 

	My brother thought maybe if we were really good, Santa would bring those 
bicycles to us.  I being the older and therefore the wiser, knew the state of the real Santa’s 
affairs and promptly convinced my brother I had heard from a reliable source Santa had a 
shortage of bicycles this year and we would just have to earn the money and buy them 
ourselves.


                                                    Continued in part 2....


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A soldier's daughter

There once was a girl with pale blond hair.
	
	She went with her family one day to a fair.

	They played lots of games and ate lots of food.

	But none of this seemed to brighten the child's mood.

	So they went to the park and swung for a while.

	Her parents silently wishing to see their little girl smile.

	But deep inside she still felt sad.

	For she knew something terrible about her dad.

	Tomorrow her dad would be going far far away.

	To a place that's fighting nearly everyday.

	She knows her dad is a very strong man.

	Still she fears she'll never see him again.

	The years go by and she grows older.

	Living each day the daughter of a fallen soldier.

	There once was a woman with pale blond hair.

	Who found out too early that life doesn't always play fair.


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Tis The Season

As the children calmly sleep, snow begins to fall on this quiet Christmas eve. 
Mom and dad slowly find there way down the hall to pear in on the children all 
nestled tightly in there beds. Soon after mom and dad would retire to the front 
room 
by the fire. Mom with her book and dad with his paper. They too soon would drift 
of into dream land. They all would dream of Christmases from yesteryear, here 
and now, and the future. Soon the anticipation would soon pass for another 
Christmas has come and gone. But don't you worry it soon will return with all it's 
shimmering lights, love, and laughter. And always remember tis the season.


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Sting

A bee sting caused her world to crash. 
It made her leap about in pain into the 
sideboard, tipping hot dogs, mustard, 
ketchup, smearing stains on mom's new 
carpet as dad slipped and fell down, 
suffering damage (to his pride!).

The cook-out turned into a train wreck. 
Words of anger from her brother 
and a spanking from her father bringing 
enforced isolation for at least two days, 
(it's just not fair!)

But when clearer heads prevailed, mom 
dressed the sting with ointment and dad 
produced the ice cream. They gave her back 
her TV privileges (after all she's only six!) 
and kissed her boo boo better!


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Wreck On The Highway

 

   
The television was going but my mind was not in tune.
   Did you ever have that feeling something was going to happen and you felt it 
would be soon?
Although I didn’t know what would happen, somehow I knew it would be today.
   Something in the back of my mind told me I really needed to pray.
Well Lord I started praying, I prayed with all my might.
    I prayed so hard my shirt was wet, I must have been a sight.
But still the feeling just wouldn’t turn loose so I prayed a little more.
   And then I heard the noise of someone at my door.
In walked my son and his little man, oh what a sight to see.
   He looked so pale a standing there, then he grabbed hold of me.
He said daddy I just saw something that made my blood run cold.
    This 18 wheeler and this couple who looked to be quite old.
He said dad this old couple cut me off an ran me in the ditch.
   Dad he said it would have been me had this old couple hadn’t made the switch.
This 18 wheeler out of nowhere completely wiped them out.
   Dad that would have been us, there is just not any doubt.
It’s like they sacrificed themselves for us, I don’t know what else to say.
   They said the driver of the truck, he would probably be okay.
They said the old couple was coming from chemo, and their life was nearly spent.
   But to me they were angels from heaven, that our Savior sent.
Thank You Father!

This is just a poem but our Lord and Savior does intervene on our behalves many times
throughout our life times and we need to thank Him for all those unseen times!