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Narrative Father Poems | Narrative Poems About Father

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

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On your last breath.. I told you there was nothing to forgive Stubbornness and bitterness - sure are a hard pill to swallow Four years and not a word from you How sad - your last words were full of rage No chance to rectify them - you left without saying a word In reality, you walked out a long time ago Tell me father - who was to teach me how to be a man? Tell me father - who was to teach me how to be a dad? Guess you didn't know yourself - for a father you never proved to be Lost with your demons - intoxicated by the evils of society The fear you caused to so many - did you ever ask yourself why? Leaving those who loved you behind - to chase decadence Seduced by sinful deeds - your forgot you had a son Isn't a father supposed to be a child's hero? Even from a distance - I still loved you for being my dad You made me strong - told me never to cry Forgive me father - the tears didn't stop when I saw you dying It was too much to hold them for so long - guess I'm only human But, I promise you - I have not shed another tear since that day You told me - son live to be feared - no need to be loved But, I don't want to be like you - I have too much love to give I guess you were right - after all I am my mother's son You had your favourites and I guess I wasn't one of them In reality - it is because of you I am so strong because, I never wanted to be anything like what you had become I know that you're looking down at me from up above Tell me father - are you proud? Of all that I have become? For at the end of the day it's your name I have Cancer took you away - does it make you happy I survived? You can't really miss something that you never had Guess, I will always wonder what it is like to have a dad You took away my childhood - but I hold nothing against you Life was dysfunctional, but I didn't succumb to your manipulation All is forgiven - I hold no grudges - life is full of challenges Sometimes your thoughts cross mind - but then they just go away I know you were misunderstood But I hope you found your peace today.. The Silent One 13 October 2015

Copyright © Silent One

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Inner Eye

In-between sleep and wakefulness,
when my dream still lingers,
entwining free-flown fingers
with the morning rays, dancing across my eyelids.

It is in this state of in-between layers
that my inner-eye blinks its prayers,
and I can move backwards
through all of my many memories
until about the age of three -
the time when my imagination was truly free.

When I was three,
there wasn't one God for me to believe in.
There were thousands of Gods and Goddesses
hiding inside of each and every living thing:
Deities in the woods and wind.
Deities hiding beneath the surface 
of our goldfish pond,
water nymphs kissing the feet
of the Lady in the lake.

One of my most vivid memories as a toddler,
was the day I caught a huge, black cricket.
My Father seemed shocked at the size of my catch,
punched holes into the lid of a mason jar
for me to keep the cricket inside of.
He had never seen such an enormous cricket before.
I was so proud.
I remember looking into its mysterious eyes,
believing for some strange reason,
that a loved one, was now inside of this creature.

Such strange thoughts for a three year-old to have.
But at the time, I truly believed in this.
This was sort of my first inner awakening.
My inner-eye was beginning to speye.
The first night with my cricket,
I listened to its hypnotic song,
and realized it sounded similar to the music
that the old Chinese lady listened to, down the street.
This was sort of my second inner awakening.

I didn't know about the Dao back then;
or maybe I just didn't know the labels?
But I did know how I was altering the destiny
of this creature....altering my own being.

The next day, my Father made me release the cricket.
He did not want it to die,
for it was the biggest cricket he had ever seen.
That was still the most proud I had ever been.
Reluctantly, I opened the jar,
waited an eternity for the escape.
That night I swore that I could hear
a distinct "Chiiiiiiirrrrrup" much louder than the rest.
This was sort of my third inner awakening -
my inner-eye, beginning to speye....

....just as I am awakening now,
the morning rays dancing across my eyelids.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

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My Favorite Devonshire

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

Copyright © Ruben O.

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BY DEFAULT for adult contest

We stepped out of the car, my father and I,
on that shattering day, under a dark springtime sky
Like the end of the world,  the whole world was gray
while the dawn, took our hope, sucking all the air away

For, even my tears, had nowhere to land 
Frozen thick in my throat, like the dry desert sand 
If just one would escape, how could they stop? shoulder, dam? 

My Dad was in shock, as he stood  by the gate, 
         a glaze in his eyes, ......    and a million years old

My feet froze in place, my knees shivered cold
but without hesitation, I grabbed hold of his hand

I took him inside, and with deliberate intrusion
I fed him some soup, and put him to bed
He was the child, and I the adult
Day after day, somehow by default
our roles were reversed, ...and I became strong
My childhood had ended,.....and his had begun

Submitted and Inspired by the contest "The True Meaning of being an Adult"
Sponsor: FJ Thomas

Copyright © Carrie Richards

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Color Me A Father


A child with a crayon can color an imaginary world,
With dolls of mommies, daddies, boys and girls,
Full of horses, cowboys, cars and trains,
Can scratch them out and draw them all again,
Color me a rainbow with a pot of gold,
Color me a fairy with ribbons and bows,
Paint my face, a bright yellow sun,
In a green grassy field where a blue river runs,
With mountains and  trees set in a colorful scene,
Monkey bars, teeter-totters, an old tire swing,
Color my face with a bright happy smile,
In a wonderful world, if only for awhile,
I can pretend my life is happy and gay,
Not worry about the mean stuff, just for the day,
Not worry about what I will eat, or where I will sleep,
Or the cockroaches and rats that make me creep,
Color me a family with brothers and sisters,
Color me a man to call Daddy, not Mister,
Color my mom in a bright yellow dress,
Stretched in a hammock under a tree with a nest,
In the yard of the house, we can call our own,
With neighbors on each side of our lovely home,
Color my dreams carefree and wild,
Color my life always as a child,
Color me a father, color me a Dad,
Color me the life that I never had. 
Color me a garden with fruits of all kinds, 
Apples, pears with grapes on the vine, 
Color me a crayon that’s really a crayon,
Not this old sharpened pencil that I just found,
To draw my picture on this brown paper bag,
That was once filled with gin and Ole’ Granddad,
Now, Dream me a dream…Once upon a time,
 I had a real father that I can call mine!

Copyright © Steven Miller

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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,
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.
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.

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs

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A soldier cries

He's used to war, he fights real hard,
He's a soldier, he's battle scarred.
The enemy is weak, there is nothing to fear,
His compassion is gone, he has no tears.

He was taught well, was taught how to kill,
He's done it so much, it's lost it's thrill.
He no longer feels bad, when the enemy dies,
Tears don't come any more to his tired eyes.

In the beginning it was against his will,
But he soon broke down, and got used to kill.
Never thinking that his foe, was also just a man,
Like him with a family, doing the best he can.

He cannot have feelings, for anyone,
But then, for a moment, he thinks of his son.
He wants to go home, but it's not time yet,
So he goes back to a war, that he wants to forget.

Next day on the beach, on his tour of duty,
Lies a child's body, on the coast of Turkey.
He cannot believe what he sees with his own eyes,
A cute little boy, with no signs of life.

Lying face down, right there on the sand,
He picks him up, with his big strong hands.
And when he saw that there was no hope,
The soldier realized he could not cope.

He shuddered deeply...letting out a sigh,
And that's when...the soldier cried.

Now the whole world mourns that little boy,
Many children elsewhere, receive another toy.
Yes, people stand by, while these refugees die,
Some see the news and say, please...pass the pie.

John Derek Hamilton   September 04,2015

Copyright © John Hamilton

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My Bicycle

Once I had a bicycle,
A loving present from my grandfather;
Since I was his favorite granddaughter,
He granted my wish at a snap of my finger .

Since he was so old,
A new bicycle he could hardly afford;
He took his bike when he was young,
Which I found it once at the back of our barn.

As far as I remember,
It was really so old and rugged;
But my grandpa was like Mr. Mac-Gyber,
Amazingly fixing all things all-over.

My granda was a well-known painter,
I thought he will repaint and use sandpapers;
When I surreptitiously sneaked into his hut,
He was there recycling all my milk cans.

When everything was done,
He gladly gave it to me with a big hug;
I hurriedly drove it at once,
Down the street and field with so much fun.

“My bike was real a unique one!” I thought.
So different from others in our neighborhood,
Its wailing siren was made up of a  cow’s horn,
Tubes were made of dried bamboos and corn.

Other parts were still the same,
Like forks, hubs and chainwheel set,
The rest were made up  of my milk cans,
They were pedal, brake and seatgear stem.

Handle bars were what I like  most,
Converted from the handle of his old plow;
So sturdy and so strong all I knew,
And  I can drive it  so long in full control.

However, when I travelled quite afar,
Parts were falling one at a time;
Until everything suddenly split apart,
Eventually it dropped and rolled me down.

Date: Aug. 3, 2012
( A loving tribute to my dearest Dad)

4th Place Winner (My Very First Winning Poem)
Contest: Any Poem of the Week Contest
Contest Judged: 8/4/12         
Poet Sponsor: Poet-Destroyer

Copyright © Leonora Galinta

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For My Daddy

your footsteps were crooked and a little off kilter
though I still tried to match your steps
your way of doing things was always a bit different
(detrimental to impressionable souls)

maybe you were not Mr. Brady or Leave it to beavers dad
but you were my dad…..and the only one I have….

through all the ruckus and the lunacy 
I was a little girl who cried for you (while you cried)
through the tatter of ripped seams and too much whiskey
I whispered “its ok daddy” and I hurt for you….

so maybe you were never perfect in any sense….
and a round peg in a square hole trying to make a place
confused and confounded by life and its roller coaster ride
but I adored you in my broken heart (standing loyal)
through the crazy that you put me through

this one is for you daddy….and there is a silver lining
in every cloud that stings the sky…..beneath the rain
I have a smile I can toss to you through the downpour
and my small hands hold yours through the tempest
my eyes gazing up and watching each mistake you make
and loving you so much anyway…what else can I do?

Copyright © Christie Moses

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My man

"Am I a man

"You are

 Spider man
 Iron man,
 And when 
 I am old and frail son;

 I pray,


His smiles and hugs
could not be bought

Copyright © James Peranteau

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A Long Cold-Chill

I watched the penguins woddle along,
On cold-hard ice; where they belong.

From water to land, they scurried around,
Flapping their feet on frozen ground.

Herds of them were standing still,
Settling down to a long cold chill.

Mother passes her egg to father carefully;
Knowing he'll care for it, so, naturally.

He'll protect it from the harsh-cold nights,
In a warm snug pouch away from sight.

For mother must find many fish to catch,
While father stays until it is hatched.

Long-dark days of Winter will change to Fall,
Returning mother, with, her familiar call.

Such a sweet sound for father's ear,
Ending another, long-cold Winter year.

Giving father penguin a much needed break,
For their chick is born and fully awake.

With such a huge urge to quickly eat,
Yes, many tasty meals of fresh, fish-meat.

Copyright © Carol B Tyre

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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.

Copyright © julie heckman

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Climbing Levels Of Spiritual Enlightenment

learning from the past turning the dark into light grasping a lesson from our Father climbing levels of enlightenment The Almighty presents us with lessons each and everyday it is our job to acknowledge the lessons and grow from them Although presented in different ways we all go through the same lessons in life I call it "climbing levels of spiritual enlightenment" if you grasp the lesson presented and live by that lesson you will begin your climb if you fail to live by that lesson you will tumble back down over and over hence the lessons will be presented to you once again until you achieve them The lessons are not always pleasant as the flesh cries out in pain as I climb and fall throughout my life the agony is soon replace with delight a little pain to receive a blessing from our King What appears to be a failure or a loss with no way out is simply a hidden blessing , a gift from our King...... It's time to start climbing!!! lets grow strong..........

Copyright © Rick Parise

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Waiting for Daylight

He would enter the corral in the thick fog of mist,
up long before daylight would christen the air
The skies would be coral, and the sun glazed the crest
Dust clung to the heels of his old leather boots,
and gathered in shrouds around the hoofs of the mare.

Billowing up with the clouds, was a whirlwind of grief
that had followed the storms of long hours awake
Endless were nights without the refuge of sleep
while he waited for sun to arrive and relieve

Caressing the flank of her sleek narrow, frame,
his favorite mare, Queenie, was the color of dawn
He would gather her reins, for a moment of calm
then, bury his face in her rusty brown mane

He'd watch as the light slipped over the hills,
smoothing the shadows, that haunted his world
Without ever knowing the worries we found
as we saw those same shadows, splay rapidly down,
drowning his eyes, with dark circles and frowns

Grief and the love of his horses, would ride,
together, off center....wherever, to hide,
and soften the hours, that waited for night

For the house was a shell, and the bedroom, upstairs,  
became the forbidden, without her to share
The nights, ever long, were just waiting to tear
open the wounds that couldn't be mended, couldn't be shared

Up at the sunrise, and out until starlight
Where shadows grew stronger, and nights even longer
Burning the daylight, until light was in ashes, 
then thrashing the midnight, with the darkness of mourning,
wading through dust-clouds, to see morning's light
Waiting for something to make it alright



Copyright © Carrie Richards

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Deer Crossing

I'm sitting cross legged on the side of the road
while Dad holds my shoulders, in trying to console me,
but tears, uncontrolled, keep tumbling down.
Most stunning, right now, is the fear, I've not known
Never before, .....had I felt so alone.

Reality has settled, like darkness around me
A first-time encounter with death and it's toll
Though, how many times, I have played out the role? 

It was always the same.....
Just a game to be played
The drama?  Just kid's-stuff.....who knew what it meant?

Bang, Bang you're dead!...
Point a finger .... he's dead
A stab, rubber swords, ... at my eight year old heart ?
While slowly, with drama, I played out the part

Death scenes, just play.   I would take my last breath
Then, I was back on my knees, and up in a flash
Ready again, to reverse all the rules......
Death wasn't real........and never so cruel

Tonight,  driving home 
a deer out of nowhere, 
A thump, and a jar, a flash in the light
And in the dash of a moment, ....a crumpling crash
Make-believe shatters, with the lights of our car

Dad reaching his hand, to check I'm alright
Then  opens the door out into the night
Reluctantly I follow his somber silhouette
And met by a moment I'll never forget

The air is bitter cold, and takes all my breath
I want to turn my eyes away, but now it's too late
I've seen lifeless eyes stare back,  in the lights
I'm hypnotized by silence, and the shattering sight
as still and cold, as real as if stones,  
Two lifeless eyes, stare into the night
I feel such a change in the stars and the sky
I felt something die, in a child's heart tonight


Carrie Richards
For Trashed #2 Contest: Sponsor: Broken Wings

Copyright © Carrie Richards

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The Bottomless Pit

From the bottom of an abandoned gravel pit
behind my childhood home, seated, 
leaning against its hardpacked sandy side,
he watched the July sun set,
the empty prescription bottle at his side.

Did he walk that day to his unnatural fate
slowly, shoulders rolling like a big cat,
alternating first one, then the other, 
forward, head bent, one black errant
curl tumbling across his troubled forehead.

Did he hesitate or did he hurry
and did he think of me, just 12,
soon to be fatherless, before he
began his two weeks of decomposing
in the hot Texas sun until
the man on horseback found him
while looking for a lost calf. 

I couldn't blame my mother 
for the divorce she filed.
I had wanted him to leave, too,
and hadn't I prayed he would die
when he dragged her over the yard,
by a handful of her hair clasped
tightly in his fist,
because she had cut it without his permission.
Especially the next day when I found
the clump of auburn hair caught in the lush 
purple blooms of the wisteria bush,
I wanted him to die.

He played his harmonica for me,
and I sang, "Daddy's Little Darling, 
Don't you think I'm sweet?"
But I prayed my dad would die,
and though I asked God to ignore those
prayers of terror, I will never be able to
love enough wayward men to save my dad.

Copyright © Emerson Adkins

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I AM THANKFUL : For Contest


I am thankful 
     ~ ~ ~
as a child I saw you thru child eyes ... A hero
and as your cape frayed and your crown tarnished 
I believed it was because I had grown , 
and no longer played childhood games .

I am thankful 
     ~ ~ ~
for my rebellious teenage years 
when your form of punishment 
was silence as if I didn't exist . 

I am thankful 
     ~ ~ ~
for that small monumental card 
that allowed me behind the wheel of a fast car ,
and a getaway     at least for awhile .

I am thankful 
     ~ ~ ~
for you allowing me to be the scapegoat 
of a well planned abandoning of a family ,
and a mother who only worked a part time job . 

I am thankful 
    ~ ~ ~
she was strong enough to stand 
against your Neanderthal ideas 
of where exactly a woman should be and how ... 
Her sole strength our only reason for surviving   

I am thankful 
     ~ ~ ~
you weren't around to see my many , many failures 
that you saw as weakness . 
These same ones I drew strength from 
as being the most valuable , and learned the most from . 

I am thankful 
      ~ ~ ~
for learning I will never be afraid to try .

I am thankful 
    ~ ~ ~
you never knew your grandsons or them you . 
Keeping their young minds free of your demented views and values . 

I am thankful 
     ~ ~ ~
for all the years of tears I cried for my dad     you . 
This taught my boys humility , and compassion , but also hate . 

I am thankful 
    ~ ~ ~
they will recognize them each .

I am thankful 
    ~ ~ ~
I didn't have to watch you suffer and die . 
Having already lived 20 years in what if's . 

I am thankful 
     ~ ~ ~
I had no tears left for your funeral . 
Knowing all those years crying for my daddy    you 
weren't in vain .

I am thankful 
      ~ ~ ~
for your genes for I will need them  . 
My sisters now paint your portrait much different than truth , 
which just might drive me to madness . 

But thanks to you      I'm halfway there .

                 9 / 24 / 2015

Copyright © Bev Smith

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The Water Tower

The water tower stands above the town and can be seen for miles around.  It has a 
ladder leading up to the base of the tank.  This ladder has been climbed by countless 
teenagers, for thrills and mischief and young kids answering a dare.

     Over the years, many symbols and words have been painted on the tank.  From 
Highschool mascots, to hearts of love and proposals.  Flowers and Holiday wishes 
joined in.

     It had always been one mans job to keep the water tank painted and to cover up 
any impromptu artwork.  He always took his time about it though.  Making sure that 
each message stayed up at least two weeks before he would paint over it.
     One day he received a phone call.  On the line was a little boy.  This little boy asked 
the man to please not paint over his message he had written on the tank, as it was 
very important.

     The man explained to the boy that it was his job to keep the tank painted and 
clean.  But, that he would leave his message up there, untouched, for two weeks.  The 
little boy, with tears in his voice said  "Thank you, I hope it will be long enough".

  The next day, as the man was driving past the water tank, he looked up.  He saw no 
message or pictures of any kind on that tank.  He shrugged and assumed that the boy 
had just been to scared to make the climb all the way to the top.

     Three weeks later, the mans phone rings again.  It was that same little boy.  Very 
excited, he proclaimed  "Mister, I just wanted to thank you for not painting over my 
message...It really worked!"

    Intrigued, the man went to the tank with his paint and supplies.  He climbed to the 
top, set down his paint and brush.  He walked around that tank several times and still 
did not see a message.  But, as he bent to pick up the paint can, there it was.  
Towards the bottom of the tank, in crayon with a young child scroll was written:

       "Dear God, pleeze let my daddy come home frum war I miss him
                                   Your frend Mike"

The years passed.  Many drawings and words were painted over by one man and then 
the other, as they took the job over.  But never, the one small patch, with that heart 
felt prayer.

For the contest:  Story Time
Hostess:  Carol Brown
Placement: 2nd

Copyright © Paula Swanson

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Greet the little King,
who has been born in a cold manger
on the holiest of nights;
and by the glitter of a descending star,
He will spread peace in the land...
follow the shepherds and find that sight! 

My gift to Him is my joyful song,
and with this clarinet I will usher in His coming...
walk side by side with the pretty angels and rejoice;
bring Him your gift, and surround Him with joy!
See the three Magi arriving on jewel-draped camels,
holding in their laps the gifts of His destiny.  

A winter's night has always been completely bright,
every hill is hidden by darkness, but an heavenly light 
appears across the frosty sky of Bethlehem, while divine
voices announce Emmanuel's glorious birth,
everyone wakes up and sees that star and follows it;
and where it stops, they find a baby without a crown.   

Greet the Son of the Highest, the Wonderful Redeemer, 
whom the Virgin Mary has borne in the humblest of places...
in the small town without a temple, or a palace for the Emperor,
where Mary and Joseph will train their child in Godly ways;
greet the little king, He will smile and invite you in,
and His smile will spread peace beyond the star-lit hill. 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci

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Addiction {resubmit}

I have laughed as you have cried
I have lived as you have died
I love to make you hated
Being held above as you are degraded
I steal your future and prey on your past
I am socially accepted, as you become an outcast
I am a dealer of darkness, a deliverer of pain
I smoke your lungs and collapse your veins
I'll take all the things you dream about
After all its things you can live without
All you possess will be lost or traded
As those you love become hated
I’ll cover your body all over with sores
Turn those you love straight into whores
I come straight from hell believe me its true
The father of darkness brought me to you
I am a master deceiver a father of lies
So far ahead of the game I need no alibis
I've heard you scream my God it’s not true
As I joyfully take your children from you
I'm so good at deception you are unable to see
As I take them away you seek comfort in me
I open my arms and pull you into my chest
Cradle you up till the day of your death
So can please come join in my misery
But know your heart and soul will be my final fee

Copyright © Michael Jordan

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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.

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel

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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.

Copyright © Flora Mae Gudez

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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---


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

Copyright © Timothy Hicks

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Healing Words

My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast

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The Bad King

Ana Cecilia Callejas 

Rodrigo Perez Gavilan

The Bad King 

“Lexer” was a lion who was the King of the entire animal kingdom, during his reign all the animals lived in complete harmony, they were all happy and graceful, and Lexer takes care of them and protects them. One day “Lexer” and his wife had an adorable baby lion that was named “Dylan” as he grew up Lexer teached him a lot of things since he was going to be the heir of the animal kingdom. Dylan also made a lot of friends but his best friend was Jim. Dylan and Jim spend almost all the days together, as the time passed Jim started to hang out with the Rhinos, which were the bad ones of the kingdom. Jim turned into a bad lion and started to incite Dylan to make bad things and he became also a bad lion. One day lexer got very sick and a few days later he passed away so Dylan became the king. All the animals were very sad because they loved Lexer he has been so far the best ruler of the animal kingdom. Time passed and Dylan forgot all the good things his father taught him and started to become a bad lion and a bad king. Influenced by Jim and the Rhinos that were friends with Jim Dylan started to do bad things. He put animals to fight between each other just for their amusement and had some of the animals as slaves just to be his servants, he also ordered other animals to kill so he can eat and have feasts, and this caused a lot of panic in the entire animal kingdom. Dylan mother tried to make him reconsider and change, to do all the good things his father taught him for him to be a good king but Dylan just became worse. All this caused that the animals lost his confidence towards the king and started to live just with the ones of their own kind and also began to fight with all the other animals to survive. This caused that the world became a bad place and since that moment the harmony did not existed anymore and the animals had to take care on their own.
Moral of the fable: if you are a good person and you have good values don’t let anyone to influence you and change the way you are.

Copyright © Ana Callejas

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Home Run

It wasn't because he brought her flowers.... It wasn't because he wined and dined her.... She loved him because he spent hours on the computer trying to track down the 1970 Brooks Robinson baseball card for their oldest son's birthday She loved him because he played with their kids, even after a hard day at work... baseball games in the big front yard, cheering them on... not getting angry when the youngest son knocked a homer... ...straight through the living room window ~

Copyright © Carrie Richards

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Lone Wolf

Lone Wolf” Written by John Moses Freeman A lone wolf far from the pack of his concern, entertains by flute in hopes of an appearance from Great White Father. Many moon have passed and no sacred white buffalo have been seen or heard of by himself or any of the other members of the tribe. It is always a bad omen to go for so many moons without a sacred appearance of a single white buffalo. Separating himself from the rest of the tribe eliminates the possibility of any bad medicine of unsacred mistakes that might have possibly been made by any of the other braves. Fasting for days Lone Wolf rescinds the weaker part of his soul, giving over to the spirit world. That he might be worthy of the divine appearing presence of the Great White Father. Should the Great White Father decided to divinely grant this mortal His holy appearance from inside the spirit world. Lone Wolf's proof of worthiness is his abstaining from food until his unworthy fleshly senses have rescinded; into the lower depths of darkness of the soul and obliged Lone Wolf’s sacred sense, giving over to the authority of the spirit of his stronger essence. The nature of the trees of the woods, the air, the water, the sun of day and the moon of night are the image of the lesser senses that must be respected, for they are given to the lesser man’s needs in the lesser world as shelter and food. But today Lone Wolf plays his flute for the purpose of entertaining a presence of the Great White Father of mother earth. He will fast and play until his inner essence becomes one with the essence of creation! By this divinely granted appearance he will receive spiritual council and rectify his tribe with good medicine and receive new direction correcting the bad omen. The white buffalo will appear in the herd again! For and in Honor of Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet And Contest: Tell HIS Story

Copyright © john freeman

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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.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.

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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

Copyright © Leonora Galinta

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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.



Copyright © Shanity Rain