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Dad Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Dad

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

Details | Prose Poetry |

Your My Dear Friend

We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"


Details | Prose Poetry |

Lucky I Guess Part I

Today was the big day! I bought a scratch-off ticket two days ago and won $25,000.00! Can
you imagine that? Me, a lonely unemployed nobody, strikes it rich. Yee-Hah! So, I'm off to the
lottery collections agency to cash in my lucky windfall. The polite gentleman handed me
the necessary forms. I feverishly completed them and within 36 minutes was awarded my
check. Wow! Me, a single, unrecognized nobody, is clutching a mild fortune. 
“Zippety-Do-Dah!” Whistling a happy tune, I venture home. Three blocks before reaching my
domicile, I spotted a young lad on the corner of Clark Street and 9th Avenue. He was
sitting on the cold concrete playing with an energetic puppy - yet, he was crying. "Hey,
kid, that's a beautiful puppy you've got." The young boy looked up at me and stammered:
"He's not my puppy, Mister. I found him here in the street a little while ago. The doggie
has no home." My heart skipped two beats. "Where do you live, son?" The tearful boy
crooked his head towards a dilapidated house two lots away from the corner of Clark
Street. I didn't think anyone lived there. I paused for a second and then:

"Hey, Mister? Do you have an extra quarter?" I was speechless for a moment. 
"Excuse me, Mister...um, do you have a dime or a quarter? I have two quarters in my pocket. 
If I get one more I can buy the puppy a can of dog food at the corner store." Containing a smile, 
I lost my breath. I regained my wits and asked: "Would your Mom and Dad approve of you 
having a puppy?" The young lad kept his head down and replied: "Well, my Dad is dead.
But I know my Mom would like this puppy. It's just that my Mom can't walk and, um...
I take care of her and, um...we really wouldn't have enough money to take 
care of a dog, anyways." My heart was breaking. "What's your name son?"
I didn't understand who's tears I was envisioning - his or mine.
"Charlie, Mister." "My name's, Charlie."

(SEE Part 2 OF THE STORY FOR THE ENDING...)

For: Carol Brown
I Hepled The Needy contest
(This is Part I of the story)


Details | Prose Poetry |

Happy Father's Day: Your Sweat Is My Increase

your left hand was hard, but your right, gracious putting me in the balance of Love of which its fulcrum is discipline and respect. Your weaknesses were classified just to ensure I see beyond mine Your chastisement was not without pain of which its appreciation is a strong indicator of my gradual maturity. You always guard the gates of my territory like a Centurion and fight against all antigens like a warlock. You taught me how to be complete and provided the staff and Ass as I journey across Life and appreciate. I initially thought of you differently when you gave me the partially made sandal, when you refused to help with the air-tight metal box, when you gave me bone while milk was still my best delicacy when you laughed at me while I'm confused and worst of all, stopping Mum to come to my rescue. I never knew they were task of Life I most needed, finishing off the sandal made me industrious, opening the box, made me determined and never relenting, chewing the annoying bone made me grow up; your scorn and laughter actually made me decisive and rescuing myself made me independent. All these sum up to making me a MAN! Which makes you my Hero and role model. Before I was, there was you; in fact, I am in existence because of you. I've always clinged unto you as my Life's support but you allow me make my mistakes so as to be the best gadget. Your regulation of Mum's affections only makes me be an unspoilt egg. I always increase when you sweat and your headaches are stepping stones to my zeniths. You are such an irreplaceable asset and your love, so refreshing as the evening air. What more can I say and how else can I show gratitude? As much as I know, you need none of these, One thing I must always say is, I LOVE YOU DAD!


Details | Prose Poetry |

Mum's Hero

Mum, you bought me shoes, socks and a football kit,

'You were willing me to see me as your ‘hero’.

Fifteen years have passed away,

I still have your gift that you bought for me on Christmas. 

 

Your son is a really hero, have you seen me,

I am top scorer as you can read in the local newspaper,

When I kissed my first trophy, my tears poured out, 

My friends thought that I am crying in happiness.

 

Mum, have you remembered me? 

As I know, I always missed your shadow,

I go to the pond every week, 

Where you fed the birds and spent hours with them. 

 

You never come to learn, 

How your son spent days, weeks and years.

Perhaps you don’t know, dad also left me, 

When you went out, he ran after you. 

 

I saw his picture in a newspaper,

When I grew up a little, I heard from my carer,

Your dad died in an accident,

Have you come to attend his funeral? 

 

I learnt when he left church nobody was behind him,

Only service that he received has been delivered,

I went often to kiss his stone, as I found him,

Few days ago it was a fathers day. 

 

When I join my mate’s birthdays, 

I saw their parents curdling them with gifts.

They dance and laugh, enjoy food and drink,

I feel loneliness and lost myself in puffs of smoke. 

 

Always I got drunk but never forgot that incident,

When you tried to stop dad, not to drink more,

He pushed and slapped you strongly,

I saw blood touching your feet. 

 

You don’t know, I also ran after you,

Door slammed shut, road was icy and frozen,

I hit a stone and fell conscious on the street,

When I found myself, I was in a hospital bed.

 

Mum, is your face looking the same as before?

How will I recognise you if I met you suddenly?

I am sure mum. You will recognise me,

At last I am your son as same as I am Dad’s. 


Details | Prose Poetry |

Wishing you could love me too

You mean so much to me, more then you'll ever know. 
More then ill ever be able to describe.
But I'll try.
Voice of a angel, touch ever so soft you would think its a feather.
Eyes so beautiful seeing them on a sunset day, medusa stare ever so hypnotizing locking eyes can't look away.
Baby in the tummy, heart just started beating giving me a rush that I really needed.
Love so old I feel defeated.
Even though I do everything for you, I'm looking out for me just keeping a close over view upon you.
How can I fix your life if mine isn't alright, but i don't know where id ever be with out you by my side.
And I thought I'd never know but as of now I'm pushing through. 
Now that your gone, I miss you every night.
But I gotta be strong.
Cause if not you'll be gone and ill be with a baby missing its mom.


Details | Prose Poetry |

HABEAS CORPUS

           HABEAS CORPUS


My daughter writes
Where are you Dad?
 When'll you come ?
Who builds walls between us ?
Even if you come , how will I
Recognisze you ?
Blood simmers-
I was safe in mamma's belly
The day you stepped down
With accompaniments
Mamma lost her sense
Today, my ninth birthday
No cakes , candles and guests
Where are you ?

Parents meeting in school
I stood alone embarrassed
My Miss holding me,kissing on cheeks
Friends say
You are behind bars
Is it Dad ?
All relatives swear my birth
Am I that doom'd
Tell me Dad !

Mamma weeps often
Looking at railroads
Down our flat
Says nothing-

My daughter writes 
When will you come
Mamma
Me
Where are you


Details | Prose Poetry |

MOM AND DAD KISS

it was tree night
under blinking light
at christmas
was not dust
they held hands
at the gifts stand
i coundn't miss
MOM AND DAD
KISS


Details | Prose Poetry |

Note From a Dirty Old Man To the Hurtin' Virgin with a Plan

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
wishing well, wish them well and sell me your sex and your candy!
it's hell and it's storming outside at two nineteen in the am morning,
dawning cums too soon, and damn it I'm hungry and I'm horny.
wishing well I can smell you and I can tell too, you want just what I got for you.
slide my way, convey that curve, serve that nervous purr right over here. steer 
me in. let me tickle you dear, if your cunt was aligned with your ear, I'd wax 
that true and through just to feel what you hear, Do you hear me wishing well? 
Don't you shy away and get all pissy! I know you've missed me with all that 
classy ass, finally figured out it would never last, from the way they won't let you kiss me. listen missy, I know you know what I've got and honey dew you know it's name is the TRUTH, well Truth be sold the well's getting cold, only one thing left to do. Letme dig dig deep deeper into my sack of gold, Truth be told, the Truth certainly hurts and you can't handle it honestly loosening your folds. Lay back baby doll, blindfold those crystalline eyes, sigh sigh, lose control, the fat facts are swollen inside your watering hole, deep deep beneath your thighs. listen listen, glisten as I christen your cries. Wishing Well, we both can tell this Truth serum's swell has cast a spell that crests the ocean when you lie. don't lie to me. the Truth gets drier when you try. the Truth will bruise and ruin your pie.
mean whipped cream right in your lusty crusty eye. What a dirty old man AM I!  
To De-Virgin-ize Skinny You with Girthy TRUTH to soothe your sinful LIES...


Details | Prose Poetry |

Playin' Catch

PLAYIN' CATCH

Mom and Dad would have the car packed the night before we left,
the station wagon filled with all the essentials we'd need for our
extended camping trips. Dad always made sure I had my ball glove
ready for rest stop breaks. This was my favorite anticipated time of
the trip!... when we would stop, Dad would tell me to grab my glove, 
but I was already out the door, lookin' for a clear stretch of grass to
throw with him. Dad had the same glove all through the years, an
old, beat up version that didn't have much padding. I used whatever
glove I was currently using for the team I was playing on, either
a present from him, or a gift, sometimes from a coach. Dad wanted 
me to start throwin' easy, as his eyesight wasn't all that sharp, and 
he needed to limber-up first, and focus on the 'heat!' I was tossin'.
I remember he would always encourage and compliment me on my
improvement since the last time we threw!. Our trip out west, "Custer's
Last Stand"...Yellowstone National Park".... our trips to "Itasca State Park"
and "Tettegouche State Park" always settin' aside time to "play-catch".

In time, Dad couldn't follow the thrown ball very good, and I remember 
when he told me he couldn't "play-catch" any more; by then I was
playin' varsity ball in high school, and Dad would come watch me play.
I always still brought his old glove and favorite 'rubber-coated' baseball
along on outings, so he wouldn't think I didn't remember he was 
still my hero, whether he could throw or not. I treasure those moments
now, and always try to 'play-catch' with the little cousins of mine, 
encourage and compliment them on their improvement,

.......since the last time we 'played-catch'








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