shadows are running
breaking bones under foot.
arm twisting branches snap
smearing their scent on contact.
resin oozes as blood,
the pungent sap tickles my nose hairs.
a rustling voice whispers movement.
the fresh earthen breath kisses mine.
my eyes peer into the hidden darkness
as I start peeling the shadows, but
stop my curiosity from going further.
crepuscular rays slice into the woods
verifying our little girl’s nightmares.
grandma’s kiss on my forehead
sets me upright, in bewilderment.
Every little girl has one wish
They try it to see how it feels
It could be plastic or cardboard
It could be bright, shiny metal
No matter what, she sees a beautiful crown
She could become a princess
Honored when her daddy bows to her
For a few minutes, she is royalty
In her mind, no matter what she does in life
She will always be the only princess
Just because her daddy says she was.
© Poem XIV/IX/MMXXV
LRET
My dad had thirteen siblings
worked for every thing he ever got
many hand-me-downs but no handouts
Children of Divorce
Divorce
A curse
On a family
Who once was happy
Never to feel the same
Feeling like they are to blame
For this never ending game
Just wanting to be the children they were before
But they will always be the children of divorce
Children of divorce
Struggle
Every day is a struggle,
Like a huddle
With myself In my head,
Wondering if it will end
Everyday you control my mind
Like a bind
A never ending bond
Of trauma
And drama
And running to my mama
I try to be happy
But I wish it was permanently
My mind is tired of this daily struggle
Just trying to be the kid
Who loved to cuddle
Struggle
Dear old man,
My quill quivers.
How do I glorify you,
With only ink, not gold?
Oh lady Calliope,
Lift my soul.
A pin drowned in an ocean of words.
Guide my conscience with notions,
Dearth of words I face,
To sculpt my father's grandeur.
A shrunken, grainy face is all that's left.
Struggles, unparalleled for eternity
Spine bows, for the weight he bears.
A warrior bending his knees to fate.
Wounds he has procured,
A soldier indisputably.
Laments the injustice once and twice,
Yet, prefers seclusion.
No more wars he seeks to wage,
On his own kinds.
The past shoots arrows at him,
Bleeding eyes and shattered bones.
How can one slip such agony?
And forgive his enemy.
Yet, still, Calliope,
Though you guide.
The shaking of my hand,
Hardly lets me carve his story.
Despite your hand over mine,
How do I shape an epic?
Father you been so good to me
You keep me alive every day
And for that I thank you
Also you are the one that gave me
The gift of life
I am living my life every day
To the fullest father
I know that I won't live forever
I will die some day
Also Father I never forget to pray
For you every night
And after I pray you answer my prayer
A little girl in her bright red hat.
About five, or something like that.
Runs to her dad, playing cowboy on a horse.
And the skittish horse bucks, of course.
Oh, the little time that tragedy requires.
The just-bought gun accidentally fires.
The little girl falls, grasping her bright red hat.
Imagine that.
autumn lingers unfinished
though cold drops november
rain and waits undiminished
'til native summer sun remembers
what could unmake
when days full ache
bloom autumn colors
quick winter all borders
golds greens yellows
reds purples browns
a rusted rainbow frowns
as leaves scoot over meadows
fallen from mountain forest
after fields have given harvest
a father of one teaches his son.
chase catching leaves for fun
they twist turn swivel pirouette
lunge leap slide slice 'til earth is whet
while boy staggers with arms stretched
missing while dad knows misdirect fetched
two and three leaves while son fustrated
cries to quit but egged on infuriated
at last by chance or by experience
claps and traps one in victory dance
Copyright © Cornelius Brantley | Year Posted 2024
I woke too soon, a life almost undone
A sudden call came, before the light of day
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Her life was spared, before the morning sun
She was okay, I heard her softly say
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
No tragic end, no race was lost or run
Three lives affected, dark clouds rolled away
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Thank heaven, no journey to the setting sun
I simply whispered a thanks today
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
A precious chance, a new life has begun
There is a future, no more than delays
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Startled I still have my daughter; beloved my only one
My fears all faded, at the break of day
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Pan
Oh to be able to fly again
To throw all caution to the wind
To run jump laugh and play
I’d give my soul for one more day
It’s hard to leave childhood behind
Growing old is so unkind
Precious moments fade so fast
And big adventures never last
So come with me take my hand
We’ll search the stars for Neverland
Oh to able to fly again
Forever a lost boy
It's difficult to define a father precisely
So, let's imagine how a father would be
A father may be figuratively similar to these:
A starting point, a fulcrum, a roof, a piece of land
A mountain, a sky, a star, a beam of sunshine
A lamp, a mirror, a book, a guide,a set of minds,
...
I reckon a father can be similar to each of them
if he is viewed from different perspectives
However, fatherhood will not be fairly defined
If all the pieces above aren't yet combined ?
Letting go
I write this poem to my dad,
Although it makes mad
And also sad,
To find out you were nothing but bad
You wrote a poem similar to this,
In different circumstances
Having people thinking,
You were the only one hurting
I am attempting to let go,
But will I ever though
Letting go, of you S.T
Controlled
You controlled me,
Who I wanted to be
Who I was as a person,
And as a son
I wanted to be fitted to perfection,
While it was only depression
Even with you gone,
Your never really gone
Still the puppeteer,
Controlling and full of anger
While I’m left with strings,
That still stings
I’m controlled.
Daddy worked the land
To put food in our hand
He worked in the mill
To pay our monthly bills
Lived to be 97 years old
A simple life lived not so bold
Specific Types of Father Poems
Read wonderful father poetry on the following sub-topics:
alcoholic, beautiful, childhood, daughter to, death, family, funeral, funny, great dad, hurt, husband, importance, mother, soldier, son to, wonderful
and more.
Definition | What is Father in Poetry?
Poems Related to Father
clergyman, dad, daddy, father of the bride, father time, fathers day, godfather, grandfather, great grandfather, minister, pa, padre, papa, parent, pastor, pop, preacher, procreator