Life lost, she bore;
The cost of war.
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?
want write poems that not
bout politics life's weighty
absurdities death's grip all
simple poems contentment
son's enthusiasm energy
wife's cooking heroic endurance
kitten's bouncing curiosity
old cat's slowing solitude
dog praying hard reform
colors fall newness spring
mowing leaves grass gazing
on in forest looking beyond
tree tops lake mirage day
venus mars night
bach lifting toward
mozart floating down
heaven singing love conquering
fulfilled voluntary unions bodies
cooperation nations peace
strength through peace soul society
treading softly near edge
old habit making safe path
some sweet day will
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
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.
I look back at my dad's radio
Shuffling through the channels
Cause the signal is too weak
But my dad will wait in awe
When the presenter starts off at the top of the hour
You'd see my dad fixed in his stool
Still to get to hear the nation address
The words of hope he hopes to hear
It's been many decades now but he's still keen
He's never wavered in what the country could be
And he's served it well
Like a true statesman, he put his family first
The radio brought together the whole village
It's where the hearts converged
And drummed all through the hour
Before the drums kept beating from a distance
That radio has seen the best of the years
From the regimes that got us out of houses to cheer on
To regimes that made it possible for kids to get an education
To the one who built futuristic roads
I bought him a new radio
But it doesn't sound like the old one
But he's eager to turn it on
And not miss the news
The PO£T
It's a far reaching stretch,
Large people has flooded in,
I am not alone,
My father has held my brothers hand pretty strong;
As he makes the path in between
I too am catching up ,
A carnival is yet to come
Huge creatures approached
as we stood in front .
Loud drums and hustling crowd
papa speaks to his friends around ,
But I did see his one hand still held
By that little guy on the ground,
Through a distance ,
there was this white eyed, black teeth shabby clothed crow like guy
Running right at the crowd ,
Wherever he went , people gasped.
And As he was approaching ,
I already took a few steps back
He came right at my brothers face,
And He curled up to my father's legs
leaving everyone awestruck
Then restoring to our places ,
People laughed .
It's a far reaching stretch,
Life is filled with strange people
I am not alone ,
But I too would love
To hold my father's hand .
unbelievable
last ball game he’d ever see
grand slam ball for dad
With soft touch of hands
mother smooths creases of fear—
folding in embrace
touching quivering candle
fingers humming haunting hymns
Love requires no hands
it invents its own language—
wing, beak, paw and lick
a body curled up to care
whispers —'you're safe'
Whales cuddle up close
dolphins ring rosy halos
seals seek safe harbors
penguins bow against the wind
birds soothe with beaks and feather
Love without fingers
a current that wraps and lifts
a tide unbroken
it cradles the heart within
steadies the faltering steps
Such love needs not touch—
it listens, watches, imbibes
hovering in care
joining two hearts together
with spirit of motherhood
That quiet-ness,
middle of the night,
insomniac,
sleep as it gets bright
toss turn sides & back....
drift to afternoon wake,
stomach rumbles,
to an oven that bakes,
and is humbling.
The fall is a mind's wrap
of how the co-existence
leaves us in scrambles,
Our mother gave us our names,
and euphoria is always the blame.
Scrambling in dirt and even worse,
Limo carries another hearse
Specific Types of Son Poems
Read wonderful son poetry on the following sub-topics:
birthday, daughter, forgive me, growing up, father to, inspirational, missing my, mother to
and more.
Definition | What is Son in Poetry?
Poems Related to Son
boy, brother, child, daughter, dependent, descendant, grandson, heir, homie, junior, male, offspring, relative, sibling