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 |

- Dear Dad -

I have learned to say thanks
... It's free
I can not remember that I sat on your lap when I was little
How delightful it is to have a child on my lap
I can not remember no one hugs
Today I hug you often
You feel discomfort
I have learned to be helpful
... It's free
I learned to tie my shoelaces
.... Where were you
I have learned to be kind
.... It's free
I learned to ride a bike
... Where were you
A sister and a brother
moved many miles from their childhood home
I went to school - I became an adult
.... Where were you
I got my own family
A home created along with my dear husband
... A beautiful child and grandchildren
... Where were you
I taught them to say thank you and share many warm hugs .... love
You need me now, to master your life
.... It's free
I am here for you
I say: "I love you, dear dad"
You say: "Its only fair .... it is your duty"
I give you a hug
... You give me no one back

A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved 

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015

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By Default

Stepping out of the car, my father and I
after a shattering night  
the skies were a dismal gray
The end of the world had taken all the light away

And dawn had taken all hope, and then had sucked all the air away

Even tears had nowhere to land 
Frozen thick in our throats like 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

For "The Fault Line" Contest
sponsored by Anthony Slausen

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

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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 | Year Posted 2013

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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 were clouds, and a whirlwind of grief
that 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 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


Dedicated to my Dad 

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

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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

Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009

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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.

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

Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009

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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

Copyright © john scott | Year Posted 2011

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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. 

Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013

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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. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

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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 | Year Posted 2013

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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. | Year Posted 2011

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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 | Year Posted 2013

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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.

Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2014

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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 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 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 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

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

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"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.

Copyright © Emerson Adkins | Year Posted 2012

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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.

Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2014

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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

Copyright © sharon anena | Year Posted 2013

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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

Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2014

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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

Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013

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My Dad

What makes a child feel closer to one parent rather than to the other?
           Although love bound me to the heart of my mother,
               it was to my Father's side that I chose to cling.
   He was always the first up in the morning, even before the sun.
      He knew as a farmer, his work in the fields was never done.

        I remember my first day of school. He was the bus driver.
       Timid little me, I looked out the window and there he was,
       peering back at me. I ran from the room and into his arms.
        After a hug he looked me in the eye and said. "Don't cry."
                            I thought I was home free,
   but my Dad took me by the hand and walked me back to my desk. 
                 My Dad, he always knew how to handle me.

                           I wanted no part of housework. 
                     To the fields I followed him after school.
It was our time to talk about our dreams, problems, whatever was on our minds.
         He never stopped, not even after open heart surgery...twice. 
                   It slowed him down, but never made him quit. 
                       I watched the strength in him fade away,
                      day after day he lost the battle of ill health. 
         His kidneys were shutting down and he finally lost his will to live.   
The last time he opened his eyes I kissed him goodbye and he could only smile. 
     That night he went into a coma and I prayed to God that He let him die.  
                   I've never felt guilty about those prayers.
                       I'd already lost my Father to sleep. 

                       I have no bad memories of my Dad.  
                 He was never the one to dole out a spanking. 
   He was my buddy; my hero in every sense of the over used word. 
We hunted together~ he taught me to drive a tractor ~ I could go on. 
                      He loved me as much as I still love him. 
I was blessed to have such a wonderful father, and grandfather to my children.

December 31st, 2015    Tell About your Dad Contest:    Sponsor: Judy Konos            

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015

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My Hero

I was once in your womb
Pain of giving birth was like
One foot in the tomb 
The bout that you needed to ease
Because I might be lost
If you don't fight to cease
Thank you for rocking me unceasingly
Thank you for feeding me 
In the middle of the night tirelessly
The naval that I see
Is evident that you never gave up on me
I love you so much Mommy
Thank you for your unconditional love
You are my hero Mommy 
Sshhh don't tell Daddy Mommy!
I love you too Daddy! 
And you are the King and Queen of my heart.

September 30, 2015

Copyright © Meline Ngo | Year Posted 2015

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When the fall came we knew everything had changed.  Whispers through the Aspens became a shrill voice of winters warning.  He was changing like the seasons.  They didn’t understand it at first but it became more apparent as time went on.  The old man was tied to a cycle and that cycle was the changing of the seasons.  In the fall he was anticipatory and melancholy.   Sometimes irritable and other times reflective of his life.  He had lived here for 20 years.  Twenty years in a nursing home…who would do that to a man?  But he took it all in and lived on despite the wrongs done to him.  He was usually a gentlemen but he had his temper and God hope you weren’t working that shift.  Christ.  But as time went along he came and went and we all got used to the cycle.  And he didn’t seem to notice.  He had cancer and it was going to kill him.  Sooner or later.  He was working on later.
He used to say, “There is a spring that flows eternal, and I am swimming in that spring."  He told us he would out live all of us and see us in that spring if we were good people.  I’m not sure how good or bad I am but I would like to see him in that spring, if only for moment in time.
I can’t do it anymore.  I can’t go and see the old man.  He's almost gone and I don’t know what say to him.  Brown tobacco stains run down his chin and he’s all dressed up on like them old people.  It hurts me.  It really hurts me.  He is my future and my end and my beginning.  It’s a cycle that was invented by a sadist.  But he lives on.  And I think of that spring and wonder when I will be swimming in it one day.  Will I see him and all my children?  Will I be able to locate my dogs?  I hope so.  For living on earth is heaven but crossing the river and getting to the other side in one whole piece must be paradise.  I pray for those around me.  And I hope that I have not done too much wrong that will keep me in this dark place I loath.

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2015

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Grandfather Clock

By Curtis Johnson

In May of ‘63, daddy’s demise came early when he was only 58, leaving mama widowed at 35 with eleven minor children. Essentially stair steppers, our ages ranged from 9 months to 16 years.

I would be proud to own something that my father once possessed.
There was the Social Security benefit of $89 per month from the Feds. 
It appears there was a welfare check of $30 per month from the county.
I also recall that there was a one time cash benefit of $200 from the Masons.

I remember my dad owning a 22 rifle, which my mom still possessed in ‘71. However, beyond then, I do not know what mama eventually did with it. Essentially, beyond that rifle, daddy did not own anything to pass on 
to the next generation.  It appears that daddy’s hard work acquired
many benefits for him and his family, but very little in ownership.

Daddy was a company man.  He drove a company car; we lived in a company house; and a company doctor handled our health care. 

I am 66, and I have a friend who is 86.  We were talking a week ago primarily about his recent move to a new community.  He and his wife sold  their home and is presently renting a much smaller property.  They are freed from many cares relative to upkeep, and they were able to dispose of things they no longer needed.  

However, one item that he mentioned stuck to my mind like glue.  This treasure piece will be kept, because it is not only a material  item, but is also connected to a long family tradition.  My friend inherited the clock from his father, who inherited it from his father.  When he passes on, his grandfather clock, originally owned by his grandfather in Sweden, will become the treasure piece of his son in the fourth generation.  How grand is that!

I could not help but remember that  ‘I did not inherit’ any kind of treasured traditional piece from my father.  Of course, I do not underestimate the Christian heritage that he provided, and the valued lessons he taught.  I also inherited his DNA and the memories.                                                                

O, back then, a grandfather clock would have been unthinkable.  But I cannot deny that  something tangible of my father’s  memory would have been great.   Any way, my friend’s grandfather clock inspires me as I look ahead to the next generation.  I am just a little more motivated to be sure that I pass on something tangible to my children.
04262016 cj PS

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

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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 | Year Posted 2013

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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 © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013

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YELLOW BAG Is there something you want to tell me? for hours and hours your eyes mirror doubts and resentments but let it be... let it be... I truly do not care.... 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.. Waiting and waiting to somebody who will care to knock on the door and tell me, where my daddy is. 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. ______________________________________________________ ***Sponsor Judy Konos Contest Name Is There Something You want to tell me ~~Placed 2nd~~ O.E.Guillermo Revised: 1:27 pm, July 06, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2014

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About My Father - Albin - Who has passed away - So proud of you Dad - Greatest Labor Leader Ever

The following is about my beloved father Albin J. Gruhn who passed away at the age of 94 years young. I Love You Dad and I am missing you so much! Robert

When Albin Gruhn got his card from the loggers union in 1934 after starting work for a Humboldt County lumber company, he never suspected that he was beginning what would become a lifelong career in California's labor movement. He went straight from high school to the lumber mills of Hammond Lumber Co. in Samoa and became a member of the Lumber and Sawmill Workers Union. A year later, in 1935, Mr. Gruhn was swept up in a bloody strike over poor working conditions that resulted in the deaths of three union workers.
He spent 36 years as President of the California Labor Federation, AFL-CIO, helping build the organization into a political and social powerhouse in the state. 
"Few can match Al Gruhn's devotion to working men and women," said Art Pulaski, labor federation's executive secretary-treasurer. "Driven by his passion for justice in the workplace, Al's career has been an inspiration for all of us. He never backed down from a fight."
He was blacklisted by the lumber companies and joined the Laborers' Union, becoming secretary of the Eureka Federated Trades and Labor Council at the age of 22. In 1940, he was elected district vice president of the state labor federation and took over as the organization's President in 1960. He held that job until his retirement in 1996.
 In 1972 he became a founding officer, and ultimately president emeritus, of the Consumer Federation of California.
"Al was a great pioneer of the consumer movement in California," said Jim Gordon, the federation's president. "Al Gruhn always had the interests of consumers and working people in his heart. He built bridges between the consumer movement and our allies in organized labor and in the community."
Mr. Gruhn served on a number of state and local commissions, accepting appointments from Govs. Earl Warren, Goodwin Knight, Edmund G. "Pat" Brown, George Deukmejian and Jerry Brown. He was a member from 1964 to 1971 of the California Constitution Revision Commission.
"The union movement was the cause of his life," 
Mr. Gruhn's son Robert said when his father retired at age 81, speakers at his retirement dinner included the Rev. Jesse Jackson, then-Lt. Gov. Gray Davis and current U.S. Secretary of Labor, Hilda Solis, who called Mr. Gruhn her "godfather" for his career advice.

Read more about my Dad at "Google Search"


Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

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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.

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011

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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.

Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013

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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

Copyright © jon terry | Year Posted 2014