Prose Poetry Dad Poems

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |
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"

Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
It was early one morning, when you arrived..
You entered the restaurant and I noticed your stride..
Your manner of dress was quite elegant.. and ..
It appeared you were having breakfast...
With a very important guest..
Seated at the table, and I couldn’t help but notice,
The strange thing you did , when you removed from your purse..  
An old and tattered faded hat..
You took it lovingly in your hands and..
Proceeded to give it a kiss..
As you placed it across from where you sat...
I knew it belonged to someone you missed..
Then you did something strange...
You did a smile and a wink.. 
Poured two cups and I began to think....
Perhaps the car was being parked,
And soon your friend would join you..
As I sat and watched you seemed to be...
Engrossed in a conversation...
The twinkle in your eyes and the smile on your face..
Sent the message you were in a happy place...
Then you got out of your chair...and hugged the air..
And left the same way you came...but ..
I heard you say as you walked away..
Same time..same place next year ?

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
You may feel down,
Feeling like giving up
But you must rise forth,
And continue to move forward
Move in faith towards your purpose;
It may feel painful now
But your purpose is being;
Formed through your pains
You shall soon see it was;
Worth it.

Copyright © Phillimon Sefake | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
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!

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
What a Dad Should Be.
Steve L. Siegel
July, 2015
In case you didn’t know this, 
A Dad should be always a bit radical…
He should love you even more when you’re unlovable
Hug you tighter when you’re un-huggable
And bear you most when you’re un-bearable…
Oh yes, a Dad should be the world’s most fanatic…
He should love you when the world boos you
He’d want to dance with you when you give him any good news
Know that he’ll be crying with you when you cry to…
The thing most of all a Dad should be a mathematician…
He has be able to multiply the joy, divide the sorrow,
Subtract the past; and add all of the tomorrows,
Calculate the deep needs within your heart,
Lastly always be bigger than all the sums of their parts…
P.S. To my loving daughter Tammy who together we went to AA.
Both still sober after twenty years now. We made it!

Copyright © Steven Siegel | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
My fascinating son
your divine entry in my life
was an amazing boon of God
that filled my heart
with ebullience and ravishment
you removed all darkness 
of desperation and frustration
that my hard life ever had
and brought halcyon days back
my life was imbued with
excitement and exaltation
always my eyes were eager
to have scintilla of your visage
You have always been
an effervescent star of my destiny
and became quintessential 
part of my life and
then developed a sempiternal relation
between Dad and Son
my happiness was beyond expression
to have a talismanic baby
now when you are a grown up
and matured son
I tell you one secret today
that all my troubles disappear
when I see my son smile.

(By Kishan Negi)

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
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,, 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."


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

Copyright © Kory Calhoun | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |
Baby when you were born
 it was a pleasurable morn
 A baby was my only dream
 you came like a lovely gleam
 In your black eyes I got lost
 climate was cold with frost
 You looked like a beaming sun
 I enjoyed with you every fun
 Emptiness was filled with joy
 as I was gifted with a cute toy
 My garden began to bloom
 before you came it was gloom
 My heart was filled with pride
 your Dad was your first guide
 It was beginning of a new relation
 between Dad and new sensation
 Tomorrow if no more is your Dad
 promise my angel will not be sad

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
Two things you don't want		9.1.15

If I appeared slightly under the weather
     or if he just wanted a little fun, 	
my dad would ask if I had
     the cholerie morbus*.
If not that
     maybe the heebie jeebies.

Neither sounded like 
     a real ailment.	
I thought he'd conjured up	
     the maladies – "Oh, Daddy."

Do you suppose he knew?

Had he read that President Zachary Taylor 
     died suddenly of cholera morbus in 1850.

Maybe he picked the term 'heebie jeebies'
     from the 1926 Louis Armstrong song of the same title.

We'll never know.
     After he asked I felt better
He made my little bouts brief.	

I think my dad, the finest of men,
     simply enjoyed the sound of 'cholerie morbus'
and 'heebie jeebies'.
     He loved to gently tease and was full of good humor.

*My dad always said "cholerie morbus", not "cholera morbus", which is "acute gastroenteritis occurring in summer and autumn and marked by severe cramps, diarrhea, and vomiting. No longer in scientific use." Sounds too awful for him to have known what it was.

Copyright © Gay Stuntzner | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Rural Ireland 1964.
First day of school.
Little brown school case.
School overlooking beautiful bay.

Miss Mc Cloon, elderly teacher.
Good friend of my Dad.
Looks up on hearing loud whistle.
"You must go now."

Halfway down school lane,
Daddy waits for Jeaniemac.
Has a taxi run to do.
Would not dream of leaving
without me.

I still have a vision of seeing him waving when I stood up to leave.
I was his little pet, and he took me everywhere with him.
Perhaps it was he who cried, not me, on that first day... away.

Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Joseph was chosen by God himself,
To be the Father of His Son on earth.
He prayed in the temple and asked,
Why me, what is my worth?

Jesus honored his earthly father,
Did what He was told.
Lived his youth as a carpenter,
As was custom in days of old.

We never knew the love,
 Of a father and his son.
His quiet manner and what he said,
Were not always the same as one.

There is no penalty,
For not knowing a father's love.
He lives a life mysterious,
So we turn to God above.

There is no reward for fatherhood,
No medals, plaques or praise.
Just a world of responsibility, 
For a family he must raise.

A father must be an example,
Be charitable, strong and true.
Reverent to his Lord,
Pass these traits on to you.

The sacred books are full of quotes,
Of what a father should be.
But we are only human,
Our errors visible for all to see.

So as this Father's Day approaches,
A child must determine what it is.
Did we teach you love and honor,
Is God your guide, are you one of His?

May your children show you honor,
May they love you for who you are.
May you be proud to have this family,
Whether they be near or far.


Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Anger the bastard child of Hatred despised and rejected stands before his father 
and ask

"What do me and my mother mean to you?"

With glowing red eyes Hatred answers 

"I care nothing for you or your mother Lust.  Lust your mother is nothing more than 
a slut who I had sex with."

Looking Hatred in his fiery red eyes Anger said

"For someone who lurks in the shadows you hurl a lot of insults."

Stepping closer to Anger Hatred responds with another insult

"Your mother Lust is a slut plain and simple.  How can you not know and who are you 
to question me?"

With a bold Voice Anger said

"My mother is not a slut and I am your son."

With an evil smile Hatred said

"Her name tells you what she is.  Don't blame me for the life you was dealt.  If you're looking 
for Love you'll find her with the rest of the virtues in Tranquility.  Why can't you be more like 
your sister Cruelty?  Truly you are a waste of semen."

Turning his back to Hatred, Anger responded by saying

"These are my last words to you.  You're a pillar of salt.  No one wants to be around you."

As Anger walked into the night he heard Hatred say

"Like father like son."

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

Copyright © Keith Baucum | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

My children, do you remember 
as a child while walking 
both of you would fall down and
and to get up again looked at Dad for help
but when no help from Dad
you both would stand on your own feet 
and learned to walk
do you know why I would do so
because I wanted my kids 
to have courage to stand on their own feet
so that you could recognize your strength 
and this dream of mine came true

Do you remember my kids’
I always inspired both of you to
combat difficulties and overcome them
and today to fly in the sky
your wings are strong enough to 
to measure the height of the blue sky 
but Dad taught you a lesson
that if you fall down on earth
don’t look up at Dad for any help
rather learned to stand on your own feet
and then again get ready to fly high
this time higher than earlier
but the father will stand with you always, 
even after the departure from the world 
And my this dream too has come true

Do you remember my kids
that I had sown some seeds of
sacraments of humanitarian in you
to help both of you 
to be a good human being
now is the testimony of both of you 
my bubbly kids will you fulfil my last dream
even if your Dad is no more tomorrow
don’t let those seeds dry
my children goodbye and take care!

(Written by Kishan Negi)

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
I am your dad,
Hold my finger,
And learn to walk;
First few steps are arduous,
Hold my finger tight;
Life ahead is tough,
May have thorns, 
May have bumpy terrain,
Be wakeful on each step you move;
Dad's hands always over your head,
As a brolly for shade;
In bad and tough times,
Follow you as shadow,
to keep you move;

© sadashivan nair 

Copyright © sadashivan nair | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
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. 

Copyright © Daljit Khankhana | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |
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.

Copyright © Mark Ramon | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
. .. ... .. . . . Funny as I remember now - I went out to the animal shelter to-rescue my little Annie one day- some time not to long ago; and-from outside, on my way in I saw her - and as I walked-in and looked-around, I asked-to-God, "What-kind of- day is it going to be-for me-today?" and then in that moment, I saw her again, and she was cute, as a button-a very fun and-smashing, playful; innocent-young-lady, this tender little girl - and I new I was going to bring-a new light, into her tired-and-lonely and- vacant, quiet-little-world - and as I heard this-shy yet eager, raspy-little-meow-from behind this-pen she-was-sitting in - I walked over to have a look see; and there she was looking up at me - "My little kitten Annie!" - with-twinkling and starry-eyes and a warmness-and-passion for-life I could-have-never-imagined - (nor have-ever; ignored) and so I reached-down-and picked-up... the-kindnesses-of my- soul - and the-simple touch-on my-skin of her-warm fur, was of- the sensation of the purest beauty, I had never-known, and as she placed-her cool-nose and a soft-little paw... on the-lips of my-face - we looked at each-other... a quiet-while with such an-intense - and simple-feeling - you know that feeling-you-have when to get-to-hold the one-thing you have long-for so-long... to hold - finally you know you-couldn't have asked for more. So-yes-it's funny-to me; what God brings to the weary soul, a love- and-loss so-unique and precious; opportunistic... . Always I'm coming to find-offered to everyone; given to all as-its-own-equal... ! It's been some years and-sadly, gone-from-me-now she-is... but I know as my- heart is-hers and-hers mine I know-we'll-never be-apart... ! I had a little kitten-named-Annie one day some time-ago, and oh how I loved to hold her, because she rescued me from my tired-and-lonely; vacant; quiet-little-world. Author Notes Inspire by the greatest of all the plays I have ever seen, and as I was an orphan myself early on in my years - and was as well adopted - I went to see it five times in three years as a child. My new parents took me without recourse or woe-yes, the play-well of course, it was little orphan "Annie!" Hyphens used in conjunction with one another for recording purposes for the disabled. Songs I give for my Mom and Dad. Thank you both so much, truly I feel I can never thank you enough! Love Jamie

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |
The person Who stood by my side And still believes me Even when I be good for nothing The person Who lives for me And still craves for my happiness Even if it involves his salary He is the person Who always see me at the top of the world Even when I go down But makes me believe that I'm better on my own He is the one Who makes my vision clear Who makes my decision better And lets me sleep without fear He be with me In my every fear Even If I leave his hand He will be with me forever When I get hurt, he cries the most And when I dance, he joins me on Joins us in our fun And also make me learn He is my hero He is my everything He is none other than my king

Copyright © RUCHITA SHARMA | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |
Do any of us know
What we leave behind
when we leave this world?
do we know where we will go 
heaven or hell?
In our minds we worry
on the outside we play no fear
for when people leave this world,
emotions fly high some people get mad or sad or,
Are completely torn.
people struggle with acceptance,
On losing people we love or care
We know in our hearts,
they await our time,
hoping one day to reunite,
with the ones we love and care for.

Copyright © Megan Creecy | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

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'


Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |
We've got anchors
1,200 miles away but we're mirror opposites
anchors to hold us down from floating away
or anchors to hold fast with a sinking ship
we've taken on water for sure
but that doesn't mean we're destined
for the bottom of the ocean

a father who was never there
and ended your relationship with a shotgun
and then there's me
a phone call away I'm too chicken hearted to make
with his faults and mine on full display
together we make a fine homage to
failures and mistakes

we've got anchors
a dozen states away but I've got mine
and you've got yours
I've sank in the shallowest of hearts and waters
I just hope you can steer away from the shallows
and become who we all know you can be
the ocean is no place for you girl

he was my brother once
I can still remember his silhouette
against the setting sun in the 
heart of summer
playing the only game he could feel in his heart
I swore sixteen years ago
I wouldn't end the same way
and now that I've ruined more than my life
I'm positive I made a mistake and spoke too soon

We've got anchors
I let mine sink me
I just hope you dont' make the same mistake

So this is for Taylor, my brothers daughter. Read "For Collin" to get the jist

Copyright © K.M North | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
           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
Where are you

Copyright © J.KOLADI SAMSON | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
you know and more
on that day
we here them say
if theyer bad
thats sad
there be no gifts  for the stiff
and the christmas tree
tho theyer heavenly
so many kids being had

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
My bubbly son
do you know that
you are not just a son to me
you dwell 
in every beat of my heart
you are vital breath of my life
that always inspires me
to be a loving Dad
you are my soul music
that stimulates my confidence
you are my heartbeat
that galvanizes me to enjoy
every moment of life
you are my lovely eyes
through which 
I can imagine my dreams
that fortifies my will power
you are my all strength
that empowers me to confront
failures in life and 
teach me that
difficult roads often lead to 
beautiful destinations
and most of all 
you are the reason 
for my existence

(By Kishan Negi)

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
it was tree night
under blinking light
at christmas
was not dust
they held hands
at the gifts stand
i coundn't miss

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
My Dad
By Curtis Johnson

In all appearances, his feet were firmly planted in our southern home town
It seemed clear that daddy’s life was fixed and fashioned  on the grounds of Dixie
But I’m also certain, there were times I heard his heart beating a different sound

A hard working dad and a stay-at-home mom: all respectables
A live-in grand mom, obedient children, and a dog name jack,                                                                              a quiet place for kids to live, grow, and thrive: all commendables
Food, clothing, shelter, and transportation: all predictables
Church, school, work, and information: all expectables

Yes, stability was the real McCoy in my family.  Everything and everybody,
Like the steady ticking of a clock, stayed basically the same day after day.
Sameness was a staple; newness was rare; change is what we longed for.

A change of place, to explore the human race
A change of pace, to catch the sands of time
A change of faze, to rise to higher levels
A change of ways, to reach new destinies
A change of plans, to find our purpose
A change of focus, to chart our course

Yes, change is what our hearts were longing for
We knew that ‘sameness’ was always given the more
But we also knew that ‘change’ would someday
Come a knocking at our door

It may be true that daddy’s feet were fashioned, fixed, and planted
Perhaps he was dreaming, and in his mind, he saw something more
It seemed for sure that his soul was charting a different course,
Because we often heard him say, “I’m going out west where the
Eagles build their nest”.

I do not know if my dad was being poetic, or if he really desired
A different land.   But I do believe that he was longing for change
And I believe that daddy longed  for a fresh touch of God’s hands
And I believe that his soul was uttering, “I’m longing to know the
Master’s plan.

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Daddy, you’re not my daddy —
Just a strange man with similar features.
You play make believe every winter, sometimes
The spring.
I thought it was a fun game of dress-up, until
I learned the difference between imagination and reality.
You find the blonde hair, pale-faced mask you bought in 1987
In a box that’s hidden in the back of your closet.
It’s covered in dust and
Labeled “Unimportant Winter/Spring Stuff.”
You call me your Baby Girl —
Stop by in your ’85 Dodge pick-up —
Make me call you daddy.  But daddy,
You’re not my daddy,
And you didn’t want me to call you daddy
When I was a year old, in 1988.
You left the house with two over-stuffed duffle bags —
One filled with clothes, the other with booze.
You jumped in your ’85 Dodge pick-up with a 
Fat woman name Kim —
An ugly bitch with shit-colored hair.  
That’s the day you saw the ugly in me, yet
Saw beauty in her 
While flying down Muddy Creek Road doing 70.

Copyright © Danielle Hastings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
My sweetheart son
from grounding you
to scolding you
perhaps you are right
if you feel that
I was wrong
but there may come a day
when you perceive that
how all my wrongs then
made everything right for you
once you become a Dad 
of your baby
you shall realize that 
how blessed you are
for all my wrongs

(By Kishan Negi)

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
Call Of An Unborn Daughter To Dad

Dad I am your guiltless 
and innocent unborn daughter
who is anxious to step in your house
will you please give birth to your daughter

Will you be happy on my arrival
probably not, because the daughter is a curse
but I promise you that
I will never be the cause of your grief and sorrow
I want to enjoy my childhood 
in your lovely and caring arms and
look at the beaming rainbow in the horizon
but if you let me enter your gracious heart

Dad will you pamper me as much as my brother
the moon and the stars I do not want 
just wish to behold them
while shining in the moonlight night
Dad will my this dream come true

Holding your hand on the river bank
I also want to see 
the mischief of the colourful fish
I want to touch the stream of water 
Dad just let me step in your house

I also want to see the flowers 
blooming in the colorful spring
want to feel the rustle of the icy wind
want to hear the tingling of the leaves
Want to feel the weather chimes
I want to enjoy all this with my papa
only if you let me step in your house 

Peacock dancing in the monsoon
Cuckoo's melodious sound
chirping sparrow in the shade of banyan 
I want to enjoy everything with 
my loving, kind hearted and caring papa

Dad I promise you that
I will never disappoint you
nor let you ever humiliate 
never will I demand birthday gift nor
will I insist on Barbie Doll
one day you will surely feel pride
by giving birth to your unborn daughter
but if you open the doors
of your merciful heart for me

But Dad you also promise that 
you will not let this bud wither away
before it blossoms in your garden
I am passionate
I am excited 
I am anxious to bloom in your courtyard
Dad will you pamper your sweetheart angel
and tickle her rosy cheeks with tender fingers

(By Kishan Negi)

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |
Hard as rock Soft as pure gold He hold his daughter When everyone scolds He is the man of words And even if he fails He makes his daughter bold He keeps worrying When she gets late But never utter a word When everyone is afraid He is smart, he is bold To teach his children To live on this hard core He never cry infront of you Just to make you believe That problems are nothing much to do He is my man My hero, my saviour The person who is more to me Is my dad

Copyright © RUCHITA SHARMA | Year Posted 2017