Passing through framed windows like ours,
I recall your tales of reckless war and lost friends
that burned your innocence at 21... and though
you claimed flashes of courage, moist eyes
poured vulnerability looking calm, undaunted.
We both searched deeply into our souls
as a father is to his young daughter, that I wanted
to let you know, it was alright;
but that mound of shoulders turned away.
Down the years as officer and gentleman,
Time stole long weeks, absent from your dining chair,
leaving me resentful and bitter on hardened sills
until you arrive under crawling dock of stars.
But in free moments, how you cherished
me so; waking my cheeks at 3 am to race the winds,
to fly with a shooting neon, laughing with a blue moon.
You spoke of faith and honor if life dared a shame, oh
mild scent of your arms cuddling my girlish dreams...
until off you rode suddenly on heaven’s wheel.
I see you through all framed windows like ours,
that even if my iced breaths needed you more
as small flowers thirsted for rain, my anger was a cry
for love’s company... “ I have adored you
in moments of distance and nearness, if not
always, then for all eternity.”
Have I forgotten to open this, my soft, broken sigh?
Dad, everything is all right.
Ir0nic Zink's Your Personal Favorite Poem Contest
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013
I tried my best
To live between your cruel words
Yet there was no room
I felt less
Smaller than small
So why didn't I fit?
Now that you are gone
Who's words had you borrowed?
Did the pain you gave to me come from another's broken heart?
Was it too much to bare?
I now have room at the end of your sentences.
Not forced within the confines of your spaces
Tracing the manicured pearls of your wisdom
You have not had the last word
I am not doomed to your hypothesis
I'm willing to dance on the edge
My cliff is of note
worthy of jumping from
For I am not Icarus
There is no reason to fear the sun
Only your ice will melt from my wings
I do not wish to re-live your convoluted nightmare
The drifting of your mind
Those barriers to my existence
Freedom at last
At the end
At the end of your sentences.
The lesson I learned is that the only one who can define my being is me.
I also learned that painful words and curses can be passed on from generation to generation unless we put a stop to it. I thank God for the strength He provided me. I have been blessed beyond what I expected as a child.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2017
Daddy, why did you go away?
Don't you know I wanted you to stay!
Daddy, when you left mom,
Don't you know you left me too?
Now all I do is cry and cry
--- I want to die!
Daddy, mommy say's it's better this way,
What does she know!
They're not enough band-aids to cover up the blues
Mom's kisses can't heal this kind of pain.
Daddy, I look around
No one stands in your garage
Daddy, You took every tool
Except the hammer and sitting stool
Daddy, I still miss you
--- I love you.
Dear Daddy, I'm all grown up now
Haven't seen you since I was 10
Daddy, I sit on your favorite chair,
No longer do I miss the way you caressed my hair.
Daddy, I'm taking the old hammer and this BRAND NEW saw,
It's time to patch all the holes mom punched in the wall
*The day you walked out on us*
Daddy, don't worry about the times I tripped and fell
Mom found someone to fix the loose boards,
Got tired of scraping my knees
Daddy, I finally realized I'm okay,
I agree with mom, it's better this way.
by- Not every dad is great (but step-dad YES!)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
You were the oak in our family tree,
With roots that were strong and true,
Holding on so tenaciously
No ill wind could topple you.
We nestled under your branches, Daddy,
In the shelter of your girth,
Until our own roots were established and
We survived by our own worth.
Daddy, only then did you waver
Only then did your roots release.
God seeing how very tired you were
Took you to his home of peace.
Dear Daddy on this Father's Day
I am wondering if you knew
Just how much your daughter loved you
And that she's still missing you.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2012
I am not a father
Nor I am a mother
I am just a daughter
That is growing better...
Father, you have been away
I truly wish you have stayed
Hugging me as I lay
I don't need much penny...
All I have been missing is you my daddy
Your love and your real company...
Look, how I am now
I pursued my little vow
Hoping always, You'll be proud
It's alright if you'll not be loud...
All I want is for us to bond...
Yes, I am neither a kid nor a child
But still, there is that longing
I cannot deny...
I miss you much, daddy...
contest: POEM FOR DADDY
SPONSOR: LEONORA GALINTA
2ND PLACE - TO GOD BE THE GREATEST GLORY...
NOTE: I REALLY MISS A FATHER'S LOVE..
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2013
Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
Memories of the North Sea
sift in like sand kernels
on a fast, frigid tide:
events that transpired outside
the confines of rhyme,
as they were meant to.
Never before had I seen
so many shades of gray;
the overcast, monochromatic splendor
instead of being bleak and bleary.
The smell of salt and seaweed
awakes something dormant and eternal,
deep within me.
I have a surging desire
to flush stagnancy from my blood—
salty blood and water
come together in a communion
of distant relations and movements.
Beside me, a flash of bright red
digs in the sand; my child
is wearing the only vibrant colour
to be seen for many kilometres.
The colour matches her
enthusiasm and energy,
as she moves from one spot to the next
like a dancing flame;
reflected, a fire glows from my eyes.
Unknowingly, I had dressed
in the same colours of the sky and sea,
blending into the scenery
like a chameleon:
an illusion thicker than the clouds;
an illusion of stone
for me to melt and reinvent
at the spinning speed of thought.
I watch my daughter
drink the seascape with a smile of wonder;
it's her first time visiting an ocean.
With our pants rolled up to the knee,
we wade through waves,
and collect stones and shells.
She knows the chameleon
who walks alongside her in the frothy surf.
Observing seabirds cover the steep cliffs
of the island located further out,
in a blanket of black and white feathers,
I wonder if people onshore
only see a solitary dash of red out here,
or if the chameleon
is more noticeable than I had thought.
2012 North Sea Remix
December 17th, 2012
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
Cleaning out my refrigerator, an ice cube slides to the floor
startling the cat, and interrupting a locomotive of thought
that often tracks me down in a beam of light---
Today it streams through a window, where everything seems marred,
by doubt, and dust, crusts of ice and sticky jello spilled on a glassy shelf.
Oh, not the first time, this revelation of light,
I've had it before while kneeling on the floor as I do now,
and many times that I've knelt on a floor,
to clean up my messes,...
praying for help, praying for light, praying for forgiveness...
and now on the floor to sponge up melting ice, water and tears
Raising a young family...a life so demanding...
Caring and nursing...two sides of the coin...
My father and children....my husband caught between...
It wasn't the impossible...but was never enough...
The time took a toll....why did it seem cold....as cold as the ice?
Could I have held out?.... Could I have been stronger?...
A little while longer....
I shiver with memory,... or is it guilt, and regret? Regret, perhaps shame?
Is it only the chill of the open fridge door?
Or is it more?... So much more?
Hmm, interesting metaphor, "a open door"..........
did I leave it open long enough,... wide enough?
Did I do all I could? All I should ? Was I patient enough? Was I all I could be?
Was I tough enough to watch someone linger,
lingering on, I ponder it now...
Difficult years......but a fraction of life, is how it appears,....
Now looking back.... black fades to gray..
but it comes back in spades, to haunt me today
A little while longer.....
I could have been stronger....
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
you traced the beauty of nature.
The starry sky and inky ocean,
smile of winter in the heavenly garden,
dancing of waterfall on the lap of hill
and kissing of butterfly with lips of lily.
You painted the alluring nature
in the canvas of my memory.
It refreshes my soul
and revives my heart.
you are lovely, you are smart.
You traced my childhood
with your experienced hand.
Sacrifice of my mother
and hardship of my dad.
Depth of their love
and length of their sorrow,
thickness of their sympathy
and width of their care.
You are cute, you are fair.
you age out books stepping with time.
My career holds what I need.
You created hopes
and enhanced expectations.
You make my avenue successful and vivid.
My dreams slept on rose petal bed.
I know, a good book is equal to 100 friends,
but a good friend is a complete library.
you are my friend, you are my diary.
you traced a queen
in a marriage party.
Now, she is my darling
she is my sweety.
I never forget that wonderful night.
When you traced her sensation
and her jumping heart,
her tender lips
and her undressed beauty.
I was clean bold
with extreme delight.
you are spicy, you are naughty.
you are very clever.
You can speak more than tongue.
I know, you can't be wrong.
My anger is apple red,
my love is pearl white
and my pleasure is crystal bright.
When I am confused
you fly kingfisher flight.
you are my teacher, you are my guide.
Copyright © Manmath Dalei | Year Posted 2016
I saw a burial with a bugler playing taps;
I turned to my father, “what happened?” I asked.
He clutched my hand and with a quiver in his voice,
he began to explain and his eyes became moist.
“My son,” he said, “this is rather difficult for me;
for an old veteran like myself this is tough to see.
In that coffin lies a genuine patriotic warrior,
an honest-to-God hero, an American soldier.
I appreciate that soldier and the service he gave,
and I honor his sacrifice as he’s laid in his grave.
He was honorable, selfless, courageous, and bold;
please remember him son, as you grow old.
The value of his service, I must explain,
if not remembered, will be lost in vain.
As a nation we’re nothing without soldiers like him;
and failing to remember would be a terrible sin.”
I listened in awe as my father spoke,
it seemed as if his heart were broke.
I suddenly remembered when he went to war,
and when he returned I thought nothing more.
I never asked why he walked with a limp,
and I didn’t care about why he was sick.
I was too busy enjoying the life that I had,
to realize that I had it because of dad.
I finally understood what my dad was about,
and it hurt so bad I cried out loud.
He sacrificed so much so I could be free,
and his battle scars were suffered for me.
It was my father’s spirit that spoke to me that day;
thank God I finally understood what he had to say.
I saluted his coffin as they laid him to rest,
and I thought about the medals pinned on his chest.
That I didn’t honor him sooner, I will always regret;
and I pledged that day to never again forget.
I’m proud that my dad was a patriotic warrior;
I’m honored to be the son of an American soldier.
Copyright © Ed Coet | Year Posted 2007
The candle seemed to call my name
I watched its brightly flickering flame
The light from it shone bright in the dark
I was hypnotised by its golden glow
The wax melted slowly so slowly
Like creamy liquid tears running down the sides
A silent puddle formed
Slowly oh so gradually over time the wick decreased
Almost like your life was ebbing away
Getting smaller and weaker every second
The candle flame started to dim
Flickering dancing flickering dancing
Fighting to stay alive with every ounce of its strength
Finally it flickers for the final time
It gave its final breath
Leaving a wisp of smoke
I imagined it was your spirit rising through the air
Ascending towards heaven
13th September 2014
Entered in Premiere Contest #3 Sponsored by Skat
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014
You ripped me
One word at a time
Shredded my smile
Pulled at my sensitivity
I was never strong enough
To pull back my paper heart
You took the pieces of me
Arranged them in your perfect order
I prayed for the wind to come
Hoping I would be carried away
Flutter to a new more loving home
Instead, I endured your paper cuts
I became your paper mâché
Shaped into the image of you
Glued with your inconsistancies
Coated in your endless smoke
Sarcasm and beer
I marinated in your endless tears
You painted me with a retarded label
Your stupid failure of a son
Forced to endure that brush
It was with your eyes I learned to see
Everyone else was better than me
I was a failure times three
My inside empty
I became light as air
As time went on I ceased to care
It happend slowly you weren't aware
Until one day I floated past your stare
No longer raw and bare
I clawed and ripped
Rewrote my page
coming of age
Not your puppet on a stage
Contorted by your rage
I have lost you to your death
The air much clearer, still I feel your breath
Within my doubts your lies still hide
Yet within me a new strength resides
Your image of me no longer applies
Doubt and fear reduced in size
No longer your "DUMMY"
On faith I rise
For Charlotte's contest, heart and soul confessional.
Written, September 1st 2014.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
back field in motion
Chose, chose, live grow leave! GO!
Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold
White clapboard poverty with tiger lily blooms,
blueberry rake poverty woolen looms.
Riffs of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow dawns,
mothers’ hazel eyes, father Davidesque form,
chosen to drive twixt a Jew and a screw.
Magnet of lunacy...
Tumbled like an agate into the stream of life
part of the dream lesson
Abuser of power, one who had once roared,
Eve shaped now, weak and mewling
between the weeds of woe.
Care taken by lovers torn.
Watched over by pedophile uncles.
Befriended by lewd Father of sons.
Adult child, searching amongst the Word
for the Word is God and GOD …
There are so many words
Root ripped scenes from beauty to horror
Shiksa* taunts seep in with the smell of borsch.
A pumpkinseed amongst the pricks of Brooklyn
A wild rose planted in the asphalt soil
Jew’s bop to a Dago harmony,
bagels, bialys and the French twisted strands
of great grandma’s hair.
Clipped, stripped of family shoved whole
into yet another new mold.
True believers, ah yes, fanatics all.
The struggle to survive whole healthy
dipped in, dripped in, a bath of acid and thorazine.
Polish priests pedal platitudes to the sisters of St. Joseph
behind the gilded glory of the Church.
Raped by trust and betrayed by lovers,
a rose married to a prickles thorn,
so empathy is gained, and a healer born.
Metal must be formed in a crucible of fire
A healer can not be born without tasting the pyre.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
What makes the decision
To flick the switch
To end ones life
For the sake of it
Bullied at school
Fork in the road
To let death rule
Daughters and sons
What ever affects them
They just can't outrun
Sadness and tears
By all left behind
Will they ever understand
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
Friends who are so far apart
find it difficult to help when the
sweetest, gentlest people are in need.
How we of open hearts wish we were near:
to hug, and smile and tell our Catie-Did we care.
How we too are quite alone and wish
she’d write to us. How long the nights are
and the days. When all we’d wish for is a
sunny smile like Catie’s to brighten the gray.
Catie’s cards and phone call and general helping ways
have been the source of comfort to so many
even those far, far, away.
It takes a special person, never to taunt back
to those who are so weak of soul, they only
can attack. Catie cares in a Christian way
she turns the other cheek.
She’s full of words of poetry
but we’ve only seen a peek.
I pray she has more sunny days
I’ll do it right away.
Love YOU Catie Did
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014
There was change, a new pulse, cadence, and tone,
where my mother had been, the only place I had known
Where two maples stretched out, to cradle my dreams,
and shelter my life, in the house I called home
On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake,
Windows cracked open,
a wind coming in, ....
Intangible nights, in the familiar old room,
alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things...
There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on,
and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go
The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass,
was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense
And a place to fit in
My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride
in the same sacred bed, where my mother had died
And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room
where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon
I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained.
I was there at his side,
when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too
But, I was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings
Yet, somehow I grew, with a new point of view
The child that I was, still waits for the moon
I've grown older and wiser,
maybe stronger than then,...
But, still the moth that looks in, while under the moon
resisting the screen
seeking the flame...
batting my wings,
while resisting the change, ....again, and again
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
A clutter of wood and dust and cobwebby corners,
And dappled sun shining through dirty windows;
On his work table a drawing; a project in progress,
And tin cans and jars of nails and screws on shelves.
Tools on hooks waiting for hands that will never come,
I touch the old tools like they were the finest of lace;
And I cannot help thinking, who will want all this,
He was a simple man, my father, and I loved him so.
His death was fast, no one expected him to leave,
In a blink he was gone, and all I have are memories;
I linger there with the dust that floats in the sun,
And I weep and weep for what I have lost this day.
Then, I pick up his pencil and on his paper I write,
I write this poem of pain and it is the beginning;
The beginning of my writing as an adult with soul,
I leave the child, that was me, and become a poet,
Written July 21, 1997 at 11AM
(one hour after my Dad's death)
Entered in the contest, Celebrating My Fav's,
sponsor, Andrea Dietrich
Entered in the contest, Any Poem, #36
(a poem that placed in one of her past centests)
For the contest, A poem written before Poetry Soup,
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
"Slipping into a coma, the emptiness of a dreamless sleep.
Nightmares filling your head, where nothing is what it seems.
You're underground, desperately tryna' find your way out,
tunnels all around, but doors are no where to be found.
The ground has no traction, and you're floating above air.
Tryna' hold on to something, but there's nothing there.
And then you fall, and all you can hear,
is the rippling of your clothes, and the wind in your ear.
And just before you hit the ground,
you feel something grip you, without making a sound.
The next thing you know you're looking into a Man's eyes.
You feel safe but afraid, all at the same time.
That's when you wake, but you were never asleep.
And you're lying in a bed, with the Man at your feet.
He welcomes you to His kingdom, and into His heart,
and He finishes his drawing, another of piece of God's art."
This poem is about one's struggle to find God. About having to search, and feeling hopeless. Like we aren't really traveling through Hell, but we are searching with no idea which way we are going, blanketed in a coat of black. Like an infinitely deep hole with a small stream at the bottom, and you've just got to hope to find that stream. Then when you think all hope is lost, you realize that He has been sitting there, waiting for you, pulling you out of the darkness Himself, knowing you would look for Him. He accepts us into His kingdom. It's as if we are a piece of art, and he is adding on to us everyday..
Copyright © Aaron Guttery | Year Posted 2012
You lost my life.
Sharp as a knife...
You lost a lot of things.
Your memory in my heart
Today I gave you my secrets,
All of them, the ones from Egypt,
And those from Europe, slow motion
Swimming away across the Ocean.
I whispered in your ear
All you didn't want to hear.
I forgive you,
I forgive you.
The secrets of the life stolen
While you screech, eyes swollen
With tears of loss.
Both of us kneeling on moss;
I am not cruel, only want your love,
That one word you get so sick of.
I will always forgive you,
I will always forgive you.
Buried so deep inside,
Almost a stone I tried to hide.
I'll always be that seeking child
That wants to be reconciled.
I lost you before I was born.
Before I even opened my eyes
I was forlorn.
April 8, 2017
N/A in contest: Open Poetry Contest 2
Sponsored by: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
My Parting Gifts…
Goodbye my son, my only king.
You are my love, your name I sing.
My wish was more to be with you,
to be with you, and see you through.
This is my fate to leave you now,
my dread was this, to tell you how.
I’m going away, place unknown.
The way I lived was not my own.
I am going, to ease my pain.
Letting you go, is my complain.
I am with you, with morning dawn.
Kissing with breeze until it’s gone.
My parting gifts to you my son,
to live your life, the way is fun.
Surrender to, the thing you love,
what measures love, grows above.
To get knowledge to find out why;
what is this life to you and I?
Me and you both, we are oneness.
There is no fear, to feel darkness.
I am going without goodbye,
Remember me the way I fly.
Copyright © Pashang Salehi | Year Posted 2016
You taught me how to
love and laugh
You taught me how to
You taught me how to
Stand my ground
You taught me not to
You taught me how to
follow my heart
You taught me how to
You taught me how to
You gave me wings to
But Daddy you forgot to
how to say
Copyright © Trudy Diane Rider | Year Posted 2008
i heard a...what do they say...a spine chilling scream
...is that the saying?
a spine chilling scream
'he's dead, my G_d he's dead'
the phrase echoed
inside the whole of me
like tennis balls bouncing between two parallel walls
i ran up
aware i would be at the edge
where the road ends and the gates of heaven stand
saw a young man
looked through the aperture of his existence
looked and singed his eyelashes
looked and could not see beyond now
you know those beautiful fluffy white clouds
the kind that feel like large teddy bears that want to hug you
she had landed her very own- she cherished him
knew who he was
felt lucky they shared a mutual love
i can't imagine the despair
flowed through her when she saw him like that
his doughy complexion screamed volumes
breaking the thunderous silence
he was a pale grey, blank, empty
a sight impossible to process
at odds with how one survives
the experience of this tragedy
she was lost in a dreamless mare
[most of the time
its outcome depends on the flip of a coin
if you don't know that you don't understand
his coin landed on its side
...all the kings men and all the kings horses...]
her 'beautiful huge fluffy white cloud'
had succumbed to the storm
heart in throat
she touched him
he was a frigid cold
for a moment she saw her own smokey breath
moving as if she was walking
through the thick grains of unbearable pain
she attempted to make sense of the senseless
despair had grabbed her by the throat
shook her around like so much thread and fabric
she thought he might of seen life as futile
society as a guise, as a failed paradigm
thought he had reached the last motel on the road to nowhere
and just...checked out
it's unlike any other pain
when it peaks
few if any survive it
the afflicted instinctively self medicate
but street drugs are mean
she could easily empathize
she too was him
honestly she was tired of living in her sadness
a life marinated in tears basted in blood
the experience of having seen her partner
lose his life to drugs and alcohol
affected her profoundly
experiencing his death
was like getting hit over the head with a sledgehammer
she'd never wash it off
it clung to her like a pariah
you can't wake up from reality
and you can't sleep through it
the tragedy had possessed her sensibilities
it was a malignant truth she could not ratify
singular in its nature
she'd been blindfolded and spun
a ballerina on a high wire across the span of time
spiralling down an infinite vortex
one plus one is seven
the ceiling isn't a celestial painting
how many fingers
a forty ounce of vodka
opioids a hundred times stronger than heroin
men in uniforms
less than two hours ago
he could think- speak
he had his very own persona
it could have been her
it could have be anyone
but it wasn't
it was- Him
what did occur to her
Copyright © Carol B. | Year Posted 2017
**Dedicated to those who preceded us and gave their blood, sweat and tears, so we can have the luxuries they could not**
The wind whispers, the wind whispers ----
the wind spreads her wings,
so all can sing her lonesome tune;
An old wind blows, older names gust
and whirl and chime,
remind those unfinished pacts of days gone by,
plea they deep in the night
when the arbor grates the house...
The withered barn is grey to dark
and the yard chasing with ghosts;
whisper in wind of forgotten oaths,
to freedom in day when sun is high,
justice takes pleasure even in shadowed realms,
even the gales cease their roar and great wars die
and the end shall end anew;
What in the wind, with tethered and sleepy heads,
do they ask, do they plead
and have us do?
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017
My father’s funeral, a sad occasion
but his cruel actions go beyond the grave
My sister had organised a display
A silver frame contained a picture of his smiling face
Many other smaller photographs were scattered on the table
One picture in particular caught my eye
I’d never seen this photograph before …
One stone of cold chiselled grey granite
Three generations of names embellished with gold letters
a permanent family memorial…
But MY name was missing
One of the mourners asked me why my name wasn’t there
It is a question I still don’t have an answer for
Two years have passed since he died …
I am still yet to grieve
(This has been a very cathartic poem to write. I have since discovered that in 2007 my father organised for his name, my mother’s name and my sister’s name to be added to the family grave in Lithuania. Just the dates of death are missing… along with my name)
Two word challenge contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017
I had yearned for it all my life -
That simple gesture
That finally healed
The open wound
That for years
In a silent stream
That fell Between
The cracks in
You and I
When with a gentle sigh
Into my eyes
Held my hand
And kissed my fingertips
Before you died
Author: Elaine George
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2010