Best Son Poems
Lullabies through tear filled eyes
It's truly, love at first sight
The bond is forged and galvanized
To hold forever tight
Each time you needed a hand
She always had one free
From then on, when in demand
As soft as she needed to be
No sacrifice was too great
A patient answer to every, "why?"
That look when you came home late
When you didn't come home, she'd cry
As flowers begin to crumble
your eyes look tired and hands so frail
Breaks my heart to see you stumble
as tears fall with your skin so pale
No one can ever take your place
nor replace your angelic love
Your life is full of prestige grace
precious beauty like a white dove
Mum's sweet words flow like a fountain
such wisdom will always live on
Her love conquers the highest mountain
fills me with pride to be her son
July 4 2017
Collaboration By Daniel Turner and Silent One
It's raining again, grey neon skies,
washing away suppressed surfaces,
to reveal unhealed wounds,
to scars the eyes cannot see
sometimes they bleed.
Some say words heal,
but I resist to express them,
because I'm afraid of my vulnerabilities,
anxious about tears I've never cried.
You only see the smile,
no one remembers that naive boy,
waiting at the window
for the shepherd who forgot his flock,
and he was no black sheep
if only I could reach him now
so he would not grow up like he did not belong,
stop searching for something,
he did not know how to find.
Stop composing that melancholic symphony,
recycling emotions, he did not understand,
I would tune his piano keys,
repair his violin's broken strings,
but
there are too many silent secrets,
blood stained walls will never reveal.
You left me behind,
with an empty toy box,
taking with you childhood hopes,
so ensued a vacuum of darkness -
sucking me deeper into confusion.
I remember watching you walk away,
along a path of overgrown weeds.
If it was not for the gift of mum's marbles,
I would not have laid an alternative path,
creating my protective bubble,
so I could float away, from all the troubles
until I lost them too.
Tell me father,
how was I to become a man?
You pushed me upon my knees,
like a cherry blossom in the wind.
A victim of your sins,
struggling to rise in adolescence,
I kept faith in the path of marble,
grateful for the guidance of my bubble.
After years of silence
upon your final sighs,
watching you die without words,
tears exploded for a stranger,
forgiving broken promises,
forgetting your crimes -
cursing stubbornness and bitterness,
thinking maybe it was me,
not just you
questions that will never be answered.
Today I stand before your bed of marble,
no need for a bubble, I feel no emotions.
After all I am a product of my childhood,
and you were a result of your own.
Silent One
18 August 2019
Mum sat in her aromatic garden,
admiring its charm and grace.
It was a cold morning,
but mum never seemed to feel it any more.
Her eyes were tired, life's adversities had taken their toll,
yet the smallest things filled them with joy.
Like the perennial ivory lilies blossoming
among her loyal, royal forget-me-nots.
The tranquil scents of lilac lavender,
blooming among radiant Jerusalem sage,
always made her smile.
Her hands were wrinkly, but resilient,
despite years of hard work as a single mother.
Still strong enough to tend to her grandiose display
of ruby red, aureolin yellow and puce pink roses.
Mum always told me the thorns were like knights -
there to protect the rose's fragility.
That a woman is a man's most precious flower,
requiring tender care and appreciation.
Evergreen conifers parade along the perimeter of
my lovely mother's garden, like a colony of soldiers,
protecting a beautiful, yet delicate,
Japanese cherry blossom tree.
Mum always told me it reminded her about life,
how everything was temporary, just like its fragile buds,
that only blossomed in the spring and
how the lightest breeze blew them away.
Mum taught me so much and was my inspiration,
picked me up when I was defeated,
taught me that only in defeat do we learn.
When the world tried to change me,
taught me to accept myself,
to love myself before I could love others
and be true to who I am.
As I sat with mum admiring the beauty of the seeds sown,
melancholic tones flooded my emotions,
wondering how I would cope without her.
Was I selfish wishing to die before her,
so I would not have to mourn for her,
but it would be so heartbreaking
for her to mourn for me.
My contemplation was interrupted by an outbreak of rain.
Mother simply smiled and said:
"Rain is mercy from God, my son."
Written 26 February 2016
_______________________
So young, I was, and so naive
There was no doubt, I did believe
this babe who's latched inside my womb
with ties we had,... would always be
Latched on was he, as he was fed
then later days, our hands instead
Not tall enough to open gates
I would reach the latch for his escape
In time he grew to need more space
The cord we had, still had it's place
The loving ties from birth, so long
were gently stretching.., moving on,
yet still remaining full and strong
In time he grew, to be a man
Our bond had changed, but still lives on
He fell in love, as it should be
His bond with her, I'm glad to see
doesn't mean our own is gone
Songs are sung when lovers part
but no song for a mother's heart
When new adventures come one day
and new roads take him far away
The man he is, has been set free
to be the man he wants to be
The child he was is never gone
She's letting go, yet holding on
If once, one wish, were mine to choose
so many would my thoughts pursue
But one within my heart still yearns
for just one day, the clocks would turn
Together you and I would be
sitting there among the trees
I would lift you up upon my knee
just as we did when you were three…
___________________________________________________________________
For Francine's Contest: Children In Rhyme
In a world full of unwelcome nightmares,
I recite dreams of poetry to the one who cares.
I'm pondering a perfect metaphor,
trying to portray my mum's devotion.
Thinking about what her heart adores,
releases a fountain of emotion.
I'm surrounded by perennial petals and poignant poetry,
yet unable to bloom words or blossoms
to justify her prestige and preciousness.
On days of darkness,
in the angst of a black and white world,
when life felt like a kaleidoscope of chaos,
you placed reflective rainbows in my soul,
reminding me that life is a painting and you are the artist.
Gifted me a box of crayons to create my own horizons,
so I could discover a dream in all colours -
living in a daydream of aesthetic artistry.
When constant commotion from crows
left me mute like a silent nightingale,
you showed me how to love in silence,
healing these wounded wings -
to ensure I would continue to soar.
For a boy in a fatherless existence,
life can be a wild game of survival,
so I feel for a child without a mother's love,
deprived from a treasure chest full of diamonds and gold.
Without you there would be no words or roses,
as you were the first verse in my poem -
the sweetest heavenly scent.
If only there was a field of forever flowers,
with prosperous promises of an Edenic eternity,
then I would always have you by my side.
(note: picture is essential to the poem)
POTD 11-25-17
Teacher said my decisions needed consequences.
I have to write a million gazillion sorry sentences.
Billy was stupid to tease me, call my family poor.
I had to kick Billy so he wouldn’t say it more.
Just like Dad does, I laughed when he hit the floor.
Dad would say I was strong, teach says I was wrong.
I don’t understand any grown up stuff.
They don’t act the same way enough,
or Dad is right; I’m so stupid, I can’t keep up.
I’m trying so hard to stop my eyes.
Things always get more worse when I cry.
Even when I’m quiet and being haved
my tummy hurts cause it feels afraid.
Everyone’s at recess, but cause I made an upset,
Teach said there’d be no play time for me yet.
I don’t know what she means by classroom policy,
but it seems like a plan you grow up and forget.
There’s no sorry policy in my family.
Dad never 'pologizes when he kicks me.
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?
I wonder
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
Yes
Freedom
At the end
Yes
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.
"A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and
can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words"
~ CS Lewis
If ever I don't know your name
recall these words that I now write:
no season ever stays the same -
fall yields to winter, day to night.
If ever I forget your face -
though hard to fathom now, dear child,
I ask you to recall the days
we walked on trails through canyons wild.
Those nights we camped under the stars
and filled our lungs with mountain air,
the trips we took in vans or cars
while singing songs from here to there.
Remember beach days, Sunday hikes,
or at the lake shore skipping stones,
those Saturdays we rode our bikes
for donuts or for ice cream cones.
I hope you won't become too sad
nor let my absence cast a pall,
for I will always be your dad
I pray our good times you'll recall.
Now go and make new memories -
in moving on, you play your part.
Sing soft our favorite melodies,
I'll sing along deep in your heart.
written 25 June 2022
Midsummer Breeze
How may I extol a midsummer breeze?
As soft as rose petals in cooling wind
That flutters leaves upon the verdant trees,
And endeavors to make the blossoms blend
From blooming boughs whose wistful petals drift
In a mélange of hues that blankets grounds
In vivid masterpiece of summer's gift,
Sharing red rose’s splendor that abounds.
Ten summers have passed since we said good-bye.
The son you never knew still causes tears
As evening shadows fill this twilight sky,
Through him I've loved you more all of these years.
Soon all is hushed in shadow's silhouette
When moonrise turns blue skies to violet
7-29-18
Not Just Any Old Rose Poetry Contest. ~Poem of the Day Jul 31, 2018~
Sponsor: Mark Massey ~7th placement premier contest~
Shimmering silhouettes haunt.
Shadow stands still,
observing his soul drift towards
the tree of melancholy.
Its morbid image stands silent,
but screams inside the mind.
I could write a million pensive poems,
yet the pen could never express,
how emotions remain unexplained,
because suppressed silent theories
and words left unspoken mean
regretful raindrops fall to the
rhythm of each somber sigh.
Tears create shallow streams,
but still we remain submerged.
Eight years on and I wonder,
if we will stay here forever.
Simple Musing
Silent One
18 November 2018
Mourn not my Son... your Father's dead
And there's nothing to be done.
Do not mount the battlements in my defense
As the race was fairly won.
The kitchen table has not been set...
My chair lies stark and bare.
No one leans against the window sill
To enjoy the good night air.
The wooded trails lie hushed and quiet
Where my thoughts no longer stray.
The geese who consumed my crusted bread
Grow more peckish by the day.
And excuse the Baker if he looks confused
When I am not there to buy his rolls.
And commit to the Ferryman two copper coins
As we all must pay his toll.
And Nature will seem modestly indifferent
As the Sun will rise again.
But remember well this road we've traveled
Where I called you Son and Friend.
Gird yourself against the slings and arrows
And receive my falling torch of deeds undone.
But before you walk the hallowed ground
Be sure to overindulge a little fun.
I weep for those who have not journeyed
Upon the wondrous track to mark our gain.
But with you my Son...who really knows?
We may yet... get to do it all again.
Mortality is lovingly given by the Grace of God
And to its betterment all should strive.
But alas our lives have one primal flaw...
No one here... gets out alive.
With this my spirit soars to celestial heights
So please accept this well-earned death.
And as Son and Friend... we will meet again.
When you partake your final breath.
And be not shy... about my demise
That allows me to walk on Heaven's path.
As only a fool like me would keep a toaster...
In the same room a person takes a bath.
The End
'I want you to use all your powers and your skills
I don’t want his mother to see him like this
Look, look how they massacred my boy'...
Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) in “The Godfather”
-------------------------------------------------------
Playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?
I drove home by that road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you took
that road where our lives crashed, exploded and shattered
shattered in jagged shards of Silver-Saturn pieces
(This is where you must have seen the swerving headlights
What were your thoughts? Were you worried? Were you alarmed?
This is the spot, oh God this is where, where it all hap...
What were your LAST thoughts? What were your last words
when that pick-up jumped, jumped and flew out of that ditch?
You always said "WHAT THE"...Yeah, you must have said that)
Driving myself to madness playing the 'what if' game
What if you had driven just a little faster?
A little slower? Stopped to pick up something?
DIDN'T stop to pick up something? (Did-didn't-did...)
Stayed at work a minute longer, or left a minute early?
(What-if-what-if what-if-why-where-what-how)
Just what are the odds? Just what are the chances?
2:AM? Maybe one car, one car every 2 hours or so?
If it were a head-on collision, you may have survived
If on the rear side, perhaps only a violent spin
But no, no it had to be on the driver’s side door
It was 'perfect timing, a 'perfect' flash in time
(Perfect-imperfect-perfect-why-where-what-when)
I drove home by that same road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you took
that country road you were driving; innocently driving
just trying to get back home...
Yes, playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?
ISN'T it.
They always said, “Please bother us no more”
when Tommy sang, and Mom would stick her head
inside his room. “We need to shut your door!”
And once he loudly sobbed because he tore
his toy plane, but all his father said
was, “I cannot be bothered any more.”
Another time he fell and felt so sore,
but Mother quickly wiped the spot that bled,
said, “Go to sleep. I’m going to shut the door.”
He learned to neither ask them questions nor
expect attention, for he felt great dread
of hearing their “Please bother us no more.”
One day a young man thought, “What’s living for?
No more tears do I have left to shed. . .
I’d better not forget to shut the door.”
They heard the shot and ran and saw the gore.
Their loving son lay silenced on his bed.
The note read, “I will bother you no more.
Mom and Dad, I remembered to shut the door.”
*The simple abuse of neglect, probably the most prevalent of all child abuse.
The father you do not know,
loved you since the day you were born.
Held you carefully in his arms
and promised to always keep you warm.
The father you do not know,
never wanted you to see him weak.
He held you up so high,
so you could reach the sky.
The father you do not know,
sacrificed his own needs.
Even when he was broken and tired,
he ensured you got what you desired.
The father you do not know,
hid his own personal achievements.
His heart only cared about your progress
and was so jubilant in your success.
The father you do not know,
was silly to be so stubborn.
He found it difficult to explain
his dysfunctional sorrow and pain.
He hid it all inside,
you thought it was his pride,
but it was his inner child,
who made him feel exiled.
The father you do not know,
still sang your childhood song.
He was once your hero so strong,
until you thought he had done you wrong.
The father you do not know,
left this world today.
Whispered your name with his last breath,
I hope he finds his peace in death.
(For Dad ... I love you and miss you, and time doesn't help)
~
Of all the loved ones chosen for that final task that saints abhor,
I wouldn't head your list, I'm sure -
your eyes, then staring, empty ...
I sat beside your deathbed, lone, and counted each dry, rattled moan,
the hours ached for seeds, unsown -
with your eyes staring, empty ...
Why was I chosen for this fate that put your end upon my plate?
a blessing, dear, but FAR too late -
now that your eyes stare, empty ...
No more, your prince of ill demands I walked you God-ward, hand-in-hand,
there are no footprints in the sand -
just eyes still staring, empty ...
Soft lullabies, I sang you, tender, meant to quell a well-earned bender,
closeness stamped "Return To Sender" -
dear eyes just staring, empty ...
You squeezed my hand, then let it go, let one last breath out, long and slow,
though you had left us LONG ago -
with your eyes staring, empty ...
At night, I lay me down to sleep and pray the nightmares never creep,
still, what I find there, dark and deep -
are eyes still staring, empty ...
Your sparkling eyes ... now empty.