You've seen me at the circus
In front of adoring fans
With plates on top of pointy sticks
I spin them with my hands.
I have a whole row of them
Up to sixteen at a time
I even wear a blindfold
You've seen nothing of the kind.
I'm not really a performer
In the circus or the stage
But I perform at your local court house
Where my kid's future is being played.
We all have our parts to play
In this strange game of charades
But fathers have to work twice as hard
For their image to be maintained.
"Children need their mothers
She knows what's best", they say
But fathers have to prove their worth
Every step of the way.
Sometimes there is justice
Sometimes the judges see
That the best interest of the child
Goes beyond you and me.
Children are so vulnerable
In this dancing tug of war
So fathers keep your wits about you
Don't fight to settle a score.
Your children truly need you
In this time of change and strife
Remember you're their father
No one can take away that right.
So spin your plates if you must
And keep your anger in
Play their little games for a while
Pray that your children win.
Pray that your children win.
This poem praises a father's resolve and strength during a trying divorce process
Divorce is a storm,
A whirlwind of pain,
but you are the anchor.
Brother; do not drift,
Do not break.
Your children,your focus,
Your reason to fight
Refuse to let the bitterness
devour you.
Hope,choose strength.
Be their rock,their shelter.
You will survive this together
Their father's love is their shield.
Tears filled up in my eyes
And I could only see his silhouette
Walking away from my reach
Yet I was caught off guard
Even when set free there I stood
In the custody of a stranger.
"Custody Blues in C Minor"
(Disaster and Love as a Single Father)
One coffee mug I purchased had a cracked lip, A plastic spoon, and half a bed,
And the echo of her "I’m done with you"
Still knocking around in my head.
She gave me a car seat to keep. And a drawer full of onesies and grief,
And now I rock my girl to sleep
to my own disbelief's sound.
She had dreams about the chandelier, I had a cough and a nightlight. I boil noodles with the baby in my arms,
Tryin’ not to piss God off.
Sometimes I wish for bourbon,
Sometimes I wish for death—
But then them little baby snores
Take the fire outta my breath.
There’s love in frozen waffles,
And hope in diaper pails—
Yeah, I lost the war of roses,
But I’m still standing in the hail.
Ain’t no lullaby for heartbreak,
Ain’t no handbook for regret—
But I’ll raise this girl on gravel roads
And pay off love’s damn debt.
I was born with the meaning of home
running through my veins,
like sunlight weaving
through branches,
casting warmth on cold earth.
In shadows, I gathered light,
each ray a promise,
each beam a whisper
filling spaces of despair.
With hands outstretched,
I became a gardener,
planting seeds of love
in the soil of his heart,
tending to wounds like petals.
The forest listened,
its soft sighs a chorus,
as I sought the truth
beneath layers of leaves,
light revealing paths to safety.
In the courtroom’s embrace,
I stood tall, a lighthouse,
shining bright for him,
a beacon guiding him home,
where love flows like a river.
It isn't just incompetence
That leads a custody evaluator
To to clean up messes
For bad actors,
To justify
The unjustifiable,
To gloss over
The vital,
It isn’t just incompetence,
It's the rotten system
That the custody evaluator
Has been marinating in.
The custody evaluator’s
Grand plan,
Playing God with
Other people’s lives,
What could
Possibly go wrong.
The Environment of Prosody
Suits not ‘Courts’ stand on Child custody,
Silly scratching up some melody
For what to a party is bloody
And might only excuse Threnody…
Its pains to father losers much stiff,
Court rooms they leave like some Child Thief
For - yes - a child is its mum’s fat hope
For Alimony - its dad’s steep slope;
Ex-wife for New Lover and mattress,
Alimony-Paying Guy for stress,
As long waiting for Child’s Eighteen Years
Better done in a mourner’s wear…
s
Not always nice story: bank account
And courts do not seem to this count;
All about a man honoring
But, sure, the woman, coloring…
Oftenest child custody women’s
Till date what a compassionate law means.
Aquamarine waves
lap pristine rugged shorelines
casting call for beat
bohemic coral ballets
hip sandy beach applause
(This poem made the first PS Anthology, but disappeared
from my list.)
Little people, funny creatures
Once so fragile now so strong
Little people, who are you now?
To me no more do you belong.
I wait so fearful, apprehensive
Who am I to be?
Was once their world, their eager faces
Eternally turned to me.
I doubt, I fear, I do not believe
And thoroughly distrust
The bond of motherhood so strong
Find strength for them, I must.
What cannot be broken, has changed forever
A ghostly reminder it did not last
Our fortress of love soon to crumble
We are but memories , fading fast.
So here I stand an empty vessel
Who am I to be?
Those little people, funny creatures
What do they want from me?
Daddy's girl, little angel of mine
I hope you realise in time
I have tried my best to see you
All the paths I've been through
Your Mother blocks me everytime
I wont bore you with the reasons behind
Our unhappy breakup last May
I'm reaching out just to say
You are my number one
And I'll fight until I'm done
Just to have an hour with you
Will make my dreams come true
Hopefully as you grow and realise
I'm not the reason why
We have drifted apart
As you could find in your heart
To contact me and reunite
I pray for this every night
Please don't forget
I have not given up yet
We will regroup as Dad and Daughter pair
So more happy times will be shared
Your room is still the same
With half played games
Maybe one day, is all I ask
To have my sweet angel back
His point-blank, most promising laurel lost
Long, long his e'er-lasting longing lingers
His muse becomes bedridden under freezy frost
Yet his nikhedonic mindscape ne'er malingers
Surging from mood's winters and merging its splinters
Ramrodding illusion-edified effulgences into his emulous edacity
Without knowing whether with reluctance or with alacrity
IN THE CUSTODY OF HIS HOPE
The common denominator of human life
Rode his pale horse past our house today;
And our lessened numbers paid the price—
God had chosen—His will had been sent our way.
Grief, the child of love, came and prayed with us;
With shared emotions, we gathered in the relief of peace;
Consoled souls sang songs praising our friend, Jesus;
His loving care and glorious wonders never cease.
Our grief having had its appointed moment, we recalled
A childhood prayer that was once nightly prayed by us all:
“Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord, my soul to keep;
And if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord, my soul to take.”
Tomorrow we will light candle flames of hope in a glorious resurrection;
Despite detours along the way, we never lost sight of God’s revelation!
Love, these days were so dark
Frequently rain kissed the ground
This is the moment when mellow tries to embark
Right after the thunder shouts, echoing its mighty sound
Love, these days I sink into numbness
Blank pages haunt my enthusiasm
Chasing days without any sense, am I getting dumb?
Or is it just reality which tried to sabotage the poet's paradigm?
Love, these days I sit behind the rain
My mind was occupied but remaining behind a closed curtain
I forget how to start, hypnotized by haze
Insight in custody, I trapped within this phase
Special thank's to Debbie Guzzi :D
LUCIFER STARED HARD AT ME,FUMING:
INCISORS GLEAMING HOT,MENACING-
BLACK BLOOD CRAWLING FROM THE RIGHT EYE
WHICH MADE ME GO TREMBLE .
"THOU RENDETH MY GARMENT-
AN ENJOYED THE EXERCISE-
HI! HA! WHERE NOW ART THOU?
THAN AT HOME AND LAMENT."
MY SOUL STARED,SHOCKED AND 'FRAID-
"WHERE STANDS HE THAT YOU WORSHIPPED?
WON'T HE COME SAVE THEE?
THOU CURSED ME TO PRAISE 'IM.
"NOW I SHALL ENJOY THY TRUST,
HYPOCRITE FROM THE EARTH-
AND MY BOWL OF BROTH BE SWEET
WHILE MY FURNACE SHALL ROAST THEE IN IT.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.