Dad Poems | Examples of Dad Poetry

. 'neath thuh prairie'z thickets 'long it's lush open hidden ...

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"Mummy says now that my heart is broken, nothing will ever hurt me as much again" The Poet. ______________________________________________________________ Fir trees along the road, showing the way. There's a log cabin, for us to stay. Daddy built our house by a big fir tree. A loving place for he, mummy and me. Mountain country, cozy fires to keep warm, Wild flowers,...

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When Dad got Leukemia, he put up a fight. He took chemo but lost his battle 12 years ago tonight. After months of taking chemotherapy, he died. He couldn't beat cancer even though he tried. He died less than two hours before the fourteenth of July. He was a good provider and that's something I can't deny. When a person loses...

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A good man walks through life with quiet strength, carrying himself with dignity while lifting others along the way. He speaks with honesty even when the truth is difficult, and his word can be trusted completely. You can see his character in small moments—how he treats someone who can do nothing for him, the patience...

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They say my dad’s humor is dry, but after some pints by and by, he gets lubricated and jokes unabated says things make you wish you could die!...

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Let’s get this show on the road, The car's still empty and we can't seem to load Susie's applying makeup, Jake’s playing video games, Mary’s scrolling her socials, where friends call her names. I want to get to the airport, I want to be clambering into an Impressionist painting of the sea Ride the chestnut ponies, get back to something real, My...

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Sitting by the window and reflecting, on one bitter cold day, The sky cloudy, the weather report predicted snow, The temperature outside 10 degrees, a little low, 33 years ago, it was a sad, life changing day that May. My dad is all I could think of, he consumed my thoughts, The Specialist Oncologist had given us the tragic...

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Insight must be difficult for you when you’re wounded so easily. You can’t show it, of course, to show your scars and flaws would be considered weak to you, since they can be used against you. So you hide and twist words and speak with blame and hatred. Do not show them your hurt, show...

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Summer Funny Limerick Poetry Contest Tania Kitchin The heat of summer in his dad's car The son takes his date to gaze a star Lover's lane shines on so bright Two teenagers groins take flight It was Dad's Chevy's best years by far ...

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I get so frustrated when I think about what I lost Or perhaps never had I know what it should have been What it would be like to have a dad No one is ever Even close to enough for you I try so damn hard but in your eyes All I see is a disappointed gloom...

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“Peter Periwinkle had a car accident,” my brother said, as if reading it aloud from the back of a cereal box. It took me three full seconds to realize he meant our father. We were on my grandma’s farm where she had recently died, leaving chickens scratching unknowingly in the dust. Our father was elsewhere— broken, back bent like a paperclip, drunk at the wheel when the other car...

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I reflect on the days- Her first little steps, those tiny feet chasing dreams. Her doing silly little dances on the floor, She'd giggle, then stumble, then laughter galore. You weren’t there when she climbed the school bus stairs. Smiling like sunshine with a lunchbox in hand, ready to conquer the world before the world even knew her. You...

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We stood at the edge of the back yard, next to the garage— where I’d pretended to be an astronaut in a cardboard spaceship— on a chill November night, watching Sputnik II arc across the sky. I didn’t know why he was rarely home— or why it wasn’t always like this when he was: quiet, steady, present. All I knew was the stars were out, and he was beside me— and Laika was...

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Under the solar system in our basement I sat, copying schematics of superheterodyne radios from a book on electronics, while my dad, across from me, stood at his drawing board illustrating advertisements for feed and farm equipment. The floor was painted blood red, the walls bandage white— a battlefield made tidy. The dehumidifier murmured its hymn beneath Saladin’s ceramic gaze, his turbaned brow inscrutable as my father bent to...

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why fight when we can say no more fighting Now written by dad...

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