Alcoholic Father Poems | Examples
These Alcoholic Father poems are examples of Father poems about Alcoholic. These are the best examples of Father Alcoholic poems written by international poets.
Rifles cracked
A bugle played
I stood in the grass
Beside your grave
My eyes were dry
I couldn’t cry
My lack of grief
Was justified
In your presence
I treaded soft
Never knowing
What’d set you off
A life free of frolic
A life melancholic
Life living with
An alcoholic
Why am I here?
Why did I bother?
Simple really
You’re still my father
My mother says that I'll never see.
My father says that I'll never hear.
My brother I'll never get higher than a C.
My sister says I'll never tolerate beer.
Every day, my family puts me down.
They say that they're just being realistic.
But there is one thing they didn't put on that excuse mound.
That they're not perfect, they're never optimistic.
Studies show that the reason bullies
Put others down,
Isn't to please,
Not because they find pleasure in the pound;
Not because they like to tease,
But that it brings them up.
To the brim of their cup.
Mom, I see that you're an alcoholic,
Dad, I hear that you're in a financial rut.
Brother, I've gotten all A's and and one B. But not higher than you are on your drugs.
Sister, you were right. Unlike you, I won't drink, or portray myself as a ****.
And Uncle?
Thank you.
For helping my grades up to A's and B's.
For prohibiting drinking and drugging.
And...,
For opening my eyes and ears,
To see and hear,
That it's not me.
It's them.
My narrow spine draws up
like a creaking cold floor
cornering confines, facing vacancy
While my father is as a sharp rain that
pounds down on my skin, grey tin
a shed to my life and its
sticky alcoholic stew
like a Jew, cemented sorrow
and in my shoe, a dead furnace
It's better to be alive
but this reality's hard to wake up to
If my mouth was blue
and wore blood's debut
I
could be
viewed
at least this day
before I cut my father's heart
in two.
But his tears reach me
even near my torrential eyes
and they burn clean like
acidic water's guise, my lies
fall away like flies
I have nowhere to hide
and I've certainly tried
I can only blink back
without excuse and cry
My father loves me fiercely, dearly
and clearly, my disease holds no hostage
he washes my toxic heart with cool hands
not an eye for the grime, but for me,
a child, marred by fire,
his very object of caution
but he makes me a wound
set to heal, so I kneel
awake in a wake
my father's grace.
Helpless cries and retold lies
once again he fails to try
it kills me inside this feeling i hide
this endless pain that never subsides
as this ruins my life
i turn tords the knife
and endure all the pain
that hes caused me again
why cant he stop
another bottle another cop
hes just hurting me more
my blood drips to the floor
returning to jail
to think in his cell
i go back to old ways
being messed up for days
my dads an alcoholic
and hes never going to change.
-Spencer Coggsdale dedicated to Johnie Coggsdale (my dad)
Grandma Curcio
You look out at me
From a yellow, cracked photograph
Even my mother
Doesn't remember your first name
She cannot be faulted
You were dead
Long before she married your son
Who were you, really?
Are you hidden in
The hard lines etched
In your grim, granite, grandma face?
Did those eyes pierce the soul
Of your alcoholic husband
And cause him to bleed?
Is that why he terrorized
You and your children?
I can only know you
Through my father's few words
"She was a wonderful, sweet woman"
I can only know you
Through his actions as a teenager
When he beat his father - perhaps as badly
As grandpa had beaten you all:
"If you ever touch Ma again, I'll kill you"
My father did not have to
Carry out his threat
Grandma Curcio
You lived on
In the man my father became
And now that he is gone
You live on in me
Who will gaze upon
My yellow cracked photograph?
Will they know my name
And wonder who I was?
And who will they be?
Daddy the alcoholic,
every single day,
full and countless glasses,
guzzled down,
help him please, and bring my daddy back to me.