You never were
that kind of father
So I could never be
that kind of son
You saw what you
wanted in others
But with us it was
all zero sum
I reacted to what
you were doing
And not to the bombast
you spread
As the rift ever widened
between us
Into canyons of anger
— and dread
(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)
Contest : Simple poetry
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Theme chosen; Memory
Written: 090326
It was a class about public speaking.
I stood at the podium and froze,
Completely FORGETTING what to say.
That's a MEMORY I wish I could FORGET.
I was not more than twelve years old when
A mean man viciously shot and killed my dog.
It's a MEMORY that I wish I could FORGET.
Loved ones and friends are gifts from God.
Some things were made for MEMORIES.
I will never FORGET such blessed gifts.
On the sports side of things, MEMORY is
A very pleasing commodity to have. When
I was 13, I scored 4 points in a basket ball
Game that turned our team around. We
Then won that game. A game that I will
Never FORGET.
Surely the ability to recall is a gift from God.
'FORGETTING' is sometimes a blessing also.
Even God made a promise of FORGETTING.
He promised to forgive and FORGET our sins.
This, without a doubt, I will never FORGET.
Before him, my hands belonged to me—
ten fingers with no reason to be careful,
good for gripping steering wheels, counting money,
and reaching for whatever I wanted next.
Then a nurse folded eight pounds into my arms.
His whole hand closed around one finger,
too small to circle even half of it,
and somehow that unfinished little fist
held more of me than mine ever could.
I remember watching his little chest rise,
a heart-shaped birthmark moving with every breath,
counting each one without knowing I was counting,
afraid even air might mishandle him.
Those hands changed after that.
They learned alarm clocks before sunrise,
time clocks, grocery bags, medicine bottles,
how to stretch one paycheck past Friday,
how to check a fever without waking him.
They learned shoelaces. Bicycle seats.
And even how long to hold on before letting go.
Years later, those tiny fingers
filled the gloves of a United States Marine,
and I stood looking up at the same boy
I once was terrified of dropping.
Funny—
The first day I held my son,
I thought I was carrying him.
I didn't know
he was carrying me into manhood.
BEQUEATHED SHOES…
I’m walking in the shoes
Of my father’s father’s Father:-
I never had to tie them,
Though I had to bend down
To slip them on:-
I never wanted to take them off;
In them, my soul joyously walked.
Their soles walked me over hate–
Footprinting it with each loving step;
Leading me to the blessed waters
To wash feet in labors of love:-
May my children likewise walk
In the shoes of their father’s Father.
He took all that was legally his to inherit
And never to lay claim on any deed again.
Yet, having spent all, now in lack and want,
Living in abject penury, he returned home;
He returned not as a son any more but.....
Positioning himself as a servant legally
speaking.
But grace located him and restored him;
Instead of shame and reproach he found;
Grace and the father's embrace saying..
Welcome home, this is your home both
now and forever.
(Written 6th December, 2015.)
I have seven children
Wanting my attention
Whom do I love the most?
They would love to know
A difficult choice for me
I love myself, the most
Then, each part of me
In seven other souls
Each, my just reward
Gratifying my spirit
Raising my mind
I love each differently
Don't I have favorites?
My lot, to love diversely
Those who respect me
Ditto, those who mistreat
Teach your son a trade
one that’s light and clean
Acquired skills rarely fade
if learned as a teen
If you can’t teach him
hire someone who can
So, he will punch his own ticket
once he’s a full-blown man
Take my guts and peel my skin off
look me straight in the eye
no answer just silence
questions of freedom just gone.
Is this my father or a man in the mask,
force that I've never felt before,
now i know how far my body can fly,
across that hallway, till i hit the floor.
Darkness in the eyes of love,
looking straight at me as i get up,
"Go ahead and use it father"
" Feed that anger because tomorrow
you might not wake up"!
But before you swing that heavy arm,
just listen to my silence,
your kingdom screams, my heaven suffers,
you never told me if you loved me.
Without a question or hesitation,
decisions in my mind,
how could i think this way,
eat my breakfast now with my bloody lip,
these thoughts are your fault
i need you around, your death on my mind.
One day you will hit the ground,
chills down my spine,
hello freedom, now you are mine.
FATHER TO ELDER SON: ONCE MORE AGAIN
I am your father;
Let me not be a bother,
Nor your enemy:
Please come and visit with me;
My time here will soon not be:-
The compass of God,
Has never led one astray;
Satan’s does—each day:-
Be in God’s navigation;
And love’s resurrection:-
Have mercy on me,
And forgive me for my sins
Against God and thee:-
Love you more than you can know;
Forgive me before I go:-
Forgiveness of me
Is not about forgetting;
It’s about mercy:
For the pain you’ve given me,
God knows, I’ve forgiven thee.
I’ll die loving you,
I have lived life loving you:
God guiding me on:-
And as death takes me further,
Pray tell, greets from your brother:-
One day, my son asked me, "Which one of us do you love more?"
I grew uncomfortable and I looked down at the floor.
It was an answer that I didn't want to hurry.
He's an only child, so his question made me worry.
Could it be that once I dropped him on his brain,
or had I forgotten a child (which would have been insane)?
Should I tell him, "You have always been my favorite.
You should take satisfaction in that and savor it",
or should I be fair and diplomatically proclaim,
"I love all of my children pretty much the same"?
Perhaps, it would be more circumspect for me to say,
"I love each of you, in your own inimitable way".
I finally chose, "I love you more than any other child by far",
and he said, "Good - can I have the keys to the car?",
to which I replied, "It wouldn't be any bother,
except that I've already lent them to your brother".
This boy
My son.
I used to feel
that he never listened to me,
always going against me.
This boy
was one of my biggest problems.
The machinery inside him
was like the latest EFI system
once I took it apart,
I wouldn't know how to put it back together.
Still, I could never throw him away
a glistening, greasy chunk of meat
covered in sand.
A termite,
perhaps,
for whom I traded
my own dreams
for his future.
Then my grandson said,
Grandpa, you don't understand anything.
Look here.
Don't worry.
I'll explain it to you.
That boy—my son
even complained
that his own son
was getting on his nerves.
But my grandson
he is just like
the way I was when I was young.
I find myself
drifting along with his imagination,
wandering through
the little worlds inside his head.
And sometimes,
I even find myself amazed
at my own son
because somehow,
my grandson
is even more lovable
than his father.
You grew up in a terrifying house
Full of screams and violence
Your father beating you and his spouse
Until it brought submission and silence
I could sense it in you
I wanted to help you, it’s true
I know that inside you there’s a hurt child
A fragile boy that became hostile
But your childhood trauma turned you into him
You became what you swore you'd never be
Your bright light slowly grew dim
Revealing the monster you hid within thee
Even so, my compassion got the best of me
I gave up all of me to save thee
In exchange, you slowly drowned me
Draining my light and life
I didn’t know you were my enemy
The worst monster I’ve ever seen
To have a stepson that you didn't create
Become your son that you did create
Don't ponder the thought of that penmanship
It's too complex of a statement that you're trying to grip
The wordplay is factual; I didn't make a mistake
The censorship is not needed for me to break
Speak your mind; let it rise to the equation
The broken heart that you'll leave with, without hesitation
I'm saying this to say nothing; the meaning is clear
Your son has become your stepson for the duration of his years.
Struggling to compute
The world thats around he
Just looks so minute
But born prematurly
Their is no one as cute
As could though be
His smile his attribute
That always brings glee
And their is no dispute
Image of his mum defantly
And this is a tribute
To our little Zachary
Taken from a bigger verse poem called
New arrival 2014 written this one 2021
On late nights and early mornings,
I could count on fog in December.
I could count on poor visibility.
I could count on driving timidly.
I could count on trailing a big rig.
Like following 'the yellow brick road',
I could count on the big red tail lights.
It was the safest place to drive in fog.
I could count on motorists driving carelessly.
I could count on asking, "How can they see?"
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Definition | What is Father Son in Poetry?
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