Long Father daughter Poems
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With hurry-home drops running down her cheeks,
She wrapped her small, soft arms around my neck.
“Daddy, don’t go!” she begged me.
“Daddy, please don’t go!” she cried.
All I could do was hold her,
And try to keep my fear and pain inside.
I smiled, and kissed her soft, sweet cheeks,
“Now, don’t you cry, my little darling.
Daddy will be back real soon.
Every time you miss me, Sweetheart,
You just tell it to the Moon.
“Tell it to the Moon, baby girl,
And She’ll be sure to let me know.
I’ll send you back a loving message
In the light of Her golden glow.
“Tell it to the Moon, my darling,
And we’ll never really be apart,
Cause as we gaze at the full Moon together,
You’ll feel the love that’s in my heart.”
Tonight, as I sit alone on the side of this distant hill,
My cold weapon weighing heavy against my chest,
Thousands of miles away from those I love and miss,
I eagerly wait for the full moon again to rise
So I can send a message back, across the velvet skies.
“Send my love to my precious little girl.
She’s so lonely and deeply afraid.
Send my love to my beautiful and caring wife,
And remind her of the lasting love we’ve made.”
It won’t be long now, they tell me,
Until my tour over here is through.
I’ll hurry home to their waiting arms,
Just like I’ve always promised to.
Until that day, all I can do is pray,
And send my love on moonbeams bright.
When the Moon smiles down on their sleeping heads
I’ll thank God that He has held us safely
In His strong arms so tight.
With happy-home drops running down my cheeks,
I’ll quickly run into their waiting embraces.
With grateful tears and happy smiles,
There'll be no more sadness upon our faces,
I’ll raise my eyes to the softly glowing Moon,
Vowing never to leave them alone again.
I'll thank Her from the bottom of my heart
For being my constant and faithful friend.
Chula Fleming© May 17,2018
...They sent a copy of an old tin-type,
a picture of Milton and his bride,
one look at it and I knew the whole truth,
Small Doe in the fighting had not died.
A DNA test confirmed what I thought,
and I resolved to bring this all to an end,
Blue Hawk deserved know death’s sweet peace,
so out into the crisp night I went.
As expected Blue Hawk did appear,
fixed his eyes on me and drew his bow,
I threw up my hands, shouted out “Wait!
There is something that you really need to know!
The Indian hesitated at the words,
so I nervously took a deep breath,
said,”If you shoot me than you should now
you’ll be sending one of your own to death.
“Small Doe didn’t die all those years ago,
with her lover to the west she fled.
She married Edward, who went by Milton,
and a family of six children they bred.
“I descend from that big family,
which means your blood is running through my veins,
Herbert Blake was my great-great-grandfather,
but Blue Hawk of the Sioux is the same!”
They ghost before me seemed physically struck,
the bow dropped silently from his hands,
his form seemed to flicker in the darkness,
then he stalked forwards from where he did stand.
He came close, then peered right at my face,
at the eyes and the curve of my jaw,
anger in his look softened to acceptance,
something familiar if my face he saw…
With that Blue Hawk turned and trudged away
fading slowly as he went into night,
he’d gone completely before sixty steps,
and I turned back to see my scared wife.
She stood in the doorway in her nightclothes,
but would not take a single step out,
I walked on back, and took her in my arms,
said,”I think we will be left alone know.”
She asked,”What was it that you told him?"
I said,”I just let him know that he misjudged
what happened here all of those years ago…
far time to settle this age-old grudge.”
"Road to Lovejoy - Piano for the Self Taught" (Part 1)
Liberation
of a sort
head out the car window
hair blowin’ in the breeze
I can hear the Crickets chirping
in the chilly winter freeze
I’m smiling
it’s good to be alive
until the old man shouts
“Hoi!
pull your head in a
truck’s coming!”
Right hand holding
the wheel steady
reaches over the gear stick
across me
no seatbelts back then
in the old Austin
winds up the window
a roll your own ***
hangs out the side of
his mouth
the Kimberly is a moving
gas chamber
I’m breathing it all in,
holding my paper bag
carsick from the fags
along a very long flat road
it’s seems like we’ve been driving
forever, all those Cane Toads jumping
across the “NO SPEEDING - ROOS CROSSING!” Zone,
We’re moving West not South
Erinmore roll your own
he licks then spits out.
“Count the roadposts”,
he barks out the corner of his
mouth, “that’ll be interesting”.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
there’s a Roo lying on the side
of the road in the dark,
the highbeam discloses it’s been
bleeding, intestines lying ripe
with blowflies and a Red Belly Black
by it’s side
“eating it’s gizzards”, I surmise
I swallow and cringe,
the word makes me think
of Frilly Lizards, throwing up and
I’m praying it’s gone to Roo Heaven.
8, 9, 10, 11,
before too long
I’m sleeping.
This, he’s commanded,
to keep me from barfing.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
Longing in lowly light of longer days
by which a summer wilts paternal dreams
and browns the loitered heaves of yellow spring:
the budding void that stamps an empty swing
seen swaying golden locks ungated beams
my own Begotten streamed in greener dawn
where fussy forums for an April fawn
allay no muttered march on mother’s May.
Persistent blades unsheathe the sprawling grass
beneath the blue release of silver dew -
an inch overgrown, as inch shrouded cool
billows: arisen reeds from dizzied drool
showing flashes of reincarnation
cured by the rose (or purple carnation)
4/4/17
We stood on a beach of white sand, on a beautiful tropical isle.
I held my daughter's hand in mine. We shared a knowing smile.
There were no words spoken. We knew what was left unsaid.
Our voices surely would've broken, so we shared a hug instead.
No father to walk with her today; no strong arm to keep her steady.
I was the one who'd give her away. "Mom," she said, "I'm ready."
Then we felt a gentle breeze, ruffling the hem of her chiffon dress.
It rustled through palm leaves, soft and sweet as a lover's caress.
An orchestral wedding march became music with each rushing wave.
Romantic lighting from tiki torch, to her groom, my daughter, I gave.
A golden sunset cast its light, as the happy couple whispered, " I do."
It was quite a charming night, beside still waters of turquoise hues.
A moments respite from the fray, I sat with my daughter alone.
"Mom, I wish Dad had been here today." A tear of sorrow was sown.
"So do I, my darling. I miss him, too. Right now he'd be so carefree,
on the dance floor with you. He's not here so come, dance with me."
She wore a smile, for a while, then I saw her walk out the door.
My little girl, no longer a child, said, "Hi Daddy, this is Eleanor."
Time to put away her denial, and whisper her last 'goodbyes.'
Daddy walked her down the aisle, when he sang her lullabies.
~ Internal and Ending Rhyme Schemes ~
There are no rules for the number of lines or syllables per line.
I especially like this double form of rhyming because of its
challenge to rhyme in the middle and at the end of each line.
Example for each verse: a b
a b
c d
c d
Lin Lane ~ Poetry Writing #1 Contest
December 10th 2015
Sponsor ~ Broken Wings
THE HARDEST GOODBYE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
hospital room filled with a sterile hush,
beeping machines murmuring
with their relentless lullabies.
there you lay, my anchor, my compass,
wrapped in sheets that felt too white,
too clean for the storms we had weathered.
your eyes, deep wells of wisdom,
speak volumes, yet silence reigns,
for you cannot speak.
I hold your hands, a map of your life
every callus a testament to labor,
to love, to the weight of days gone by.
your palms once held my dreams,
now soft and still,
a paradox of strength and fragility.
so much I wanted to say,
to pour my heart into the silent spaces,
to tell you how the world is heavier now.
I wanted to tell you~
the sun rose brighter in your laughter,
your smile stitched the frayed edges of my soul.
Your chest rose and fell,
a fragile rhythm, each breath of life
slipping through my fingers.
I wanted to say, to scream, to weep:
"I am here, I love you,
please don’t leave me!"
the light in your eyes flickered then faded
the hardest wave goodbye,
a silent crash against the shores of my soul.
I pressed my lips to your forehead,
the warmth fading, the world outside a blur of colors
that no longer mattered.
I am left with echoes clinging to my heart~
like the scent of your favorite cologne,
the warmth of your spirit, fading but never gone.
In dreams, you visit, a tiny beacon
in a darkened room; I reach for you,
but you dissolve like mist.
what remains is the ache of a farewell~
a farewell that lingers like a ghost.
the hardest wave goodbye.
Oh father of mine - who long has withstood
trials to which I can’t even relate -
how sad you must feel – how misunderstood.
On your deathbed you lie, filled not with hate.
Unable am I to communicate
with you very well, for thus is our fate.
Oh father of mine, long-faced much like me,
with eyes like mine too, but more tinged with blue,
any words you might say – a rarity-
I try so hard to elicit from you.
Words that would show me what I never knew -
the “you” that my mother knew. . . but years flew.
Oh father of mine, years flew to this time
where I sit by your bed, watching you die -
all questions unanswered - as I write this rhyme.
Mental illness estranged you from me. Now I
am here- but lacking emotion to cry
as mortality I’m seeing fly by.
I hope in the next life, oh, father of mine,
our feelings and thoughts at last can entwine.
For The Urban Sonnet Poetry Contest of Emile Pinet
My father is at last at peace. He passed away June of 2019.
A New Life
When a baby is born, it's like a fresh spring day
Being a healthy one is what all parents pray
The pain and struggle a mother indulges
With bigger breast and stomach that bulges
Cute as a button when they arrive
The kicking, the moving, the feeling inside
Men are clueless of all the pain, I'm sure
They have no clue what women endure
Seeing the little hands and the little people feet
The very first look is a mother's best treat
Cuddle the little one against her chest
Feeding with milk from mothers breast
Men take notice of your beautiful wife
Who just created a beautiful life
Hold them and hug them but not too tight
Close to you, the feeling is right
Hold the tiny hands rub their little feet
Promise your love your promise to keep
Mother and child a beautiful sight
Not looking forward to the restless nights
A child being born is a feeling of spring
To create a new life is a lovely thing.
Lpickard
Copyright © William Pickard
Mocking Bird
Mocking Bird Mocking bird can't fly,
Mocking bird can't sing,
Mocking Bird is unable to walk.
She's not allowed to do anything.
Cold naked, all alone,
in dark dirty room that,
daddy calls her home.
Strapped in a straitjacket,
and chained to a chair,
hosed down and beaten every day,
never even allowed to cry.
not a word,
Her daddy wanted it that way.
Daddy called it love.
The last exit to hell in,
in the city of angels, a town they call L.A.
For twelve long years,
Her daddy kept her that way.
At night her daddy force feeds her slops
then chains her to her bed.
They found her when she turned thirteen
Labelled her the feral wild, child.
So she blames herself,
for her life that never was.
And She dreams in echoes of a life that might have been.
The experts and lawyers fought over her night and day,
At the last exit to hell
In the City of Angels, a town they call L.A
Mocking bird can’t sing,
Mocking bird can’t talk,
Mocking Bird cant even walk.
But she can only hop like a rabbit.
And She is now a free bird,
but she is still locked away,
At the last exit to hell in a town called L.A.
She dreams in echo's,
of a life that might have been,
And the mocking bird is now a Mocking Jay
Foe, she does not exist either way.
Even now She's locked in dark dirty room
that's black, blue and gray .
that The State of California calls her home.
Locked away in the City of Angels
A city they call L.A.
Echoes of a life that might have been.
Locked away in the City of Angels
A town called L.A.
Echoes of a life, that might have been.
that might have been,
In HELL a HELL they call L.A.
(c) London F. BuSS 2022 Coochie Road Australia.
Note. this is a true story, when she was discovered, she couldn't walk (she could hop like a rabbit). She was chained to a chair for 13 years. She couldn't feed herself; she couldn't cry, she couldn't talk (even now she cannot speak whole sentences. She is regarded as highly intelligent but State of California still has her locked away in hell.
My father my friend,
My teacher my preacher,
My comfort and security.
When I was a child he used to take me sailing on Lake Erie.
It was so awesome to be in the presence of this great man.
Quiet, intelligent always teaching by example.
I put him on a pedestal and he never fell.
My father my friend
Always there for me
No matter how hard.
Never a question or look, always helping me to cope.
When I was a child I used to watch him carefully cut stained glass.
Cutting and soldering creating these beautiful colorful lamps.
He was an artist and extremely smart.
He gave me my values he gave me my start.
My father my friend
I will always love you and you will always love me.
Even if I can’t see you or hear you, I feel you.
You talk to me but not verbally.
Everything we’ve ever done together
Everything about you
I am you
Thank you!