Long Fatherfather Poems
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Father, when I was younger ;once upon a time.
You had your jobs being provider, in the meantime.
When I was younger, you didn't understand.
Who I really was, or what I had planned.
As I grew older, you came to respect me more.
when I talk to you now, you have become my mentor.
The Lord instilled in your heart love and compassion.
To better understand others with a reverential passion.
I come to you with past, present and future dilemma’s.
You say a prayer for me, hoping I would listen.
I don't know what to do, I have a plethora full of distresses.
You pray and try to help me out of these so called messes.
We have amicable chitchats about computers and gadgetry.
You take some time out to spend with me.
When I have trouble with my husband, who is a man.
I come to you because, I know you understand.
I thank the Father above for you my father in this worldly place.
I love you, there is no other, like you I would want to replace.
My father is now pitching the bottom of the ninth inning.
We need a few more tests to determine just how many outs he has left.
I had the opportunity this past weekend to visit him on the mound and ask him how
he was feeling.
“I still feel like I can get them out” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting Cancer to come
to the plate.”
Nobody was.
My mother has caught all nine innings and she still remains the receiver of this
battery.
One of the seven fielders behind him had to leave the game early and awaits him in
the great beyond.
We all wait anxiously for the scouting report to help us determine just how to attack
this batter as he steps up to the plate.
We may be able to throw fast balls and get him out with an operation.
Or, if he has spread out too far, curve balls, chemotherapy and radiation may be the
best approach.
Or, if he is too formidable, we may just need to intentionally walk him.
The test results will help us determine our plan of attack.
Regardless, however, my father has pitched a masterful game.
I tipped my hat to him as I returned back to Seattle while he confers with his
battery mate and waits for the test results.
All of his fans are now aware of the batter he faces and all have risen to their feet in
applause and gratitude for the way he has played the game.
I learned this game and much more from the old man.
I would consider myself a blessed man if I could manage to play it half as good as
he.
One thing I know – he will face this batter, be it his last or not, just like all the
others; with a smart ass grin on his face and the assured confidence that it is he
who is the better man in this struggle.
Go get him, Dad.
Regardless of the outcome, it is already known that you have won the game.
We couldn’t be any prouder of how you played it.
I am glad you get the chance to hear the standing ovation – you deserve it.
As consciousness escaped me,
My journey got under way;
Floating on clouds of thoughtlessness,
The subconscious came in to play.
My spirit left my body;
Watching it from above;
Departing while it lay sleeping;
Flying away like a dove.
I journeyed into the past
To have a talk with my brother Jim;
He left this earth far too young;
Been twenty years since we lost him.
He warned me not to go too far;
My body might come awake
And if my spirit hasn’t returned
Another soul it would take.
But I continued on my journey
To see my father as a younger man;
I longed to have a chat with him
As a peer if I possibly can.
I told him I’m from his future;
He is still alive and doing fine;
I just wanted to correct an oversight
To say I’m glad he’s the father of mine.
He said, “Joe, we never say those words,
But we know it deep inside.
We try to keep our emotions underneath,
But these feelings we just can’t hide.”
“So please return to the present
And don’t worry about our past;
I’ve always known how you felt
And I’ll know it to the very last.”
So I hurried back to the future;
I bade Jimmy a final farewell;
Found my body still at rest,
My consciousness a secret to tell.
I woke up in the morning;
No memory of my dreams that night;
Called my father later that day
With a sense the world was right.
By Joe Flach
For Constance’s “A Fragmented Dream Contest”
The Journey Dream
Birth brings many gifts and life choices.
Man, woman, child each determined voices.
Who fathers the child, whose proverbial seed?
The mother known and the birth decreed.
Did he run, did he stay and if so why?
Who was the father who brought this sky?
Yes, he provided the seed, the roof
yet still this man stayed so.... aloof.
A presence was he when times were good
a missing link when greener pastures intrude.
He taught love and he taught fear
fear of loss, loss of him near.
He taught his daughters to mistrust all men
for who would not fail, if he did again and again?
He taught his daughters to be strong as men
and not to let others do as he did to them.
Who has most influenced my life?
Well father dear ‘was you caused such strife.
Father you've caused me the grief of form
Father it's you who have seen me born.
In the darkening room I stood:
tears welling in my eyes:
by the windowed-wall, looking out,
my small chest full of sighs.
Headlights bright white and tail lights red,
paired, meandered down the street,
yet the white headlights that I sought
seemed only to retreat.
Cold, calm, singular, tear drops fell,
soon reaching down turned lips;
as in the house across the street,
the living room was lit.
A Father held his baby high.
He hugged that toddler tight.
I wiped the corner of my eye,
and gazed into the night.
Above the darkened woodland near,
beneath a cobalt sky;
the highway brought their Fathers home.
alone again stood I.
Horns blared out in drives near by
sweet laughter filled the air,
and, in the drive across the street,
their Fathers did appear.
The children ran out slamming doors,
on small unshodden feet,
with tiny squeals, and upturned cheeks,
their Father they did greet.
Where was the father who I sought
our lives incomplete
a traveling man, my Father
did nothing but retreat.
*A memory from when I was 8.