Father Loss Poems | Examples
These Father Loss poems are examples of Loss poems about Father. These are the best examples of Loss Father poems written by international poets.
Through My Porch Door Window. By Tania Kitchin
It was a somber cloudy day, sadness weighed heavy on us all. The family gathered to pay final respects. Gregorian chant filled the air as we looked up to heaven. We were burying a good man. He had been a role model, a loving husband and a caring father.
the finality
painfully sinking in
goodbyes surreal
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on May 26, 2025 for CEMETERY contest sponsored by CONSTANCE LA FRANCE - RANKED 2ND
Beloved,
again, I bargain
with my unbridled mind,
seeking to find
a smile
wider than time,
and wild eyes
like mossy tree stumps,
gliding against light,
in exchange
for all of
my recollection's
regrets combined.
A stranger's
divergent eyes
always disappoint,
pointing away from
the maze of memories
that light up
a late father's reflection.
Bashfully inadequate,
I project pity upon
those understudied features,
each seemingly
inferior to familiarity.
An uncomfortable stare
doesn't prepare one
for the despair of
a persistent
preoccupation
with
what is not there.
March 8, 2025
The sky was blue, a beautiful day.
The sun sparkled bright on the water beyond.
She sat in the grass, admiring the display.
She wondered if there were fish in the pond.
Grey marble lined up in long, even rows.
Names and dates, husband, father, brother, son,
Wife, mother, sister, daughter; all of those.
She was still breathing but their lives were done.
Memories flood her mind like never before.
For twenty years they shared a life and love.
She lay on the grass, read his name once more,
With thoughts of him looking down from above.
I guess you know how much I still love you.
One day I’ll be there, to stroll heaven, too.
Energy
We were in the upper room
Energy
Mother's child
In communication
He supplanted placing mine spiritual seed planting in the heavens
Me the placed seed
Mother's child
Desending planted from grace
Placed in a womb
She receives seedling fleeting
Spiraling growing was sown
In mine morhers womb
Mother's child
She nutures me
Housed me in from her womb
Before I was birth she kept me with her
From the womb I've so grown
I am my mother's child
A gift from God celestial messengers
Blessed children
On loan to us
Unto my Father and Mother
The t.v. series,
A Little Princess,
reminds me
of my dad's gift
of a dark-haired
porcelain doll...
...I gave away
to compensate
for feeling spoiled
--that I begged
for her at all
Being a generous
gift-giver was one
of my dad's
main languages
of love
I hope even though
I've hardly kept
any of his gifts
he still cares--
up above
When the door's open, like a lady in waiting I tip my hat as she beamingly frets.
As I glimpse into the way she brings, the breath of Spring fills my very being.
I go to explore what she has in store, brazenly shone blooms, 'tis I to pluck 'um?
Away I stepped, said, "None of that, it's me-neighbor's, tho' does owe favors."
So I waltz away with my boutonnière, glide gleaming, and kept on dreaming,
Of time to be, in eternity, with a son I adore, went to war and saw no more.
I realized that darkness befell my eyes, a Sun over here had now disappeared,
People are saying it's a solar eclipse and that the Sun no longer can glimpse ...
Like my son, Sun too is gone, but Sun will be back, thank God for that.
Sun owes me a day of days, do hope that Sun doesn't keep her father waiting.
11/23/2023
Souls of the unborn, caressed by the meadows’ gentle winds.
Seeking their mothers arms, for they were her angelic, blessed
Blossoming,beautiful twins!
Mother is vaping Fentanyl in a bar, looking for a new, hot lover?
A murderess, in expensive tight jeans, sweater…hiding her
deadly deed, under cover.
Not alone, she, her sisters, tired, at the morning‘s Pro-Choice rally.
Were cheering on death of souls to be, laughing, ever-so heartily in.
rat-filled alleys,
Remember this…?” Father, forgive them, for they know what they do!”
Both men and their lovers might regret this …years down the road!!
Mother: Oh Raymond, Raymond, what's to become of you? :(
Raymond: I'll stay pure & give my life; Our Lady says it's true.
Jesus: Father Maximilian Kolbe, if you love Me... feed my sheep! :O
Priest: And I'll even share my soup, and my Auschwitz brothers-- keep.
Nazi: Prisoner number 16,670--- who are you?! :O
Fr. Kolbe: I am a Catholic priest! I have no family, too.
[Inspired by:
A Man for Others: Maximilian Kolbe --the Saint of Auschwitz-- in the Words of Those Who Knew Him book by Patricia Treece, + the M.I. movie
(not Mission Impossible, but the Militia of the Immaculata!)]
Farewell, father. On adrenaline filled adventures, you’ve raised me. Canoeing open waters, fishing with trident spears. In search of game, we’ve explored. I clench my Glock .45, the Brown Bears passed us by. A proverbial Sirens call? Nay. Whatever lies ahead, I’ll take you with me. We’ll meet again, soon.
How long should we mourn when our loved ones die?
You might move on right away or forever pose and try.
Some will weep in silence, and from some we’ll hear screams.
I hope you’re the one who gets visits in your dreams.
There is no right or wrong, no length of time.
We are all quite different, some lemon and some lime.
Whether it’s your mother or father, a friend or child.
The pain will be strong and the void drives you wild.
For those who have passed, I will carry a strong torch.
It’s for them to still see, far away on their porch.
I keep mine burning bright, like a star in the sky.
In case you were wondering, now you know why.
From far away in the heavens, in the daytime or night.
They will know I remember, when they see my bright light.
Kayla shouts Father! Father! I'm here!
Kayla? he cries crouching, arms outspread
I'm here now sweetie, there's nothing to fear
But he wakes to a life far beyond dread
With the world asleep he drives through the night
There's the hospital which offered such hope
Oh, his angel! His God-given delight!
His grief's too deep, but somehow, he copes
Streets still and empty; a brisk Sunday morn
Bland buildings sprouting in cold cement
From natures blessed gift he is shorn
The wound can't heal; was his life truly meant?
Wife and friends seem odd; not fully real
Banal, empty, irksome words swirl
The mirror's harsh truths on his face reveal
He lost his life when he lost his sweet girl
Written 8/25/22
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE CONTEST
Families, Legacies and History,
Things are known,
Rumors told,
And secrets hidden.
Yet hundreds of years pass in time.
The legend passes thru,
The lips and ears of the descendants.
The stories that are passed down,
From generation to generation,
Are given new light when,
One piece of a document is found.
All of the rumors,
All of the stories,
And all of the secrets are found to be true.
One ancestor who is known to be a robber,
A hero, a father and a brother.
He holds all the gold and buries it,
With a treasure map like none other.
Mother Nature holds all the secrets.
We call her Mother Earth.
She knows his secrets.
She knows who he is but not his name.
But in our family we just call him Jesse.
He is my cousin and it's a true story.
Sending Love to My Papa
Underneath his multiple dark layers,
He was desperately seeking the light.
Wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing his betrayers,
Kinsman who disregarded his cruel plight.
Memories of guilt, loneliness, and shame,
Ruined and fragmented his tortured soul.
Years of misdeeds and their utter disdain,
He spiraled down an abysmal hellhole.
Tragic mother’s attempt at suicide.
Philandering father bedding hussies.
Abandoned precious children mortified.
Devastating hearts of blameless babies.
Ignored was the beauty of innocence,
Unearthed by kind love and strong resilience.
I miss those days
Yet, I give praise
Memories take me to a place
Reminding of safety and care
Dad's quiet strength was always shared
Leaving endangerment, no space
Reminding of safety and care
God’s amazing grace surrounds me
I miss you so, but now you're free
Dad's quiet strength was always shared
I miss those days
Unspeakable joy left behind
My hero referred to as dad
I cry sometimes, no peace I find
Yet, I give praise
Yet, I give praise
I miss those days
December 22, 2021
Contest Name: Meditative Ballad Poetry Contest
Content Sponsor: Emile Pinet