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 May 2014 Marilou Pablo
Tryst
Gifted hearts,

Like books,

Are often

Overlooked,

Unwanted, and

Unloved
when "I miss you"
isn't enough?
you say it again.
 May 2014 Marilou Pablo
AE Wilson
I've lost the faith
that I never had.
Dear daughter of mine,
  Please don't cry! Please don't ask why.
For I have gone to heaven to plat my banjo. For the great Bill Monroe.
It will be not a song of sorrow that I play tomorrow.
For I will play on the stage with a lady named Patty Page.
I will not play to bitter, but with the great Tex Ritter.
So the music you hear in the sky will not make you cry.
For God only wants me to play my banjo.
   Love,
      Your dear old dad.
I wrote this for a lady I worked with for only two nights her father passed away and I knew she said her dad played banjo one time with Bill Monroe. Has Two 1st place awards And 2 Honorable Mention Awards. And is published  11/07/14 in a book by Eber And Wein publishing.
 May 2014 Marilou Pablo
Nomad
To mother, the mother I wish I knew,
if you weren't so drunk each night,
there would be so much that we could do!
We could've played in the park,
you could've pushed me on the swings,
I would've asked a lot questions,
about this and that, and other things!
I would've dug my way to China,
and come back with gold,
I would've discovered the fountain,
that when you drink, you won't grow old!

But we didn't.
Because you couldn't.
Years went by, dad said he quit, winked then left,
you were already tattered and in ruins,
any cry of mine, went to ears, so deft.
I grew up alone, with only your beer stained lips
drooling on my neck,
when all I really needed
was something more sincere on the cheek,
just one small sincere little peck.

But you couldn't manage that,
not after every other night,
so I'd take up the duties of mother and father,
to my siblings you never knew, by the time of first light.

I did the chores, you never asked me to do,
I did everything, did it all, all because I loved you.
That somewhere,
beneath and through the wreckage and trauma,
deep down inside,
was a pretty lady there,
waiting to be called mamma.

But she never came up,
through the blurry, drunken eyes,
you kept your room so dark,
I think you've forgotten, the color of the skies.

My brothers and sister,
we all had to get along,
but I didn't have the heart to tell them,
about you,
it just...it would just be so...wrong!

God, I prayed to him,
but you'd never know,
you didn't care where I went,
or when I would have to go.
I found him in the attic,
where I made it my room,
sure it was dusty and broken,
but I fixed it with a hammer and a broom.

There I had to work,
like not a single soul would,
that's all because I was old enough, and no one else could.
I come home every single night.
Just before you came back from the bar,
because as I watched from above,
you came home in someone else's car.

You missed every birthday,
did you know that?
Every single blessed one,
I didn't care after my seventh,
but after little *****'s first?
I almost told her you died!
My heart was about to burst!
Good God, help me from saying further!

But even years and years,
of your, stupid, stubborn behavior,
I've gained fruit, from all of my labor.
You've taught me things,
even when you were not able,
that things just ain't handed to you,
you gotta lay it on the table.

Ma, I love you, my sibling's would say the same,
they'd love you a little more,
had you quit the drinkin' game.
We found our pa,
he had a little run in with the law,
but he shaped up,
just for us,
he even was there,
when I was shipped out on the Basic Bus.

I'm proud of my siblings,
the way they are today,
I just hope you'll think of us the same,
and say the same thing too.
Some day.
Partly True, Partly Fiction.
Seems that Poetry is my sweet addiction.
Don't feel sorry, for what this poem went through,
just as a reminder, Your mother still loves you!
You moved away,
you thought you were safe.
Don't fear the reaper,
'cuz I took his place.
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