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  Sep 2021 Tabitha Lee
Steve Page
Father is a verb.
- Let me explain:

Father's Day; and
Father Christmas 
have tried to convince us,
but don't be fooled:
You can, may or will father, 
depending on your mood.
For father is a verb.

It only works in the transitive;
you can't father alone,
only in relationship.
It doesn't resent hospital trips,
and offers wrap-around comfort
when a partnership splits.
It's touch-line volume
drowns out all rivals.
And belly laughs come standard
with jokes on recycle.

[insert joke here]

Yes, father is a verb.

It's something we each do,
despite the hour,
it drives right on through
the night when life’s gone sour.
It'll hammer ten finger nails
to get the job done.
It will dance, heedless of decorum
forgetting reputation. 

It turns manliness
into awesome-men-ness,
It tempers strength 
with a dose of gentleness, yes
father is a verb.

Be sure, whoever you are, 
it works in the singular:
I can father;
You can father
    (I'm not talking *** here;
     that takes a partner.)
But also, 
-  it works in the plural -
we can father;
and they can father,
because, you see, in this village
it's an joint activity:
we father (and we mother) 
collaboratively.

It works best in the present tense,
happening now, not "LATER!".

It can be said in a gentle voice
or something - even - quieter;

sometimes active:
directive, protecting;
but often responsive:
just sitting, listening;
...holding, and, hugging;

it responds to need, you see,
but works best proactively,
works great 
sacrificially.

For example, 
though it cost him dearly,
God Fathers us
and through us daily.
And one day, suit pressed, 
He'll proudly walk 
with the bride of Christ.
And as Father of the bride, 
He'll host the party and blow the price;
(- BIGGEST - bar-bill - EVER)
And we'll be sure to save at least one dance
for Father.

Oh yes, you heard,
Father is a verb.
This is written with thanks to all the men who have fathered me over the last 50 odd years and as a salute to those of you who father without borders.
With thanks to Godfrey Rust and his poem, Church is a Verb.  Go on, search for it.
  Sep 2021 Tabitha Lee
Elouise Roux
Unfocused vision
Blurry images of you
Torment my consience.
  Sep 2021 Tabitha Lee
Sylvia Plath
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker.  I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames.  Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little ****** skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless.  Colorless.
  Sep 2021 Tabitha Lee
Katy St Germain
I stared at my phone all day today
You know I'm hurt; You said you'd call

But now I know that if you do
You're calling for you
  Sep 2021 Tabitha Lee
Sarah Robinson
Sometimes I think of selling pictures of my feet online
Then
I immediately think of the state of my feet;
The state of me.
After conforming to your dress code of black dress shoes and shattered dreams For 11 long years.
For 11 long years
I sat in rows of grey white and black
Perfectly poised in the presence of our educators
Our guardians
Our wardens.
If we deigned to relax,
Laugh,
Breathe,
They would find more to give and give and give
Until we became nothing but frayed nerves
And therapy bills
That should be addressed to our parents
And then I think
I can’t sell pictures of my feet online,
How could I correctly value them
If I don’t correctly value myself?
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