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coqueta Jul 27
There’s no room for me in my own life.  My body cramps and contorts to fit into the narrow little space you’ve allotted for me to occupy, and even then, you manage to take it all up. You’ve barged in on every aspect of my life. It doesn’t even feel like mine anymore. Yes, my life is yours, to do with what you will. You are a god. Omniscient. Omnipotent. Omnipresent. You are everywhere. I am not a fully formed person at all; I am a child clinging to her father’s hand, lest the evils of the world ****** her up and tempt her to sin.
Steve Page Jul 17
Father is a verb. -
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 dad joke here)
Yes, father is a verb.

It's something that you do, despite the hour,
it drives right on through the night when life’s gone sour.
It'll hammer ten fingernails to get the job done.
It will dance, heedless of decorum
forgetting reputation (with an ill-suited hat on).

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
    (and I'm not talking *** here;
     that mostly needs a partner.)
But also,
-  it works in the plural -
we can father; and they can father, because, you see,
in this village it’s a 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.

More specifically, in the end it’s a doing word
not a noun to be worn like some tilted crown
It's not some post-coitus reflexive honorific
It's a feat way beyond what you do with your ****.
Father’s not some title that you necessarily deserve
Please believe me - that’s right, you heard,
father is a full-on, life-long verb.
a reworked version of a 2017 poem
It's a summer day, dad is coming home
How long he's been away, I don't really know
It's me and mom, he won't be long
He'll want to have his space
He walks through the door
We can't ignore the look upon his face

He says "what is this?"
He can't resist a shoe left out of place
He'll fuss and groan
I can't be home
I learn to stay away
It's not all bad, I'll give him that
But I sure can't remember the good
It feels so wrong, I know it won't be long
Until the shoe is on the other foot

It's a summer day, dad is coming home
How long he's been away, since 8:00 this morning
It's me and Will, we can't sit still
We see him through the window pane
He walks through the door
We can't ignore the look upon his face

He says "what is this?"
He can't resist a hundred snowflakes
We stapled them around the room
He said he likes it better this way
It's not all good, I never said it would
But I would choose you any day
Because you find a way to make things okay
Even when you feel out of place

If I am me because of a family tree,
that's alright with me.
But you are you in spite of the things you knew
And that's a testament to you.
For my dad
I S A A C Jul 13
modern monarchs, recorded in technicolor
think its real, but its cake
think its real, but its fake
under the guise of god’s fate
modern monarchs, makeshift mothers
desperation at stake
where are all the fathers
under the guise of god’s fate, we falter
Deep Jul 8
Browsing through the gallary of my phone
I found none solo photo of him,
Never said I, "Father I want to click your photo, look here"
Now, he is gone
And I have started forgetting how he looked.
Daivik Jul 5
Mother,
Won't you hold me tight
And say life will be bright
And it will be alright

Mother,
I'm not ready yet
To leave your nest
The world's a cruel place
I feel scared
Scared to leave your embrace

Father,
I need advice,
Hold my fingers,help me walk
On this unnerving path unknown
I cannot do this alone

Mother,
I don't want to grow up
Do things I have never done
How to strike conversation
It's happening to fast,it's all too much
I'm yet too young

Take me back to 2015
When I was young and carefree
When exams were my only worries
Now trials arrive in flurries

Grandma,
Please come back
I want sleep once more in your lap
Hear stories of the fairyland
Kiss once more your wrinkled hand

Buddies,
Let's be together once more
There are things you can't do over the phone
Come on,let's hangout as friends
I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them.

Why can't I remain a child forever
Have fun with my school mates
Waste hours watching cartoons
Not worried by world affairs
Take me back to the golden days

Now I have to choose a college
After sometime,get a job
Survive on my own
Talk to people i haven't met before
What if I fail
What if I crash
What if my dreams are thrown into thrash

Mother,
I'm still a child
I do not know what is my worth
Don't leave me,ma
I'm still a child
I'm not ready for the real world

Everything's changing
And so fast
But family will
Forever last
I know I am lucky that I can say that

Guide me through
Guide me through
Guide me through
This age of angst
Zywa Jun 28
Dad makes clouds, makes them

hover, I am protected --


against the sun's rays.
"de wolkenverzamelaar" ("the cloud collector", 1998, Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer)

Collection "Palace of the Night"
Steve Page Jun 19
In another life, my father
must have been a blacksmith.
Essential in his village
Essential to be needed
(otherwise what’s the point?)

Swinging his hammer in heat, in smoke,
content within his St Bruno haze, suspicious
of anything lighter than black leather
anything lighter than brass fittings

- comfortable with sweat stains and scattered ash,
scars and deep bruises marking him
a man’s man and breadwinner,

- relaxed with the air blue, the tribe white
and his iron laughter echoing with every strike,

every blow shaping his son
into his family’s likeness.
Arvon retreat June 2022.
Alexander Jun 19
As a kid I remember always wanting to make you proud or smile or even laugh.
As I've grown I only found disappointment.
I could make you smile, I could make you laugh, but I couldn't teach you.
As I watched my sister grow up I could only see her disappointment in you grow.
As I tried to push you to be more then just a voice on the phone to us you pushed us away even further,
Only leaving me to do my best for her, every single time you fell short.
I got over how you are early on in my life,
But I watched her give you every chance in the world, all you did was disappoint her.
I watched you live your life, and she watched you too,
And all she wanted was to be more apart of it.
My heart broke every time she had something to show you she was proud of and you weren't there,
You made it clear if what we do isn't something you like you won't support us even if it was better for us.
You've made it clear we can't speak to you, not without you getting drunk first and arguing after.
So as we've grown you've left us in disappointment,
As we've grown more open minded to the world you've only shown that you'd rather stay closed off to it, and us as well.
So now on father's Day my sister wishes me a happy father's day,
And I wish none of my own.
For all I am is a disappointed son.

To a father that only needed to listen and be there.
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