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Ms Noma 4d
Tomorrow is your birthday
Yet we won't see you smile
It's been so very long
It's been oh such a while

Tomorrow is your birthday
But you're nowhere to be seen
I wish that you'd come home
And tell us where you've been

Tomorrow is your birthday
The eighth one that you've missed
We'll get your favourite foods
Just come home, we do insist

Tomorrow is your birthday
We'd love to hear your voice
I know that I keep asking
I know it's not your choice

Tomorrow is your birthday
I never will forget
I swear I'll try my hardest
To not get too upset.
This poem is for my Dad
Maya 4d
or weed
or both
in my dad's bathroom.
on his second wife, thousandth girlfriend and fourth kid.

four kids
all with different moms
makes for an interesting bunch
if you have the patience for them.


i would not call
two holes in our apartment wall
and sore knuckles
to each
their own
i guess.

it must've taken some patience
to drive to vegas
marry a girl
you'd known for 4 months.
attachment issues?
on a seven year old me?

stepmom #2? #8?
faces blend together
names turn into

on your good days
of type one diabetic balance
and anarchy signs in the kitchen
i love you

but on your bad days
i love you to death
And it was the saddest thing to realize that even though someone could give so much love they would get so little in return because the world is a cold cold place. The world is hurting and yearning for someone to feel their pain. The world wants revenge on the lovers who paint hearts, beautiful colors of yellows and emerald green. And I’d learn that the fairytales were never true for no knight ends up being with thier princess no matter how much love he gives them. No moon could shine any brighter than the loneliest star looking for love. A love they may never find. A love that may never be.
My father is haunted
he sits around an empty table
to visions of what never was
his children are dead and ghosts
but in his mind they are there
Steven 6d
Electricity not born of light
but angled natured slopes
his eyes now open to breaths of alps.

Beyond the green orchard's bloom
lay the valley's casual streams    
nurtured by ages  
nestled by hills
the Autumn beiges.

Rich gusts of youth
under the sun
aside the hills
atop the plains
the youthful run.

Below branches of fruit
he springs
pure Crystal youth
near birds on the browns
in rhythm with times
of old comrade sounds.
Reminiscing about my father in his youth.
I sat at my living-room table
Writing just to keep my mind stable
From the right enters my father
All pumped up and eager
"Set up the karaoke" he would ask
Who knew pressing 'on' was such an arduous task
'9169' he expertly presses
Frank Sinatra is the only person the remote addresses

'And now, the end is near'
Damn right, if only I could barely hear
My father turns into a broadway singer
Of every word, he needs to create a picture
For the effort, I give him an outstanding 'A'
But the voice... 'My friends, I'll say it clear'...NAY!

Now he turns to me:  'Regrets, I've had a few'
'But then again, too few to mention'
As if that is supposed to appease my indignation!
Then he enters the 'diarrhoea' pose
The half squat, the clenched fist and the eyes closed
'I faced it all..
And I stood tall..'

'... and I did it my way'
Definitely not the sight of the day

In his mind the crowds, in awe, they cheer
But his audience of one will only cringe and jeer
Nonetheless, he goes on
After all, it is in the spirit of the song!
At the penultimate line, he stops midway
He gave up, oh yay!
But no, my father merely ran short of breath
It is not yet time to adorn him of a congratulatory wreath

He inhales deeply
This is no time to appear weakly!
He now waits for the catch up with the beat
With concentration, he taps his feet
'Yes, it was my waaayyyyy'
And I would have preferred it any other way!
J Oaks 7d
They will not be heard
with their many words
Don't think like them
They will not be heard
with their many words
of their assumption
Jesus is not against
My father
let me pass
as you will
Men keep watch!
Don't think like them
Their flesh is weak
They will not be heard
Meaningless repetition
Many words
They will not be heard
Thorn in the flesh
God does not have a one prayer
only rule
Dear God
I can never say that again
Jesus is talking about
that we badger God!
Ten thousand!
My Mary
Our fathers
Beads on a chain
moving down the line
Leverage your words
Good gifts for his children
With many words
They will not be heard
Poetic T Sep 9
Every clock stops,
         it just depends which chime.

Yours was twenty seconds ago..

This grandfather is never being wound again.
my father loves himself
i see it in the way he carries himself
i know he will never love a person
as much as he loves himself and i know
i will never be able to love myself as much

my fathers loves himself in a way i could
never love myself as much it motives me
to grow more and learn a few techniques
from him but it also hurts me to know that
he puts himself first and other people first and places his children last
no matter what you are going through god is with you
can you see me
do you recognise me
did you acknowledge me in the womb
or did you pay me no heed
a lovechild i was born
it was not i who rejected you
but you who rejected me
why should i carry your burden
your guilt
joined by an umbilical cord
your pain became my hurt
your anxiety became my fear
your rejection my way of life
my demon to fight
a void of baby photos
sparked an avalanche of photos in adult life
always posing in search of finding my face in a crowd
a mother harbouring a secret
an absent father
see me
see me
see me please
cries a silent voice inside
i seek your approval
day in night out
a closer look in the mirror
reveals a story untold
though a thousand people around me
i am always alone

written by sean achilleos 09 september 2018©
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