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Anais Vionet Mar 6
It’s Thursday morning, usually no one’s favorite, but this one seems sugary new, as if beamed in from a different, better universe. The clouds look fluffy and freshly washed.

Even the freshmen, who’re everywhere, multiplied, as if they’d been cloned overnight, seem less dramatic with their endless droning-on about insignificant political points.

Could this explosive sunniness be because midterms were stupidly easy and spring break is one day away? Hmm, maybe, but it’s not the whole story. Peter (my bf) will be here tomorrow night and for 18 romantic days (and nights) we’re going nowhere except New Haven night spots and my dorm room. I’m so happy, in a pure pop euphoria way, I almost feel guilty about it.

It’s 45°, the high will be 52°. New Haven’s warming up, I think we have winter on the run, next stop:spring, baby. Sunny, Lisa, Leong and I are breakfasting together before we scatter, like Confetti, for our day.

We’d picked a table by the windows, because it looked relatively clean. We dumped our stuff and began raiding the breakfast bar. All of the choices look depressingly healthy—does anyone else miss grease for breakfast—you know, bacon? Anyone? Oh, well, at least there’s ‘specialty coffee’.

After we’d all settled in, we were quiet. Most were visualizing their day, I supposed. I wasn’t. I was thinking about last night. Last night, Leong was making Chinese soup—she’s a gourmand—and teaching us how to make it. It’s elaborate, and as she worked she married the instructions with details from her life growing up in China.

Like how, back in Macau, they lived in this great house with many servants (her dad is an industrialist) but her grandmother insisted on raising chickens and growing a garden—and somewhere in the mix she added, with heart-on-her-sleeve vulnerability, “My dad doesn’t know how to show his love.”

And we were like, “Oh, wow, Ok, that got real - quickly.” It seemed sudden and off-kilter, at first, but as we talked it out, I decided that there was something kind of poetic about using food to talk about the emotional barriers you’re facing with your Chinese father.

“I need some high energy, smashing,” Sunny confided, after her first few sips of coffee.
“It’s 8:23am,” Leong moaned, closing her eyes as if to say, “It’s too early to start.”
“Who says femininity is shy and retiring?” Lisa asked, rhetorically.
I made a face. The pastry I’d gotten was stale. I dropped it, but I didn’t spit out my first bite. “It’s the non-stop of disappointing little things that **** our joy,” I stated sagely, around the stale mush.
“Epicureanism?” Sunny asked no one in particular. But no one entered the debate.
.
.
Songs for this:
You Can Have It All by Yo La Tengo
Cry! by Caroline Rose
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 01/21/025:
gourmand = someone who loves and appreciates good food and drink.

Epicureanism = a philosophical system (a form of hedonism) that poses the pursuit of pleasure as the highest good, with a focus on modest, sustainable pleasure rather than extravagant indulgence.
That's a beautifully odd name
What does it mean?
It means I was born
For the simple reasons
No one understands
Relationships can exist or not. Both for trivial reasons, they can either stay or walk away. Make it a good reason. No child should ever feel insignificant.
The memories I had of my father are
The following as I look at the night sky
And the Big Dipper, I remember my father
Teaching me about the constellations,
Planets and other things in the night sky
As I read a book I remember him
Teaching me  to read though Stephen King’s
The stand, and goosebumps
As I watch tv or a movie
I remember him teaching me
About the appreciation of the
Performing arts
This are lessons I will never forget
As he is in the spirit world!
Thank you Peter Melanson
For my father
Jonathan Moya Oct 2024
Because I can not bury my father in the sky
I burn him and spread his ashes on the ground.

He loved birds yet did not feed them crumbs—
just  caught them in the color of their being.

He would watch the mower plow the field,
watch the hand fill  the feeders with seed

feeling the tranquility of the man-made pond
drift towards him as he pulled the blanket from

his chin and felt the breeze ruffle his baldness,
the bed as high to the trees as a house allows—

all the doors open to the day
                                  the night

the house receiving guest after guest,
the tables inside-outside spread for feasts,

until the last smoke of him singes my nostrils
settles in my lungs (this strange son of his),

floats above the branches into every nest,
leaving behind the clock spring in the fire

this nonparent of the future, this fruit
of his, leaving no seeds of his own.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2024
~it feels good to keep a promise~
~for AV~

<>
my expertise is at the PhD. level
for mine own experiments have
been less than successful by the
feedback periodically provided
O & Co-vertly over forty years

but a poem triggers, go figure!

and making morn coffee,
a task that teaches well,
that doing the prep is essential,
no shortcuts
for which we spend/waste years
looking for, and
realize that’s a hint to settle in
with a hot beverage,
this feels like it’s a longy coming

we know so much,
most i m p o r t a n t l y,
even how little we actually
do comprehend, and that
is importabt beyond belief,
learning to
choose counsel
that should be allowed
to pass under the bridge that filters
the crapshoot crap that pretenses
as smart and sound,
that should be
burnt & buried in an open pit

so what do fathers know?

- that finest firsts are so youthfully
under loved, under appreciated,
misperceived as endless,
the flush the rush the the thrusting
piercing of your composite composure
practiced protective skin,
cherish them firsts cause
they don’t last
because axiomatic that come
lesser, fewer, with every wrinkled day,
and sorry, time doesn’t make you bolder

- luck is a lottery ticket, the odds preposterous against you, but we
buy a ticket weekly because you
thinking this time is your time, sorry,
this lady sleeps around, a lot, a  
borderline *****,
who never asks
honey what’s your nane, because
they are thinking ‘bout the next
customer,you want it? you work for it,
and that never ever ends,
the odds
against ya never improve

- invest in discipline early and big time:
later when it will be desperately needed,
and twice as hard to obtain (can’t be bot,
no matter how much moola
you will
inherit)
and it make it habitual;
and discipline
is the entry card to unlocking the
unknown, the exceptional adventure

- thinking ‘know everything’ is a giant
no-no; this body of knowledge
you think you’ve earned by being
learned, is not as
valuable as one might
think (or feel)

cause knowledge is like a breeze,
on its way to somewhere else,
the cooling skin it leaves in its wake,
cools too quickly
and when you whine
“I know”
think this
”I no NOthing”

- that fathers oft say little, wordily,
so keep an eye out
for a raised eyebrow l,
a crinkling around the eyes,
a wrinkling nose,
they be  clues
meaning
ask me
more, later, when we deux
can pas alone

-peace of mind is
like watching waves
coming in;
ithey are long in the forming
and faster in dissolving,
they arrive piecemeal
but they keep on coming
in different shapes,
from different places,
but they do keep a-coming
and their power,
(erosion)
is the result of thousands individual
moments,
additive,
so you get pieces,
thru the unconscious
habit of accumulation
/\
here I’ll pause
to preach
makes a father thirsty
a fresh cuppa
seems highly desirable

oh yeah,
warmth can be received from blankets,
expensive ski jackets, wooly socks,
but its best when freely created
from within,
worn as you own & owned creation,
a reward for being wide open
ready,willing & able

one more thing:
find the best addiction
that bests you,
that thing will live
within forever,
like
writing poetry?
😉

so what do fathers know?

a lot, too little, never enough,
sometimes too much,
mostly good,
some awful,
just ask
find out
wonder
who will be more surprised
when you
do
Francie Lynch Sep 2024
Mammy died years ago,
So I'm older than her now,
Though I never feel this way.
But I'm younger than my father was
Years after his delay.

I'm an aging Granda now,
But I seldom feel this way;
When in my memories,
Where they truly lie,
I'm still their son today.
Mammy is  an Irish term of endearment for Mother or Mom.
Sahian Lascurain Sep 2024
Mom was the color of white sand
You were the color of the earth
When it came to my skin
I was reflection of her
But when I wrinkled my face
A smile or a frown
I was a mirror image of you
As time went on I noticed
How differently you were treated
I never understood why
Until I grew up and realized
You were unable to do what the rest of us did
Camouflage
It broke my heart in two
As I grew I made a decision
To become radiant enough
To blind those who
Would look upon you with distaste
And so I began
Turning my clenched fists into polite words
Turning my angry tears into charming smiles
Turning your broken words into poetry
I planted a seed of doubt
Made them question what they saw
And what can't be explained
Fades into the background
And it was in this way way
That I protected you
Like you always have me
But no matter how much time passed
When we are alone
In the fortress of our home
Your scars still make my blood boil
The words they used against you
The ones you so casually brush off
Make me see red
And through your face which is so much like mine
I am reminded time and time again
That when I bleed, it's brown
A poem I wrote for my dad
Happy Father’s Day dad
Happy Father’s Day dad
Wish I could talk you
Happy Father’s Day dad
Wish I could visit you
Happy Father’s Day dad
It’s been 9 yrs since you left
Happy Father’s day dad
Wish heaven had visiting hours
Happy Father’s Day dad
Wish you could answer me when I talk to you
Happy Father’s Day dad
Wish I knew  if your proud of me
Happy Father’s Day dad
Wish I could call you again
Happy Father’s Day dad
Wish I could buy you gifts and see the excitement on your face when you open it
Happy Father’s Day dad
I love you
Happy Father’s Day dad
I miss you
Happy Father’s Day dad
I know we didn’t always see eye to eye on things
Happy Father’s Day dad
Thomas W Case Jun 2024
As the day
closes, and the
night slides in.
The big fish hunt
in shallow water.

The old dog
leaves home to
die alone.
Orphans cry for
love
and the arrogant
choke on
rotten meat.

The libraries
become hostels
and owls
break the backs
of tom-cats on
the prowl.
The ***** is gone
and the cigarettes too.

And somewhere
in this silly
world, a father kisses
his daughter good night.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkfF5u4vn5k
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry from my recent books, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems and Rise Up Collected Poems and Short Stories.
Tom Lefort Apr 2024
Pour me a scotch son and let your father talk.
Untie his tongue and hear his secrets sing.
Release the torrent there within.

And repressed within that sacred silence
Recollections hold their breath to survive.
Let go this man who was once alive.

Tom Lefort 2024
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