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Nat Lipstadt Jul 2021
a thousand years ago, wrote a poem called
“why I always carry tissues”  -
a labor of love to
mine own toddlers misadventures,
requiring love covered in tissues so soft,
yet an ironclad coating
of natural substantive parenting
useful for tearing eyes, running noses,
and the cuts of living outdoors joyously

children grow older and oft that means,
they seek not your counsel,
and if offered, politely ignored,
for so it goes tween fathers and sons

then one summer days you receive an
observation, a datapoint that irradiates,
a quiet confirmation that not everything
you’ve said and done has gone astray

a young’un of “almost ten,” informs her father,
around the luncheon table of three generations,
that her foot is hurting; the son, now the father,
diagnosis renders, a blister, which will require
a protective custody that will protect the child’s
feet from the ravages of furious Shell Beach fun,
or the rough of a Manhattan sidewalk

I watch with a joy so quiet and so overwhelming,
as the son-father reaches into a cargo pocket,
producing not one but two bandaids, for life
requires backups for there are other babes about,
who at moments notice, produce scrapes and cuts
of ever greater consequence for each year they age

his wife renders me overjoyed, when she dryly
observe how certain children are lucky that
their father always carries bandaids, a new factoid,
for me, an unknown that glistens like a wet shell

now my eyes tearing, for a message in a bandaid,
or a tissue no matter which, is a certified proof,
somehow a message got through the clutter,
marked “well received,” that loving well requires
an oh so very hard attention to details, and that deep pockets
are repositories of good notions, handed down generations

June 24, 2021

Shell Beach
rgz Feb 2019
Memories
Like a fistful of sand
Leaky and incomplete
Something I can't grasp
Like talking in my sleep

Memories
Of dreams in daylight
Of things that never were
Like reflected starlight
Music gone unheard

Memories
Of cold nights and warm lips
Of skeletons and their prayers
From buried paths they slip
Abandoning their lairs

Memories
Like a stream in the night
It's darkest depths concealed
Memories
Like snow's last flight
Melts as it's revealed
Someone said to me today (I forget who he was quoting) that it's the things we don't remember that define us
I find this to be a somewhat unfortunate truth
Amanda Kay Burke Jan 2019
You were the smallest baby when you were born
How could we have guessed you'd be such a thorn?
You put the twinkle in our eye
It reminds me daily when I look at my thigh.

I hate moments we argue, hate when we fight
You have been so wrong but mostly you're right
Can't imagine giving birth to a child
You sacrificed lots to make sure I smiled

I dedicated life to my daughter
Little did I know that would stupidly start some slaughter
Now you go begin life on your own
I stand back watching how much you have grown
Very confident and bold
More valuable than silver or gold

I did not ask to be brought into this world
Hands tiny, innocently curled
So much time has passed since then
Now you're not just my mom, you're my best friend!

Raising you taught me so much
With more ahead in store
Every day that passes I
Love more and more
Me and my mom did this collaboration together i thought it was pretty badass
james nordlund Mar 2018
It's not my breath
That enlightens mind.
Not my agua uplifting
These outstretched limbs,
Forever reaching, nor the hand
Always bringing another with.

Not my thousands of rivers
Of blood forever flowing,
Enlivening life eternal.
Nor, my right heart's unbeat,
Spiritually evolving somatic
Revolution with all, the Earth.

Not my striving to thrive,
Leaving no footprints
That followed none,
Echoing in all ways, always.
Life isn't mine, being is
Relation, I cannot "give it up".
latest twig of poetree   :)

reality
CC Oct 2017
A yellow bird sits on my knee
It says "Hello, I am reincarnated mother"
She was dead picking the poisoned flower
From the shelf of her wayward children
We have no way of knowing right from wrong
We will go on living as rebellious bird daughters
Flitting from heart to heart
Seeking shelter in men's broken parts
Crying when we cannot start
Laughing when we finish money
Eating away our sadness
Motherless daughters without any stress
Trading our mother's feathers for a new dress
Tuffy Mutombo May 2017
Bad birth, Birthed a ******* baby
Born bad, born to be betrayed
Baggage badly backhanded beaten brutally
Born to be bullied, Before breathing beauty
Born to be bashed
A Barrier bouncing barbarian
Black blocks block beautiful behavior
Boiling beauty turns to a brutal beast  
Blocked brain banned from being the best
A bitter beast born bad bonded behind bigotry
Bombarded brain brutally beaten before birth
Omi Mar 2017
i raised my eye at that quip you made
juvenile and mirth
i raised my hand to brush the dust from the
tip of your nose, making you presentable
like grown men are
i raised my head and poured out from my ear into your mouth
nourishing the unblemished reaches of your being

i fed and raised you to be the man i needed you to be
but little did i know
i was raising you for someone else
Rustle McBride Oct 2016
Dad
Dad,

Where are you? Can you hear me?
Can we communicate right now?
It's your son, and I've grown older,
but still so much I don't know how.

It's just a few years since you've left us,
though for many you were ready.
I saw you fade  but to a whisper,
from a voice so strong and steady.

And though you may have thought
I couldn't wait for you to die;
Today, I stand bewildered.
I beg for one more chance to try.

To try to ask you how you did it;
be a husband and a dad?
Things I never thought to ask you,
or did not know how since I was mad.

But, they throw food across the table.
Constantly fight and misbehave,
and then my wife feels so defeated.
(You must be turning in your grave.)

I worry so I've failed my boys.
As I remember, so once did you.
Though my brothers and I, we made it.
Just exactly how, **I never knew
.

The things I never saw you do,
yet, you must've done somehow.
Solving all the world's dismays.
Never failing in your vow.

You made it look so easy.
So calm and  yet concerned.
No question left unanswered.
No compliment unearned.

You always looked undaunted.
Did you ever want to run?
Where did you find the answers
on exactly how to raise a son?

I sat smugly as a young man
dismissing all you said to me.
But, sadly now I sit here
wishing for one more chance to see.
raising my own boys, wishing my Dad was still around. I miss you Dad
I’m thinking about
The what ifs
We are friends
They say life is
About a conversation that never ends
So I think about a life spent with a friend
How much fun that would be

All these boys confuse me
They say one thing and do another
In the end I don’t know a thing
But with you I know one thing
Is that we got friendship

Not too many “stick around long enough”
I realize now it’s not all on them
Its about me, I don’t make it easy
I’m sorry
Don’t use this
All against me
They say I’m closed off
But isn’t this me trying…

Let me tell you a story…
“A 16-year-old girl falls in love
With a boy a million miles away
She plans a life with him
3 whole years
Invested in him
Marriage was even in the works.
Their plans start to become blurry
And slowly disappear…
She grows
He fades
She wakes up one day
He seems like a stranger
Was she ever in love?
It’s all in a fog
From then on
Nothing really seems real
No boy would come in her way of any dream”.

So now what?
I got you
You got me
Lets all be happy and free
I know that’s not even close...
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