You will be taught by this world that you are a man from a very young age
It is a great responsibility to carry
In some ways, a great burden;
I cry in my heart for the times you are not fast enough, strong enough, brave enough;
These adjectives that define your gender.
Above all I hope that your person is gentle
Above all I will teach you to love before they get to you.

Son screamed
‘When will you grow up, Dad!’
Father nodded in remorse and cerebrated -
‘My heart remains young, Hallelujah!’

What luxury to get mad
about last night's basketball loss
and watch the full moon descending
at the speed the earth turns.

Things could get worse
personally and in the community.
Bombings, killings, anomie
boiling frogs and witches cursing.

The changing climate,
typhoons in the Philippines,
volcanoes and tsunamis, WWII
which I missed, Thanksgiving same as Passover.

What abundance to fast or feast,
yr choice, stay inside by the stove
or go outside, climb the mountainside.
Live in a city or small town.

So I raged at the coaches
for their lazy zone defense
like an alien in the bleachers
unable to affect the outcome.

When my sons came home
I yelled at them too. What opulence
to be angry about nothing of consequence
neither stopped by the cops nor slipped on the ice.

www.ronnowpoetry.com
joel jokonia Nov 2

i tell my story in two phrases

        "rebel son,
         caring father"

Your gentle face & patient smile
With sadness we recall
You had a kindly word for each
And died loved by all

The voice is mute and stilled the heart
That loved us warm and true
Ah! Bitter was the trial to pass
From one as good as you

You are not forgotten my love
Nor will you ever be
As long as life & memories last
We will remember thee

We miss you now, our hearts are sore
We miss that loving face
As time goes by we'll miss you more
No one can fill your space

Big men stand on mountains
Big men shave their face
Big men use heavy hammers
Big men have so much grace

Big men tell stories
Of the years gone by
Big men will never
Let you are them cry

Now let me tell you something
Little man so small
One day you'll be a big man
Standing up so very tall

You'll stand on mountains
You'll shave your face
You'll use heavy hammers
You'll have so much grace

You'll tell your stories
Of conquering your fears
But please sweet little one
Don't be afraid to shed those tears

Tears are a gift
Good has given us to use
To make us feel better
When we feel abused

So cry those BIG tears
That REAL men do
Cause sometime they'll be a little man
Whose looking up to you

This poem was written for my then 4 yr old little guy when his father passed away. He didn't understand but tried so hard to be grown and strong for us all. He is now a Big man =)
David Hutton Oct 13

Now and again it can be painful,
The friction from you can be fatal.
Organs made to measure,
We bridge together.
I cause you torment prenatal.

BeckyH Oct 12

I would like them to be,
Something special between you and me,
Maybe where I left my will,
Or funny like 'told you I was ill',
Or I'll give you directions to hidden treasure,
Or a wodge of cash to be spent on pleasure,
But on a list of final words the number one,
Would simply be, "I love you son".

For Charlie & Fred
Terry Collett Oct 11

All that way
and all that time,
and still we never
got to bring you home,
my son.

We left you where you lay
most of the day until the end
came quite suddenly
out of the blue
and we lost you.

Looking back I imagine
there was more
I could have done,
more I should have seen,
but the councillor said
it was just the mind playing tricks:
you can't have know what was wrong
and even the medical team
had no clue what it was or what to do
until it was too late,
and you were wrecked,
my son, through their neglect.

I wish we had talked more that day,
had discussed the whole
panorama of the day,
but we sat and talked
now and then as time
went past us as we sat,
and that sadly was that.

Time has flown.
The grief of losing you
retains its hold,
the memory of those long days
and the loss remain and hurt,
and darkness comes and plants
its seeds on which
my Black Dog feeds.

All that way and time
and you gone and me here
listening to the tides of time
flow by and those dark
grey clouds in the sky.

A FATHER TALKS TO HIS DEAD SON.
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