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Paul Dickinson Jun 2011
We know the world is a crazy place
and that is it easy to give up, throw in the towel.
The idealism of youth gives way to the cynicism of middle age
when we realize that despite our best efforts, change is very difficult.
To be a parent and, in particular, to be a father....why bother?

Some say fatherhood is driven by ego,
the child providing the ultimate selfish representation of oneself.
Others say driven by fear,
the fear of mortality and the unconscious and genetic need
to propagate and maintain our lineage, our species, our world.
While both can be true, I believe the best manifestation of fatherhood
is  driven by tikkun olam, a Jewish concept that we all have an obligation
to better the world, to move it to a better state than currently exists.

We do what we can when on this earth to love our family, friends,
and be as righteous as this world will allow.
Our genetic legacy is not nearly as important as
our obligation to pass on what we know, have learned, have experienced,
and enable our children
to carry the mission to an always higher level.
No matter what our belief in the afterlife, and what the future may hold
we are here now in THIS life,
and as long as we move the ball further and further
in the right direction, there can be hope.

Truly being a father, a good father, enables hope.  Maybe that is enough.
The love that a son has for his father..
The love that a father has for his son
A trust in another man to lead you and get it done
Showed me things gave me knowledge That on my own
I wouldn't have known
Something that can't be taught in college
Met you when I was in 7th grade  I have grown
Can you see the seed you have sewed
Can you see where my work ethic comes from
Blood, sweat, and tears
Callus thumbs
Your the reason why I know that I can be a homeowner
Cause I seen you do it first
Held me up when times got rough
Fatherhood
When I wasn't ready you assisted like a crunch
When my heart was crushed
You open your doors help with my direction
When we kick it,  manly admiration and  love is what's reflected
Just want to let you know you are respected
My father died then God blessed me with you to prove I wasn't neglected
Fatherhood
Helped me stand when I couldn't
Joseph Fernandez Jun 2018
Step one, the first steps...
So Joyful was I of every single stride,
Impossible for me to hold back my teary eyed fatherly pride...

Not much more through the years could I have said with genuine adulation,
At times though a fathers words unspoken, will express volumes about his deepest hearts jubilation...

A balance of tenderness tempered with sympathy, things that have to take first place.
Discipline... must come in a way that will heal without any harmful trace.

To be a father is sincerely like nothing else,
To actually understand what our heavenly father feels and makes his heart melt...

Fatherhood, Fatherhood to me please be kind,
I beg you make the memories of my child's heart always desire to rewind...


J.I.F.



1 Corinthians 13:8a

8 Love never fails.
Descovia Aug 2019
The immensity of any mountain

Holds me to no consternation.

I will continue to climb

Until I reach the pinnacle!

You make me feel invincible

Vedo la pace quando ti guardo.
( I see peace when I look at you. )

Credo nella tua pace per portare miracoli
(I believe in your peace, to bring miracles.)


Fatherhood

Questionable paths of multidimensional natures. Brought me lucid signs from the heavens, chaos,  and deciphered codes, perplexing mysteries to human eyes! To this new ray of light contained in this "life". Known as "Isaiah".

Beyond any amount of roaming doubts, I have spiritually reclaimed these portions of myself! Learning more from the acts and encounters with these  ritualistic, rhythmic, mesmerizing, colorful...mindless illusions called "DREAMS"

For being a "father."  To very this day

I must say,  I am on a wave. Floating with just the "gist" of things!

Barely, gaining an actual understanding

From the great 13 "the ways" of what it actually means.

My son as of now. You have 7 years in this lifetime on earth until your birthday returns!  11/27/15  I remain faithful in my beliefs, you will grow stronger than me and change something about this world!  For the details are covered in mind fog of my shadows following me, but it will be revealed to the light as movement flows with everything. Time will continue to conspire against us. You will find a way. To be our salvation. I am proud to be your father. I believe in you ISAIAH.

I S A I A H
Inspiring
Selfless
Ambitious
Inventive
Admirable
Healer

Nobody­ can prepare enough for a versatile role such as this.

The position as a mother.
The position as a father.


In the 9 months of her pregnancy I've doubted myself. Lost myself. Broke myself. Built and redesigned my "most-needed-self"  in functions through activities while in this phase of a "verbally-projecting insecurities." There were multiple factors that drove me on edge.

Not only the hormonal twists and turns spare me no justice. The weather always affected my cravings, for outrageous foods along with my mood.

I have had my highs and lows, solo-soaring in my head. This emotionally, over charged flight, ascending all from below to go above extreme heights!
Obviously, there is more to this!  Remaining as one of the central caretakers,  emotional support guide, or an active disciplinarian.  (When it comes for it...)  

If you don't have any love for yourself on any level.
If you don't value yourself like you should.
If you FEAR sacrifice.

Then surely, this is not the sport for you!

Love! Appreciate! Honor! Value! Believe! BELIEVE!  BELIEVE in our children of the FUTURE! Fatherhood have been teaching as well as providing insightful concepts equipped with understanding the depth our child's needs, knowledge and passion. Do not turn your head away at the chance to learn, while you are given a lesson on a daily, to grow with your loved ones while they mature into a man or woman because they will not forever remain as a baby.

Shouting it to the winds. Let the skies, immortalize my voice until the clouds fade!

Climbing mountains, moving mountains and triumph over the impossible continuously! For you without any constellation. You are the exact reason of how and why I feel that NOTHING limits me!

You are my sword and my enhanced armor of confidence!
No demon or obstacle limits me with fear.
I'll stand by your side right or wrong.

YOUR love, keeps me to stand and stay strong!
What does it mean to be a father???

The root of meaning...

Goes deeper than what I can summarize
To you mindfully or consciously...

For  I am still learning....
from you all....
#Italian
#AfricanAmericanCulture
#Lovewriting
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Passages on Fatherhood
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy Michael Burch

He is my treasure,
and by his happiness I measure
my own worth.

Four years old,
with diamonds and gold
bejeweled in his soul.

His cherubic beauty
is felicity
to simplicity and passion—

for a baseball thrown
or an ice-cream cone
or eggshell-blue skies.

...

It’s hard to be “wise”
when the years
career through our lives

and bees in their hives
test faith
and belief

while Time, the great thief,
with each falling leaf
foreshadows grief.

The wisdom of the ages
and prophets and mages
and doddering sages

is useless
unless
it encompasses this:

his kiss.

Keywords/Tags: father, fatherhood, child, childhood, children, son, time, years, wisdom, kiss
Alan McClure Apr 2012
Fatherhood took me by surprise.
Between one sunset,
one sunrise,
the world transformed before my eyes

I ceased my solipsistic dream
became a link
within a chain
No more "the end": instead, "and then"!

The dusty streets down which I stepped
were not
an elaborate movie set
to be dismantled at my death
But now a path where I'd progress
where you might one day
trace my steps:
adventures that I could but guess


And how it felt, at last, to see!
The world sat up
and welcomed me
and I'm still reeling, giddy, free
Absolved by love, a spreading tree
of which I am the smallest branch
but bearing leaves:
a wild romance;
a step
within an endless dance.
Tate Morgan Jun 2014
A special gift lies on the wind
for each man who dares the blunder
Then rolls the dice to pay the price
to both touch and feel this wonder


As then one finds the reason why
that has thus far been so hidden
Endless the loads that walk life’s roads
with the fear that was unbidden


Therein lies the conundrum
which we know our hearts to command
Now it will be for us to see
how well the ship of life be manned


Our lives have no greater calling
then to comfort a poor child’s tears
Truth shows clearer through the mirror
for he who shares these hopes and fears


But oh the sounds of fatherhood
how narre they touch to the heart
Laughter and tears pour from the years
for each of us who play his part


Tate
Life doesn't reveal the secrets of the heart until you look in the eyes of your own child!
One thing I can say about children is that no one can take them from you. If you raise them in love they will be the things of beauty by which you judge yourself and find you're not wanting. Happy Fathers Day all!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.good, send me to prison, dox... whatever... with my knowledge of obscure Islam... i might make some friends; come to think of it, i will be saved, from perpetuating this quasi St. Augustine soliloquy.

if there are these... young men...
of combat age...
  almost ready to play the pawns...
"eager" soldiers...
what the **** happened
to the women of fertile age?
frozen their eggs,
gambled biology
and gave birth to a down syndrome
expose aged 40+?
i too thought,
that Zeus could, but never would,
**** Hera...
  instead, seeking concubines,
to provide humanity with
the myths of the demigods.
so men... of fighting age...
    and... a ******* walrus harem,
with women,
of a fertility age...
supposedly, miraculously...
  "missing"...
throw me a danish, and a glass
of milk...
i need a laxative...
     to digest this piece of info.
as a man:
i'm done, defending the most
obscure existentialist statement
forced upon me...
      within the confines of:
cue: woman...
         i'm a dodo adherent...
and if there is no dodo
excavation to fulfill a continuum...
luckily...
i'm not some idiotic geneticist
spectacle of fanaticism:
ich sterben, alles nutzen...
         herr junggeselle Kant...
what are my genes,
as a worthwhile impetus?
        to procrastinate before
the altar of procreation?
               i thought that western
society pledged its allegiance
to "individualism", solipsism, autism...
         why should i pledge
an alleged alliance to a future?
       oculus per oculus...
     who are these people,
hardly dictating me, and more,
"persuading" me...
   to invest in this... project...
this...
first a celebration of independence,
and then, a shackling of
said independence,
  into a familial rigor, and discipline?
so said first...
   but not said first,
invoking the unsaid second...
   hitlerjunge...
             so said unsaid second...
people can have their global
speaking tours...
  i have gnat of an english neighbor
to deal with...
  who took the authoritarian
alternative... just shy of...
telling me when it was appropriate
for me to take a ****...
given, he, aged 50+ and his bride,
40+ gave birth, to a, ******* ******!
- at that age....
passing on the, "genes",
let alone "memes" (is no longer an
option):
                   but surrogate
parenting, in the form of adoption,
is...
  but of course, the neighbor
owning to his own business,
will receive the front of the parental
frustration, of a people,
too old, to receive the status
of fatherhood / motherhood...
more like... papa-grand-p'ah
and mama-grand-m'ah...
      i know my boat has already sailed...
i never wished to travel to las vegas
to take a gamble...
     why would i enforce some
obscure fatherhood desire
onto a woman, who has clearly
not established herself,
well enough, into 20+ years prior?
Surbhi Dadhich May 2018
I fathom fatherhood
His invincible feats
When that magnanimous shadow danced
Bowing his head lowly
And my cryptic looks
Staring that pugnacious shadow
To what he's been unearthing for
A little later in the twilight of dusk
My drooling curiosity burnt in persistence
As I observed a twinkling toddler
Following the lead of his father
With merry- go rounds and exciting swings
As docile as a lamb
He embraced his daddy
Cause that was his world's best swing
And then blew his index finger in air
Spinning around everywhere
The father introduced the whole world
Without shutting him up
The next half hour passed away
And there temple bells rang
And wind blew
Everything became grave
A reverberation echoed
Together with temple bells
Rung the devotional clap
Of a son
And his father...
Worshipping..
Never ever can I fathom
The unconditional fatherly love..
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.i'm not here for the people, i'm here for the language, having observed it degenerate into modern hieroglyphics of emoji, and the acronym standard of american English... i'm here... for the language... the people? well... they're the people, and will always remain, what they always were... collateral... i can't speak for the organic product of what i am an inorganic byproduct of... why would there ever be a Hegelian dialectic to begin with? rather than a dichotomy? wasn't Kant the one to come up with a priori (thesis) and the a posteriori (antithesis) dynamism? no? then i guess i'm illiterate! must be! otherwise, how so?  i can't exactly command my a priori, given, with some "wonderful" a posteriori substitute of the global individualist! this urban Frankenstein! maybe the English speaker can... but i can't... given they allowed themselves the travesty of grammatical profanity... it's almost a shame, that the asylums closed down... when is cushioned room when you need one? oh... right... denial for the cases equivalent to jimmy salive... you attack grammar?! you attack us all... there's not qualification standards required... not all of us are required to have status as English language teachers... some of us? are just generically frustrated!

would i extinguish
cigarettes into my knuckles?

well... i was trying to
spot bone,..

but the real reason?
ha ha!

i was attempting to
count the number of eyes
on a tarantula.

not a funny joke?
i get it...
   i wasn't aiming for funny...

ever watch the grooving
bopping along,
seduced by the rhythm
bass player in a band?

you'd thin it was the drummer...
turns out?!
the intermediating
   focus....
   bass is all rhythm...
there's no such thing
as a rhythm guitar section,...

hardly any drums in
a classical music composition...
bass...
the subversive underlying
principality
of the fiasco...
the...
                          Pandemonium!

set your eyes on the bassist's groove...
pursed lips...
mm hmm ya ha...
           the *******
blood suckling artery
with not need for metaphor
presence of a band...

bass... bass... bass...;
hence the missing E i guess;
was, and always will be:
the base and bait
for listening to 20th century music...

whiskey lime & pepsi?
***** lemon & pepsi?
can't tell the difference,
both sound equally promising...

it pains me, to agitate a drummer's heart,
imitating a beat
without any drumming equipment...
bopping along, sly, shy,
and sometimes awry, fired up...
        
there were a few things i'd love
to have become,
a prof. cyclist doing the tour de france....
a vet practitioner...
    among others...
   what did i become?
a mediocre poet...
       a spewer of words
rather than their instigator...

had i ever the ability to write
pop **** jargon of
lost and wishing for awaiting loves...
i'd **** one of those
housewife harlequin novels!

alas... not to be, not to be...
     guess i tapped into Russian funk...
that Russian ex-girlfriend?
apparently she likes my writing,
she said: you should get published...
i did... little as **** did that do to
me in securing a stature of possible
fatherhood and a Tolstoy town-house
in the middle of St. Petersburg...

    i wasn't a priori to fiddle that
******* out into a castrated bull
******* an ****** with no *****
but pure muscle tension
of the phallus...

   wait... you never ****** off
as a man, prior to producing *****?
feel sorry for you...
guess the whole abortion debate
is killing you...
          you know...
  that's almost equivalent to theft...
what happens on the throne of thrones
and is dumped into a tissue?
ditto, i.e. remains there...

       thieving *****...
                  huh?!
                    **** it... do the Islamic take
on thieves...
ensure all the western men have
their ******* arms cut off...
to stop the thieving with
western culture jurisprudence
in-acting transgression
of transcending the allowance of
abortion, and...
enforcing...
                whatever the ****
fatherhood means...
when?
     a women proposes to you...
and then decides to throw away her
engagement ring, she, herself, chose...

as if... she never had the notion
of being young and being poor...
**** me! she forgot the beautiful part
of the equation!
  i liked her doughnut over-sized nose...
i loved to teasingly bite it
during *******!

      **** me... that contorted
face, Francis Bacon-esque
in the mirror doing *******?

      mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

look here: FULL MOON ALL OVER
MY FACE...

         there's no revenge ****
in this scenario...
                
  hey! resurrect the Bastille!
and i'll be the second Marquis de Sade
screaming the revolutionaries!
YOU FORGOT THE JUICE!
the juice?!
YEAH! THE MOLOTOV COCKTAILS!

                anarchy...

       what order is there to speak of?
when grammar is secondarily dictated,
outside of the teaching profession?
     these people are teaching me language,
or secondarily indoctrinating
me into the abuse of language -
with political bull's diarrhea?

   can't have one and the other...
   you attack grammar?
        everyone restricted to a grammatical
conventionality, will...
spank you with a naked russian saber...
   i'm not here for playing
unorthodox language games
outside of crossword puzzles
i don't entertain having the capacity
to solve...

               you play your game...
i'll play mine...
i have the integrity of the English
language at stake...
   not this post-colonialist quasi-English
*******!
Tate Morgan Jun 2014
A special gift lies on the wind
for each man who dares the blunder
Then rolls the dice to pay the price
to both touch and feel this wonder


As then one finds the reason why
that has thus far been so hidden
Endless the loads that walk life’s roads
with the fear that was unbidden


Therein lies the conundrum
which we know our hearts to command
Now it will be for us to see
how well the ship of life be manned


Our lives have no greater calling
then to comfort a poor child’s tears
Truth shows clearer through the mirror
for he who shares these hopes and fears


But oh the sounds of fatherhood
how narre they touch to the heart
Laughter and tears pour from the years
for each of us who play his part


Tate
Original version with music
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/664153/
Life doesn't reveal the secrets of the heart until you look in the eyes of your own child!
One thing I can say about children is that no one can take them from you. If you raise them in love they will be the things of beauty by which you judge yourself and find you're not wanting.
Still Crazy Jun 2015
~~~

Happy Father's Day, God in Heaven!
(A Continuing Dialogue)


~~~

wonder if I am the first,
even the last,
to wish a deity,
happiness based on a human construct

but feeling groovy with you,
meaning we ride sums of the same
curves and the lines, grooves,
connecting holes in the palms of
our hands

ya see,
got some familiarity
with
fatherhood...
and all that entails

the balance of imbalance,
it's tough I know,
load-bearing children,
leave ten ton scars,
but don't expect no
tea and sympathy from me

you and I,
we have our beefs,
and by the by,
master of the universe,
nothing has changed between us,
just saying, for the record,
ya know, for our inscribed
bible personal with our own bible argumentative stories privé

a human has no right to offspring,
but off they spring,
when the '**** dam’ springs a leak,
and them kids then spend
their lives.
saying yes and no
in light speedy abundance,
or worse!
ugh

...whatever...

if
they respondez
to whatever you suggest-see

rebels even when
they hug you
around the knees,
all knowing we papis (poppys)
fully, way in advance,
that in their supposed adulthood,
children will curse and bless you with
the equality principle
of self-righteousness and I know everything

Let us think upon it....

somewhere in the world,
it is a sabbath,
your citizen-creations
are beheading and burning
each other, Papa,
in your name,
so Happy Father's Day...

I mean,
really, that must be tough,
so it's perfectly clear
why you created free will,
all parents need a way to
walk away sometimes from
the children's choices

somewhere in the world,
it is a sabbath,
billions sending you a
litany of liturgy, a sweet songbook
in so many languages,
the simultaneous translation machina
must get overheated,
all those human claques submitting
liar loans applications

the backlog must be
eons in length

you see,  I am,
muy simpatico

of fatherhood,
what is my expertise?

a fair question
from one who provided
us the classic excuse,
"that's so not fair"

two sons have I,
a Cain and Abel,
so in this, expertise,
we've trod familiar ground

but this be about us pops,
not about how our embodied creatures,
bent and beautiful,
sending us formalities of video thanks,
should they remember or be bothered

maybe we should institute
greater frequency
of celebratory notifications,
making it easier for all of us
to forget,
lessen the guilt, the ache,
for it's more convenient, easier
to be overlooked,
with familiarity

nah,
I am not a complaint
in human guise,
not much, anyway,
and don't you fret,
I got you
a Father's Day present

as appealing as it is,
atheism in me won't take root,
cause I look forward to giving you
holy hell, next we meet
it's so richly deserved
so maybe I'll repost this in a year,
or maybe, I’l be close enough
to whisper this in your ears,either way, come hell or
high water,
Meus Pater,
you can bet your last bitcoin or
anything you might value,
I'll be bugging you,

(cause I'm
still crazy after all these years,
from standing upright,
on one left foot,
showing the world the poetry
of your world)

so tween us, I wish us
a Happy Father's Day
*best wishes
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/?title=Father's_Day
just one of our prior conversations:

A Personal God - Wailing and Complaining
for my friend, AJB, mother, artist

why
would anyone believe in invisible...
coordinator of billions of trillions
of interactions daily,
the microscopic
the telescopic

at what level
is there intercession
where is the
intervention,
rhymed reasoning of
impoverishing failing-me inadequate comprehension

so here I am
at 4:00 am
wailing and complaining
not so much at life's happenstance,
not even a foolish why me uttered,
talking to invisibility,
demanding culpability
at the very least
an apology

by that act
admitting the fact
that in conversation with parties
invited and drop-ins welcome,
in the silence sewn
in the residence permanent
of my mind's lobe of disquietude

logic forgone,
I am a believer,
no understanding
nor forgiving
at the illogic
of my tragedy
mine,
not so divine,
wailing and complaining

this my diatribe
knowing your silence
is a listening signature,
my complaining and wailing
my curse my blessing,
my transmitting frequency
of a multivariate equation
demanding a solution

too busy mastering the universe?
your data base
endless and unfathomable
file this under
audios of
YouTubes of
complaining and wailing,
hoping you cleanse yourself
with a good long listen
Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.
pilgrims Nov 2021
In all my strength as a child
I was a pebble in someone else's shoe
and the boulder he rolled every day.
Leonard Green Jun 2016
I am a father
not because of biological deed
but rather of the wisdom I feed

I am a father
not because of the title borne
but rather for the life that’s worn

I am a father
not because of ancestral traits
but rather the heart felt weights

I am a father
not because it’s a given right
but rather embraced with might

I am a father
not because of some legal ritual
but rather acts that are habitual

I am father
not because of profit or fee
but rather by the family of “we”

I am a father
because I desire to be
I am a father
because it’s a gift to be
I am a father
because He told me to be.
Happy Father's Day to the men who treasure and understand it.
Mike Essig Aug 2015
for Matthew and Richard*

Your children are not yours.
They are a gift on loan
from a generous universe.
They honor you with their presence.
They bring you laughter, joy
and sometimes worry and tears.
They are not your life,
but they are the substance
of the best part of it.
You try to raise them with love.
You would take a bullet for them
and smile as you died
knowing your brothers
would take revenge.
And when they are grown
you regift them to the world,
but you never stop worrying or hoping.
You know, that with luck,
through you, they will make
the world a richer place.
You hope they will always love you
and hold you in their hearts
because you know you
that you can never let them go.
You know you weren't perfect
and hope they will forgive you.
You pray that someday
they will speak of you
to their children with affection.
War, friendship, madness, romance,
nothing can compare
to the time they were in your lives
and nothing ever will.

  -mce
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
   to the seminal instance
   whence spermatozoa
   (from profuse *******) beget

the miraculous propensity
   to procreate despite the steep odds
   female fertility fosters potential impregnation
   fusing the hereditary debt

of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
   fueling fancy free footloose fornication
   prior to seminal fertilization union
   sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with

   diametrically opposed exultant sensations
   (biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
   et cetera) seismic shocks inject  
when deliberate intent arises to disregard

   applying prophylactics choice
   plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
   bastes the "cooking" egg omelette  

which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
   first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
   of webbed world de jure upon
   consummating that most miraculous deed

necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
   from messy menstrual cycle
   she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
   in the euphoric family, she instinctually
   abides prenatal signals that heed

without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
   pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
   ineluctably, kinesthetically
   lectured by elder, especially cast

in thee reel life drama, that nine months
   til offspring utters initial whimper
   elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing

   to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
   when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably

   (perhaps colicky infant)
   gets first dibs to suckle,
   which round the clock nursing
   consumes moments many vast.
ConnectHook Apr 2016
♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂

Fatherless broods, whose mothers hoped for change

Fight the law, abort their restoration;

Attack, burn, riot… consider nothing strange

Extorting payout from their host nation.

Fatherhood, dark elephant in the room,

Denigrated, dissed by baby-mamas

In his absence, speaks potently of doom

(Apparently blessed by both Obamas…)

***** donation, filling the wombs with child,

Disorganized communities, off-course

Guarantee police work when thugs run wild.

With marriage faltering in the race: lame horse.

Inhuman nature being what it is

Be careful who you shoot—and hold your ****.
♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂
a  poem a day for NaPoWriMo2016
You pathetic fickle readers can't even hit like ?
2 h3ll w/U !
            ✿
www.connecthook.wordpress.com
            ☮
Sethnicity Jun 2017
Consider a dandelion
Consider a mountain peak
Consider the ripples from a single drop or beat
Consider a star explosion
Consider space and blackhole son
Consider even suns and moons
are satellites of a greater U vision

To father is to reach a view  that stretches far beyond
What you ever thought you could ever do
The highest bell rung

To father is to find what's true
fill the gap and know what is out
of ones control too

To father is to make a splash and as you fade to the depths unknown grave
the waves you made
are all that's left to carry on infinitely

To father is to be okay burning up yourself as you light the way
holding glass minerals gas and stone
without knowing exactly how or where the spinning turned a house to a home

Just knowing that when you reach
the top or your mass collapse drops
it could break the very world you create and devistate
the very plans woven to levitate
SEW
Fathers Mediate the space between
The waves and dreams
Winds and streams
Pulling your seeds apart
Stack mass and cash
to pay attention to their heART
Spinning webs of redemption
Stitching wounds building arks

So as I grasp the view
of  the present bestowed and
I shiver in the vast unknown
but no matter beating rain
or interstellar hurricane
The futures big enough for my echo to be heard again and again.
The same sun that shines on me will shine on your future and your futures future....
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
i have to admit...

Bulgarian prostitutes

are the most responsible
women i've ever known...

condoms? full bodied
latex?

      contraception pills?

cam s videos?

                 my my....
what a ******* rainbow!


so conversation is
the supposedly "new ****"?
ahead of my "time"...

if ever coincidentally,
the ideal escapism /
entrapment...

          twangy twangy...
American accent
like the sound of a Boston banjo...
the ******* to boot,
with it...

              that awkward uncle?
and some teenage girl making a video
blog?
about how difficult it was
to enter a video-convention?
what is, and what isn't, funny?

      i tuned into the drama brigade...
like you might tune into
the current MTV with teenage moms...

she's bloated, and
making extra making
pregnant teen jerking off videos?!
**** me...
               that's about a month
that has just disappeared from
my calendar!

           Murphy, meet dropkick
McMurphy...
     McMurphy,
meet kayleigh McDurmut...
yeah...
that one... balancing
the one legged hop and spew...

personally?
i like watching videos of 14 old girls...
gets me in the mood,
of anticipating fatherhood...
which, given my drinking...
will never materialize...

in terms of ****?
i already overstated the excesses of
condoms...
   and what, could always become,
the Latino **** crisis of
a Cuban post-scriptum...
            personally?
i don't appreciate unnecessary
surprises?
  pro-life or alternatively...
   i don't like surprises...
not those kind of surprises...
        esp. involved in trans-nationalism
******* strap-on tendencies
of adhered to normalizations...
no...
     sorry...
L O V E... doesn't spell out
    vole...
        or whatever variant...
i wouldn't even have cared to object
to sustaining a unit of family,
by invigorating the concept of
Anastasia!
            bribing an orphan to
fake a biological clockwork of...
supposing you weren't mine...
  but my mind, which you have began to
ingest...
      what is this, folly,
this geneticist argument about,
both the act of procreation,
and the necessity of the said act,
with the attached confinement of
pursuing the tag of proclaiming
a continuum of genes?!
      i can't, and i won't figure it out...
**** it...
         sad old "uncle" syndrome...
     but a sigh of relief...
i'm actually looking for pornographic
alternatives...
         it doesn't actually begin or end
within the confines of extremity...
.gif, pictures, fine art...
     14 year old girls making
autobiographical videos...
   and? less *******,
and more... giggling...
               could i have had the tenacity
of becoming, a father!
   my god!

i guess a man will always find
adopting a child, more appealing...
to the consensus of
the anti-thesis of a prodigy...
once he has allowed himself
a chance...
to pet, an animal.
Steve D'Beard Dec 2012
I love a good debate,
[science mixed with illusion]
and this year was no exception:
the debate on the best shapes for a kite
from design implementation, inception and execution

some sturdy string and industrial-strength glue
the machinations of whether to use plywood or bamboo
and of course built by your own fair hand
such was the intensity of discussion it continued
with an after-lunch stroll on the beach, where the uncles
drew their prize-winning geometry
with a primitive stick
in the sand

a question on the mathematics of aerodynamics aside
its currently a battle of the cyclic quadrilaterals
and documented film of it successfully tested and tried;
years of perfection honed by the skills of Fatherhood
to know instinctively the difference
between the brilliance of genius
and the borderline
just plain good

If nothing else has come from this
I now
know
[so as not to lose]

K = p/q over 2
or
K = ab – sin Ø

[are the formulas to use]
inspired by those festive drink fuelled debates which are lengthy and complex on simple non-life changing matters like this one... and left their crazy mathematics on a beach for a dog walker to ponder over
Westley Barnes Apr 2017
Though you've barely had a ramble
are no wayward canine daddy of note
that brief encounter in our brambles
has left the experts fearing a cancerous growth

So we starve you of your pine nuts and bacon rinds
so we can feed you anaesthetic
and betray you to the thief of time
only to make you, I imagine, feel pathetic
And you often so full of life's exasperate scurry

I worry
will the shine stray from your eyes
those hazel pools of so much of
my feeling mature, just for
pertaining to a creature's care

 we all seem in too much of a hurry
to stifle what little spirit
that surrounds us
to wear
down on every minor aspect
of childish delight
in this silent sacrament
of the aging process
and with arguably years
of your fatherhood left
in the very ***** some dry eyed savant
decides it correct we should tamper with

Tomorrow I will snuggle you in favoured, bouncy eiderdowns
that will blanket your unknowing
and treat you as if
you were an eastering child
on cured hams and other saltiness
after you awaken
from those strangest enforcements of sleep
and through our eyes we will trade more secrets to keep

And we will hope, as we only can, that it was for the best
For you, Yorkshire's son, or Sheringham's
And consider with all of your
exhuming breath
That we meddled, stilling over life
To cheat a slightly delayed death.
This poem was written on the occasion of the final night of my Yorkshire Terrier's non-emasculated, non-nuetured  era. Even in his soon to be state of infertility, I doubt we will ever see his like again, as you can't recreate perfection.
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
Morality isolates and fenders bend.
Circumference learns, “half-way” but fails to take the name
“Radius,”
And when she lay a meter nigh
With child, my child;
I still and will feel horribly alone.

Curse my iron fist and rusts the middle knuckle,
When another weeps, not for I, not for you but the gods assumed,
“Heaven,”
And 3 floors above my own;
Tucked lies the pain, regret fills fetal;
I still and will feel horribly alone.

So comes the autumn, the fire prior, “Styx,”
Upon borders that could only separate, “fatherhood,” so partitioned,
“Winter,”
And 3 floors below her own –
A pillar wrought persistence and abandoned, my hedonism;
I still and will feel horribly alone.
A transition from born-after-divorce-bachelorhood to fatherhood; it all began with a knock at the door. All's good in 'da hood now.
ArominizedM Mar 2014
There’s a sage at the doorway
Negating affinity as a leeway.
He never spoke to me though he’s there
I shunned the thought lest I did care.

Grew up in envy
To those – they never saw right through me;
How I yearned for that man’s attention
And from others’ sage I longed discretion.

A battle occupied his thought,
A war seldom won, constantly fought.
For such warrior was taken abashed
Looked at me, ‘I can’t take you back.’

Grounded within me was the silence,
Left and right I sought for solace.
Never sure if could amount to anything in his eyes,
Until I found out he too was never sought off despite.

Desperate - in a sense
As I took hold of a pretense;
Had not the Divine stoop down to reclaim
What I had yearned for the sage, I blamed.

A treble in my throat croaked, “Father”
Despite holding grudge I never bothered
Spoke nor utter a thought in my mind.
There, I froze with teeth to the grind.

Truth encountered my despot idealism,
Tried hard to renounce the criticism.
It’s weight – truth only subjugated my hate;
“Love – unless you embrace it, cannot placate”

Fell on my knees, armor exhausted itself around,
Wrung over my shoulders arms of the One who found
Me clinging on the border of insight and despair,
Only His Will my broken, calloused heart molds into repair.

I glanced back at the sage, I met yearning eyes,
Sought he, his worth for me and found no despise.
All along, had I known, he too was a broken and contrite;
Would not I, received much bestow what is right?
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.

It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk with
a middle-aged bitterness
of the man you were raised
to believe was too virtuous
to be in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him—
The man whose love confused you,
whose clumsy attempts
of fatherhood
kept the heart of a young girl
perpetually guarded
by a cautious skepticism—
The man who brought you into
a world he found absurd
as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.

More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner
with the two of them a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (though
you’d feel like a traitor
if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.

In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children I may ever bear
into this bittersweet game of *******
we play that we’ve since called ‘life,’
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems to navigate
the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Not an easy thing
to be the father of sons,
(of daughters I have none).

Inevitably, you must
disappoint them;
inevitably, they must
turn away from you.

Embrace the necessity
of this distancing.

Do not become
an impediment
to the world
they must inherit,
the world that
you can never know.

Be joyful.

Trust that what
you have planted
will flourish
beyond your reach.

Dream the futures
you will never see.
- mce
JP Goss Mar 2015
I was annihilation in that moment.
The very element of fire became my being,
I was pure destruction
And the fertile soil that comes from it,
The very act of begetting
Is the very act of rending
I stood between both in furious vigor.
Excerpt from a short story; found-piece
Elijah worked at the further end
Of the Port McDonald pier,
His job was simply to keep the light
Bright burning through the year,
All he’d see were the seagulls who
Would swoop and dive in the spray,
As the sea beat up on the jetty piles
On a cold, dark winter’s day.

His mother had died of a broken heart
Long after his father fled,
Had loosed the chains of his fatherhood
For a life on the sea instead,
They’d put him into an orphanage
Where he learned to abide the rod,
And found that his supplications and
His prayers fell short of God.

The universe was an empty space,
A vast, unseeing sky,
There wasn’t a presence watching him
As they’d said, in the days gone by,
He ached for a revelation that
Would show he was not alone,
A single soul in the firmament
In front of an empty throne.

He’d never managed to make a friend
In the long, sad years of life,
And women, though they avoided him
He longed for a sweet young wife,
His isolation was made complete
When he walked back to his room,
After a night on the lonely pier
In the early morning gloom.

One night a waif from the city streets
Sought shelter from the storm,
Huddled against the cabin wall
Where he sat, both safe and warm,
He heard her shuffle and took her in
And gave her tea from the urn,
And fell in love with her sad, grey eyes,
A waif from the city, spurned.

She came again, and again each night,
They talked until the dawn,
And weaved their dreams and their fantasies
Of a world they’d neither known,
But then one night the Inspector came,
A grim, ungiving man,
Who frowned, and he told the girl to leave,
He said that she was banned.

She waited, shivering in the cold
In the lee of the old sea wall,
Til he came hurrying from his shift
As the dawn spread over all,
He wrapped her up in his coat, and cried
He could do no more than this,
But she clung on to his lonely form
And she gave him his first kiss.

He took her back to his room to stay
And he watched her as she slept,
If she had opened her eyes that day
She would see Elijah wept,
‘I won’t go back to those lonely nights,’
Was the thought that gripped his mind,
To lose his midnight companion now
He thought, was most unkind.

That night, he told her to meet him there
At the far end of the pier,
‘Just as the clock strikes one!’ She said,
‘I’ll be there, never fear.’
He’d soaked the pier in kerosene
Just twenty yards from the end,
And when she arrived, he said, ‘You’ll see,
They won’t part us, my friend.’

At two in the morning, up it went
In a blaze of fire and smoke,
The centre part of the pier ablaze
As they watched it, neither spoke,
A gap appeared as it all fell in
Was extinguished by the sea,
But the end stood tall like a sailing ship
That had set the couple free.

The storm that ravaged the coast that night
Kept the lifeboat on the shore,
They wanted to go and rescue him,
The Inspector said, ‘What for?’
While they looked out at the raging sea
Made plans for the world they’d won,
And when the light of the dawn approached
The end of the pier had gone.

David Lewis Paget
maria Jun 2019
I guess you're right,
what should I expect from you?
The world is cold,
nothing but a pending tomb.

I guess I just
thought after all we'd dreamed,
watching me grow
might have been a priority.

I guess I expected
fatherhood would have come
before humanity,
but I guess I'm wrong.

I guess I'm flawed
for thinking you owe me anything.
I assumed that after four tries,
you might hold some accountability.
just something to get my thoughts in order
wordvango Feb 2015
flights of sparrows
familiar plays
regress  
into subliminal
messages
What would Oedipus
say of universal
fatherhood
come says the snowfinch
cinnamon ibon familiar songs
where we play with maids and they
eat seeds
innocently
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
   to the seminal instance
   whence spermatozoa
   (from profuse *******) beget

the miraculous propensity
   to procreate despite the steep odds
   female fertility fosters potential impregnation
   fusing the hereditary debt

of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
   fueling fancy free footloose fornication
   prior to seminal fertilization union
   sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with

   diametrically opposed exultant sensations
   (biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
   et cetera) seismic shocks inject  
when deliberate intent arises to disregard

   applying prophylactics choice
   plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
   bastes the "cooking" egg omelette  

which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
   first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
   of webbed world de jure upon
   consummating that most miraculous deed

necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
   from messy menstrual cycle
   she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
   in the euphoric family, she instinctually
   abides prenatal signals that heed

without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
   pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
   ineluctably, kinesthetically
   lectured by elder, especially cast

in thee reel life drama, that nine months
   til offspring utters initial whimper
   elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing

   to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
   when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably

   (perhaps colicky infant)
   gets first dibs to suckle,
   which round the clock nursing
   consumes moments many vast.
From pent-up aching rivers,
From that of myself without which I were nothing,
From what I am determin’d to make illustrious, even if I stand sole
   among men,
From my own voice resonant, singing the phallus,
Singing the song of procreation,
Singing the need of superb children and therein superb grown people,
Singing the muscular urge and the blending,
Singing the bedfellow’s song, (O resistless yearning!
O for any and each the body correlative attracting!
O for you whoever you are your correlative body! O it, more than all
   else, you delighting!)
From the hungry gnaw that eats me night and day,
From native moments, from bashful pains, singing them,
Seeking something yet unfound though I have diligently sought it
   many a long year,
Singing the true song of the soul fitful at random,
Renascent with grossest Nature or among animals,
Of that, of them and what goes with them my poems informing,
Of the smell of apples and lemons, of the pairing of birds,
Of the wet of woods, of the lapping of waves,
Of the mad pushes of waves upon the land, I them chanting,
The overture lightly sounding, the strain anticipating,
The welcome nearness, the sight of the perfect body,
The swimmer swimming naked in the bath, or motionless on his back
   lying and floating,
The female form approaching, I pensive, love-flesh tremulous aching,
The divine list for myself or you or for any one making,
The face, the limbs, the index from head to foot, and what it
   arouses,
The mystic deliria, the madness amorous, the utter abandonment,
(Hark close and still what I now whisper to you,
I love you, O you entirely possess me,
O that you and I escape from the rest and go utterly off, free and
   lawless,
Two hawks in the air, two fishes swimming in the sea not more
   lawless than we;)
The furious storm through me careering, I passionately trembling.
The oath of the inseparableness of two together, of the woman that
   loves me and whom I love more than my life, that oath swearing,
(O I willingly stake all for you,
O let me be lost if it must be so!
O you and I! what is it to us what the rest do or think?
What is all else to us? only that we enjoy each other and exhaust
   each other if it must be so;)
From the master, the pilot I yield the vessel to,
The general commanding me, commanding all, from him permission
   taking,
From time the programme hastening, (I have loiter’d too long as it
   is,)
From ***, from the warp and from the woof,
From privacy, from frequent repinings alone,
From plenty of persons near and yet the right person not near,
From the soft sliding of hands over me and thrusting of fingers
   through my hair and beard,
From the long sustain’d kiss upon the mouth or *****,
From the close pressure that makes me or any man drunk, fainting
   with excess,
From what the divine husband knows, from the work of fatherhood,
From exultation, victory and relief, from the bedfellow’s embrace in
   the night,
From the act-poems of eyes, hands, hips and bosoms,
From the cling of the trembling arm,
From the bending curve and the clinch,
From side by side the pliant coverlet off-throwing,
From the one so unwilling to have me leave, and me just as unwilling
   to leave,
(Yet a moment O tender waiter, and I return,)
From the hour of shining stars and dropping dews,
From the night a moment I emerging flitting out,
Celebrate you act divine and you children prepared for,
And you stalwart *****.
Terry Collett Nov 2012
Magdalene watched Mary
bend down to put on the LP.
The Beatles. They’d saved

up and bought it together.
She took in Mary’s stockinged
thigh showing through the slit

in the side of the school skirt.
Mary placed the LP carefully
onto the turntable, with her finger

put the needle arm down onto
the vinyl. The music started up,
Mary stood up and sat next to

Magdalene on the single bed.
Magdalene sensed her there,
her thigh next to hers, her

warmth, their knees almost
touching. What did your Ma
say when you said you bought

the Beatles? Magdalene asked.
She said nowt, Mary replied,
but Da said it was a load of

***** and where did I get
the money from to buy it?
John Lennon's voice sang

over the twanging guitars.
Magdalene said, did you
tell him we bought it together?

Mary nodded. Her hands
pushed between her thighs,
her young face lit up by

the room's light. Don't you
think Paul's a dish? Mary asked.
Magdalene shrugged her

shoulders, studied Mary’s
knee where a spot of flesh
showed through a hole in

the black school stockings.
She wanted to move closer,
kiss the cheek, place her

lips on the skin. She breathed
in the borrowed scent that
Mary wore. Said she'd liberated

it from her Ma's room. Mary
talked of the boy they'd met
in the woods above the school.

Tried it on so he did, she said,
over the guitars and Lennon's
loud voice. Magdalene wished

she could put her hands where
the boy had tried. I put him
straight, Mary said, kneed him

where his fatherhood might flow.
Mary moved up and down on
the bed in response to the music.

The bedsprings complained.
Magdalene sensed the movement,
took in Mary’s behind going up

and down on the bed cover.
Glory be. She wanted to kiss.
Needed the hand to touch Mary’s,

the skin to join up with hers.
Downstairs a voice bellowed
to keep the ****** noise down.

Mary sighed and bent down
to turn the **** the thigh
revealed in the skirt's slit,

the spot of flesh through
the hole in the bended knee.
Magdalene captured the image.

Hid it in her memory bank for
later, for bedtime, for the cosy
pretend hold, maybe more if in
her dream she was lucky and bold.
Jane EB Smith Apr 2013
Thirty three years we go back,
Of course I think of you when I hear it.
Thirty three years of listening, questioning, understanding...
Of course I think of you.
My mind isn't a spigot I can turn off  
and forget the water that flowed through.
I think of you when I was proud to be your wife,
proud of your accomplishments.
What does she know of those?
She doesn't know      you.

She doesn't       know       you.

She hasn't loved you through the rages and disappointments,
through the utter giddiness of new fatherhood,
through your father's death,
your mother's pain.
She didn't thrill with each promotion,
plan homes,
plant gardens,
hope for thunder,
dance in the rain,
live on  bagels for lunch,
play badminton in the dark.  
She hasn't dried your tears over a son's illness.
She didn't play bridge with friends
or know their son who died,
the tow -headed little boy who made us think of becoming parents.
What comfort can she give?
She doesn't know you.
She knows this creation you've become
in Hollywood jeans
and weekend hikes without attachments.
She knows your daughters as  bait--what a great dad--
your sons as accomplishments;
your wife as an anchor
who held you down, held you back
when all along I thought I was your support.

She doesn't know you.

And neither do I.
ShowYouLove Apr 2015
Prayer of St. Joseph

Dear St. Joseph most chaste spouse of the Blessed ****** Mary and earthly father to our Lord Jesus let your soft and strong spirit be upon us this day. You were a quiet and reflective man. You were humble and modest. In a world that in this day does not place a high value on such virtues that you portray, we look to you St. Joseph as a shining example of what fatherhood and manliness can truly be. You were a carpenter, a builder, a worker. Yours were strong hands; rough and calloused from work, but they were also gentle and loving hands. Surely each piece you built was a work of love and crafted with great care. The hugs you must have given Jesus were so strong and gentle. You taught your son how to build as well. It is of little wonder then that the cross he would suffer and die on would become a great bridge connecting us to each other and to your son in heaven. Yours were warm loving eyes. Eyes full of sadness, pain, and incredible joy. Was there a time when it was revealed to you what your son must endure? I can’t image what that would’ve felt like knowing what was going to happen, desperately wanting it not to, and still knowing it was God’s will. Even with all of that you said “Yes Lord. Okay. Let your will be done. I trust in you”. I only hope we might have the smallest bit of the faith, the peace, and the quiet strength that you had. Be with us St. Joseph that we might learn how to better love, better serve, and better protect the sanctity of marriage and of the family. Be with us St. Joseph in our jobs that we may remain humble in the good work that we do. Let all the work that we do, be done with great love. Bless us St. Joseph and especially those that work with their hands. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our eyes so that we may see and love others in a more profound light and that our vision would not be clouded by pain and sadness. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our minds and our hearts that we might have the grace and strength to be pure and chaste as you were. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our souls that we might obtain some of the peace, the quiet strength, the faith to say “Yes” to your son and “No” to the wiles of this Earth. Bless us oh Most Holy St. Joseph that one day we may come to know you and be with you and the Holy Family in Heaven for all eternity.

Amen
Obar Mark Dec 2013
The real power of desire is doing the right thing at the right time;
It's about making a decision knowing that nobody's going to notice your good works;
There's so much negative imagery of black fatherhood in continuously postponing to do right;
You should ask yourself, “how come postponing things hasn't paid but instead it's robbed me;
How come that's not as newsworthy? Do it now.

The real power of character is doing the right thing when nobody's looking;
There are too many people who think that good things are best done under people's watch;
Make an initiative to change the way you handle matters of procrastination in your everyday life;
Then you will know that Initiative is doing the right thing without being told, and doing the best;
It's a choice, not a chance; it's an initiative not only a desire; Do it now.

It's not doubt that the biggest exam that we fail each day is discouragement test;
Does it mean that life it not always fair for people who fail the test of discouragement;
I believe in the contrary; I believe that if you keep doing things in time, you always be right;
Next to doing the right thing at the right time, is to let yourself know you are doing the right thing;
So, ethics are not necessarily to do with being law-abiding but being interested in the moral path to do it now.
TheTeacher Oct 2012
Dear Mr. President

This is a letter from me to you.  There are many who are displeased with you....but I'm actually quite proud of you.

  You helped the automotive industry get back on track......even though you had the naysayers upon your back.

I feel many people put too much of the blame on you.....especially when there are other's involved.  You can't achieve success alone....you need a team. Just like Dr.King.... I know you also have a dream.

I recall your visit to my state and eventually my city.  You blessed my neighborhood with your presence.  I saw people of different ethnicities standing as one.  Everyone was smiling even the sun.

You bellowed words of inspiration into the mike.  My family was gathered on the sidewalk and for once everything seemed to be alright.

I like how you are just a regular guy and love to play ball.  I admire the fact that you get to play with the superstars who will eventually enter the Hall of Fame.

  Your name has been etched in history .....I'm honored because I never thought I would see this in my lifetime.  An African American giving The State of the Union Address in primetime and granting interviews on Nightline.

I love the example of marriage and fatherhood that is on display.  It is often stated that  "we" don't commit and are dead beat dads.....from what I've witnessed you aren't doing bad.  Thank you for the positive image you have provided me.....it's a form of motivation for me.

I saw a picture where you had your feet on the desk and you were on the phone....but I knew that you were a hard worker from the hole in the bottom of your shoe.  You were about the people and walked where we lived..... not in Hollywood or Rodeo Drive with your finger in the air doing your redition of  ' Staying Alive."

Mr. President...the thing that really gets me upset....is the blatant form of disrespect.  They continue to call you by your last name....You earned the title of President yet they deliberately leave it out.  I often hear Mr. Obama or Barack.....how is this cool when you are obviously on the clock.


They showed respect to President Clinton and George Bush.....both of them even though he tried to steal a whole state....but no one will discuss that issue.....I guess I'm a few years too late.  

You are highly educated and intelligent more than the media would like to say.  I'll make sure to add you to my list of leaders when I pray.

Thank you President Obama for the example you have been.  I believe that you deserve the opportunity to do it again.

Sincerely.......a struggling poet.
In God I Trust.  Lord cover our leaders please. Running the United States is a hard job.....everyone that had held office has gray hair or they are balding.....LOL
Kathleen M Oct 2018
little white envelope
sealed with a promise
just like the others
open to find means to a better end
no bitter ends will you let begin
colourful notes meant to read
i love you
words not easily spoken
through clenched teeth
jaws locked
rusted with time
years spent unhinged
uncontrolled
spoiled words spoken between lips
unforgiving winds
their destruction still left to rebuild
tension releases by passing annum
moments spent in silence
make way for healing
and days left to heal with you are unknown
days left are precious
words are simple
beholden to their potential
barriers thin but exist nonetheless
not in contempt
but in habit
detox made easier by bullet holes
ghosts
of past attempts to infiltrate
your kingdom
of fatherhood

— The End —