"fathering" poems
You are song,
Rain dropping on still pond.
You are sky,
I see Heaven in your eyes.
Your are peace,
A garden above the world.
Your are grace,
The gentle path of the swan.
You are knowing,
The wind that whispers alone.
You are star shine,
The dust that lights the plains.
You are vast ocean,
Mother to the Fathering atmosphere.
You are dancing light . . .
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
the new tupac will have you too walkin with gangstas
the new two stupidity now two steppin with prankstas
murked the first one sayin he's blacker the berry
when i'm sweeter than juice
bass voiced top me if you want to experience that jacked tweeters induced
when i own all of Victoria's secrets as proof
tellin me what the body when all his deducement has him actin when he's wearin his shoes
crypt walking like that it's only talk
missed balking like has bass fits jocking as his only walk
******* with me when All Hailed Mary like if she was his when is only stolen balk
I'm walkin again the gauntlet cuz all the women they want this flauntin all **** like if i was jackin all the wanted
like ghost whippin me imma follow you till i'm haunted
pain really, so bow down, when my diamonds glisten
listen again is just as well bilateral biased has his confused his like the ol' eminem was in the new form gettin his face jacked again
like me smokin crack with friends like all given enemies stressed was all given was a race black and then
we actually are the same race like i knew you back like i owned all the streets like his females thuggin as heathen
**** riding i'll **** your *** up like settin me up when i'm always the last muthafucken breathin
exposing the ***** heathen breathin like if you were the only man catching bullet rounds exposed like the new you was still alive
to the next ** hiked my socks up construed you at hit stupidity when will ride
ghettos owned by just the black reppin when you're steppin the whack, honest it was just onyx
i'll blast your *** like if you stole my pump shotty:
like i never was wanted runst follies
anamoly run has all criminal cops all fathering fun deceiving that all to gain was never greed when all greed in need bothering sons:
all you still down with me when we ride it
looking like a *** while i'm guy gee stag when you're looking into their eyes, they'd know comparison of a bird control as if fathering guys
my knowledge is flight applauding the time, are you still down with me
i hide behind the love of beauty of my womens eyes when you're looking like the female opened you up to your face compared to opening thighs
they don't know like how you stare in the future that tommorow comes only after the dark
knowing me marks the coming of the actual god
I am "unconditional heart"
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not ******
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
2.8k
Before I knocked and flesh let enter,
With liquid hands tapped on the womb,
I who was as shapeless as the water
That shaped the Jordan near my home
Was brother to Mnetha's daughter
And sister to the fathering worm.
I who was deaf to spring and summer,
Who knew not sun nor moon by name,
Felt thud beneath my flesh's armour,
As yet was in a molten form
The leaden stars, the rainy hammer
Swung by my father from his dome.
I knew the message of the winter,
The darted hail, the childish snow,
And the wind was my sister suitor;
Wind in me leaped, the hellborn dew;
My veins flowed with the Eastern weather;
Ungotten I knew night and day.
As yet ungotten, I did suffer;
The rack of dreams my lily bones
Did twist into a living cipher,
And flesh was snipped to cross the lines
Of gallow crosses on the liver
And brambles in the wringing brains.
My throat knew thirst before the structure
Of skin and vein around the well
Where words and water make a mixture
Unfailing till the blood runs foul;
My heart knew love, my belly hunger;
I smelt the maggot in my stool.
And time cast forth my mortal creature
To drift or drown upon the seas
Acquainted with the salt adventure
Of tides that never touch the shores.
I who was rich was made the richer
By sipping at the vine of days.
I, born of flesh and ghost, was neither
A ghost nor man, but mortal ghost.
And I was struck down by death's feather.
I was a mortal to the last
Long breath that carried to my father
The message of his dying christ.
You who bow down at cross and altar,
Remember me and pity Him
Who took my flesh and bone for armour
And doublecrossed my mother's womb.
1.9k
The day following Cawdor's capture
Was strange and grew stranger:
Relief from battle's end,
The weary ride's return.
Three witches in a fen
Pronounced Macbeth's sweet future
Named him, "King," hereafter.
Their prophecy fazed him,
I think.
Aware their source could only be the Devil,
I queried them,
"Prophesy the future to my line."
Cackled utterances gave nothing to me,
Except the fathering of kings,
A promise I can only to leave to God.
Shrieking and smoking,
The hags evaporated
Leaving us shaking,
Alone in murky thought.
I obeyed, as much as I am able,
Macbeth's command
To leave the hellish messengers'
Words hanging in that fen.
Tonight Glamis has become Cawdor;
The day has trickled down to night;
I am out upon the battlements,
Too troubled now to sleep
While Macbeth snores, content.
He leaves to see his Lady in the morning.
King Duncan follows after
To celebrate the victory of Scotland,
To honor the bravest of his heroes,
The two-named Thane.
Here above the courtyard,
I pace beneath the tent of night,
As witches' words I mutter,
"And King hereafter."
Something is not right.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
fathering an orphaned reputation
egos flash by, headlights glimmer
long legs of women, stretching across sidewalk
children swarming the elderly, beating until blood splatter
what a wasteland, my home
what a life, mine fleeting
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
You are beautiful.
The words whispered without doubt.
Each syllable slipping through smoothly,
as if somehow shaping this statement supports
and supplements its substantiality.
You...are beautiful.
A falling phrase fathering the feeling,
that every fleeting fear has found itself futile and foreign.
Until you find yourself yielding and yearning to yip,
as you did in the yesteryears of youth.
But these words are not spoken with enough clarity.
These words are taken as a compliment meant to leave you blushing.
They are understood as a revelation encountered after you are found to be the victor
of a superficial comparison with those around you.
As if each attractive feature earns you additional points,
with a judge that can be bought with each glance and smile and touch.
As if each insecurity that you feel,
or each person that you think is more alluring,
can somehow subtract from the meaning of the statement.
Your beauty cannot be compared.
The beauty that you contain cannot be explained
to joking friends when they ask where you fit in on a 10-scale.
You cannot put numbers next to the hope and insight that you so freely give.
There are not enough hedons to quantify it.
You are beautiful.
I will repeat it until you think it echoes off the walls surrounding you.
Until every time you look into a mirror you believe you have x-ray vision,
and you can see the warmth of your soul,
with the clarity of vision that you have granted me.
Until you realize that every smile that appeared,
every laugh that escaped,
and every brief happy dance that was ever done in your presence
was caused by the beauty that rests within you.
You...are beautiful.
Wielding the talent to brighten a day with a single smile,
the power to make all of the worries and doubts in a person's mind disappear
with a single thoughtful statement,
a capacity for selflessness that allows no cynic to doubt your motives,
and the ability to make others realize their own beauty
just by interacting with you.
The world is more beautiful because you are a part of it.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
When I was a child I once sat writing
where Hemingway once wrote, at a table made of a canoe,
overlooking Turtle Bay, that little dip of Indian Ocean,
where my mother body-surfed the waves with us,
where my father spent some nervous scuba minutes
on the ocean floor, beneath a whale.
A lot has happened since then;
sometimes life is hard and sometimes
we don't know how to talk to each other.
What is a father? A Mother? Child?
The answer is so different for so many.
Who are you? I dream
I'm saying goodbye to you,
I don't know which of us is leaving
or where we're going but
I cry asleep and wake up crying;
and I remember there's been a few times
when there were tears in your eyes too.
And what is a Creator? That infinite spiritual being
who fathers us, mothers us? Acts 17 says
we are His offspring:
the children are hurting,
the children are crying,
the children are killing,
the children are dying and their dreams are dying.
But love still covers a multitude of sins.
Oh fathers of the world oh mothers
we do not say it often enough: thank you,
for what you could give, thank you,
for what you did give; and know
that I understand, finally,
that you were hurting too.
To the Creator, also, I say thank you
for fathering, mothering, even me.
We are Your offspring.
Deep down we're all dreaming the same kind of dream,
I haven't met a human yet who doesn't hurt about something;
we're all in this together if we let ourselves be
And love still covers a multitude of sins
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
No the time is now
With the ***** enveloping the soft skinned sadist
Sitting solemnly silent at the end of the brown wooden bar
Sad for the serious men of the world
Killing their spirits
Day after
Day
Line breaks for the steaks they must buy
For the family that is never home
Feeding an empty house at the top of the hill
Screaming for the serious man
The tight up in the air but nailed to the Earth man
Nailed to the cross over and over and over and over again
Where power penetrates the purest of mind
Making them see things that are not truly their
A sunset on the horizon has burned through eternity
As have the oceans deep in their terror and ritual
They do not need us though we need them
The Gods laugh as we lift our pens marking our deaths through destruction
I favor the fortunate ones who holler
Bleed shoot and shiver
At these monstrosities of man
These pedestal pedestrians
Rippling robes of supposed martyrdom
Tears pour down from smooth white clouds
Idols caked in a greying ash
From the volcano which has been stirring & waiting for its final opus
The masters are turning into slaves
Because the unseen unheard untouched' magnet
Is slowing fathering its own energy
Soon to be released
Soon to be felt
Soon to be unsheathed
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 4:13 PM UTC
Far in the Prairie, nearer the shadows of hopelessness
There stood a young indigent shepherd
Under the hawthorn tree striving to rich up
Through the thorns, where laid woodpigeon nest
With marks through his body and bleeding fingers
Hunger let no man ever to resign, commonly fathering blokes
From the thatched sheds in the village down the dry hills,
The hunter, left children with moaning paunches
Infant feeding from milkless, shrunken ******* he
Fears mostly to hurl rocks up the tree
Eggs might fall and brake on the ground
Time flows wild with rivers not come again
For he might take longer, and squabs might hatch
And fledge to fly away, and his kids might die of hunger as winter arises
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 4:55 AM UTC
Hey! don't blame me, I didn't start it
Our fore-fathering leaders came up with it
The United States Constitution
Clearly it defines us
No it don't, but it should
And that's why we're so screwed-up
I clearly have a right to state my mind when bent
There is no need to exercise
our rights or we'll lose them
No need to ever question them
They're signed in permanent
The problem is that they pretend
That they don't even exist
Authority will put you down
and spit on your poor head
Don't ask for help from Liberty
She headed back to France
Why do people seem to kick
The gift-horse in the ribs or in the mouth
It just never makes know sense
It tells me here I have a right to own my own weapon
**** any brother/mother off if they trespass again
Protect MYSELF and PROPERTY
It's written here in ink
So why are all these jokers here
Just making me plain sick
By taking everything I own
They're leading me to sin
If I ever would work-out my rights again
I'd be in jail or someplace worse
and I don't mean prison
Somebody thought the banks could pay
for a debt that never ends
You have no right to tell us this, you're not american
I do believe I have the right to go to hell again
I walked into the library to gain more information
Larry Tribe said it's invisible
The U.S. Constitution
Louis Fisher writes recurring threats have come
To U.S. Freedom on to Woods and Gutzman
Both of them want to know
Who killed the U.S. Constitution
Go ahead and blame it on me
Everybody else did
I guess we make what we believe
When we're up against it
This push and shove and pettiness really has to end
If you need to know the question again
Please tell me who killed the U.S. Constitution
Because it never went away
But, we ignore it everyday
Someone question me
Please ask me
Who killed the constitution
was it God? or was it men?
Was it the ones who caused the fallout?
Could we really ever bailout?
Not me my friend, I'm staying here
Right Here! Until the very end
What does that mean? I'll tell ya Jim
I'll fight for rights that I believe in
Even if they lead to sin
The U.S. Constitution
And If anyone wants to know
I'll ask the question once again
Somebody here please tell me
Who killed the constitution
Yeah, one more time
I love its ring
And forever which it stands
Somebody again please tell me
Who killed the constitution
Who killed the constitution
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
They had it upside down
The called the sky the ground
And tried to make me believe it.
There was nothing to relieve it.
It was unremitting delusion
And they called it illusion
When as hard as I would try
To agree, it was still a lie
And living a lie can ****
As it too often will.
To whom do you turn to trust
When something inside you is busted,
Something that makes you tick
Keeps you from getting sick
And works better than dope
To help you feel hope
Instead of bleak view
That ends with destruction
Of you.
Sweltering and suffocating
Feeling like I’m smothering
Something is deadly wrong
With this kind of mothering,
Fathering, something awry.
Something that should not be
Turning into something else;
Something that is fatal to me
What do you do when they say
What is wrong is right, up is down,
And nothing is funny, so nobody
Is just kind of joking around.
Instead they are serious
And life is mysterious
But not in a good way;
What can you say?
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
You are song,
Rain dropping on still pond.
You are sky,
I see Heaven in your eyes.
Your are peace,
A garden above the world.
Your are grace,
The gentle path of the swan.
You are knowing,
The wind that whispers alone.
You are star shine,
The dust that lights the plains.
You are vast ocean,
Mother to the Fathering atmosphere.
You are dancing light . . .
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
.
You are song,
Rain dropping on still pond.
You are sky,
I see Heaven in your eyes.
Your are peace,
A garden above the world.
Your are grace,
The gentle path of the swan.
You are knowing,
The wind that whispers alone.
You are star shine,
The dust that lights the plains.
You are vast ocean,
Mother to the Fathering atmosphere.
You are dancing light . . .
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
Hey! don't blame me, I didn't start it
Our fore-fathering leaders came up with it
The United States Constitution
Clearly it defines us
No it don't, but it should
And that's why we're so screwed-up
I clearly have a right to state my mind when bent
There is no need to exercise
our rights or we'll lose them
No need to ever question them
They're signed in permanent
The problem is that they pretend
That they don't even exist
Authority will put you down
and spit on your poor head
Don't ask for help from Liberty
She headed back to France
Why do people seem to kick
The gift-horse in the ribs or in the mouth
It just never makes know sense
It tells me here I have a right to own my own weapon
**** any brother/mother off if they trespass again
Protect MYSELF and PROPERTY
It's written here in ink
So why are all these jokers here
Just making me plain sick
By taking everything I own
They're leading me to sin
If I ever would work-out my rights again
I'd be in jail or someplace worse
and I don't mean prison
Somebody thought the banks could pay
for a debt that never ends
You have no right to tell us this, you're not american
I do believe I have the right to go to hell again
I walked into the library to gain more information
Larry Tribe said it's invisible
The U.S. Constitution
Louis Fisher writes recurring threats have come
To U.S. Freedom on to Woods and Gutzman
Both of them want to know
Who killed the U.S. Constitution
Go ahead and blame it on me
Everybody else did
I guess we make what we believe
When we're up against it
This push and shove and pettiness really has to end
If you need to know the question again
Please tell me who killed the U.S. Constitution
Because it never went away
But, we ignore it everyday
Someone question me
Please ask me
Who killed the constitution
was it God? or was it men?
Was it the one's who caused the fallout?
Could we really ever bailout?
Not me my friend, I'm staying here
Right Here! Until the very end
What does that mean? I'll tell ya Jim
I'll fight for rights that I believe in
Even if they lead to sin
The U.S. Constitution
And If anyone wants to know
I'll ask the question once again
Somebody here please tell me
Who killed the constitution
Yeah, one more time
I love it's ring
And forever which it stands
Somebody again please tell me
Who killed the constitution
Who killed the constitution
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
You are song,
Rain dropping on still pond.
You are sky,
I see Heaven in your eyes.
Your are peace,
A garden above the world.
Your are grace,
The gentle path of the swan.
You are knowing,
The wind that whispers alone.
You are star shine,
The dust that lights the plains.
You are vast ocean,
Mother to the Fathering atmosphere.
You are dancing light . . .
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
Which is my church with its green leaves, brown grass
and pine’s bark, all foresting in one motion.
I shall forest rituals of sacrifice,
but without Catholicizing faces drawn
from dark Crusading and my exiling.
Annaling to mark the sun’s solstice for Eastering
and holying days, the dew
coalescing upon the darkening and browning grass
at midnight and cooling air
arching constellations
and the mooning of the night: the cue
to lying for rest
by the small pool in this placing or
to strike, savaging at prey.
Owling as it does, darting as it does,
from a bed of branches, crying,
soundlessly shooting at a forest mouse, leaves
rustling for this night’s Nativity,
this one lifts its butterflying wings
like the soul’s silhouette
taken by an angeling force to heaven.
After owling, angeling, butterflying,
one must create Jesus as a verb.
Having witnessing these things,
limits are paining, as are knowings and doings.
The mouse must have been distracting
this owl from its offspring, thus it was Christing:
sacrificing itself for its children, thus fathering.
Seeing angels fluttering under the moonlight,
Hairshirting is my Church after living here,
after travelling through East of Eden in daylight.
Simplifying the Word---so heartwrenching---near
dawn or dusk, being as a penumbra’s cusp
I am Giotto’s halo in human form, keeper
of the haze, smoke, storm, and most of all, cup
from my own despairing.
Always there more to God than pain.
Churching myself is my work, thus by expressing
this foresting, owling, angeling, butterflying,
I narrate my life’s kingdom.
Only beautiful words for my Beatrice, Florence,
and re-Edening.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
Father is a verb
It's not a noun to be worn like some crown
It's not an honorific
It's a doing word beyond what you do with your ****
It's not some name that you automatically deserve
Believe me, fathering is a lifetime of a verb
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
How can this rage not explode? Her eyes
looking but not seeing, glued yet
wandering. She’s everywhere, she’s
nowhere, seeking refuge where
I don’t exist or where I
am dead or just a twig she feeds
to the flame, blue with her
wrath. She has mastered the contours of
my anger and I still ***** along
the fence of her defense. Isn’t silence
sweet? Why then the muteness
my voice has summoned deafens me
now? Where is the shore of this howling
sea of reticence? How can a clever
plan fail? – trap her in a minor
encounter. Squeeze out from her
throat a meow to unlock her
lies, and trigger the torrent of dia-
tribes I have long nurtured. But how
can I bear her empty stare? Her
frozen gaze that sets me ablaze?
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
You are song,
Rain dropping on still pond.
You are sky,
I see Heaven in your eyes.
Your are peace,
A garden above the world.
Your are grace,
The gentle path of the swan.
You are knowing,
The wind that whispers alone.
You are star shine,
The dust that lights the plains.
You are vast ocean,
Mother to the Fathering atmosphere.
You are dancing light . . .
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
The heavy air hangs over the stadium to watch it waken from its slumber.
It is the eve of battle.
It awaits its hooligans.
The oddness of bears and lions
Facing each other in ritualistic bands
Chanting their devilish cries.
Carrying the raven on their lilied shoulders
As they trudge past their own respect.
It is a long way down to the ropes of war but no one bothers to stop.
But this game is an excuse for fruitful violence.
A game? A simple game,
Fathering all this dense cloud of hate.
How satisfyingly
How triumphantly
They think they have celebrated “The Beautiful Game”.
Both sides shout and bang against the stadium, drowning the crowd with Sounds of war drums to the beat of the stone prison all around them. They tear and writhe at the thought of innocent blood.
But that blood is less innocent than the claws it feeds.
It is a dance remembered, mimicked through the ages.
Danced by men of forgotten unity.
What would their children think?-
But remember this:
Your daddy fought with the hooligans, son.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 7:39 PM UTC
Fathering involves running,
reaching out at full stretch,
as they get to the edge
Fathering involves running
close and distant alongside
a first bike ride
Fathering involves running
meeting them more than halfway
to reduce the faraway
Fathering involves running
to more accurately display
a father’s love
that will not go away
Fathering is being ready to run
all day
Mar 28, 2024
Mar 28, 2024 at 6:16 AM UTC
Regression- Confession- Succession of the young-
My hopes- beliefs- are now publicly hung-
The gallows- the hangman- the executioner's head-
the sentenced now lay in the beds that they've made-
I am nowhere-nothing-no one to all-
I am deaf to the speakers- I am deaf to the call-
The call of the wild- The wild at heart-
push me past my breakage-
pulling me apart-
Apart from our mothers, fathering a grudge-
ever so willing, without a nudge-
to convict-condemn to be murdered-
as lambs and sheep to follow-
overloaded with grief- my grief leaves me hollow-
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC
The first time I saw you cry was about him
And it was in your month so it wasn't fair
It was about how he had pressed pause
Played with words and women
Like he was running through so many flowers
Just running through flowers; he'd be back soon.
The first time I saw you cry I held you in my arms
I was wearing a shirt of acting
Acting the part of a father
And fathering a mind full of doubts and fears
I told you to hit stop on the paused player.
The first time I held you in my arms, I didn't know what to do
Patting or stroking or still
I still don't know what to do with them
But I tried to say the things I didn't know how
How you needed so much better
Better find yourself a true love.
The first time I made you cry, I said 'I love you'
The first time you cried because of something I said
Good goodbye tears, happy and sad
Like the world was ending, and ours was, a little
You left with him
We lost each other
You lost yourself
I found me
The last time I made you cry, you said "I'm sorry"
But it was because I made you think about him
And it was in your house so it wasn't fair
I made you think of infidelity and the fear
Of losing Someone you love to Someone you love
I was the second Someone making you think of that first someone
Of not-too-many years ago
The last time I made you cry, you comforted me
I threw up in your toilet and you said "I'm sorry"
I gave you nothing but unprocessed ****
Rejected goodness and nourishment
I gave you memories of bad people
And bad thoughts of good people
I gave you strife
And you said "I'm sorry"
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 2:36 AM UTC
You are song,
Rain dropping on still pond.
You are sky,
I see Heaven in your eyes.
Your are peace,
A garden above the world.
Your are grace,
The gentle path of the swan.
You are knowing,
The wind that whispers alone.
You are star shine,
The dust that lights the plains.
You are vast ocean,
Mother to the Fathering atmosphere.
You are dancing light . . .
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC