Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Äŧül Oct 25
He's very caring about his family,
And not only that, dear readers,
To every poet he is so fatherly.

He's your most regular reader,
His words are so encouraging,
He's that Caring Corvus here.

He's the guiding light for new poets,
His profile is not available right now,
The Raven on the tree of Hello Poetry.
My HP Poem #1781
©Atul Kaushal
karin naude Jul 2013
dear somebody
what great tragedy have befallen you
a tragedy so powerful you folded under the weight
a tragedy you gave all your power to
a tragedy that **** the life and joy from you
a tragedy that left me a broken, bitter, cold and empty father that is incapable of accepting and loving me
i have never known the safety and security of a dad
i have never known the joy of having a confidant in my father
i have never known the pride of knowing i'm your daughter

this brought mum so much heartache
she often just shook her head saying he was not like this before
she made so many excuses for you
ashamed that she could not save you
she lost to mammon
i don't believe you are save-able

thanks to all your "fatherly love" . . . . .

happy fathers day
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,

I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!

Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,

I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!

For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,

Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!

Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,

A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!

Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,

Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,

Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!

Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;

I finagle in my filigree!
This contains nearly every word under 'F' in the dictionary. I would have used them all but I could not get a consistent story with all the words so I used the most possible. Wauhermes in Toto means, "The totality of thought about F."
Syd Hafner Jun 4
I was proud
of my new red swimsuit,
but I'm not proud
of it now

He touched the strap,
and said "look
around,
it's just us now",
so he helped me
undress
and threw my
suit on the
ground

Down by the river,
we didn't wear
our clothes
He put a finger
to his lips and said
no one could
know

Although
he grinned a
grin filled with guile,
At the time,
I mistook it for
a fatherly smile

I had been so proud
of my new red
swimsuit,
but I can't wear
a red swimsuit
now
saw:

the adoration of the daddy,
as his red haired babes
leaned into
either side of him,
courtiers to a king
on the way to school this AM,
transfusing his magical super~fatherly,
by inhaling his special powers through
their nostrils, direct from his
broad and powerful brave-heart chest,
for use later in the wild jungle
of second grade
•••
an elderly gent whose walker rattled
with every lift and kerplunk on
the street~steppes of a dangerous city
for the brittle of bone and the easily dentable,
and the crowd that gathered round walking
at precisely the same pace he required
to make it across the widest boulevard
which was thirty seconds more than the
Dept. of Transportation's asinine calculations
and a miracle from Lourdes occurred -
not one horn honked in ire as the court
escorted their Long Live the King
safely across the street, as if
idiocy was like rain, against the law,
until after sunset as in Camelot

•••
an elegant germanic man,
in homburg and velvet collared overcoat,
taking care of sales and distribution of
newspapers and candy at the corner paper "stand"
while the elderly owner, whose partner~wife of
fifty years had recently passed, now had no one
but someone's pop whose was out
walking our cocker spaniel,
to tend the place while said candyman
obeyed nature's callings

and all his fans and friends who passed
on their way to the adjacent subway station,
exclaimed Erwin, Erwin what are you doing?
his twinkled crinkled eyes replied,
enjoying their puzzlement, laughingly saying
"making spare change"
•••
where I lived these little miracles occurred so frequently,
was told a story that the ministering angels
could not keep up with their duties,
complaining to the On High, who resoundingly loudly
commanded their silence! by reminding them that
all these, his creatures, were his own precious,
the reason for creation and why they were needed,
and the sum of all these small acts gave them their own
existential purpose, now angry at himself for loss of temper,
soft spoke as a parent and told them better,
hush my children, we have much to do!
•••
so now you impatiently need to know
why this scripture
came to be known as
$$$$$
for I was witness to all of this,
all on that day,
that was twenty fours hours long
across many hard hearted Hiroshima decades,
that made me
temporarily

*the richest man in the world
a proud member of the collective of the false.
Sebastian Macias Dec 2018
My eyes are closed
Head buried in the pillow
The birds outside drink
From the water on the leaves
Rain falls upon the concrete
Right outside my window
I smell the cleansed air
She went to pick apples
It is the first cold morning
Of the approaching season
The birds and rainfall
Own this morning
The fatherly clouds gaze
Down upon them
Devon Brock Sep 3
A smattering chatter
revealed the prophet
to be a fool - a beggar -
a panderer to fear -
for bread, mercy or
perhaps, if luck
ensued - loose coin,
too much a pittance
for counting.

And upon the city,
the Lord of Wraths,
expunged of fatherly
duties, crushed
upon his children,
the light that was
Beginning.

Acrid wheezings then
and fuming,
ascended the ramps
to heaven
and cast the demon out.
She adores roses
Those are red and fire
He presents violets
These are blue and crude
To stitch-up a broken heart
Do they have a glue?
Roses are red
Jasmines are white
Gentle and subtle,
together with Jasmine heart,
into every night dream.
Roses are red
Sunflowers are golden
She is feeling a bit down
Will you play her cello?
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Jasmines are white,
Fatherly fragrant, love  
Just follow the clue
By Angel. XJ  16/06/2019
Laura Labno Dec 2
Beauty is Love
Beauty is Truth
Love is Truth

I've sent naive kisses
Into the universe of your mind

And filled many nights
With bitter cries

But now

Whoever it Is that you love
May have peace

And you, dear God, please let peace
Rest on my tired Heart

May it caress it with its fatherly hands

May it light up my face with a long gone
Smile

the kind which warms up
the coolest, the saddest of Hearts

Dear God let me breath
Let me finally give
Let me cry sometimes

   And you
        My dear
              You take my love
                     And let it bless you

Wherever you go
Whoever you choose
           To hold in your arms.

"All the Love you send out into the universe will come back to you"
Ek May 2018
It happened early one morning.
It happened like it always does,
times 3.

Strapped, armed, holding hands
what every loving mother
shouldn't do.

Word of it traveled
like the winter flu,
by noon everybody had heard

of maniacal faithers
who took home her children
lighting up fireworks.

The sun blazed dazedly
evaporating 3 crosses,
not quite melting the ice.

Until it reached my porch step,
it were but distant voices.
now it's here

and real. like it always is of course

but now it's closer than ever
bursting at my door.

Sliced up like a juicy tomato
his screams are muffled by
a screen screening bright information

into the heads of mouths
who offer surreal commentary
disguised as jokes.

We're terrified.
We're hypochondriacs fearing
contamination of a rampant

plague.
A plague we've never seen before.
Our ****** eyes.

So many have already
been ***** by fate.
Faith in fatherly beards

granting wishes to
obedient children
who go tarnishing other fathers' gardens.

What an absurd world
where IS is ice that
cannot melt.

What an absurd world
where children weep
at mothers' debt.

What an absurd world
where faithful supremity
reigns unchecked.
it's a delicate thunder that warns from a distance
to choose a path of least resistance
to curb the urge of feigned persistence
enjoy...do not curse the rain

it's an essential darkness that clears the course
aligns the heart and mind...the force
connecting soul and Mother's source
awaken to your dreams

it's a Fatherly Sun that warms from afar
the perfect balance...the perfect star
we are specimens in a specimen jar
yet unique in all time and space
I had heard this or part of this title somewhere and I couldn't place it...it is actually borrowed from 'The Delicate Sound of Thunder' by Pink Floyd
Pauper of Prose Sep 2018
Insects layered lilac pedals upon her skin
As if she was a nexus of nectar
As if her body were the chalice of youth
And all that dripped from her, made her a fountain
That flooded the halls of fatherly time
Leaving her ignorant of seconds, minutes, hours
So why do the insects dress her like the flowers?
Because to the ideal of a perfect plant, she is treason
For she never decays in any season
I struggle to come to grips with the sheer beauty the muse has laid before me. Are all artists not merely insects?
Angel Friend
He is an Angel Friend.
Old, Wise, and Designed to have a huge heart


A hard working soul that never quits or did such weaken to bend.
Upon his birth..
Designed for brilliance - the bigger, brighter, and more
significant  of life purposes..

A legacy forged
At his birth
An energy made itself A great and bright start
Elderly ages equals wisdom and a fatherly care
Energy in a heart forged from gold - such strength shared and Naturally    grown
Such vines to sprout and bond
Connections created and they never detach
Away from the one's who have shared such energies, in return.
A beautiful artistic creation
Created through heart's truer matches..
Selfless gifts
Formed from the kindred spirits - like the silk worm's
Carefully generated stitches of silk
From their gratefulness and directed sharing of portions of their life's force

These fibers are  woven into  unmeasurable
Dime Worthy estimated or appraised "trinkets"
of breathtaking Tapestry Blankets or  "clothe windows.."
Joined forever as one, from one starting love's warmth to another,
train on "crazy rails in need of redirection.."
Such souls see and hand over irreplaceable rider tickets

Clothe pieces of spirits joined as one - as  tapestries .
Quilted  generations bonded by their loving and sharing connections in Golden Spirited   worth .
Heirlooms handed down between life's generations
New births of fresh spirits
Climbing the ladders of time
as cherished timeless gifts
Given to those whom he cares for
Bonded to even those outside a "family" pool
until the very last breath.
Spending not a dime.
He shall toil until his spirit leaves the Earth
Then such energies stay with those whom he cared for
All timeless and unmeasurable ticks of the clock
or sands of the hourglass
Light shines upon the extension of the cared one's family births

Therefor , he has always been earning a defined role
"The eternal force of caring.."
"The warrior's toll."
In edition to the medals of honor
Golden Wearable awards, given unto him, by the Creator.
Titled  as the "Creator's Golden Heart" and "Love's earned Crown."

As written in the Latin Life's Wisdom Scrolls" as:

per "Creator aurei cordis" et "coronam meruit amor est scriptor
per "Creator aurei cordis" et "coronam meruit amor est scriptor
Dedicated to a wonderful friend and supporter Mace Rubinstein. Your spirit is Immortal. To James Sutrina, a true friend and God-Brother. To all who support me, unbiased and unselfishly. Last, to all who have gone unnoticed and misunderstood in this life, who had the heart as detailed in this poetic illustration.
Terry Collett Sep 14
I recall how your siblings
carried your coffin
into the chapel,

recall the rising grief
spread through out
my being,

seeing the coffin
reminded me
you were dead,

and the hole
in my aged heart
would not heal;

I can recall
and sense it still,
sense the hollow promises

of the world,
the sham prizes
of success,

sense your loss
in every pore
of my being;

you torn from
my fatherly soul,
leaving me wounded

and never again whole;
I remember you
slipping away from us,

our hands trying
to you back
from the grip of death,

but you were taken:
no heart beat,
no breath;

I hope you wait,
my son,
there in that

other sphere,
and keep that love
for me,

as I do for you,
here.
A father talks to his dead son

— The End —