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Mon papa, c'est le plus fort des papas.
Mon papa, c'est le plus beau des papas.
Mon papa, même quand il est fatigué, on dirait Richard Gere.
Mon papa, même si il est carnivore, moi, je l'aime quand même.
Mon papa, quand il mange, on dirait qu'il a 5 ans, mais moi, je l'aime quand même.
Mon papa, il a des voitures super cool qui font vroom.
Mon papa, quand il conduit, on dirait Michel Vaillant, même pas peur.
Mon papa, quand il me dit bonne nuit, j'ai même plus peur.
Les monstres sous mon lit, eux, ils se désintègrent avec la force des bisous de mon papa.
Mon papa, parfois, il ronfle et je l'aime quand même.
Mon papa, quand on est dans la piscine, il joue au crocrodile avec nous.
Mon papa, quand il porte des choses, les manches de sa chemise se déchire sous les   muscles.
Mon papa, avec une barbe, on dirait un homme des caverne, c'est trop cool.
Mon papa, quand il fait des câlins, on disparait sous ses couches d'amour.
Mon papa, quand il nous emmène faire du shopping, il supporte des heures et il sourit.
Mon papa, il nous laisse faire des trucs qui lui font peur, mais il veut nous faire plaisir, alors il dit oui.
Mon papa, il m'a laissé faire du saut en parachute, et je suis même pas morte.
Mon papa, il râle parfois mais on sait qu'en fait, c'est parce qu'il nous aime.
Mon papa, même quand il voyage, il pense à nous.
Mon papa, il nous emmène en voyage avec des photos tout le temps quand il travail.
Mon papa, il nous emmène en voyage tout le temps quand il est en vacances.
Mon papa, il fait des trucs de papa trop génial.
Par exemple, il connait nos restaurants préférés, et il sait ce qui nous fait plaisir.
Alors il nous y emmène.
Mon papa, même quand il est en colère, il est beau.
Mon papa, quand il sourit il est comme Thor, le dieu du tonnerre, il est puissant.
Du coup, parfois, ma maman elle fait un nervous break down.
Parce que mon papa il est trop beau c'est même pas normal.
Mon papa, il a un double menton pour que si un jour Game Of Thrones arrive dans la vraie vie, on pourra pas lui trancher la gorge.
Mon papa, il fait du vélo plus vite que le Tour de France. La preuve, ca fait des années qu'ils sont en France, mon papa, lui, il est déjà à Dubai.
Mon papa, parfois il oublie notre anniversaire quand on lui demande au pif, mais il oublie jamais de le souhaiter, donc on lui pardonne.
Mon papa, il voyage en first class.
Mon papa, il connait les aéroports mieux que James Bond.
Mon papa, il regarde des series TV de jeunes.
Mon papa, il porte des costards.
Mon papa, il nous emmène manger des dans endroits incroyables.
Mon papa, il nous emmène dans des hôtels de luxe.
Mon papa, il devrait être président du monde.
Mon papa, il est mieux que les autres papa parce que c'est le mien.
Mon papa, il est irremplaçable.  
Mon papa, si on m'en donnait un autre, j'en voudrais pas.
Mon papa, je veux que celui la.
Mon papa il est pas toujours là, mais c'est pas grave, parce qu'il est jamais ****.
Mon papa, il traverse le monde mais après il nous raconte, alors c'est cool.
Mon papa, il fait une super vinaigrette. Dommage que j'aime pas la vinaigrette.
Mon papa, quand il fait un barbeque, ca fait beaucoup de fumée et pas beaucoup de feu, mais c'est pour mieux nous impressioner quand il fait rôtir la viande.
Mon papa, il parle Anglais.
Mon papa, c'est le meilleur papa du monde.
Mon papa, je l'aime, même si maintenant, il a presque un demi siècle.
Mon papa, c'est comme un druide.
Ca meurt jamais.
C'est trop cool.
Mon papa, c'est comme une mode indémodable, tu veux jamais le remplacer, il est toujours tendance.
Mon papa, on peut pas le comparer a une mode fashion, parce que c'est un humain.
Mon papa, c'est le meilleur humain que je connaisse.
Avec ma maman et ma soeur et mon chat, mais chuuuuut.
C'est un secret.
Mais ce que je préfère à propos de mon papa, c'est que dès que je le vois, je peux lui dire:
"mon papa, je l'aime."
Taylor Aldous Dec 2013
Glass shatters against the wall
Get down! Hurry! Crawl!
Stop! No, stop! Don't throw that
She's gone papa, and she's not coming back
Please, papa, please, just put down the *****
Here, I'll even help you tie your shoes
Stop crying papa, it will be alright
I'm the woman of the house now, I'll make things right
Ouch papa! Stop, you're pulling my hair
Why do you always look at me with that hatful stare?
Stop yelling! I can't help that I have her eyes
No, I'm not leaving too papa. I'm not telling you lies
Quit, papa no. You can't have a cigarette
Why? Because your father died of lung cancer, did you forget?
Let go of my arm! You've got liquor on your breath
Papa, mama left, deal with it! She chose the ****
Ouch! Papa ouch! Stop hitting me with your belt
You can say you're sorry, but I'll still have a welt
Why, papa, why? You're too drunk to drive
I'd rather you stay here and scream at me if it will keep you alive
I did, papa, don't hit. I washed the dishes
Don't you remember butterfly kisses?
Yeah, papa, remember when I was a little girl
I'd climb on your back and you would twirl
See papa, hush, relax your head
No, papa, no. That's not the way to your bed
I'm sorry papa, I didn't mean it, I swear
Stop punishing me papa, this isn't fair
I loved her too. She left us both
I blame you! You broke the oath
I hate you papa! Look at what you've done
Wait, no papa, please put down the gun
You're drunk papa, you don't know what your saying
Oh God, I'm running out of time. How do I keep delaying?
Hey papa, catch! Yes, he dropped the gun
Okay, I've got it. Now run, Susie, run!
Oh no, I tripped and accidentally set it off
Ouch, my chest. *cough cough


Sweet Susie, what have I done?
I'm sorry darling, your mother has won
She swore she'd destroy me, she ripped out my spirit
You tried to tell me Susie, but I didn't want to hear it
Please, please my darling, don't die in my arms
I know, I'll drive to one of the nearest farms..

It's too late papa, the damage is done
But you're wrong about one thing, no one has won
I tried to protect you both, I tried to care
But all you did was yell at each other and constantly swear
I was hurt too papa, It wasn't all about yourself
I cared for you papa, I watched your health
But momma was good to get out, it's because of you, papa, that I die
You always pushed too hard papa, you always made us cry
I'm dying now papa, see, I've coughed up some blood
It's weird, I feel like I'm laying in mud
But I love you papa, I truly do
Even after all that you've put me through..

I love you too Susie, more than words can describe
I only wish that a better life I could provide
I'm sorry I abuse you, I'm sorry that you're hurt
Susie? Are you there Susie?! Oh no... **covers her with his shirt.
Latiaaa May 2014
Papa,
my beautiful papa.
He doesn't look at me anymore.
His smile has disappeared from his face.
Papa's bones are as thin as the weeds out back.
Remember papa?
You made me that handmade bike because you couldn't afford me a real one.
Your hands were the only things that helped me and momma.
The medicine you take, the bed you live in,
Your only depends.
I'm the one you should depend on papa.
I hold your fragile hand as you shake in fear.
Papa, your fever is too high.
On some nights, I sit with you in the oddest hours, keeping a cool damp towel placed  on your forehead.
The medicine can only hold you here for so long.
Papa, I can't sleep knowing that you're coughing your life away.
I stay up thinking of the days we use to spend in the blistering sun.
You drinking your ginger beer, giving me a sip.
It was sweet, yet burned on my tongue as it went in the back of my throat.
Warm feeling.
Papa, you were there for me when my days were dark and momma wouldn't be around.
She works a lot more now.
Why does life have to take the only thing I need to live?
Papa, you're getting weaker.
The hammer and nails you use to use, now mock your lack of strength.
Momma can only do so much.
Remember when the holidays would come around and you'd be out so long?
Scorching yourself to find the one gift for me?
Weary and tired you would always be,
you did it for me.
Papa, it's my turn now.
I loved the way you would smell during the mid-summer days.
The burnt cigarettes and fabric sweat was your name brand smell.
Every night,
you would come home beat with sweat beads on your forehead from the hat you wore.
It resembled the long weary hours you worked for that money.
Stale bread bottoms and scarce water was all we had.
Holy socks and beaten shoes was all I needed.
It was all you could afford papa.
Now life is in my hands.
Your sickness is the only tight bond left that's keeping us close.
Papa, you're daydreaming again.
Collarbones and hip bones are not suppose to be visible on you papa.
It's hurting me more than it's hurting you.
Your eyes are glossy.
The hair on your head that was once thick and brown,
has now gone grey and thin.
You're undernourished.
Papa, I can see the fear in your eyes.
You're worried about me and momma.
Don't worry.
Sad how the doctors turn their heads in shame.
They can't do anything.
If you leave me as I'm speaking,
remember that your life has given me great fortune.
Whether it was working till your knuckles bled or staying up all night with me,
just know that you're a wonderful papa.
Yash Jan 31
Oh Papa, perish the invading Persian armies.
Oh Papa, do or die at the D-day.
Oh Papa, fight the foreign forces at the front lines.
Oh Papa, go face your turbulent trials in the trenches.
Oh Papa, come back in one piece from the Pearl Harbour.

But Papa, why did you scare your own son into submission?
But Papa, why did you beat your own blood till he bled out?
But Papa, why did you scar your own son into suicide?

Your own son, the sun of your life.
But then Papa, why did you suppress your sun into the sunset?
But then Papa, why did you bury your sun in the horizon beach?

Johny Johny.
Yes Papa?
Did you disobey me?
No Papa.
Are you lying?
No Papa.
Turn your back.
Ah ah ah.
This was my first poem. This poem is about a child who knows that his papa is fighting the odds to survive and provide for his family but is confused and wonders why then, the papa turns around and does horrible things to him.
Tiffy May 2018
At age 5, mamá and papa brought me over from Mexico to the new land
They called the land America
They told me that I could make my dreams come true here
At age 10, I was in school, I was given what mamá and papa did not have
I was given the chance to have an education
The chance to give me a better life
The chance to give mamá and papa a better life
At age 15, mamá worked hard to throw me a Quinceañera
A tradition where girls are no longer children, but young women
Mamá wanted me to keep in touch with my Mexican roots
She did not want me to lose sight of who I was
She wanted me to know that I was Mexican first, American second
The position of those two words mattered
The position meant everything to mamá and papa
At age 20, my life was different
I was beginning my second year of college
I had made my own friends
I was far away from home
I was working hard towards my future
At age 25, I could finally call myself successful
I performed well in my academics
I received the job that I worked hard for
I was finally my own person with my own life
Mamá and papa called, but I did not have time for them
I was busy living my life and making my dreams come true
The dreams that mamá and papa had placed upon me
At age 30, I have a family of my own now
I fell in love and got married to the love of my life
I welcomed to the world two beautiful children
One boy, one girl
Life was busier than ever, but during the holidays I visited mamá and papa
Mamá and papa were the same, nothing has changed except they got older
Oh how old they have gotten, but they still had the same hopes and dreams for me
They were proud, I have not seen mamá and papa in a while but they understood
They knew that I was busy making my dreams come true, they could not be happier
At age 35, my perfect life took a turn for the worst
Mamá was sick, she was diagnosed with cancer
I did what I could do, I sent mamá and papa money
Money was something they never had to worry about anymore
Their daughter grew up to be successful
The doctor said we were lucky to have caught it early… we?
I was not there, I was busy working, far away from home
But mamá and papa understood
They knew that I was busy working, they did not mind
They were proud their daughter was happy,
Happy making her dreams come true
At age 40, I learned about the meaning of life
Mamá was no longer with us…
She had passed away the year before
Heart cancer. I could not believe it
The woman with the biggest heart,
The heart with the most amount of love anyone could ever ask for
Gone in a flash, but where was I?
I was working, I was working because I wanted to achieve the American Dream
The American Dream that led mamá and papa over to the United States
At age 45, papa became sick to
He never showed any signs
He never let me know that he was getting weak
He was not the same young man when I was 5, he was fragile now
I could not see him though, it pained me
I was away… I was working… I was always working
I was trying to continue making my dreams come true
At age 50, I had everything that I could ever want
But everything that I wanted came at a cost
A poem I had to write for my ROML 2550 class
It was the summer of my fifth year
“Papà voglio una bicicletta!”
(Papa, I want a bicycle!)
“Si avrà una bicicletta. Te lo prometto.”
(You will have a bicycle. I promise)
He held my hands with lingering hope
And promised me the world.

Then, there was one day.
Mama was in the kitchen
Cooking for Papa and I
We were going about our way.

I was waiting to eat
With my fork in my hand
Papa had the newspaper
Then Mama took her seat.

The front doors caved in.
Some men in fancy clothes
Yelled weird words at us
Papa wore the only grin

We went with the men
They said, “Come.”
We went along nicely
And followed the men.

I saw many people boarding a train
Thinking that I didn’t want a bicycle
Because I was going to see the world
When I got on the train

There were no seats on the train.
I could feel the heat of those around me
As if I was trapped inside an oven
Charring my life with pain.

The smell of death was trapped inside the train car
It crept up under my fingernails
And overcame my nose
It was branded on my heart like a permanent scar.

As the blood slowly drained from my skin
A mellow grey crept up into my face
******* the life out of me
Bleeding out, like a ballon popped with a pin

But I wan't the only one
The number of casualties reached morbid numbers
I could see the death in peoples eyes
Their hearts were put out by an invisible gun.

I asked papa what was our destination
And he said with a smile, "Camping."
But he betrayed himself
For he looked the epitome of degeneration

I tried to lean against the wood
With my hand on the wall
My knees were weak
The indication of my boyhood

I saw fears in the eyes of the old
And tears in the eyes of the young
Even though it was like an oven
It was desperately cold

I pulled my hand away from the wall
And it was splintered and smudged
The train ****** to a stop
And then began roll call

"Parisi?!" "Qui!" Papa yelled.
I said, "It must be like school here."
"Azzittire!" The men yelled.
"Be quiet," Papa said, "or you'll get expelled."

By now my spit had turned to chalk
And my eyes were moist
My stomach was like lead
And I began the sleepwalk

They gave us our "pajamas"
We wore them all day
We wore them all night
Our striped "pajamas."

One night, I didn't see Papa
I didn't see him the day after
Or the following night
"Dove ti trove Papa?"

I held on the taste of hope
For it had been ripped away from me
I stood waiting.
And swallowed.
I swallowed the overwhelming fear.
I dug my nails into my palms
until my knuckles were white
White and covered in bruises and dirt and dried blood.
Against the weakness in my knees
I tried to still my shaking body
But my shoulders sagged
My knees gave out
And I found myself on the ground.

The men came in.
"Lavarsi!"
They wanted me to walk.
Papa went on a walk before he left.
We went outside
And I saw the green grass
the first time in months

The barrel of the gun was staring me down
fixated on my chapped dry lips
and then I saw my Papa.
Vineeta rai Nov 2018
Dost to nahi par mere takleef ko samjhne wale hai mere papa...
Meri khwahiso ko apni khwahish samjh kr pura krne wale hai mere papa....
Dard to kv nahi dikhate apna par mere takleef me man hi man rone wale hai mere papa...
Dhub thand barsaat bina dekhe usme khatne wale hai mere papa...
Mere liy duniya se ladne wale hai papa...
Waqt padne par kathor banane wale hai mere papa...
Duniya kaisi hai ye samjhane wale hai mere papa...
Kya khu kaise hai mere papa...
Meri muskurahat aur mere hero hai mere papa...
Love u papa  
Those who love their father nd also my poem then pls like and comment...pls support  
Elena Ramos Apr 2015
Elena Ramos


Aquí todo en mi mente da vueltas, nada es estable, no hay un objeto al cual pueda ver directo y guiarme para no caer. Para mí no sirve el simple hecho de tenerlo todo para ser feliz, ni el dinero, ni una familia reconocida en todo Miami y el resto del país. Me llamo Gimena Rodríguez, mis papas son de Honduras pero emigraron a los Estados Unidos cuando mi hermano mayor Roberto tenía apenas diez años en ese entonces yo tenía ocho horribles y apestosos años, era muy fea, mi mama siempre me ponía dos ganchitos en la frente para quitarme el pelo de la cara; bote todas las fotos que dejaban evidencia de ese abuso hacia el estilo y la dignidad de una niña pequeña.  

He buscado en la internet el significado de mi nombre, porque ni yo sé que soy. Hay unos sitios bien raros que dicen que soy de las que necesita ser apoyada por los demás, algo que no es cierto, pero he topado con un sitio que dice que soy de pensamiento firme, ágil y con capacidad analítica. Y por cierto mi número de la suerte dice ser el número cuatro, puede tener algo de sentido ya que el 4 de noviembre es mi cumpleaños, o que casualmente mis papas estén de aniversario el mismo día. Suelo ser de esas chicas que todo el mundo conoce o dice saber conocerme, por el simple hecho de tener una familia la cual, toda América conoce. Mi papa heredo el negocio de mi abuelo, (por lo general el abuelo o como yo lo llamaba Yeyo, era el único que me entendía hasta llegue a prometerle que seguiría los pasos de la familia y seguir el negocio) una empresa que distribuye muebles, ya sean sofás como camas y cosas así. La compañía se llama DecoArte, había empezado en 1934 con mi bisabuelo Arturo, que luego paso a ser mi mi Yeyo y ahora de mi padre (solo espero que Roberto pelee por su lugar en la compañía y decida quedarse todo para él, así no tendría que seguir en este negocio, porque realmente no me gusta). He decidido que quiero ir a Los Angeles y estudiar Fashion Management & Marketing, en la Universidad de Argosy. He aplicado a varias universidades y aun espero respuesta, seria decepcionante no ser aceptada en ninguna y entonces tendría que trabajar en DecoArte toda mi vida. Todos los días son decepcionantes, siempre es lo mismo, mi casa parece un lugar solitario. Roberto tiene su propio apartamento, todos los días sube fotos a su cuenta de Instagram haciendo fiestas, las cuales son mencionadas como las mejores. Fraternidades de muchas universidades terminan ahí, los vagabundos igual, y así todo Miami. Sería bueno si por lo menos me invitara a una de sus “reuniones”, como el las suele llamar cuando estamos frente a nuestros padres. No me veo pequeña, tengo diez y siete años y el próximo año me graduare de Miami Beach High School. Muchos me preguntan si realmente tengo la edad que les digo tener, nadie me cree, muchos dicen que me veo mucho mayor, algo que para mí no está mal. En mi cuenta de twitter me he fijado que Roberto dará una fiesta, tal vez pueda decir que voy a ver una película y me voy un rato a su casa, solo espero que mi propio hermano no me eche de la casa. En mi tiempo libre, después de clases, suelo agarra mi computadora portátil y abrir Word, y escribir todo el día. Hace poco subí gratis un libro de poemas de dicados a la gente que no sabe qué hacer con su vida. He tenido buenas respuestas, inclusive en mi blog recibo visitas y buenos comentarios a montones. Existen dos mundos parami, la realidad y el mundo que creo con los libros y la escritura. Cada libro que leo me envuelve en un sentimiento que hace que imagine estar en el libro. Al escribir siento que mis ideas fluyen y que soy yo honestamente, sin censura, sin miedo a expresarme. En este momento estoy escribiendo una historia ficticia de esta joven que desea encontrar el amor, ya que casi lo encontraba pero el murió. Por su falta de confianza no es capaz de hablar con ningún muchacho. Esta es la introducción del libro:
               Para amar hay un tiempo límite, o por lo menos para mí sí. Si tienes una enfermedad terminal, es muy probable que ese amor nunca llegue. Desearía tener por lo menos un romance que dure poco o hasta cuando yo siga viva. Mi vida se complica cada vez más, el único hombre que veo seguido es mi médico el doctor Collins, está casado y tiene una hermosa hija. En el hospital veo morir a diario personas de las cuales me hice amiga. Aun no olvido su rostro, su pálida cara, que me reía aun a pesar de tener peores condiciones de vida que yo. Se llamaba Mark, tenía doce años cuando lo conocí, y diez y siete cuando lo vi por última vez. Cada año lo volvía diferente, siempre había un problema más o algo en su cuerpo había cambiado por  completo. Lo conocí cuando yo tenía once años, llegue a emergencias esa noche, mi mente giraba, era más verde como la pared que trigueña. Gracias a dios detectaron mi cáncer con tiempo. Pero esa noche ahí estaba el, sentado en una camilla, me pareció muy guapo desde el primer instante en que nuestros ojos se cruzaron. Mientras mi mama hablaba con la enfermera afuera, yo estuve acostada, mirándolo y luego mirando el techo. No sabía que sucedía conmigo, solo sabía que  me sentía a morir. No llore porque él estaba ahí, a dos camillas de la mía. Sabía que me observaba aunque lo disimulaba muy bien. Entraron mi mama y varias enfermeras y un doctor,  después de un rato sacaron mi camilla y me llevaban a otro lugar. Deje a ese muchacho solo en ese espantoso cuarto, solo, y seguramente con dolor en alguna parte. Desperté el día siguiente en un cuarto, había dos camas más  pero al parecer solo yo ocupaba y llenaba aquella gran habitación. Me di cuenta que mi mama y mi papa estaban dormidos, me sorprendió ver a papa faltar al trabajo. No estoy muy segura, pero anoche tuve uno de los mejores sueños más reales que he tenido en mi vida. Soñé con el muchacho de la sala de emergencia. Vi su hermoso pelo, dorado que caía sobre sus orejas, sus perfectos ojos, que no se distinguían si eran grises o verdes. Tenía una camiseta roja, parecía el tipo de adolescente que se intoxica con algo y termina aquí. Definitivamente desearía poder volverlo a ver por lo menos un instante, para poder recordar mejor esa mirada y su hermosa sonrisa.  No hice ruido y me levante buscando un baño, estaba bien, solo algo cansada, y molesta por esa horrenda bata que llevaba puesta, ya que no tenía nada abajo. Hice ruido al levantarme ya que presione uno de los botones que levanta la camilla. Mi padre Augusto, se levantó en un abrir y cerrar de ojos del sofá donde dormía para ir en mi auxilio. –Papa estoy bien-,-No te creo, a dónde vas?-,-solo busco un baño, necesito ir ahorita-. La cara de papa estaba muy diferente, hoy no tenía esa mirada de las mañanas que me decían que todo estaba bien, que la economía estaba por las nubes, o que sasha mi perrita no le causaba alergia cuando todos sabíamos que sí. Me detuve a observarlo, sabía que algo le ocurría,  tal vez fue despedido, o tuvo una seria pelea con mi madre, algo que creo lógico, ya que Paty se pone muy insolente cuando tiene discusiones con papa. –qué ocurre?- le pregunte, tocándole la cara muy delicadamente, tratando de leer su mente o entenderlo-cariño, hay cosas de las cuales tenemos que hablar- al decir esto mi padre, supe que no era nada bueno, porque en ese mismo instante se puso a llorar, por un motivo yo hice lo mismo con él. Mi madre se despertó por el ruido.-Mary, el cáncer no te va a matar, te juro que te van a curar, te lo prometo hija pero por favor no llores-. Mi padre la observo fijamente a los ojos. Fue un golpe muy duro el que recibí, darme cuenta que tenía cáncer y de esta manera. Simplemente, busque la puerta y Salí corriendo, lo más rápido posible, segundos después me di la vuelta y vi que ya no sabía en qué parte del hospital me encontraba. –Mary!-se escuchaba en el fondo. Era mi mama que locamente me buscaba. Me imagino lo mal que se ha de sentir en este momento, pero no lo puedo creer aun, pero tengo cáncer…logre salir de esa situación, ya no estaba corriendo por los pasillos, estaba en un cuarto. –Hola- me di la vuelta y lo vi a él, creí no volver a ver esos ojos, pero si.-hola-creo que nunca estuve tan nerviosa en mi vida. Busque la forma en que la camilla cubriera mi bata, estaba descalza y muy despeinada, pero aun ocupaba ir a un baño. Al fondo vi una puerta, había un baño,-Perdón, pero me puedes prestar tu baño-, él se rio enseguida-si no hay problema, además no es mío es del hospital-. Fui caminando muy rápido, y me encerré, luego, me lave las manos, me enjuague la boca, lave mi cara, y Salí.-me llamo Mary- extendí mi mano hacia la suya.-un gusto Mary, soy Gabriel-. Nombre perfecto para un ángel, el cual él se parecía mucho. Sentía mi corazón palpitando mucho, en un instante sentía que me desmayaba y era enserio, no era por las mariposas ni nada por el estilo, realmente me sentía mal. Gabriel tomo mi mano, me ayudo a sentarme y enseguida llamo a una enfermera. Al rato todos estaban en la habitación, incluso mis papas. –Mary!!—mama estoy bien-.la enfermera me acostó en la camilla de Gabriel, y me tomo la presión, al segundo llego otra enfermera a sacarme sangre. Papa me tomo de la cintura, y me guiaban para ir a mi habitación. Estoy en este momento entrando en un túnel donde sentía que nunca llegaría a casa, pensaba en todas las cosas que hice antes por diversión, pero ahora vivo una pesadilla, que espero que sea simplemente eso, y despertar termine con ella. No pude decirle adiós a Gabriel, pero ya sabia que su numero era treinta y seis, y la mia era la sesenta y dos. Había un brillo que trataba de iluminar mi vida, mi cerebro, había tanta oscuridad, tanta tristeza oculta, cuando la gente que yo amo se de cuente de lo que tengo y en lo que me convertiré tendre miedo de su miedo. He visto tantas películas de esas en las que alguien tiene cáncer o una enfermedad terminal, tengo miedo de no querer luchar por mi vida, miedo a no querer salir de esa comodidad en mi mente y querer rendirme. Tengo solo pocos momentos en mi vida, que valen la pena ser contados. Qué tal si no lleguen mas momentos asi y muera sin haber vivido mi vida. He viajado mucho para que termine asi. Mi mente viaja por lugares muy profundos de mi alma, siento eterna la llegada  a mi habitación. Solo escucho bulla de afuera, tanta que no se en cual enfocarme. Mis papas respetan mi silencio, saben que quiero aclarar mejor las cosas pero que tal si no quiero saberlo y seguir así, viajando por la vida solo por viajar sin rumbo, porque la verdad asi me siento. –mary quieres desayunar, el doctor dice que no tienes dieta-. –Si mam, -dije para romper el silencio de aquella blanca habitación. Tengo una terraza, con hermosas flores, no tengo nada que perder ni ganar ahora, solo disfrutar de su belleza y el canto de los pájaros, es hermosa; la única que no me altera, la única que no se siente como bulla. –pero, creo que todos necesitamos una ducha—si, papa, pero no tengo ropa-.Mama ira a la casa y yo a comprar el desayuno, y tu te quedaras aqui con la enfermera mientra te terminan de revisar-. No  soportaba la idea de que tuvieran que sacarme sangre o que alguien estuviera tan cerca de mi, como esta enfermera. Mis papas salieron de la habitacion, y tuve el descaro de preguntarle en el oído a una de las enfermeras, de quien era Gabriel.-te gusta verdad?-,-no!, simplemente tengo curiosidad-.y ahí empezó la historia mas fasinante e interesante que había escuchacho antes.- Se llama Gabriel Cole y tiene doce años, su mama, no sabemos nada de ella. Vino hace seis meses y desde entonces vive aquí, su papa es Señor Cole,no pudo soportar verlo enfermo entonces pago para que viviera aquí, y se fue. Viene a visitarlo una vez a la semana pero tiene dos semanas sin venir.es un buen muchacho, no le vendría mal una amiga, ahora que no tiene a nadie-.no  puedo creer que su familia lo haya abandonado. No me imagino vivir sin mi mama o sin mi papa, seria horrible.-Bueno he terminado contigo, el doctor Collins vendrá en un rato, descansa-. Salieron por la puerta dejándome sola.
Ashmita Agrahari Nov 2012
You took me from ground to sky..
You taught me how to fly..
You made me PAPA..
You prevent me from blowing off..
You taught me how to laugh..
You made me PAPA..
You give me all i want..
You taught me how to fear haunt..
You made me PAPA..
You always stand by my side..
You taught me how to decide..
You made me PAPA..
You love me as i am your soul..
You taught me how not to fall..
You made me PAPA..
You are a perfect engineer..
You taught me how to fix and gear..
You made me PAPA..
You are the best person..
You taught me how to make life an excursion..
You made me PAPA..
My first poem for my loving father.. just hope he likes it.  :)
Hozefa Apr 2019
Meri paidaish k waqt woh khushi aur fikr ke mix emotions mein kho raha tha....
Mujhe janam to meri maa de rahi thi, par usse dekh inhe bhi dard ** raha tha.

Jab main bol nahi pata,tabse meri khawahisho ko pura karne ka zimma uthaya tha...
Kandhe pe bitha kar duniya dikhayi aur ungli pakad ke papa ne chalna sikhaya tha.

Bhale khud,hindi medium mein aathwi kaksha tak ki thi padhai....
Par paise jama kar kar, seher ki best English school mein meri admission thi karwayi.

Office mein over time kar ke, mere future ki planning mein paise bachate the.....
Khud eid pe purane kapde pehente, par humare liye naye kapde silwate the.

Par tab zindagi mein, papa ka balidan aur pyaar kaha samjh mein aana tha.....
Papa ko thank u, i love u baad mein keh denge abhi to sirf paisa kamana tha.

Phir ek raat dosto k sang, madhoshi humpe chahi thi.....
Par waha fikr k maare papa ko neend kaha aayi thi.

Papa ka phone aaya to number dekh pehle phone kaat diya.....
Jab wapas call aaya to   "kyun pareshan kar rahe **" keh kar papa ko daat diya.

Phir agli subah phone aaya to socha, papa ko baar baar phone karne k liye naa kahe....
Par samne se awaz aayi "yeh jiska phn hai, unhe raste pe dil ka dora aaya, aur woh abb nahi rahe"

Aaj raat hai par sulane wala nahi....
Dost aur party hai par phn kar haal puchne wala nahi.

Aaj kehne to bahut kuch hai, par koi sunne wala nahi...
Abb bol sakta hoon, phir bhi khawahisho ko pura karne wala nahi.

Jab keh sakta tha tab maine kaha nahi....
Aaj paisa to bohot hai, par thank u, i love u kehne ko papa nahi.
Ifeoma Ogbonnaya Feb 2019
Papa used to say,
"I won't be here forever,
You gotta learn for yourself
to do things you ought to.

Life ain't gonna be easy,
you gotta keep believing.
No one owes you a penny
if you never worked to earn it".

Papa used say,
"I won't be here forever
You gotta learn for yourself
to be brave and strong
for there will be ugly days ahead.

You gotta learn to give love
even when you've never been given".

"It is a cold world out there,
covered in gross darkness,
there is plenty of pain and suffering.
Be ready to shine your light".

Papa used to say,
"we all need saving --
the preacher out there in the streets
and the robber out there in prison
We all need saving.

So look upon others
with nothing but compassion.
For if it wasn't for love
we wouldn't mention humanity".

Papa used to say,
"Let us not lose our heads in anger,
there's nothing more liberating
than freely dished out forgiveness.

The more it's given
the harder it becomes.
But if there's no hostility
how can true love be proven?"

I'd get mad at papa
for all he said sounded ridiculous.
Won't be here forever?
Why the hurry to leave?

Now papa is gone.
The years have slowly
Revealed to me
the same things papa once saw.

I've had my share of love.
I've had my share of loss.
It is indeed true,
There ain't no better teacher than experience.

If only I had listened
to what papa once said
I'd have saved myself
from a whole lot of hurting.
No regrets though,
we live to learn.

Promise I'd tell my kids
Same thing papa used to say,
"I won't be here forever
You gotta learn for yourself
To do things you ought to

Life ain't gonna be easy but you gotta keep believing
No one owes you a penny
if you never worked to earn it..."
Vedanti Jan 2018
Dear Papa,
Yesterday I saw something that I didn’t understand.
They were walking a little ahead of me.
But walking isn't the right word,
because there were two people
and only two feet.
It sounds like a math problem,
But nothing added up in my head.
It sounds like Vikram Vetal, papa,
But unlike the story you told me the other day,
there was no strong king or sly demon.
I saw, however, one ***** underfed boy of eight
dragging his crippled mother across the street.
Adhunik Shravan bal.
A Lilliputian on a Herculean task.
I couldn't decipher her age.
When you're that poor, does age matter?
Do they keep count of the days that pass by
when their aim is to survive just one?
Do they have a mirror to look into
and count the wrinkles on their face?
What does age matter to an eight year old boy
who, instead of attending school,
is hauling his handicapped mother across the road
on a seating board with wheels?
When I was that age, papa,
you bought me a skateboard
that was the exact leaf green
from my 50 colours oil pastels set.
I couldn't see the colour of their clothes.
There was the dark of the night,
yellow of the street lights
and everything was in sepia
like the picture you showed me
of your childhood.
You once told me you were raised in poverty too, papa.
Are there different kinds of poverty?
Did you get toys to play with
or were your clothes in sepia too?
I told you this sounds like a math problem, papa,
And here’s what doesn't add up.
Isn't a parent supposed to hold their child's hand
and show them how to cross the road?
I remember holding your hand,
looking left-right-left
and matching my steps
with your strides.
Fast, but never run.
Who taught him, papa?
Did he have his own papa to teach him?
How did he learn to walk fast enough
and pull hard enough
so that he and his mom made it across the road in time?
How did he find the strength if he was underfed?
He truly reminds me of Shravan bal,
because who else would carry his mother
across such distances.
I told you it sounds like Vikram Vetal, papa,
and now that I think about it, it really does.
Maybe this little boy is a young king.
Maybe he brings his vetal back home every day.
Maybe he hears her talk about her day.
And maybe, papa,
when he succeeds every night,
she saves him from an evil tantric.
An evil tantric called hunger.
Cecil Miller May 2017
It's my birthday and this year I turn ten
It's my birthday and this year I turn ten
It's my birthday and this year I turn ten
Gonna have a party and invite over all 'o my friends

It's my birthday and Papa's in the cooler again
It's my birthday and Papa's in the cooler again
It's my birthday and Papa's in the cooler again
Gonna use my birthday cash to bail him out again

Mamma says no matter, I should love my dad
Mamma says no matter, I should love my dad
Mamma says no matter, I should love my dad
I already think he's the best I could'a had

It's my birthday and Papa's in the cooler again
It's my birthday and Papa's in the cooler again
It's my birthday and Papa's in the cooler again
Gonna use my birthday cash to bail him out again

When we paid the bail, gonna walk up on a snitch
When we paid the bail, gonna walk up on a snitch
When we paid the bail, gonna walk up on a snitch
Snag him in a snag, we're gonna hitch him to a hitch
Wrote most of this one about three years ago. I finished it just now, as I was posting it. It needed a resolve.
(This seems kinda rockabilly to me)
Terry Collett Nov 2013
Sister Teresa put down the pen. Eyes searched page. White and black. Scribbled words. Meaning there some where amongst the lines, she mused. Bell rang from bell tower. Echoed around cell. Closed her eyes. Held hands together. Sighed a prayer. Allowed the dark and peaceful to swim about her. Out of the depths, O Lord, she whispered. Opened eyes. Parted hands, rested on the table before her palms up, and read the signs. The last echo went out of the room. The whisper of it out of earshot.First-class now this age; first-rate her papa had thought; foremost her mama decided. Gone now Mama, she mused, lifting her body from the chair and walking to the window. Gone except memory. What the little child had seen she wanted to forget. Some memories are best buried. The sky was cold looking; the clouds shroud-like. Held hands beneath habit; clutched hands child-like. Mumbled prayer. Watched nuns move along cloister; watched the slowness; sensed the coldness of the air. If possible, Lord, she murmured, moving from window, walking towards the door. Paused. Looked back. Stared at crucifix on wall. The Crucified agonised, battered by age and time. Smiled. Nodded. Turned and opened the door and walked into the passageway. Closed the door with gentle click; hid hands beneath the cloth; lowered eyes to floor’s depth. Wandered down by wall’s side. Listened. Sighed. Sensed day’s hours; day’s passage and dark and light. Entered cloister and felt the chill wind bite and snap. Best part, Papa had said. Men are not to be trusted, said he many a time. Felt the cloister wall’s roughness with her right hand. Sensed the rough brick; sensed the tearing of the flesh on wall of brick; the nails of Christ. Mama had died her own crucifixion. The child closed the door having seen in the half-dark, she recalled, closing her eyes, feeling the chill wind on her cheek. Paused. Breathed deep. Saw sky’s pale splendour; saw light against cloister’s wall; saw in the half-light. Nun passed behind. Sister Helen, big of bone, cold of eyes, cool of spirit. Cried once; cried against night’s temper. Months on months moved on; days on days succeeded. Papa had said, the zenith of the passing years, my dear child, your mama’s love. How pain can crucify, she thought as she moved on and along the cloister, lifting eyes to church door. Nails hammered home to breast and ribs, she murmured as she entered the church. Fingers found stoup and tip ends touched cold water; blessed is He, she sighed. Eyes searched church. Scanned pew on pew; nun on nun. Sister Bede nodded; held hands close; lifted eyes that smiled. Where Jude had been buried, Papa had not said. Ten years passed; time almost circle-like, she mused, pacing slow down aisle to the choir stall. Sister Bede lowered her head; lowered her black habited body. Saw once as a child but closed the door. Poor Mama. Who is she that came and went? Long ago. Time on time. Papa had missed her; tears and tears; sobs in the mid of night. Mother Abbess knocked wood on wood. Silence. Closed eyes. Dark passages lead no where, Papa said. Chant began and echoed; rose up and down; lifted and lowered like a huge wave of loss and grief. Where are you? What grief is this? Night on night, her papa’s voice was heard; echoed her bedroom walls; her ears closed to it all except the sobs. De profundis. Out of the depths. Dark and death are similar to man and child. Opened eyes to page and Latin text. Bede and she, to what end? Death, dark, and Mama’s fears echoed through the rooms of the house; vibrated in the child’s ears; bit the child’s heart and head. This is the high point Jude had said; had kissed her once; had held her close and she felt and sensed. Men are not to be trusted. Breathed deep. For thine is the kingdom. And Papa’s words were black on white and pained her. Jude gone and buried; mama crucified; Sister Rose fled the walls; wed and wasted to night’s worst. Come, my Christ, she murmured through chant and prayer; come lift me from my depths; raise me up on the last day. Voice on voice; hand on heart; night on night. Jude had said be prepared for the next meeting, but dead now; Passchendaele claimed him. Voice on voice, Amen. Chill in bone and flesh. Breath eased out like knife from wound. Bede looked and smiled; hid the hands; bit the lip. Men are not to be trusted. Jude long gone. Nuns departed. Bede turned and went with her gentle nod. Paused. Sighed. Come, my Lord and raise me up, she mused, stepping back from stall and the tabernacle of Christ. Raise me up. Raise your lonely bride from death and dark.
CRESTINE CUERPO Aug 2017
Simula noong ako'y bata pa,
Iba ang iyong pagpapahalaga,
Paulit-ulit kong itong nadarama,
Isang pag-aaruga,
Na hindi kayang tumbasan ng anong halaga,

Sa panahon na ako'y nagkakasakit,
Ako'y iyong pinipilit,
Di ba't sinabi **** kailangan kong kumapit?
Manalangin sa Maykapal ng mahigpit,
Sapagkat pag-asa'y hindi niya ipagkakait.

Di mo man sa akin sabihin,
Ito'y aking napapansin,
Di mo man banggitin,
Alam kong ika'y nasasaktan din,
Nahihirapan,
Puso mo'y lumuluha,
Kaya't ang tangi kong dalangin,
"Panginoon ako'y inyo na lamang kunin."
Kung kapalit  naman nito'y pasakit at suliranin,
Di ko kayang makita si Papa na ako'y  nagiging pasanin,
at kanyang babalikatin.

Papa ika'y mahalaga sa akin,
Naalala ko pa ang pagkakataong ako'y nagiging malungkutin,
Niyakap mo ako kaya't ako'y nagiging batang masayahin,
Ang halik mo sa akin,
Kaysarap damhin!
Init ng pagmamahal na hindi kayang sukatin!

Pag-ibig na kahit saan kaya kong dalhin,
Habang buhay kong gugunitain,
Himig ng pagmamahalan natin!

O kaysarap dinggin!
Ang tiwala **** sa akin ay hinabilin,
Bagkus ko itong pagyayamanin,
Hinding-hindi ko ito sasayangin,
Habang buhay ko itong pupurihin,
Hanggang sa ito ay magniningning!

100 na tula alay ko sayo!
Ika'y isa sa magiging pahina nito,
Laman ka ng aking nobela,
Na hindi maipagkakailang-----
Ako'y sa'yo at ika'y akin lamang!
Ang tulang ito ay para sa magiting kong ama. Napaka mati-ising tao, at handang magsakripisyo para sa pamilya.
Mabuhay ka aking ama! Mahal na mahal kita.
Sharina Saad Jun 2013
Papa bear whistles
Mama bear sings
Baby bear jumps
and he yells out loud!
Papa look what I have found!
a yellow hibiscus for mama!
Papa bear grins
Mama bear smiles
Baby bear struts with pride!
Mama bear, Papa bear and baby bear
are enjoying their walk in the woods.
Inside many of us
is a small old man
who wants to get out.
No bigger than a two-year-old
whom you'd call lamb chop
yet this one is old and malformed.
His head is okay
but the rest of him wasn't Sanforized?
He is a monster of despair.
He is all decay.
He speaks up as tiny as an earphone
with Truman's asexual voice:
I am your dwarf.
I am the enemy within.
I am the boss of your dreams.
No. I am not the law in your mind,
the grandfather of watchfulness.
I am the law of your members,
the kindred of blackness and impulse.
See. Your hand shakes.
It is not palsy or *****.
It is your Doppelganger
trying to get out.
Beware . . . Beware . . .

There once was a miller
with a daughter as lovely as a grape.
He told the king that she could
spin gold out of common straw.
The king summoned the girl
and locked her in a room full of straw
and told her to spin it into gold
or she would die like a criminal.
Poor grape with no one to pick.
Luscious and round and sleek.
Poor thing.
To die and never see Brooklyn.

She wept,
of course, huge aquamarine tears.
The door opened and in popped a dwarf.
He was as ugly as a wart.
Little thing, what are you? she cried.
With his tiny no-*** voice he replied:
I am a dwarf.
I have been exhibited on Bond Street
and no child will ever call me Papa.
I have no private life.
If I'm in my cups the whole town knows by breakfast
and no child will ever call me Papa
I am eighteen inches high.
I am no bigger than a partridge.
I am your evil eye
and no child will ever call me Papa.
Stop this Papa foolishness,
she cried. Can you perhaps
spin straw into gold?
Yes indeed, he said,
that I can do.
He spun the straw into gold
and she gave him her necklace
as a small reward.
When the king saw what she had done
he put her in a bigger room of straw
and threatened death once more.
Again she cried.
Again the dwarf came.
Again he spun the straw into gold.
She gave him her ring
as a small reward.
The king put her in an even bigger room
but this time he promised
to marry her if she succeeded.
Again she cried.
Again the dwarf came.
But she had nothing to give him.
Without a reward the dwarf would not spin.
He was on the scent of something bigger.
He was a regular bird dog.
Give me your first-born
and I will spin.
She thought: Piffle!
He is a silly little man.
And so she agreed.
So he did the trick.
Gold as good as Fort Knox.

The king married her
and within a year
a son was born.
He was like most new babies,
as ugly as an artichoke
but the queen thought him in pearl.
She gave him her dumb lactation,
delicate, trembling, hidden,
warm, etc.
And then the dwarf appeared
to claim his prize.
Indeed! I have become a papa!
cried the little man.
She offered him all the kingdom
but he wanted only this -
a living thing
to call his own.
And being mortal
who can blame him?

The queen cried two pails of sea water.
She was as persistent
as a Jehovah's Witness.
And the dwarf took pity.
He said: I will give you
three days to guess my name
and if you cannot do it
I will collect your child.
The queen sent messengers
throughout the land to find names
of the most unusual sort.
When he appeared the next day
she asked: Melchior?
Balthazar?
But each time the dwarf replied:
No! No! That's not my name.
The next day she asked:
Spindleshanks? Spiderlegs?
But it was still no-no.
On the third day the messenger
came back with a strange story.
He told her:
As I came around the corner of the wood
where the fox says good night to the hare
I saw a little house with a fire
burning in front of it.
Around that fire a ridiculous little man
was leaping on one leg and singing:
Today I bake.
Tomorrow I brew my beer.
The next day the queen's only child will be mine.
Not even the census taker knows
that Rumpelstiltskin is my name . . .
The queen was delighted.
She had the name!
Her breath blew bubbles.

When the dwarf returned
she called out:
Is your name by any chance Rumpelstiltskin?
He cried: The devil told you that!
He stamped his right foot into the ground
and sank in up to his waist.
Then he tore himself in two.
Somewhat like a split broiler.
He laid his two sides down on the floor,
one part soft as a woman,
one part a barbed hook,
one part papa,
one part Doppelganger.
Arielle Sep 2015
My Little Brother’s Toy Train
Was indeed a cool toy to play with
I remember staring at it with utter fascination
I even remember wishing it was mine.
We would play with it together
Imagining that we were the passengers inside
Not even caring about the time.
So one night we played with it again
But it had a little accident.
I knew it was my fault, but I didn’t mean it.
My little brother’s eyes were already glistening
With tears that are waiting to be freed.
I tried to save his toy train
So I immediately grabbed it and tried to fix it
I looked at my father for help
But
His eyes were already burning with fire
Why is he mad?
Why is he angry?
What wrong have I done?
I am trying to fix what I just broke
I am really trying hard.
He started to shout
Making my knees shake in terror
I thought my mother was going to help me
But
Her eyes were already filled with pure disappointment.
“Mama! Help me I never wanted anything like this to happen!
I just wanted to play with my little brother
Mama, please understand?”
I looked back at my father
Not meeting his gaze
But when I finally did
He snatched the toy train from my arms and smashed it with all his might.
“I’m sorry little brother! I know how you loved that one.”
But his eyes gladly answered “It’s okay my sister, don’t worry, I understand.”
My father was still screaming at the top of his lungs
My ears felt like they were already bleeding
My eyes were already drowning
My lips were already trembling
trying to make a sound.
And when it finally did, the first thing I said was
“I’m sorry papa!”
But he just kept on shouting!
I’m sorry papa I swear I didn’t mean it!
I’m sorry papa I was just trying to help!
I’m sorry papa
but I was just doing what you taught me best
To be your perfect little girl
I am really trying my best
But I’m sorry papa for not being your perfect little girl,
Papa I just can’t!
There was a complete silence and I thought
‘finally it’s done’
but not until I saw my father’s hand about to land on me.
I protected myself with my arms
Waiting for the pain to hit hard
But
It didn’t
And just as I started opening my eyes
I saw my family eating happily
But there was something missing;
Why wasn’t there a space for me?
I ran to my mother and hugged her
But she couldn’t feel me
I ran to my brother and sister and hugged them
But why couldn’t they feel me?
I tried to hold my father’s hand and whisper “I’m sorry”
But I guess they have forgotten me.
It was like I was watching a life where I once existed but they have abandoned me
for not being the perfect little girl they have expected me to be.
“I just want this nightmare to end!”
I shouted as loud as I could wishing for someone to hear me
And just as I was about to lose hope
Someone woke me up from my misery
He put me into his loving arms.
As I whisper
“I’m sorry papa, I never meant to disappoint you.”
and he fondly answered
“It’s okay little one, papa loves you no matter what.”
Pankaj Thakur Sep 2017
"Hawa sang chalna seekh gayi **,"
Thora pankh faila udna bhi seekh jaoge,
Jra azma ke deakh khud ko,
Zindgi ka matlab seekh jaoge.
Khush hoon jaan ke tum logon ko,
Padna seekh gyi **...

Thodi himmat rakh ,
Honsle ke kami nahi tujh me,
Sar utha ke chala kro,
Tumhe darna nahi kisi se..

Tum bholi si nanhi si,
Payari si thi,
Mma papa ki gudiya dulari si thi,
Ankhon main anshoo a jate unki,
Jab tum rote rote so jaati,
Unki ladli payari si tum...

Na jaane kab unki gudiya badi ** gayi,
Unhe pata bhi na chala,
Jiin hathon main kheli  unhi se
vida ** ke chal bhi bdi...

Kya hi zindgi tumhe mili hai,
kuch pal rahi mma papa sang,
Begane aye tujhe le gye,
Tere mma papa ko anshoo de gye...

Hansti kehlti papa ke dil ka taara thi tum,
Kuch khelne ko na hota,
To papa ki peeth ki sawari thi tum...

Papa ki beti aaj badi ** gayi hai,
Kl thak jo roti lagti nanhi si,
Bechari si thi ,
Aaj mma ki vo ladli sayani ban gayi hai...

Gairon ko rehne de,
Papa ka sar na jhukana kabhi,
Bde laad payar se rakha hai tujhe,
kabhi rulana na unhe...

BEti tu lout ke jaldi aana
tera intazar rahega,
Teri maa royi to main sambhal lunga,
Par tere papa roye to.
tere siva koi chup karvane nahi ayega...
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2015
His fingers wrapped tightly
Around the little hand
Of the sleeping child in his arms.
His eyes traced the silhouette
Of pursed lips to fattened cheeks
And he thought to himself,
"How does something so wonderful exist?"

He listened to the gentle rasp of breath
And watched the slight rise and fall of chest.
His eye soaked up the sight
Of the bundle of unconditional love he held.
And soon dreams of future adventures
And tales and fables and stories
And daily life monotony
Played like a movie before him,
Drawing a single tear of hope from his eye.

All too soon the child stirred and woke
And jumped up and shouted with glee.
And he returned from sentiment to reality
And made breakfast with a cup of tea
Wishing for more moments like these
Because he finally understood his father's word:
Time passes too quickly when it comes to love.

And when his hand paused over the kettle
And his eyes glazed over with this vague thought,
A small hand touched his arm with "Papa?"
Little eyes took in the strength of character
That towered as a model for a future life;
Little eyes that never strayed too long from
Watching and learning all the things Papa did;
Little eyes that now began to see
There's always another side to every thing,
For with great abruptness
Papa looked into those little eyes
And said, "Go wash up, your hands are *****."

But the glint in his eyes said,
"I love you, always."
Whitney Grey Nov 2017
I miss you papa
How are you doing ?
I Want to hug you papa
I wish I could see you  
Why did you go without me papa?
I want to be like you
I don’t want to feel anymore pain papa
I want to be happy
I want to be happy with you papa
If I come visit you
Can I stay with you papa?
My grandfather died of cancer and all I want is to get to hug him one last time
Caleb;
my 4 year old grandson
he,

he
helped me
check and fill
my work truck
tires today.

he put the
valve caps
back on
too....

tightly.

he made sure
they were
tight for
his papa.

he put
the screws
back in
outlet covers
as we
installed those
snap on
night light
outlet covers.


then,

he drank
chocolate milk and i had
coffee on our
lunch break
together.

we took
a nap
together,
just Caleb and
his papa.

we awoke
and then
checked
the pressure
on his bike
tires as
requested by
my 4 year old grandson.

they were low,
so Caleb
advised his papa
that they are
in need of air
so we filled
them together.

we then
took his bike
up and down
the
city sidewalks.

this boy is
so smart that
he knows the
new concrete
from the old
because he knows
that's what his
papa does.

we get
all the way
down the street
and he sees
new sidewalk
and he asks,
"papa....did
you put this
concrete here"?

just then,
my friend that
owns that home
and new concrete
pulled into
his driveway.

i looked at
Caleb and
my friend and Caleb
asked,
"did my papa put this
concrete in here
for you"
to where
my friend says
"yep,
your papa is
the best".
Caleb looked
at him
and said....

"my papa
is the best".

we turn around
from there
and begin
heading back
home and
Caleb says
to me,
"papa,
I LOVE YOU"
...

..

we had more
fun from there
like seeing
my childhood
friend Mario
drive by and stop
to say hi and
give us a hug
but,
those genuine
words
from my
4 year old
grandson Caleb
was all
that this papa
needed.

to be loved
for who
he is.

that's all that i
have ever asked for.

please don't
ever try to change me because,

i won't......
this is how i deal with a "crisis".
Lindsey Bartlett Nov 2012
Papa repeats bad jokes
like a broken record, an overplayed
and under paid radio station
that forgot how many times
we've heard the same
song.

Out to eat at a fine dining
Mexican restaurant, Papa orders
a hot dog. The waiter
doesn't get it. The joke, nor the
hot dog.

Who would guess so many
bad one-liners and puns lie behind
your dark leather skin and
tired jaw? The waiter cannot tell
that buried underneath pages of wrinkles and
stoic smiles, Papa
is only joking.
JB Claywell Apr 2017
Hello.

My name is Harper.

I am a mouse.

My momma hasn’t let me out of our nest very often yet.

It has only been a short time since I stopped taking
her milk.

And, even still, sometimes,
when I am frightened by
a bad dream,
or feeling very small and very alone,

I will again take some of her milk
and she will sing to me,
stroking the fur on my face and neck
while she sings.

I want to tell you about my home and my family.

My momma, my papa, my two sisters, and I
live in a neat and tidy little hole
behind the refrigerator that sits
in a warm little house.

The house belongs to five humans.

So far, the humans do not know
that we live with them.

(My papa says that they would not like it, if they knew.)

But, the humans have a cat.

And, the cat knows about us.

The cat’s name is Chauncey.

I hate him.

He scares me.

Papa doesn’t think so,
but our human family is nice.

There is a momma and a papa.
two loud boys; one older one who is
tall and thin.

The other boy is small,
but very loud.

He reminds me of the squirrels
that live in the trees near the
back of the house.

The small boy never walks,
he runs everywhere he goes.

Sometimes he jumps and jumps
for no reason at all.


The girl is in the middle.

She is usually very quiet.
I like her best.

The girl reads stories from books.
Sometimes she reads aloud,
when she does,
I sneak in to listen.

I like stories.

I don’t know much about the human momma
or
the human papa.

My papa tells me not to get too close to any of
the humans.
My papa tells me to
stay especially away from the adult humans;
to never let them see us.

I do my best to follow the rules,
to do as I am told,
but I like the human girl
very much.

The stories that she reads to herself
are full of adventures.

I do so very much like to hear her read
the adventure stories.

(I wish I could go on an adventure.)

But, I must be very, very careful.

Chauncey, the cat, likes adventure stories
too.

*


-JBClaywell

© P&ZPublications
*an exercise in fiction
Krish R Jul 2019
I will be free, Papa said.
No more tummy growls, Mama said.
I won't be sick often, Papa said.

I can dream, Mama said.
School I can go, Papa said.
Stars I can reach, Mama said.

Land of plenty, Papa said,
Cats have toys, Mama said.
Dogs sleep on beds, Papa said.

Don’t drag my Papa, I begged.
Don’t take my Mama, I cried .
Inside a cage my tears dried.
Family seperation at border
Curtis C Jun 2017
Ms. Minerva’s
Helpful Hints and a guide through life



Ms.Minerva…
Born September 1885….died September 1976, 91 years old.  She didn’t marry until she was 45 and had her first child that year.  Getting married at 45 was something that didn’t happen to often for women back then, especially a black woman.  Then low and behold 5 years later: what the doctor called her second tumor, she had her second and last child at 50, a baby girl and her change of life in one shot.
        But her true joy came along 17 years later at 67….only being a mother for 22 years; she was now a grandmother……that’s where I came in!  My mother’s oldest child and Ms Minerva, my grandmother’s baby boy……..Mama!!

    It is important to tell you that from here on, the stories will be in no certain order….they’re as I remember them.  As I found understanding, THE LIGHT, as she called it.
MS. MINERVA’S HELPFUL HINTS…
2
[Song – Higher & Higher]
This song became her theme song for a while:  Love, knowledge taking you higher!!  Ms Minerva (Mama) the first career women I knew.  In 1967, she heard this song and realizes that this song talked about what kept her going…LOVE!  Love took her higher and higher and it was love that she shared………with me!

MM: “Boy, you might not understand what I’m telling you, but remember it remember all you hear, see, taste and feel….. because understanding come with time and when you ready for it!”
Knowledge……. Love………Understanding……Enlightenment take us higher.

How?  How did a black woman in south Louisiana go out, have a career, a family with little education but wise beyond her years.  Oh, when I say career woman I mean a cook, maid, nanny but mama said,

MM: “those jobs keep us going and I was one of the best, always be the best at what you do…greatness comes in all sizes!”


3
Another thing I should say is: some of the stories that I will share have not been documented as fact.  They were hers that she shared with me…..
Like one night watching TV…….

MM: Lord, Lord, Lord…
CC:  What’s the matter Mama?
MM:  Did I ever tell you about when I worked at an all boys’ school in New (N’Orleans) Orleans.  I was the one who stayed with the boys at
night.  Well, there was one lil’ boy that was always
sneaking out of bed going outside playing his horn.
I would take it from him and beat his ****.  The day
they give it back to him, that night he would sneak outside
again.  Beating his **** didn’t help, he just kept sneaking out
no matter how long we kept the horn.
CC: What happen to him mama?
She pointed to the TV and said:
MM:  There he is……


4
Louie Armstrong singing HELLO DOLLY raise in an all boys home in New (N’Orleans) Orleans….was this true……I don’t know.  Did and do I believe it….YES!
This was also one of the times I receive one of ….Ms Minerva’s Helpful Hint:

MM: You can be anything you want if you believe
and have the passion for it! Believe in
your passion because you are your passion
and you must always believe in you….yourself!  
No matter what others say or think….it’s you who
must believe!

Believing, she was a big believer. she believed in people and the good in them.


5
MM:  Always see the positive in people, in everything thing.
No matter how negative someone or something is
there is always an ounce of positive…..go for the positive,
it will always carry you through and shine light

Everywhere, positive light.

I often wonder how someone so positive in my life, who taught me to look up and be strong could be so down on her daughter , my mother.  When I was sent to fly with the eagles she was told to stay on earth.  This was one of my confusions, I knew there was a lot of love there between them but so hard for them to share……Understanding comes with time.

When I was 7 years old I was sent to the kitchen to cook for a family of 5.  It wasn’t what you think.  At 72 years old Ms. Minerva wasn’t seeing things to well. So, instead of saying; Old woman you need to stop, you’re losing it.  She was told; “It’s time for Curtis to start learning how to cook, he needs to know how to take care of himself.”  So, what I thought was a prison

6

sentence became some of the most wonderful and important times of my life……
I was allow to be a child and do the things children do but at 5, maybe 5:30 I went to spend my hour or two with Ms. Minerva, my best friend…..learning the secrets of the kitchen and of life.

MM:  you have got to know how to take care of yourself.
I won’t be here to take care of you but I’ll always
be watching over you, I'll always be with you!

Like a lot of things, I didn’t get it then, but I do now:

One day, I was tormenting my grandfather….Oh I haven’t and won’t say much about him because that is a whole other story, but I’ll share this much with you:
  His name was Tower Jackson Sr. better known as Bud (papa to me).  He was born in December of 1880 and died in 1969, it’s funny but I don’t remember the month or day, it just kinda went a way.  Anyway, I think he
7
was married once before Ms Minerva…that’s what he said.  He had a daughter…Aunt Traci….who was old enough to be my mother’s mother.  Remember THE COLOR PURPLE he was kinda like Mister and Old Mister but not as bad.  But Ms Minerva wasn’t Ms Celia…she was more like Sophia. Papa loved me unconditionally and he was my playmate but I don’t think he realized that point but I had a great time.

Back to one of the days I was tormenting him…he was finish with me and he got up and came after me…he was between 75 or 80.  I starting running and he came after me.  We lived in a house that was once a duplex, I ran out of his room, which was in the middle of the house, took a left and headed for the kitchen and the back door, that was open to freedom.  I got to the kitchen and I could see the back door standing open and waiting for me….  But out the corner of my eye, I see Ms. Minerva washing dishes.  I turn right, then a sharp left and I’m almost to the door…..just then an arm reach out and push the door close…..I can’t stop……I hit the door and fall to the floor.  Just before papa grab me to start the whipen’ and mama looks down at me and say:      

8
MM: Boy, didn’t I tell you to stop running in my house and don’t every run away!”
Well, it was all over.  I got a whipin’…one I would never forget.  Papa felt so guilty he took me for Ice Cream almost everyday for a week.
But later that day…….Ms Minerva’s helpful hint:

MM:  Baby the reason I don’t want you running, especially when
you’re scared, is because you’ll be running for the rest
of your life.  When you run out of fear you’re only
running from yourself.  No matter what people think
or what’s happening stand and face it…Don’t Run!
Believe in yourself and you can beat it.

I didn’t really understand what she was saying, but when I’m scared I hear her voice and I stand (sometime that old confusion comes in with my mother) but most time I stand, face it and deal with it.  Growing, Changing and changing and growing!  Stronger everyday.


9
I remember when I was 12, it was a Sat and a beautiful day and Ms. Minerva called me into the house.  It wasn’t time for cooking and it was Sat but I went:
MM:  I need to talk to you.
CC: Mama can we talk later I’m playing.
MM:   No, I want and need to talk to you NOW!. let’s cook.

I knew that was it.  When she says: “let’s cook” the battle was over, she felt it was important.  We got to the kitchen and started pulling stuff out …
MM: You’re special
CC:  No, no don’t start this again.
MM:  No, no, no you’re special! You’re a *****, a punk, *****…

There were a few other choice colorful names…Then she said:

MM:  Now that someone that loves you, truly loves you have
called you these names they can’t hurt you.  You’re gay
and it’s not something I would chose for you but it’s

10
who you are.  But it makes you more special and wonderful because you are different. You are my special, but it’s only apart of you and your life, not your whole life or the whole you.  You can chose to practice or not.  You are made up of many parts, many yous…..Be Proud of who you are! Never hang your head, You will be a great man…even greater because you know who and what you are.

That day, I knew what love was and what love is.  Unconditional Love.  I was Proud to be who and what I was and who and what I was to become.  Proud of Who I Am and What I Am.

Music was always heard in my house, all kind, mama believed in   experiencing everything in everyway.
MM:  You need to know about it all, don’t let ignorance
be your down fall.  That’s what’s wrong with most folk,
they just don’t know and don’t want to learn.  Education
is freedom; knowledge is light….don’t ever stand
in the dark, you’ll only hurt yourself.

11

There were a few things I didn’t learn or just didn’t remember.  Remember I said; she didn’t like running in her house.  Well, when I was a kid I was a runner, a mover, didn’t want to get caught…so I just kept moving.   Well, one day my mother was going to whip my ****, I don’t even know why this time but she grab my arm and I just started running around her and every time I heard the belt hit…I would yell.  I think I might have gotten hit once or twice but my mother’s legs, oh boy, but she kept going and so did I.
Then I heard the voice…….
MM:  Sister, what are you doing?
Sister, that’s what everyone called my mother, even me.  she sat down in her chair
MM: Bring that boy over here and let me show you
how to do that.

The she put me on my knees and stuck my head between her knees and turn her feet in and locked her knees.  My ears were hurting but not compared to how my **** was going to feel.  Then I heard……

12
MM:  Now, see you got wide-open ****!

Then the whipping began and it was one I’d never forget and the whole time she just kept talking to my mother…..I can hear her and feel the belt now..

MM:  Girl you need to get out of the way and stop making
it so hard.  Just breathe and believe, it’ll come together….
Now, go put something on your legs.

It took me awhile to start breathing but I did and I remembered what she said; “Just breathe and believe.” and when I don’t I just remember that belt on my ****.
Whenever people hear this story, they’re shocked, confuse…well, this was a different time and Ms. Minerva was a different kind of woman.  A wipen' wasn’t something that happen everyday, I never ended up in the hospital and I was shower with love….. a different day – a different time.
              


13
Around that time I remember I went through my Ultra Black stage.  I had some problem at school and I hated all white people and I was very
vocal about it.  Mama, just listen and I went on and on and on….and somewhere in there she hit me and it shocked and stopped me in my tracks.  Then she looked at me and said:
MM:  Who spit on you?  Who’s bus did you sit on the back of?  
Who’s kitchen or yard did you work in?  Nothing, nothing has happen to you that bad to hate…..Don’t hate it takes to much energy.  Remember the positive.  Some white people are ignorance and you have to educate them.  You can’t be just one thing in America you have to know about all……people and things.  There will come a time in America when people will be more than just one race, we have and are mixing it up.  LEARN…we are all connected, we are all one, and we are all God!














  14

One other thing about my grandfather (Bud)…he had a scar over his right eye and I always asked him about it and he would say, “Go ask mama.”  But being a kid I would forget and then ask him again.  Well one day I remembered to ask Mama how he got the scar.  

MM: Who told you to ask me?

CC:  Papa……..

She started laughing and told me to sit down……

MM: One day papa came home and had decided he was going to beat me.  Someone had told him that I would take it because I should feel lucky he married an old woman.  So, he came in and hit me!  I had the broom in my hand (I had just finish sweeping) and I took that broom and started beating him with it until I broke the handle on his head.  But he kept coming and backed me up to the mantle where I had my teacups. (She collected cups and saucer) and I begin throwing them at him and when I realize I was breaking my cups…. I got mad and threw them harder and one hit him over the eye…. He stopped and went down…it was a bad cut.

cc:  What did you do?

MM:  I stepped over him and finishing cooking.  I knew he would live and I saw it didn’t hit him in the eye and it gave him something to remember this moment.  You have to leave a mark on people to remember you by….. hopefully it’s a positive mark but sometime it might have to be an ugly one.  People will treat you the way you let them and there will be time you have to show and leave them something to remember it by.  Don’t go through life getting beat up especially by yourself.

There were a few times I didn’t follow that bit of advice…...but understanding, the light came in time.


15
MM:  You have to open up and let people in --- because a lot of times you see yourself through them and don’t you want them and yourself to see the truth?  THE TRUE YOU!

Early mornings were wonderful for Ms. Minerva:

MM:  Morning is my time to talk to Me and God and get us together for the day.  Some folks don’t know that they are God….your positive energy creates your world and parts of the world of others.  When you create you must be honest, positive, loving……God!  So, my quiet times in the morning is finding honest, positive, loving, creative things and feeling…..finding God in me!!!!!!!!

(Song – Amazing Grace)


One night while watching TV; we watched a lot of TV…..watching TV and cooking…anyway, it was the Mitch Miller Singers and Leslie Uggams was singing:

MM:  That’s a cute little colored girl.
CC:  Mama, we’re not colored anymore, we’re Black.

There was silent and then a sigh….

CC:  What’s the matter mama?
MM:  I’ve been *****, colored and a few other names that I don’t want to talk about and now I’m Black……I wish they would make up their minds what I am!

Then she told me:

MM:  No matter who or what people think you are…You have to know yourself, people will always try to make you into what they want you to be but the final choice is yours. You Must Know Curtis.

Her helpful hints could and would come anytime, anywhere:
MM:  life is a lesson to learn…never, never stop learning!
16

Whenever I talk about Ms. Minerva I realize how much she means to me and how good it makes me feel because I see how good it makes others feel……people showing me…..Me and Ms. Minerva.

The day Ms. Minerva died I was in Shreveport/Bossier, LA in the Air Force, it was September 1976.  I was at work in the printing plant at Barksdale AFB.  My boss told me the commander wanted to see me, he was acting a little strange but at the time I didn’t think much of it.  Walking out to my car my best friend ran out after me and said he was going with me….”they call for me too.”  We got in the car laughing and talking about all the things they coul
Prossnip42 Jan 12
Please don't scare me papa, i am but a humble man.  Why my end had to be an axe, i don't understand. A decent life and a beautiful wife, never lived in dread.Until you papa came that night and slaughtered us in bed.
Please don't scare me papa, me or my mistress too.Wound up with a hatchet to the temple, and it is all thanks to you.Later on my mistress thought that i was you.Though i may have been a bit odd dear papa, i wouldn't be such a fool.
Please don't scare me papa, i ain't got no grief with you.Just a pregnant woman you tried to slay, but you failed to do.
Oh please don't scare us papa, New Orleans is wide awake.That night you wanted Jazz to play, is that what it will take?Well then that dreary night, no one will be in their beds.So swing to the music dear papa, instead of swinging heads.

— The End —