"vis" poems - Hello Poetry

Why I Always Carry Tissues To My Children: I'm laughing at myself, As I am prone to do because Why I Always Carry Tissues Is the title of a poem I write for you. There is a story here, Of parenting, and responsibilties That transcends yourself, defines me, Vis-a-vis you, then and there, and maybe now. When you were small, I took you by the hand, The cement canyons, trails & rivers of West Eighty Six Street, Together, we would ford. Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do, Your hand, from my hand, I would release So you could fall down, All on your own. It bemused me that I could see Three or four paces ahead of thee Exactly which crack, Upon which you would trip, And come crying back to me. Back-to-me. That was then. And now, Yes, no more, Back-to-me. But I always had tissues to dry your eyes And no surprise, I still do, Always will. These days, they, more likely used to dry mine, As I have forded that Styxy river, When crossed, you spend more of the day, Liking Back more, Then looking ahead. No matter, by right and tradition, It is still my mission, that when you need, when you bleed, as I know you surely shall, These pocket tissues will be there Ready, willing and able, fully capable, of snatching away your tears. **When you need, When you bleed, And you surely shall, These pockets of mine, Of tissue made, Are waiting for your tears, And you, to fill them, For without them, Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.** These used tissues are my history book, Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life, Of tears and hearts, And concrete spills, That need knees to be complete. That is why you will find me, without fail, Ready, willing and able, holding my White Badge of Courage at the ready, Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed, Missions known as parenting schemes. The scheme is clear, even if my tissues you no longer request, You will let your own babies fall n' fail, then take their tears Put them in your pocket, keep them forever wet, Like my memories of you the ones I cherish best... Perhaps a tradition We will start, Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear, Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors Removers of our dear one's fears. If we are truly wise Those tissued memories We will keep, Die among them contented, Knee-scraped deep When tears fall... 2008

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Jul 27, 2013

Jul 27, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Why I Always Carry Tissues (2008 - the poem I love the best)

Why I Always Carry Tissues To My Children: I'm laughing at myself, As I am prone to do because Why I Always Carry Tissues Is the title of a poem I write for you. There is a story here, Of parenting, and responsibilties That transcends yourself, defines me, Vis-a-vis you, then and there, and maybe now. When you were small, I took you by the hand, The cement canyons, trails & rivers of West Eighty Six Street, Together, we would ford. Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do, Your hand, from my hand, I would release So you could fall down, All on your own. It bemused me that I could see Three or four paces ahead of thee Exactly which crack, Upon which you would trip, And come crying back to me. Back-to-me. That was then. And now, Yes, no more, Back-to-me. But I always had tissues to dry your eyes And no surprise, I still do, Always will. These days, they, more likely used to dry mine, As I have forded that Styxy river, When crossed, you spend more of the day, Liking Back more, Then looking ahead. No matter, by right and tradition, It is still my mission, that when you need, when you bleed, as I know you surely shall, These pocket tissues will be there Ready, willing and able, fully capable, of snatching away your tears. **When you need, When you bleed, And you surely shall, These pockets of mine, Of tissue made, Are waiting for your tears, And you, to fill them, For without them, Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.** These used tissues are my history book, Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life, Of tears and hearts, And concrete spills, That need knees to be complete. That is why you will find me, without fail, Ready, willing and able, holding my White Badge of Courage at the ready, Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed, Missions known as parenting schemes. The scheme is clear, even if my tissues you no longer request, You will let your own babies fall n' fail, then take their tears Put them in your pocket, keep them forever wet, Like my memories of you the ones I cherish best... Perhaps a tradition We will start, Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear, Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors Removers of our dear one's fears. If we are truly wise Those tissued memories We will keep, Die among them contented, Knee-scraped deep When tears fall... 2008