My father died when I was 4 years old, so I can't really say anything about his hearing.
quote by George Kennedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sister, Lost and Found
I had a sister for seventeen years,
She went missing, many tears,
We wondered what she was up to,
We didn't know she was forced to,
By her sick boyfriend,
This abusive boyfriend,
He controlled her every move,
Kept her weak, there's no prove.
When father died, the saddest truth,
When father died, the loss of youth,
Broken spell of the gnome,
Born again, little sister calls home
Father's prayers were heard,
Sad, No father's love, this lost bird,
But mother's love still remain,
To cut through the years of pain,
Her journey on trust has just begun,
My sister, has returned to the sun.
Copyright Philo Yan August 25,2012
The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
My Father Died
In the middle of the summer,
when I was twenty-two
and wore sneakers with no socks
and was growing my first beard,
my father died.
In the middle of the summer,
when my son was one years old
and lay in his playpen
in the hardscrabble grass of the backyard,
making living sounds
and grabbing for fistfuls of air,
my father died.
In the middle of the summer,
days before somebody walked on the moon,
days after the bright-colored beginnings
of my daughter's life,
my father died.
In the middle of the summer,
when, as a father,
I first sat out on the porch past midnight
listening to the haunting, faraway comfort
of late-night, west coast ball games,
and the tender wisps of breathing of my own two babes,
in the middle of the summer
when I first had trouble sleeping,
and before we had the luxury to know
each others' hurts and hollows,
hopes and heartaches,
in the summer of 1969
(several sad and sorry seasons
beyond the end of his living) ,
my father died.
As did,
as did a part of his boy.
poem by Will Thomas
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His Father Had
his father had
long died 20 years ago
and at his age now
when he coughs
at night
unable to sleep he
hears the very
kind of cough
that his father once
had
pain sometimes
has
twin sounds despite
the passage of
the years
despite the urge
to simply forget
and let things
like ships take their due
course and
sink
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Father & Son
There is the family photograph
That is your father’s face,
There is your father’s father
Grey-gathering years apace;
The son, bright-eyed in the morning,
The father, lined and drawn,
The son became the father
On the day that you were born.
We’ve all set out on the highway
Our fathers wished us well,
The sons became the fathers
In the same distinctive spell;
The road of all beginnings
Is all there is to lend,
But many a twist, and many a turn
Has marred us at the end.
He was my father’s father,
I am my father’s son,
We’ve travelled as far, and farther
Than our father’s years have run;
The twists and turns of fortune
Mean nothing, lost or won,
But the love of a father’s father,
And the love of a father’s son.
3 September 1977
poem by David Lewis Paget
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I'm OK
Once upon a time there was a girl
In her early years she had to learn
How to grow up living in a war that she called home
Never know just where to turn for shelter from the storm
Hurt me to see the pain across my mother's face
Everytime my father's fist would put her in her place
Hearing all the yelling I would cry up in my room
Hoping it would be over soon
Bruises fade father
song performed by by Christina Aguilera from Stripped
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Max Rosenthau
Father Cleary sat at table with Max many a day
But I don't think he rated a bounteous gift when Max came to visit
Both were guests in the great house acrosss the street of youth
Father for years and Max for yearly one week stints.
The last time Max came was when his wife died
A man so profoundly broken
Even a fourteen year old could start to understand
That the desperation of his giref was the force that drove Max to Mass
Where Father from his view could not give communion to a Jew
And snapped the neck of something deep within me
That despite Father's great friendship
Never came back though I never said a word to Father Cleary.
poem by Bill Grace
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Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
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An Old Barn By The Side Of The Fields Of Hay
an old barn by the side of the fields of hay
is nothing but an old barn to your eyes
miguelito
this barn has been here ten years ago and it will be here
for another more years with you
father always
had it repaired before he died and when i take charge
i still come here and think once in a while
what is in this barn
that refuses to be broken
something that negates
the art of losing
it is the memory of my youth
it was here where the hay smelt pungent
for the first time
it was here when i was first
deflowered
changed
don't laugh, it was here that i felt
the first squirt of
my manhood, and her name was not that important
in fact,
she was laughing because i was trembling and she was
so crazy
trying to really teach me, in this old barn that refuses to be broken
in all the years
when our father teased us: weaklings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Easter Monday
(for A & J)
20 years since their father died
two grown-up sons
at his grave with a rake & a spade
the elder one recalls a boozy night
he fell asleep between the grave’s
short dense trimmed junipers
a pillow his obscure father’s stone
awoke freezing here 5 am
fog over the pond
where the younger brother bathed as a kid
fog over the graves along the slopes
they have no memories of their father
poem by Mikael Ejdemyr
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That Old Man....
that old man who lives down the street,
who just shared a can of Alpo with his blind dog.
who owned the corner grocery when i was a kid,
who helped me out when i was short.
whose father passed it down to him,
whose son was killed in a car wreck.
whose daughter lives somewhere in California,
whose wife died ten years ago.
who was a deacon in the church for years,
who quit going when his wife died.
who put his life savings with 'trusted investors',
who lost it all when everything fell.
who the county's hounding for back taxes,
whose porch is falling down.
who prays that if there is a god...
he'll die and take the dog with him!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jack's Confession Sonnet
Jack O'reilly:
Father I think you can guess why I left
I was only fifteen years old that time
nobody knew me, it wasn't for theft
I had to leave Manchester, for my crime
was exactly what you are thinking now
it was no coincidence, Lucas died
and it is clear to me your thinking how
Lucas had to go, all true to us tried
but nobody knew me I was a boy
my father never wanted me to fight
I took his gun and used it like a toy
I killed Lucas and I did what was right
because he killed my dad, I moved away
four years ago, I confess death that day.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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My real father died when I was two years old, so I never knew him. He was a barber in Chicago.
quote by Donald Johanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Prayer to You
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
For all that you've done for me.
In the early morning hours,
When I arise to greet the Sun...
I feel blessed and prepared,
With such gratefulness...
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
And when noon approaches...
No matter what I have done,
Before that time comes...
That may create a disturbance,
I did not invite nor did I make.
I find time to show it is You I appreciate.
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
Whether or not...
Thunder storms roar,
Or rain drops fall to pitter and pat.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
And at the oncoming of Sunset...
Not one moment do I forget,
The power of Your presence...
That showers the blessings,
From You I get!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sentimental Value
Comes in a pair; glitters, sparkles, shines
They are elegant and valuable
Priceless in more than one way
In addition - light and very comfortable
Sentimental value is evident and clear
No money in the world can replace them
They are a lady's best friend
Precious beauty quite a gem
Pair of diamond earrings; so special to me
One diamond was a gift from my husband
Other diamond was matched by my father
Equally translucent as a tear gland
Both exceptional men are now in Heaven
Dad died nine years ago; soon it will be
Memories from both will last forever
My husband died this February
Ana Monnar
In loving memory to my father 1914-1996
and my late husband 1924-2005
poem by Ana Monnar
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Nellie Clark
I was only eight years old;
And before I grew up and knew what it meant
I had no words for it, except
That I was frightened and told my Mother;
And that my Father got a pistol
And would have killed Charlie, who was a big boy,
Fifteen years old, except for his Mother.
Nevertheless the story clung to me.
But the man who married me, a widower of thirty-five,
Was a newcomer and never heard it
Till two years after we were married.
Then he considered himself cheated,
And the village agreed that I was not really a virgin.
Well, he deserted me, and I died
The following winter.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Thank you Heavenly Father
You are the one and only true God
Thank you heavenly Father, for being the on who has and still
working on my behalf
I think...no I know my puny mind could not figure
the whole thing out
not by myself,
I'd lost my sanity had it not been for you
years ago 'Thank you Father'
You are GOD and there is no other
and there will never, never, ever be another
Thank you Father
for giving me peace
you know how I run to you when I'd get alarmed
especially when I have a heavy heart while shedding tears
Thank you Father for forgiving me of
disobedience, contrary, behavior 'Thank you Father'
thanks for not allowing me to die in those sins I was in
Thank you Father for our union
poem by Sylvia Loven Carter
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The Letter My Father Will Never See
if only one last time i could see you. if only one time i could tell you what i think. if only one time i could say what i've been thinking for all these years. if only i could just not care. if only it didn't hurt so much. if only i could say that you dont matter. if only i could tell you. if only one time you'd listen. if only you knew. if only i could tell you your an ass. if only i could say and put into words what you've put me through. if only you were around to say good job.
as a father you have failed. as a father you were never there. as a father you never held me. as a father you never cared. as a father you never gave me praise. as a father you never brushed my hair. as a father you didn't teach me about life. as a father you didn't teach me how to care. as a father you never showed me love. as a a father you you let me cower in the corner. as a father you scared the hell out of me every night of the week. as a father you came home drunk. as a father you didn't put me to bed. as a father you never gave me a hug as a father you were my worst night. however, for some reason i cant fathom your my father. and for the same reason i cant fathom how you earned the title when being a father was one thing that you never were and dont seem to want to be.