Family Man
My father was a weird figure, sat under a bridge
with a bottle, in a paper bag, looked at the river.
I think he was looking for something he had lost
when he was young. When he had sat there long
my mother, sent me to pick him up. Father never
spoke it was like he had given up on conversation.
At work he was known as the silent man. When he
retired his employers wanted to give him a watch,
for long service, but he didn´t show up preferred
to sit under a bridge with his bottle. One day when
I came to pick him up, he wasn´t there but was found
floating down streams. My father was a dreamer,
he had wanted to be an actor before he married,
mother thought that was a stupid idea, instead he
got a steady job at a factory making plastic ducks
and garden gnomes. When knowing this I mourned
a man who gave everything up for his family.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
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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It takes three to make a family
(The Mistress or mother)
My son was a gift,
But his father didn't think so,
He left me alone,
With his son I mind you,
I was just a girl,
And he a man,
He did not care,
He left me bowed eyes and broken,
A Lord was he and I Mistress was I,
We were in two different worlds,
Seperated by our familes,
But our son not like us,
A son forced to see his parents like this,
I can still do te best for him,
His father is a monster not a man,
I am scared for my son,
What of his life?
No, I must do my best for him,
If I don't I'll let both of us down,
Years have past and now my son is a man,
I'm dying slowly,
I don't want my son to worry,
I know that I'm on my deathbed,
And I'm as king forJesus.
(Lord or father)
I did not leave her,
She left me,
I couldn't find her,
I wanted my son,
She didn't give him,
Now she's gone and my son with me,
My son's mother was my late wife,
I wanted them both,
But she sought me to be a demon,
Lies upon lies,
I was persuaded from my mother,
My wife listened to our converesation,
Many years later my son is married,
Now I'm going to meet my wife,
Together in heaven,
We have all eternity,
Jesus please keep our son.
(Son)
I am a man who loves,
Mom and dad didn't know,
I am the birth of their future,
They died without knowing me,
I am their son,
But all their time was fighting,
Mentally and emotional,
I spent my childhood afraid of them,
On a nevering chase against time,
My family will teach and give me love,
Years, many, many, years later,
I am a great grandfather,
Now and finally I am on my deathbed,
And I'm happy,
A tear has fallen out my eye,
I am now ready to reunite with,
Both my mother and father,
Jesus thank you for bringing,
The family together at last.
poem by Qeeony Luv
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My Dear Father
Sitting at my desk
I found myself in the past
Thinking of my father,
My dear father.
Then I remembered my mother
Her magical green eyes, giving me what I missed
But it wasn’t enough, I wanted more,
I wanted protection,
I wanted love,
Love from my dear father
I try to remember him
But he was not there,
There was my imagination
Playing with my thoughts
thoughts full of hate, it’s probably a mistake
But it was the mistake, of my dear father
I guess you don’t want to hear what I have to say
But I found it
I found the love that I needed
I found the missing piece,
The piece to complete my happiness
It wasn’t exactly what I have expected
But it was there and it filled me.
It filled me with pain, with passion
It filled me with strength; it filled me with a man’s body
It filled me with love as well as misery
It filled me with everything my dear father didn't
poem by Jomar Rosario
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Father Spoke in Code
Father spoke in code
Mother understood.
She would cry
once he went to bed.
I never understood the code.
My sister didn't either.
As we got older, we quit
asking Mother what he said.
A feral cat claimed our yard.
It would leap the fence
when anyone appeared.
Except, of course, Father.
When he came out to walk
around the garden after supper,
the cat would sit straight up,
then rub against his leg
and look at him as if it understood
what others never could.
My sister used to say
the two of us were proof
Father and Mother
got together twice.
I told her I wasn't so certain.
I looked a lot like Mr. Brompton,
the next-door neighbor.
He used to buy us sugar cones
from the ice cream truck.
My sister, by the way, didn't look
like anyone in the family either,
but that was 40 years ago
when I last saw her.
I went away to college
and she got married.
We were never close after that.
Not even Christmas cards.
Forty years is a long time.
Now, we plan to get together
for a weekend this summer
before one of us dies.
I suggested we wait
till one of us is terminal.
What's the rush, I said.
But my wife told her
I was only kidding,
that we'll be coming
and not to make a fuss.
Burgers and hot dogs
will do just fine.
I know what Sis and I
will talk about that weekend,
the two people we'll always
have in common, no matter
how many years and miles
may lie between us.
Father and Mother have been
dead for decades now
but they're still alive in us.
I talk in code, my wife says,
and my sister cries a lot,
now that her husband's dead.
The one thing I want to know
is if my sister knows
what happened to the cat.
It knew the code,
may have had some answers.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Missing Link
A sickly child lie
frail on the sofa in the living room.
A knock on the door,
His mother opened.
The man who entered the child knew it was his father.
Whose child is this?
“It is your youngest son” his mother said.
The children in the street
all had a father; the child had waited for him.
But his father ignored him,
gave chocolate to his sister and brother,
then he drank from a bottle,
his mother threw him out.
Next day asked his mother, ” are you sure he is my father? ”
She slapped her son’s face and cried.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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My father is an actor, so he brought me into his agency when I was young. It wasn't something I wanted to do until high school, when I started taking theater and really liked it. Then an agent found me and wanted me to come out to Los Angeles and give it a shot. I gave myself six months, but it only took me like a week to get a job.
quote by Jensen Ackles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother’s day
It was mother’s day
and you wanted your dead mother
to be alive again,
more sincerely than anything.
You even were angry with me
for not thinking about you
on that day
of you now being motherless
when you had a mother
for most of your life
and a father too
and that there was something empty,
something missing from your life,
and her being gone
was terrible on that particular day.
That you couldn’t make her breakfast,
pick nasturtiums
from the garden for her,
or even talk to her,
on that special day
and I said that I didn’t realize that you were
missing your mom so much,
and offered my sincere sympathy
and told you that we have to appreciate
our parents
while we still have them,
that life lies only in the hand of God,
that I had grown up without a father
and that my mother was the only parent
whom I really knew
and ironically the only woman
that didn’t leave me in the lurch
which made you angrier,
so much so that you slammed
the phone down in my ear
when I called to apologize
and I wondered why
the persons that we hold dear
leave so much pain
when they are gone
and what had gotten into you?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Thanks Father
You treated us all so differently
Yet all the same
Family dinners were strained
Fake smiles accross the table
Thank you for letting me see the real you
Thanks for allowing me to be the one that felt I had to do something
Thanks for leaving me as the one to pick up the pieces
Thanks its just what I needed
For christmas when you gave me a broken family and a dad on the run
I never got the chance to thank you
So accept this as my apology
Let me express my graditude
All I ever wanted was a broken childhood
And I got it
Complete with a crying mother and a father who was barely there
I really loved the time we spent together
You know when we used to have those father daughter moments
Like when my sister had to call the police to pry you off our screaming mother
That was better than any birthday gift
Finally, I just want to say thank you for always being around when I needed my mother to be beaten
When I wanted our lives to be shifted
Thanks for being there with a new reason we had to move
Thanks for leaving us all to fend for oursleves
Thanks for taking my educated lawyer of a mother into the slums with you
Bringing her back dirty and exposed to your world
Now she can never get out
Thank you daddy
poem by Ashley Stone
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Male parental hierarchy.
My parents are two, grandparents four
And great grandparents, eight and so on.
I am known by my father, his father,
And his father and so on by male side.
My mother, her mother and father, their
Mother and father and so on are ignored.
My fathers’ mother and grandfather’s
Mother and so on go to oblivion.
I am known by my father, his father
And his father and so on as a family.
All women from whom I have drawn
Their genes have been shut out.
Parental hierarchy is represented
By male, women dislodged at every stage.
25.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Back up the Hill
As I walked down to the river today
I met a man with no legs in a chair
we spoke about life and he stood tall in a way
as I walked down to the river
As I walked on I met a blind girl
who gave me directions just over the hill
for someone like me who was lost she could see
as I walked on to the river
Down by the banks I met a small child
whose mother and father had recently died
and he splashed around with a heartful of life
down by the banks of the river
As I looked in the river I saw a young man
a reflection of me if you understand
who thought he would end it as he coudn't cope
as I looked into the river
Considering the people I met on the way
they didn't give up I heard myself say
and though I believed that I'd been through the mill
I laughed at the river, and walked back up the hill.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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The Runcorn Ferry
On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side,
Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame
By Transporter Bridge as takes folks over t'stream,
Or else brings them back across same.
In days afore Transporter Bridge were put up,
A ferryboat lay in the slip,
And old Ted the boatman would row folks across
At per tuppence per person per trip.
Now Runcorn lay over on one side of stream,
And Widnes on t'other side stood,
And, as nobody wanted to go either place,
Well, the trade wasn't any too good.
One evening, to Ted's superlative surprise,
Three customers came into view:
A Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom it were,
And Albert, their little son, too.
"How much for the three?" Mr Ramsbottom asked,
As his hand to his pocket did dip.
Ted said: "Same for three as it would be for one,
Per tuppence per person per trip."
"You're not charging tuppence for that little lad?"
Said Mother, her eyes flashing wild.
"Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted,
"Per woman, per man, or per child".
"Fivepence for three, that's the most that I'll pay",
Said Father, "Don't waste time in talk".
"Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted,
"And them, as can't pay, 'as to walk!"
"We can walk, an' all", said Father. "Come Mother,
It's none so deep, weather's quite mild".
So into the water the three of them stepped:
The father, the mother, the child.
The further they paddled, the deeper it got,
But they wouldn't give in, once begun.
In the spirit that's made Lancashire what she is,
They'd sooner be drownded than done.
Very soon, the old people were up to their necks,
And the little lad clean out of sight.
Said Father: "Where's Albert?" And Mother replied:
"I've got hold of his hand, he's all right!"
Well, just at that moment, Pa got an idea
And, floundering back to old Ted, He said:
"We've walked half-way. Come, tak' us the rest
For half-price -- that's a penny a head."
But Ted wasn't standing for none of that there,
And, making an obstinate lip,
"Per tuppence per person per trip", Ted replied,
"Per trip, or per part of per trip".
"All right, then", said Father, "let me tak' the boat,
And I'll pick up the others half-way.
I'll row them across, and I'll bring the boat back,
And thruppence in t'bargain I'll pay".
T'were money for nothing. Ted answered: "Right-ho",
And Father got hold of the sculls.
With the sharp end of boat towards middle of stream,
He were there in a couple of pulls.
He got Mother out -- it were rather a job,
With the water, she weighed half a ton --
Then, pushing the oar down the side of the boat,
Started fishing around for his son.
When poor little Albert came up to the top,
His collars were soggy and limp.
And, with holding his breath at the bottom so long,
His face were as red as a shrimp.
Pa took them across, and he brought the boat back,
And he said to old Ted on the slip:
"Wilt' row me across by me'sen?" Ted said:
"Aye, at per tuppence per person per trip".
When they got t'other side, Father laughed fit to bust.
He'd got best of bargain, you see.
He'd worked it all out, and he'd got his own way,
And he'd paid nobbut fivepence for three!
poem by Marriott Edgar
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Father Boy
Oh Father Boy, Oh Father Boy
You didn’t see the signs
You didn’t hear a thing did you
Oh Father Boy, my dear
You didn’t see, you didn’t look, you didn’t listen either
You didn’t try to understand
You didn’t take the time
You weren’t a Father, Father Boy, you weren’t a Father, Father.
Oh Father Boy, Father Boy
When a Father has a Boy
To be a Father, Father see
You have to see the Boy
The Boy inside the Father
And the Father in the Boy
But Father Boy, Oh Father Boy
You just didn’t pay attention
For a Boy to be a Father, Father
He cannot be a Father Boy.
(Previously published in Megaera, #4, Fall 2000)
poem by Laurence Overmire
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Random things about my Mother
My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue
My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake
My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane
My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine
My mother who knew
No contentment in living
My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two
My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died
My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury
My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears
My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years
My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets
My mother who was tamed
By my father
My mother who was captured by my father
My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh
My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint
My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin
My mother who love to walk about
My mother who gave a toe
A day away
My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot
My mother who was a great dresser
My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir
My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost
My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men
My mother who tried to settle down with my father
My mother who could never swim
My mother who loved to sing
My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town
My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing
My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family
My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.
My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve
My mother who I helped to live
My mother who I had to let die
My mother who lives in me
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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My mom didn't have mother or father
My mother didn't have a mom. My mom was all alone. But she choose me so she could be my mom. You didn; t have a father. Until you met your huband. But you gave me the love you had to give. Because you dind't have anyone to love you. Because meeting my father gave her the love she never had. And my father didn't have anyone to love either. Until the day he met my mom. written and Posted 2/7/09 In the memory of mu mother Esther Ferber Klayton And this poem is deciated to my father Seymour Klayton
poem by Susie Sunshine
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The family tree
I am known by my father
Though equally owned by mother.
I trace from my father’s father,
And not from father’s mother
Nor my mother’s mother or father.
Has family tree any sense?
19.08.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Happy Female Father’s Day
I patiently waited for another year,
For father’s day to come
To wish that special person a happy day
Happy father’s day, to my mom
The father figure, was very rare
Games together were numb
I wonder what a father’s love might be
Happy father’s day, to my mom.
So on this day set aside for dads,
I want to let you know
That you are the one I treasure most,
And to you my love I owe
Thank you for another father’s day,
I longed for this day to come,
Never knowing the love, of a visiting dad
Happy father’s day, to my mom
My mother dear, my mother dear,
You are the best, in every way
So I stand tall and wish for you
A happy female father’s day.
poem by Troy Brown
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Define A Father
what did i do so wrong, to make you hate me for this long? your supposed to be my father, your supposed to care, but then again what father breaks promises made to his child, what kind of father is never there. I tried so hard to please you. I gave you the best i could to make you love me but you never would. I thought it was because of her that you never wanted me around, i did all i could to make you see how much she hated me. Then she was gone and i thought the problem would be fixed but the truth was so plain to see, it wasnt only her who hated me. you'd always ignore me, that would hurt so bad, then you'd yell at me and tell me ' you didn't want to see my god-damn face' and that would make me so mad, your supposed to love me, damnit grow up and be a real dad. Define a father to me and all that comes to mind is a loveing, secure man who knows that his children love him and even more, he knows he loves his children. Define a father and sometimes i still try to see you but in reality your only love is electronic and doesn't really give a damn that you love it. Define a father and there's no way to describe the love and devotion, the smiles and cheers, he helps you succeed and wipes away your tears. A father to me is devoted, loving, determined, and is willing to do whatever it takes to protect his family. Define a father and i dont see you.
Devotion to his family and all the things he can do. CAn you look at your father and know that he loves you?
poem by cynthia Routen
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He Married
My father married a nurse!
He, my father, married a teacher
He never married out of being forced
So, he chose to marry a leader
A maiden, an edifice of beauty!
His attempt wasn't thwarted
So, he tied the knot with a deity
And thereafter never parted
Even till tomorrow, he's still with his lady
My father married a cook!
Dishes served to his content, he never bothers
It is never a fluke!
My father married my mother
She is the plant, he is the water
poem by Alawoki Akeem Opeyemi
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Father's Day Reminder
A mother's work is never done
A father's work is rarely appreciated or much fun
Time to let any bad feelings be undone
Father's day is coming....dear daughter or son
Here's a why to honor your father
That isn't really hard
Whether he deserves it or not
Send a card
Today is a good day to get it in the mail
Throw it in the letter bale
The postal service delivers in rain or hail
But get done early, in case they fail
Before on decent cards there is a run
Go to the store today and 'get 'er done'
But if he's not here or passed away
Remember him kindly on Father's Day
And if he's abandoned you or he was never around
Don't let him hear a complaining sound
A perfect father is rarely found
And to past hurt we should not be bound
Of father's we have each only one
From that we should not run
Father's day is a day to reach out to fogive
Father's day is a day to appreciate and to give
(because you don't really understand it's strains unless you've been a father)
poem by James T. Adair
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Unseen
something's wrong with mother always cleaning the house
and father complains for she does nothing but sweep and scrub
and dust and wipe and rub,
the floors are shiny and father does not like it
he may slide and the children too
and each may hurt the body, but mother cannot be stopped
and we complain like what father does, but mother does not
really mind, for she has become so hardheaded because father
slaps her and we make her deaf with our grumblings
until then when mother died and father cried and we felt we had all our
lives wasted, but there was one in the family who smiled
someone who thought that mother simply did what she liked best
clean the dirt, mop the floors, get all the spider's cobwebs
someone sees the beauty of mother, she's doing her chores still
but now unseen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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