Broken people
I know them from an old photograph-
my father sits on a stump in knickers
stern father by his side
mother in black and white
scattering chicken feed
I remember my father drove us to
the island where he is buried
parked in front of an institution
that reminded me of a prison
a woman in white brought Ann to us
we say her in a hallway
a woman with a placid face
who was somewhere nowhere
he spoke to her in calm tones
she looked beyond
we never met
poem by Walter Durk
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Related quotes
On His Father's Side
On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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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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Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
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Remembering Childhood
by accident you come across
an old picture
you recognize the face of your father
beside your mother
with his gun on the side of his body
as reservist of the army
you look closely
your mother pouts
and she is holding on to her
white skirt
you father's right hand grips
his gun
while the left holds on to
the chair just behind your
mother's neck
there is a baby being held
by your mother
it is sleeping and it looks
like you
your father does not like
you and you know it from the very start
you know how to pretend
till he died
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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My Father Was A Loser
My Father Was A Loser.
My Father Was A Punk.
My Father Was Abussive.
My Father Was A Drunk.
My Father Was Stricked.
My Father Was Mean.
My Father Did Drugs.
My Father Was A Feen.
On My 13th Birthday, My Father Left My Mom.
Ever Since Then, My Life Became Calm.
poem by Tania Nuno
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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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In The Church
the mother sits beside
the daughter as the sermon
of the priests goes on
for an hour or more
the father at the other end
beside a woman with a white face
closes his eyes
dreaming for the moon cohabiting
with the brighter stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Father, Can you see me?
Can You See Me Father?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me through this night?
Father, are you with me?
I look up at the sky, and wonder why, I feel so alone now...
Father, will you help me?
Im afraid to close my eyes.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, if I sleep now, will you be watching over me this night?
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, the world I see is so much larger, than I remember when you were here with me.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me stand own my own two feet once more?
Father, Im on my knees, looking at the sky, looking for your eyes.
Father, I've lost my way, Lord, I pray for your guidance once more.
Father, what was your will, Lord, it was not mine.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, as I pray for your will, please come and show me the way, dear Lord I pray.
Amen
poem by Rose Rosado
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Take Another Picture
written by Marv Ross
Saw my father living in a picture
Squinting in the Michigan sun
Caught forever in his blouse and knickers
Wasn't he the lucky one?
While the fear is growing stronger
The sun is almost gone
So hold me in your naked eye
And shoot me on the run
Oh, won't you please, please
Take another picture
Please, please freeze my features
Oh, won't you please, please
Take another
I don't wanna fade away
I saw a picture hidden in the bedroom
Underneath father's ties
A beautiful woman caught naked forever
Black strip over her eyes
I still remember that picture
The image sits sharp and clear
And I'll never erase that eyeless face
Still smiling all these years
Oh, won't you please, please
Take another picture
Please, please freeze my features
Oh, won't you please, please
Take another
I don't wanna fade away
song performed by by Quarterflash
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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‘father”:
'A FATHER IS SOMEONE WHO'S THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOU NEED HIM
A FATHER NEVER LETS YOU DOWN
A FATHER IS SOMEONE THERE TO HUG YOU WHEN SOMETHING GOES WRONG
A FATHER IS THERE TO DRY UP THE TEARS
A FATHER IS THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO LEAVES THE MOTHER WHEN HE FINDS OUT SHE'S PERGANT
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO DENYS THEIR OWN CHILD
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO LEAVES YOU LEFT BEHIND
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO SAYS ONE THING TO ONE PERSON THEN SAYS ANOTHER THING TO SOMEONE ELSE
A FATHER IS’NT WHAT I SEE IN YOU”
poem by Yeslin Salazar
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Gathering Mushrooms
As he knelt by the grave of his mother and father
the taste of dill, or tarragon-
he could barely tell one from the other-
filled his mouth. It seemed as if he might smother.
Why should he be stricken
with grief, not for his mother and father,
but a woman slinking from the fur of a sea-otter
In Portland, Maine, or, yes, Portland, Oregon-
he could barely tell one from the other-
and why should he now savour
the tang of her, her little pickled gherkin,
as he knelt by the grave of his mother and father?
*
He looked about. He remembered her palaver
on how both earth and sky would darken-
'You could barely tell one from the other'-
while the Monarch butterflies passed over
in their milkweed-hunger: 'A wing-beat, some reckon,
may trigger off the mother and father
of all storms, striking your Irish Cliffs of Moher
with the force of a hurricane.'
Then: 'Milkweed and Monarch 'invented' each other.'
*
He looked about. Cow's-parsley in a samovar.
He'd mistaken his mother's name, 'Regan, ' for Anger';
as he knelt by the grave of his mother and father
he could barely tell one from the other.
poem by Paul Muldoon
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My unconditional love
There is no one greater than my father in my eyes
He calls me in the morning
Just to tell me that he was dreaming about me
And woke to pray for me
There is no one caring like my father in my life
He calls me during the day
Just to tell me that he is doing nothing
But thinking of me
There is no mother comparable to my father
The man took care of me from birth
Raised me with no woman by his side
Told me about the menstrual stage
And even knows the type of tampons I use
There is no woman comparable to my father
He cooks for me every meal
Breakfast, lunch and dinner
He cleans the house
Whilst I write poems about how great he is
He is my star and my bling-bling
He is my divine caramel ornament
And the on who sometimes does my laundry
There is no rock like my father
He told me I was going to get hurt in life
But never even once failed to support my decisions
He comforts me when I cry
He never withdraws information from me even about sex
There is no stone like my father
He protects and gives me elements of life
Wakes up at twelve midnight to rub my chest
When flu and fever befriend me
He wakes up at three in the morning
Just to put his hand on my head
And pray for me
He is my father and my only hope
My father is my mother, the one I cry to at all time
He never gets tired or deaf because of my screams
I could never find any strong human love like his
So the man is my father it shows
poem by Mitta Xinindlu
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My Father Buried My Sister........Today
My father buried my sister today
My soul burns red with pain
No longer will I touch her face
Or caress her skin again
My father buried my sister today
God, what have I done wrong
To have her stolen from my arms
When my faith in you was strong
My father buried my sister today
Thank God I have another
I couldn't walk this path alone
Every breath is a struggle
My father buried my sister today
She was just 20
Searing, ripping, tearing ache
My emotions overcome me
To God above, how I pray
These words by her not repeated
My father buried my daughter today
poem by Pritisha Sardesai
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Mother Once Said...
My mother once said
'Don`t open your mouth before
Elders and those with white hairs'.
My mother also said
'Don`t speak unless asked'.
My mouth asked me once,
'What is my role in your life? '
I said, 'My mother has said nothing about it'.
I added, 'You swallow and eat'.
My mouth has been quiet since.
My friends said, 'Your mother is wise'.
My father said, 'She is my strength'.
I wondered how she could be so great!
Then was born my kid brother with a big mouth.
My mother said to my kid brother too
Not to do those old things
But his mouth spoke everything
Everything that I never dared.
And his mouth swallowed, ate and spoke.
Today my mother is no more
And my father is is weak and worn out.
I still remember my mother`s words.
While my kid brother speaks out his mind
My mouth refuses to speak out its regrets....
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Lydia
There was life before us
my sister and I discovered
looking at photographs
we shouldn't have been looking at
of the English girl my father
was engaged to during the war.
Here she is right in front of our eyes,
the woman before my mother,
in a black lace cocktail dress,
a cigarette in a holder,
pensive, earthy—waiting
in front of the carved wooden radio,
for news from the front.
This is the war, after all,
and here she is again, somewhere
on an English beach, draped
across my father's shoulder
all of her silky skin radiant
above the soft folds of sun dress.
They stand in front of a sign
that reads 'Seaside Cottages,
two dollars.' And here she is
again, painted onto the cockpit
of my father's plane with hardly
anything on at all, and here he is
in his flight jacket, looking
in fact, happy. My sister and I each
lift our pencils like cigarettes,
taking long sultry drags to puff
out invisible rings. They rise
in the air like silver nooses
that will catch our father
and hold him to us.
poem by Geraldine Connolly
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At The Time When Mother Left For Ozamis
i remember now
it was at that time when mother packed her clothes
and left my father for good
back in the little village where mother
was raised by grandmother
as a naive girl
keeping things to herself.
she dwells in a house of silence.
it was at that time when father said
that he loves her very much
that losing her would mean his death
but mother was no longer in the house
where we grew.
and of course, mother did not really believe him.
she died ahead of him, and he got drunk everyday, and
he put her picture on top of his chest and he cried all night long
staring at her face, black and white, her hair her mouth.
he died a year after and he was buried just beside her pantheon.
i still wonder if mother would believe him.
the silence is overwhelming. no one sweeps the heaps of leaves
and no wind is strong enough to clean the mounds filled with thick grass.
come summer time, i see white daisies blooming, and a black butterfly
hovers to stop a while. I watch closely this new turn of events.
it is like poetry. Some metaphors. Symbols, and hints. Love's mouth
wanting to say all over again, what the heart has constantly hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dressed Chicken
father kills the black chicken
and marks a cross of blood
on the temple of the birthday celebrant
he claims life is a matter of sacrifice
a chicken dressed for something
The blood from the neck
of the chicken gushes forth
there is silence in this
bloody ritual
between father and son
inside both of them they
hold that the spirits understand
how they must be appeased
from all ills and bad luck
the son must be protected
a father then washes the knife
that killed the black chicken
he is ready to kill someday
somehow when
another human being just in case
kills a son, that brute that base.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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