One tree, one solitary life, / One silhouette reaching into the sky. / One lone and weary traveller, / One road, that passes them by.
how lucky we were to have known him and that morning a mortal man again became immortal, in my heart
Yes Im an old man and Im retired but for the past three years I have been going to college studing Computer Graphics. I wrote this story for an English class I was in about my father who passed away by losing his fight with cancer. This story was written from the heart. Image copyright © 2007, Larry Fridel. Copying and displaying or redistribution of this work without permission from the artist is strictly prohibited.
Daddy slipped and slid down the bank, finally rolling the covered bundle off into the dirty, fetid water of the canal, where it floated…
THANK YOU FOR EDITING HELP!
You embed your trust into an anvil and tie it to my guts.
This is a short-story/open letter of a sort. It marks my first completed attempt at writing about a subject I have struggled with for many years. Thank you Bell for the inspiration. And thanks to those of you who read it, because my Dad always wanted everyone to read. Dad, this is for you.
she had the longest hair.
not fiction
I loved to watch you-how you grew, how very smart you were / I loved to watch you-in the becoming you shew so much promise / I loved to s…
Tomorrow is father’s day so I thought I would write about my father. / I believe that our parents so shape how we perceive or experience l…
I’d expected to hear his side of the story – an equal and opposite force. But instead I heard what I already knew or had pieced together,...
Looking for Alibrandi
and then she took his private tear, / and allowed the world to drink from it’s source
sometimes poets take more than they should / maybe… / THIS WRITING INSPIRED DANILO LEJARDI TO CREATE AN AMAZING PIECE CALLED / A PRIVATE TEAR / THANK YOU SO MUCH DANILO*!
Could it have been your hand / or was it the garden cane. / Perhaps the words and volume / That caused the real pain
Physical abuse in childhood and the father’s behaviour caused the real pain Featured by Anger Management – 31st Aug 2009 Featured by Lifeline – 2nd Sept 2009 Earthmonster was so kind to have created this image Sleeping Awake to accompany this poem – Thanks EM XX / / 22 Sept 2009 / MCN:CPB1P-MNRXX-4DC2P
...clinging to his wordless silhouette
Yes the jasmine is blooming and sometimes you just need to write the damn dream down.
I meant to turn her away, / now I have nothing left to say, / how can I say I’m sorry, / or look her in the eye, / a touch would ask forgiven…
A message of no killing, starts with a man who as just killed his daughter boyfriend only protecting her from his violence, but in the process he losses his daughter….and the end is message that when we kill one we also kill the ones around and close to that person…..so don’t kill is the message….hope you enjoy this peace….
where are you now? / it’s not yet night, / but fading fast
Written 26 May 2009.
Any body can be a father / But a dad…. / A dad is a man who incarnates life
A father is one who brings life into the world / A dad is one who harnesses that life into the world / - colorblind
unseen father / i trace your jaw / as my fingers run across / my skin / i am made / in your image
it’s father’s day… / jordan busson. 21 june 2009.
I told Daddy that all I wanted was a new bike. It was silly because I knew that again I’d get some of Mary’s old clothes.
A little girl needed much more than a new shiney bike for her birthday.
Blowing through a vast crevasse – / from whirling tempest; / to calming balm on wounded skin; / to constant howl; / to sunlit kiss, onto war…
Ah. How to describe this? This is, quite simply, my past – or, the majority of it’s heaviness. So much. So many details. In short: my beautiful mother died at the age of 26, at the hands of a monster (AKA: the black-maker); tortured us beforehand for 2+ years on a daily basis (he was a dirty, dirty cop) which included molesting me for many years, years of which I have but 2 memories left after my brain erased my hard-drive to keep me from killing myself, most likely…the body knows what’s best. although, it would be nice, to have even one memory of my mother. she died when I was 7. She took her own life to escape him. / I have always pictured that little girl (me at 7, post her death) as sitting atop this pillar in a cave, bound and gagged, waiting for the adult me to come and rescue her…maybe someday I’ll be able to remember, and realease that girl of mine) / but for now, I take all of this as : A GIFT. and I mean that. ,my past is my gift, my present the reward. I harbor no ill-will against anyone. I forgave the man about 5 years back, in a dream actually, and my mother as well. / As I say, “I am the light-maker now”. So be it. I accept. With love and forgiveness in my heart, how could I do anything but shine for them?
THE TRUTH HURTS
I know I shed a tear or two / When father slipped the coil / The day he died and also when / They covered him with soil
This is one of those things inspired by something else I read on RedBubble, The day my dad left this world and what he left behind by Mr Nolan started me wondering about why I don’t really cry about my own losses yet I blubber about other’s losses and tragedies. I hope I don’t become too boring and poor meish, I’m not hunting for sympathy, It’s often only in writing that I can express some of the things I feel. In fact I think life is just one big joke and with any luck the punch line is a long way off :-) HAPPY FATHER’S DAY
a Valkyrie’s prayer to the souls the innocent, laid waste.
I’m not sure how i stand as a poet, but i enjoy writing short stories. / so i tried to make a story with a with a poetic use of words i guess. / i like reading mythology, so i wanted to make one based on norse myths.
Do you know who you are?
Sometimes it’s enough for child to take an interest just to simplify who we are.
I left my fathers boots at the foot of a Buddha in Canberra / I’ve walked a thousand miles in those old boots, and he many more before me
Poem
Ruby hangs like rope / In her world of make believe / Wide eyed and sixteen / Withdrawn from all the vermin / Now dreams are all that matter ...
The imagination is a wonderful and very powerful thing and when I was sixteen I discovered that I could use it to escape reality altogether and to create whatever I needed, someone who loved me unconditionally and a place of safety, as a means of survival. Somewhere over the rainbow / Way up high, / There’s a land that I heard of / Once in a lullaby. / Somewhere over the rainbow / Skies are blue, / And the dreams that you dare to dream / Really do come true. / Someday I’ll wish upon a star / And wake up where the clouds are far / Behind me. / Where troubles melt like lemon drops / Away above the chimney tops / That’s where you’ll find me. / Somewhere over the rainbow / Bluebirds fly. / Birds fly over the rainbow. / Why then, oh why can’t I? / If happy little bluebirds fly / Beyond the rainbow / Why, oh why can’t I? Somewhere Over The Rainbow was written by: / Edgar Yipsel “yip” Harburg / Born: Apr 08, 1896 in New York, New York / Died: Mar 05, 1981 (car accident)
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