father

My Savior

He was both not there

And my savior

All in one

Because when he WAS around

He protected me

I was his daddy's girl

I was the most abused

He did what he could to help

Usually by doing dishes

 

Mother would get pissed

How dare a parent help

Their child

Their blood

Let them flounder 

Let them fail

So I can win at one more thing

And hold it over their head

 

He helped

But only so much so

Too timid to really fight

Too quiet to speak up

She ruled over us all

She was  the queen

If she wanted something 

You fetched it

 

And I did everything

To take care of our homes

The many apartments

We called "homes"

As soon as I was old enough

To hold a sponge

I was doing dishes 

Once I was old enough to cook

I made dinner every night

 

If not 

You faced her wrath

The anger that would spew

From her nostrils

Her eyes glowing red 

And a quick flick

Of her tongue

And the beatings

She would give

 

Once he passed

It was free for all

Into early adulthood

The abuse continued

I was conditioned

When I left

It trickled to my brother

She continued to abuse her child,

But now it wasn't me

And my father wasn't there 

To save him

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written: 3/12/2018

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His Speakers

My father prefers to speak through songs rather than with words. Through time, he has created a collection of all sorts of musical devices: he owns a wide spectrum of headphones, LP and CD players, and those in our home’s history remember a couple of iPods and iPhones... This could go on and on but his favorite ones are the speakers you can find in the room at our home where he sometimes works. I remember being younger and the various times where my dad showed me how different music could sound, all depending where it was coming from. For a man of few words, he has a habit of religiously telling me that I need to feel it: The sound and tempo of strings, piano keys, and the beat of drums can all become tangible if I want to. Every weekend he gives himself time to test the different kinds of settings his speakers have and change them to his desires and preferences. They've been with him through it all: since the first day we moved to this house, to all the jazzy dinner meals he has prepared for us. Almost every Sunday he cooks us chicken and vegetables while he listens to his favorite songs from sessions of MTV Unplugged. Once he turns his speakers on, it feels like as if he's not in Monterrey anymore but in a land somewhere far away in his mind. There are times where I can’t differentiate the sounds between his devices but he can get so excited about them that I just can’t say anything else than “Yes, I do”.  Sometimes though, times are gloomy and he puts his music very quiet and stays inside his office all day long. I remember when he discovered a radio station from Montecarlo and how he used to put it on nonstop; he said it reminded him of one of the dreamiest trips he has experienced with my mother. Sometimes, she doesn't like it when (for her standards) the music is too loud. So when she’s away because of work, my dad sets up a daylong concert including genres such as bossa nova, jazz, 80’s Argentinian music, and much more. It’s quite funny how he secretly adds up speakers to his collection without telling anyone, they just appear in our house randomly. I don't remember a time in my life where music has not been relevant to his life.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Prose poem dedicated to my father.

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Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born,

But I was repelled.

 

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

 

They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

 

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

 

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

 

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

 

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I run away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

 

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

 

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.

 

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

 

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

 

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

 

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

 

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

 

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much overall...

 

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I bought a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My biography in poetry-form.

Miss your smiles

 

 

                                            

 

you both were the lite of his life and he chrished every moment he had

your beauty matched your compassionate and oh so  gentle caring dad 

and i think your dad would give up all he holds dear and walk a thousand miles 

just to see your shining smile light up the room god he does miss your smile 

you made him see the beauty in life just by being you and giving him your love

sometimes i can see the sadness in his eyes when he talks about you in heaven above

and sometimes i see pride in there depths when he tells me storys about both of you

but mostly he tells me that he was the luckyest father who ever lived smiling all the while

and how he wishes he could talk to you once more to tell you that he misses your smile 

your smile and joy went a long way in making him feel like a happy and blessed father

and the memories of you both he holds close to himself that will always matter

 to see you again would mean more joy then he has ever felt and will never go out of style

but as he looks up to the heavens above he whispers i love you both and i sure do miss your smiles.

 Becky Chadbourne.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just a poem I wrote for my husbands two daughters who died in a drunk driving accident three years ago before we met

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We Remember

On the count of three, we sprinted away

From danger. Our feet tripped over the banks

Of white with snowshoes – homemade by duct-taped

Plywood. A ravenous polar bear nipped

At our heels, and the flurries burned my cheeks.

I twisted my head to look to my side;

A young image of Dad jogging close behind,

Smiling, describing winter’s adventure.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

a little poem dedicated to my favorite childhood memories with my father, enjoy! Comment with feedback or a story of your own to tell!

View tagandrun's Full Portfolio

" DADDY'S ROOM "

I have still never seen the inside of the room
Where you spent your winter afternoons
On the floor or on your knees
Mama said it was a part of your disease
But i could never understand


When those doors sprang open at times
You stumbled out wet and screaming for limes
No one in the house would look up or even nod
Mama would whisper, "it's just something he forgot."
But i could never understand


The music of Billie Holiday blasting a private concert
I could hear you mumbling and fumbling for every word
When i asked uncle Mickey about the strange smell
Mama would cut in with, "Tequila, it's the juice from hell!"
But i was so young, I could never understand

 

One day a loud popping sound cut straight through the tunes
It was the first time I ever heard the silence of my Daddy's room
It was also the first time i ever saw through your door
Mama said you were sleeping but i saw the blood and the gun
And you on the floor
I was young but somehow i knew
It was time
To grow up...

 

 

 


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Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born,

But I was repelled.

 

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

 

They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

 

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

 

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

 

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

 

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I ran away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

 

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

 

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas appeared.

 

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

 

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

 

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

 

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

 

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

 

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much to deal...

 

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I bought a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my auto-biography in poetry-form.

Our parents!

our parents! 2011

 

 

our parents wern't rich but we didnt go with out

a roof over our heads we had with out a doubt

the laundry was hung to dry on the hill

we never went hungry our bellys they'ed fill

our mother was special and us kids knew it was so

she would sacrafic her needs so we would all grow

and make us all mind with a kind but firm hand

when we'd disrespect she'd take a firm stand

our dad was the greatest our souls he would care

take us to church and pray with us there

kept us all safe he woud watch us all grow

never leave us alone he loved us all so

we wish they were around we miss them so dear

up to heaven they went to be with god there

but miss them we do we we wish they were here still

even thou time passes there love never will.

dedicated to our parents your love and care made us who we are today

we love you both always and you will never be forgotten

 

                                             zoeycup16.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

this one is the second poem i wrote i wanted to tell others about my parents it was writen 2 years after my dad passed away i loved writing this poem i hope you like it

        zoeycup16

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*To The One I Love*

June.20.2014

 Trisha Barrek Hopkins

 

From the day we met

I was so thankful to have found

Someone as sweet as you 

I knew then my heart was set

 

God has sent me an angel

From up above 

One thats so true

One I could love

 

I am so greatful God has sent such a wonderful father

Who has brought such happiness into my soul

Together we are meant to be

You are filled with so much kindness

This I hope you see

To you only all is what I give

To you I give all

 

To make your world so wonderful

I promise to stick by you 

Through thick and thin

I promise to try not to hurt your heart 

I promise to take care of it 

When it happens to fall apart 

 

Why you may ask the way I feel

Because I knew I loved you 

From the very start 

 

Copyright

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