He was a father who could not
Care for those sociological
Cares of fatherhood so forgot
Things like marriage and family
Or recalled them illogical
Tasting then tiring of such stuff
Satiety required no more
But found divorce was not enough
Both spouse and son would have to go
Out his G. I. Bill tract house door
So out both went and as we went
He sought then bought abandonment
Of such responsibility
As his law could make go away
Rejecting and ruining me
Through the best lawyer he could pay
But there was biological
Anomaly and this was me
Cut adrift then to sink today
Responsible to nobody
I suppose
Yet the only reason you know
He was at all is I say so
(This strikes me funny some odd way)!
And if he is he is in hell
Else nowhere
Or possibly purgatory
Proving there
Far as ever away from me
While my revenge is living well
When that seems something I could do
Trying to forget this story
Heaven knows
But I tell you since you know too
How it goes
I clung to his leg and he kicked me aside
Bored with his blue baby and his broken bride
Then went out to kill
And I love him: still
This is a sad piece dear brother. A very sad piece. Why do parents have children, if one or both of them just kick the child in the seat of the pants, or pull her by her long hair? Why? At least those of us who have been kicked through that door, have this writing to help us cope with the hauntings that keep coming back time after time. But these writings are our release from the those tensions. I rate this a 10 out of 10, and thank you for sharing, Steve.
May the Lord Jesus bless you, and those whom you love and who love you, and be with you always, and at your side constantly. With much love in my heart, joy to the world, peace on earth & ((((((((((MANY WONDERFUL SISTERLY HUGGGGSSSS)))))))))), your little sister, Barbie
Your poem resonates of deep seeded anger. Sometimes it's good to vent when we've been deeply hurt. And it's also odd how the ones that hurt us the most we still love. Mysteries of life.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Share
Print
Save
Follow
May the Lord Jesus bless you, and those whom you love and who love you, and be with you always, and at your side constantly. With much love in my heart, joy to the world, peace on earth & ((((((((((MANY WONDERFUL SISTERLY HUGGGGSSSS)))))))))), your little sister, Barbie
Your poem resonates of deep seeded anger. Sometimes it's good to vent when we've been deeply hurt. And it's also odd how the ones that hurt us the most we still love. Mysteries of life.
Mary