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Dribbles and Grits to Crumpets and Bollocks: Letter to the World's Greatest Dad

Letter to the World's Greatest Dad

Finish the Sentence Friday

Finish the Sentence Friday

This week's prompt: Dear Dad...

I'll never forget that smile
Dear Dad:

You were the best father next to God. I love you very much, and I miss you.

Many times, I don't think I'll ever be good enough for you because I put you on such a high pedestal that you're out of reach, but I shall continue chasing the ghost of "I'm proud of you" past, and carry on. Your voice still yells at me in the back of my head, "You lack discipline and focus," and you thought I didn't listen to you. Well now you know. I was listening in all those conversations about how the decisions I make today affect my tomorrow, and about how we are running out of cigarettes every time we ash (that wasn't bad advice from someone doped up on long-term morphine use). I sometimes catch myself sitting like you and I wonder if it's a biological thing or a learned behavior, and then I'm just happy I'm like you in some sense. 

May you rest in peace daddy and Happy Father's Day. Until we meet again...

Sincerely

Your better daughter



Some poetry I wrote about my dad after he passed away...


He was in radio and promotions, and his
radio name was Hammerin Hank;

He had a radio station WEIF radio,
Christian format, and he
turned down half a million for it in 1980
something just to keep God on the
airwaves. He eventually sold it
to the church for a dollar who
turned around and sold it for a
couple hundred thousand.
Daddy breathe again
let me see again
and show you when
you danced with me
I stepped on your toes
and only God knows
how much I cried
inside
the day you left me
how much I tried
to give you life
with memories
your face, your smile
your hands, your touch
your voice, your words
I need
to find my words
lost in your breath
from the day you left
gone with the wind
beneath me
if you could only breathe
I can open my wings
finally exhale
and be


And not to get anymore pathetic... 


The motive

Beethoven’s fifth,
My dad was a jarhead, leatherneck
MARINE.
In the 60's back when they were
really badass
a motive found within the satin...
Trumpets sound for you
my knight in white,
yet I cannot write
for the king is a language Latin--
dead but utilized,
philosophized and preserved on paper,
he haunts my castle still
and my pen abides by his will,
 a Shakespearean immortal,
a transparent drawbridge
aching to be a magical portal,
but the tragedy is not in the loss of a king,
a motive found within the satin,
for the princess is a queen
who keeps his empty crown
holding onto his throne
no knight will ever fill.
I am deaf to the trumpets.
All I hear is the rain
pounding on the moat,
the motive.

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Dribbles and Grits to Crumpets and Bollocks: Letter to the World's Greatest Dad

Friday, June 13, 2014

Letter to the World's Greatest Dad

Finish the Sentence Friday

Finish the Sentence Friday

This week's prompt: Dear Dad...

I'll never forget that smile
Dear Dad:

You were the best father next to God. I love you very much, and I miss you.

Many times, I don't think I'll ever be good enough for you because I put you on such a high pedestal that you're out of reach, but I shall continue chasing the ghost of "I'm proud of you" past, and carry on. Your voice still yells at me in the back of my head, "You lack discipline and focus," and you thought I didn't listen to you. Well now you know. I was listening in all those conversations about how the decisions I make today affect my tomorrow, and about how we are running out of cigarettes every time we ash (that wasn't bad advice from someone doped up on long-term morphine use). I sometimes catch myself sitting like you and I wonder if it's a biological thing or a learned behavior, and then I'm just happy I'm like you in some sense. 

May you rest in peace daddy and Happy Father's Day. Until we meet again...

Sincerely

Your better daughter



Some poetry I wrote about my dad after he passed away...


He was in radio and promotions, and his
radio name was Hammerin Hank;

He had a radio station WEIF radio,
Christian format, and he
turned down half a million for it in 1980
something just to keep God on the
airwaves. He eventually sold it
to the church for a dollar who
turned around and sold it for a
couple hundred thousand.
Daddy breathe again
let me see again
and show you when
you danced with me
I stepped on your toes
and only God knows
how much I cried
inside
the day you left me
how much I tried
to give you life
with memories
your face, your smile
your hands, your touch
your voice, your words
I need
to find my words
lost in your breath
from the day you left
gone with the wind
beneath me
if you could only breathe
I can open my wings
finally exhale
and be


And not to get anymore pathetic... 


The motive

Beethoven’s fifth,
My dad was a jarhead, leatherneck
MARINE.
In the 60's back when they were
really badass
a motive found within the satin...
Trumpets sound for you
my knight in white,
yet I cannot write
for the king is a language Latin--
dead but utilized,
philosophized and preserved on paper,
he haunts my castle still
and my pen abides by his will,
 a Shakespearean immortal,
a transparent drawbridge
aching to be a magical portal,
but the tragedy is not in the loss of a king,
a motive found within the satin,
for the princess is a queen
who keeps his empty crown
holding onto his throne
no knight will ever fill.
I am deaf to the trumpets.
All I hear is the rain
pounding on the moat,
the motive.

Labels: , , , , ,

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