For my Father on his Birthday

A few thoughts on this poem. It's for my Dad's 49th birthday on Saturday. I like starting it in the middle of a thought, because that's how it came to me. Unless someone can come up with a brilliant beginning stanza, that stays. Oh, and the end isn't meant to sound incenstuous. It's meant to be pure and loving. There is no man on earth who could EVER be as important to me as my father. So, please please help me polish. I have to send this home by Wednesday! PS I cried when I reread this... PPS OOOH Lookie! Punctuation! That's new...

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And although my adult's brain insists,
I refuse to relinquish my rights
To memories of you.
Still pictures ripe with colours,
Frozen images of a little girl
And a Daddy.

Big hands cradle small,
Waltzing to some unknown tune,
And unknown verse,
Lifted on feet,
Ah! Firm foundation!
Twirling in the air,
Effervescent with champagne
Laughter.

Lithe fingers
And stickery callouses
Strum soft melodies
On acoustic strings dewy with Morning
Bidding the evening monsters "Adieu!"

Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn fly...

Velvet voice filling little rooms
And little ears
With light.
(I didn't know it was the Moon's)

It's what Big Girls do, you know,
Forget
The Nite-Lite isn't Dad's Magic after all
I wish I hadn't forgotten...

Soapy smells (Lever 2000),
Stain the air with happy.
Yellow Polo Collar,
With a shirt (miraculously) attached,
Clasped in still-small white hands,
(Only a princess could have these hands)
Bear hugs before long trips,
Shared kisses and "See you soon!"s.

Red stuble beard
Pressed against a cheek,
Clasped in steel arms
After a chopped-tree vacation
Left with only a bleeding stump
Tendered dearly and Cradled once more,
The First Stitch in a mending heart.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly...

Missing koffees,
And choir,
And guitar at midnight;
Fathomless voice paving hallways.

And who would I be, if not for these?
Snapshot memories of my first Love,
The first man in my life--
And the only one for me.

Ofcourse, I liked the guitar part the best.
I wish I could write stuff like this for my dad!
And its also a good thing you didn't wait until Father's Day to write it.

I can't write poems at all! My favorite line is this one:
'Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn [to]fly...

'Velvet voice filling little rooms
And little ears
With light.
(I didn't know it was the Moon's) ' Good job. Too bad I cna't write like that.

Oh, Gal, I loved this. I know it's been awhile since you posted it, so what did your dad think? Did he cry, or is he not that kind of guy? This would probably make my dad cry... very little does.

This was so beautiful, and it really touched me because I feel the same way about my dad. I can't crit this, it's just marvelous. Great job.

He cried. Definitly. I talked to him on the phone, 'cause I'm away at school, and he absolutely loved it.

I'm sure he did, how could he not? This has actually inspired me to write a poem for my dad for father's day, but thus far it is falling pathetically short of what you've written. Honestly, Gal, you need to stop putting me to shame...

'tis pretty. Maybe it's better starting in an after thought...

Aww, ar, I'm flattered!!

I really like the beginning, snoink. I tried and tried to start it, but it didn't want to begin anywhere but there.

Gal, it was very touching.. I liked it a lot too. I wish I could have such time writing something for my dad and such times and memories...
It contain a lot what I have wrote to my mom (secretly), the steps...

Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn fly...