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.
Points: 890
Reviews: 40
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