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Literature Text
fathers need more than one day
to combine Legion's voices
into a semblance
of the one they once had
to conduct its apology
to wives and to widows
of the world
for making them mothers
and fathers need more
than the remaining year
to unload the age
from their bodies
into not-wives and lovers
the comfort and recharge
that makes them the men
their children will soon forget
now i stare into a distant
and starless corner
your wrinkle in my reflection
i drop a stone in it
that's yet to hit bottom
and wonder how i'll be remembered
to combine Legion's voices
into a semblance
of the one they once had
to conduct its apology
to wives and to widows
of the world
for making them mothers
and fathers need more
than the remaining year
to unload the age
from their bodies
into not-wives and lovers
the comfort and recharge
that makes them the men
their children will soon forget
now i stare into a distant
and starless corner
your wrinkle in my reflection
i drop a stone in it
that's yet to hit bottom
and wonder how i'll be remembered
Literature
Generations
In a corrupted state I am meditating Destroying doubts I am a closed off child Watching an adult openly cry From between two curtains Called the beginning And the end The overt imagery Offends my ego So I slip away From hot salt On cool cheeks Apathy gives way to ardent progress Suddenly serene Among the many missing jigsaw pieces I am the wisdom of my age And the ones I read of before me My insignificance Is a blessing Cross legged I wear a simple robe of green and grey It brings out my eyes and their frown lines I wait with patience and a knowing smile . Across the ages My pagan queen Walks against the wind Bone around her neck Fire adorned eyes On tongue tips we dance Shadows mounted upon walls Dawns light wakes the woods And birds sing knowingly Then we wait For the swell The scream And the eyes we made In those mirrors We grow dimmer Until the daughter of the dawn Walks by our graves at night We called her Legacy And the city called her willingly
Literature
Shaken, Not Stirred
Open up the doors, let the Siamese cat out— let me loose to scatter petals Power stems from elsewhere; clocks tick long enough to build insulated basements in locked down houses We dream the hours in silent Cantonese, sharp tined, quiet, asking only for a little: a saucer for every a teacup, a spoon for every fork
Literature
howl
Howl
Through leagues
Of old and
Proud white oaken trees
Wind
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The concept of fatherhood, father-ness and father-centricity was pushed to the hilt in the church I was brought up in. Fathers were the heads of the church and heads of the households... and were considered the stronger, more logical and fit-to-lead gender. Ya know... God the Father.
It's strange looking back- how so many men lead double lives. So impassioned in the pulpit, with this invisible overhead of what they really were. They become merely disconnected voices, hence the Legion reference.
I once found a letter my father was writing to a fallen colleague in Christ. He wrote of his failings as a husband- most of which I already knew... but, it spun things a little differently to me. The man who wrote the letter was my father and the man from happy-time memories became the ghost.
Anyway, I write things like this to recognize the defect in my bloodline, to encourage my own exercise of caution, and... well, to give voice to those with other than ideal experiences with their fathers.
........and, I suppose it's worth noting that I'm not describing my personal approach to family-manhood. I've learned that there are other ways to do it. So, dads and future dads, don't be arseholes. Be awesome.
Peace and Happy Fathers Day,
Scott
It's strange looking back- how so many men lead double lives. So impassioned in the pulpit, with this invisible overhead of what they really were. They become merely disconnected voices, hence the Legion reference.
I once found a letter my father was writing to a fallen colleague in Christ. He wrote of his failings as a husband- most of which I already knew... but, it spun things a little differently to me. The man who wrote the letter was my father and the man from happy-time memories became the ghost.
Anyway, I write things like this to recognize the defect in my bloodline, to encourage my own exercise of caution, and... well, to give voice to those with other than ideal experiences with their fathers.
........and, I suppose it's worth noting that I'm not describing my personal approach to family-manhood. I've learned that there are other ways to do it. So, dads and future dads, don't be arseholes. Be awesome.
Peace and Happy Fathers Day,
Scott
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Comments21
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This piece was really profound and makes me think of my dad. That last line also really resonated with me. Great job