Skip to main content

Our Father

What is a father? Who is our father?
Our Father, capital F, who art in heaven,
Our father, who's watching the game on TV,
Our dad, to go on camping trips with,
Roasting marshmallows at dusk
Our daddy, a strong neck to hold on to
When we are too weak to walk
Our papa, the second face we register
When we are born onto the earth
Our pa, pop, Old Man, tata, head of the house
A man, a person, a being with graces and faults
Pa, a cluster of memories
Of popsicles on the way home from school
When mom wouldn't allow it
Of walks to the park and the playground
Of being taught how to ride a bicycle
Then pa morphed to dad, and then to father
Our Father, distant, almost unaware of his existence
Father, to be prayed to, to be worshipped
A father who is not a dad at all
What is a father? Who is our father?
A man who loves us unconditionally
A man who sets an example for future generations
A man, surrounded by family, in a warm home
A man who is honoured because he deserves it
A man who teaches how to be compassionate
How to be daring, fearless, and kind
A man who is proud of who he is
And of who his children are
A man who takes risks, who would do anything
Anything, anything, to make his house a home
A man who is father, who is daddy, who is pops
All at once, and forever will be
Mortal, a man, a person who loves
His kin more than the Father above


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Women: Living Contradictions

What does society want? For women to achieve impossible standards (and, by the way, it is NOT possible to achieve something that is impossible). Society wants us to be living contradictions...cabbage heads on stilts... airhead rocket scientists. Society wants us to be things that don't even exist in fiction, but only in the glossy pages of a Cosmopolitan magazine (look at me! I'm so skinny! So happy! Sexy all the time!). As I heard said many times before, "even Victoria's Secret models don't look like Victoria's Secret models." The way the proportions are warped, each pimple bleached, each hair trimmed down to pre-pubescence, toes and fingers without a scar, and the face angelic and so happy... it makes me sick. It makes me sick because of the contradictions, because women are expected to: Be sexy but not slutty Be innocent but not prude Be virgins but also fantastic lovers Be independent but submissive Be good mothers but maintain careers Be...

The Flood

Sometimes I feel like My insides are flooding Threatening to spill out And clog glutters in the street With all my unsatisfied ambition Sometimes I want to drown In a soup of grey water To just forget it all And become one with the tunnels, Streets, and people of the city Their shoes tracking dirt From one train station to the next Let the rain water drain it all Cleanse it all The grief and the dissatisfaction The mundanity and the boredom Of the occassional commute Let the flood take me Take us To a train station that hasn't been built yet On tracks that don't yet exist Far, far away In the meadows Where the soil can finally soak up All the grey unwanted rain

Happiness is Pink Jellybeans

Happiness is jumping in a pool of pink jellybeans Feeling the cool candy on my skin Happiness is enjoying the pleasures of life Without worrying about confessing my sins Whoever said that we are gluttons For biting juicy pears on the beach Must never have felt the sand in their toes They must have placed their own soul out of reach And what about greed? It's not all that bad To bury a pile of chestnuts for the spring All animals do it, so why shouldn't we? If it's greedy to love yourself, let it be Lust is the one that makes pastors blush Yet it's one of the greatest joys in the body A kiss and a dance, laughter and romance Why did we ever label this happiness as naughty? Have you ever seen a cat sad when it naps? It is okay to sometimes be lazy The body needs rest as does the mind Or the world will set fire from the crazy If happiness is a sin, then let me smile in hell Looking up at the do-gooders above For to live is to err, to cry, and to sing Happiness is pink jell...