It’s my duty..........
My bedroom is warm and cosy
It should be safe, a place of sanctuary
Behind that closed door
Blankets pulled tight around my neck
I’m not safe, I’m unsafe
Because this is the time
It shouldn’t be like that
It’s our secret he once whispered in my ear
Eyes tight shut blocking out the vision
His breath tinged with the devil
His devil is whiskey, by the glass, on the double
The creak of the stair tells me it’s time
I know its time
Time to do my duty
Eyes clenched, I cannot see
But I can see in my mind’s eye
I can feel everything
Hear every grunt and moan
Until his hand rests on mine
It’s over
The bedroom door clicks shut.
Father’s day is over
That is, today is over
Another day soon, to do my duty!
Celia Poppinjay 19th June 2020
Happy Father’s Day
Looking at you...I’ve alway had a glance into greatness.
Standing back while I look at you.
All the wisdom in the world I thought you
needed to possess.
But you had enough when I looked at you.
A strong black man.
And a man that I still admirer .....still find myself looking at you.
All your love towering down a pond me.
This wisdom is beautiful and aged like a fine wine.
Your skin tone is to me perfection.
I wallow in your greatness and search for another just like you.
While looking at you my little brown face stretched
to form my admiration for you.
And would wonder what on earth could be better than looking at you?
Sparkles in my brown eyes.
Sending you love with every hug.
Dad I love looking at you.
While wondering what makes each piece of you, you.
You are my hero.
Your image helped me to love my very own.
While looking up at you I felt right at home.
Until Tomorrow
This Friday, just two days before Father’s Day, I will fly across the country in search of happiness and reunion with my beloved father.
I’m taking that risk.
My father is a lawyer, but not a yeller. When I was seventeen, I lied to his face. Back then, it didn’t matter, not really - to me, a teen. His rage was something of which I have never seen before or since.
“Only criminals tell lies.”
I have not lied since. Everything I say bleeds with truth; it’s how I’ve survived.
It’s how we’ve survived. There is nothing - nothing - I wouldn’t do for him.
When we meet the waves of the Cape on Father’s Day, I hope we are able to embrace each hit of ocean spray. Through my demented youth, we pulled through. We’ve changed, I’ve changed: daughters grow up and change.
What else is there, except a father? Except a truth-teller?
Ups and downs
he held my hand when i was small
walking the whole block down to the water
one foot up on the curb, one foot down on the street
up and down up and down
he looked down on me, eyes laughing
as he whistled a tune
he held my hand the day i wed
and danced with me to that one song
that brought tears to both our eyes
as the song ended he lifted me high
and hugged me - up and down
whistling his tune he waved me away
he held my hand on his last day
his last moment
breath softly whistling breathing so slowly
up...and down...up...
he smiled one last time
and let my hand go
I Love my father
Me my to sisters and our brother all lived with our parents, until I was two. My dad was a drug fanatic. I don't have very much love for him. That is why they got deorced. But now I have a new family. Two new brothers. And a new dad I love my dad and I wouldn't trade him for anyone.
And those of you who don't have anyone out there to be your father or a father figer.
I am so sorry, God bless all of you.
Three Fathers
I have three fathers. Of those of you that remember me talking about my favorite number being three and seven then look at that, three fathers.
The truth is I don’t feel the same way towards all of them.
My first dad is my biological father. I love him but he is a narcissistic alcoholic. Since this is for father’s day I can’t really talk bad about him. I love my dad.
My second dad is my stepdad. I love him very much and he is like a real father to me.
My third Dad is the Heavenly Lord. He is my Lord my God, and my Savior. I love him.
The Father I want to write about is my stepdad. He is like a real father to me and the only father I really had. I know I just said I had three fathers but my biological is my father because he helped give birth to me but he was never really a father. My Heavenly Lord, whom I love, I father in Heaven but My stepdad is My only earthly Father who cares about me. I don’t look at him as a stepfather I only say that avoid confusion. I love you so much dad and I am so happy you are my father. You are the best father I have ever had and I can say that because I have three.
Chopping potatoes
Chopping down potatoes,
feeling the way how my Dad used to do before,
Hundreds and thousands of lives’ time before.
To make it so perfectly,
paper-thinly fine-cut,
hairlike, featherlike fine-cut.
Chopping and chopping,
with a big heavy, Chinese square stainless steel butcher-knife.
Chopping away all my fears over knives,
All the past lives’ fears over hurts, injuries, cuts
and needs of running away from harshness and darkness.
Chopping away all the self-centered presumptuous pompous ego and self-righteousness.
Chopping away all the dull edges of the self that are in the way
of the present moment now.
Feeling the soft and tender presence of Dad on the inside.
Showing me how to simply allowing it be.
Letting the weight of the mental dropping down…
Like a magic, slicing open the blankness of the unknown juicy yummy delicious Potatoes,
in a perpendicular way.
Let it slicing open, effortlessly,
as if watching the raindrop on the window panes, on the foot steps, quietly, yet, with a palpable texture,
running down my veins, muscle grooves, fine lines of the palm...
Sinking down profoundly among the vastness of Dad’s love,
Silent, with a renounced temperature of glowing warmth,
and some sparkling angel white lights,
that can suddenly brighten up a heart
or a whole starry galaxy.
And, with a steady pace, marching forward,
In a chopping motion,
Steadily and rhythmically.
One day at a time.
