On the Border of Fatherhood

view-image.php by Maliz Ong

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view-image.php Adrian Paulino

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On the Border of Fatherhood

Oh thanks for the trouncing the bouncing insight

Your word on “the issue” that we talked through the night

I thought in our world on you in this crisis I would depend

Never realized land-mined forces would explode our road to that rubbled end

Oh thanks for the trouncing, the bouncing “insight”

On a blossoming seedlet, - termed “cavalierly” our mutual plight

You chose “weeding” quick and for all “the best thing”

Really? I foolishly thought love morphed to a wedding - a ring

Oh thanks for the trouncing in your oh so wise bouncing insight

Shoulders squared, I, mother-to-be, we walked from you into the night

The night that transcended into one after another bright shimmering day

Melted to rippled rich years emptied of you in all but one irrevocable way

The Sunday Whirl

NaNoWriMo 2013 - Challenge Completed

PAD - Day 24 - Response to a quote poem - Keep on Smiling :)

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“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss

Don’t cry because it’s over as he turns and walks out shutting your front door ...

Smile because it happened, even if you are aching for so very much,  much, more.

Sister Mary-Anne's in love

flower-heart-1383009391TcD.jpg -flower heart by Piotr Siedleck

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Sister Mary-Anne's in love 

In the gathering of synapses-suffering 

the giggle escapes and drifts from the 

youngest novice nun - floats into the gap in regard 

for the serious breach of virtue sung by 
Sister Mary-Anne  

Flushed and penitent she rhapsodizes, as they sit still in their ironed habits

under the falling chestnut blossoms listening

with compassion, leaning toward undoing - trying to lessen the

precipitant choice of young blood to close the gap 

once again in her cycle of devotion

Yet, the unbidden giggle travels - bouncing amid their suffering

 back to plain clothed Sister Anne, who smiles gratefully as she

thinks of the child that she and former Brother Francis-now plain Frank

might one soon-to-come-day–create
together,

in marriage 

in 

love
in forgiveness 

perhaps with chestnut blossoms in her flowing hair 

PAD - Day 23 - in the moonlight

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in the moonlight

I should not be reaching across
this strange bed with rumpled
sheets of musk
Touching your shoulder
as my wedding ring
his and my wedding ring
glints in the moonlight
splayed across our sated
bodies
I should not be here
in the moonlight

PAD - Day 18 -Love and Anti/Love Poem

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Infant Dawnings Bright and Blank

In the rising dawn
Sparkled light in
their sleepy hair
She lifts the babe
high in the air
twirling in magic mystic light
All is peaceful
All is right
Brings him down lies
on duvet plump and feather-white
holds him close and melts together dear
velvet skin-to-skin suckling snuggles here

In a house not too far from here
infant red faced frightened screams
Mother turns her face to the wall
Birth control on this fifth failed
It seems
She pulls a pillow about her exhausted ear
As a calloused foot pushes at her rear
“Get up and get that brat out of here”
Another gray tided day rolls in and soaks her through
Irrevocably beginning urine acrid pullings, whirling chaos
Her apparent due
Stumbles to the crib falls back to the couch
Tumbled blankets there askew
Wretched creature mouth agape searching to devour
Best hoped for peace and blankness for this day, at least for another hour

PAD - Day 18 - Forget What I Said – Remember What I’ve Done

Forget What I Said – Remember What I’ve Done

forget the blowsy poemy letters

filled with tearful joyous images

of y’all trotting in the shining sun

forget the way your teeth ache

with sugared words sprinkled

over a birthday, graduation, birth

or whatever adventure you’ve begun

forget the “to the end of never”

to my one special special lovey one

forget all the well intentioned

inadequate words and

please

remember who I am, what I meant and oh yes please most of all 
Remember what I’ve done

PAD - Day 17. Lunch Table Blues

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Lunch Table Blues

she’s singing the lunch
table blues
sitting in a plastic
chair warm milk
dented carton
sitting there
from where they
threw it at her
head shouting
that they wished
her dead
staring at the
tray of viscuous
lunch leering
faces linger
an ugly bunch
alone, a stray
their daily prey
so out of the
words that fall
like cherry blossoms
cover her from head
to feet
struggle to retrieve them sent
as she sits – so out of her
element