Category Archives: poem about families

Self-Realization

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Self-Realization

He’s going to take a small vacation—a hiatus, so to speak—
but his family has mixed feelings toward what it is he’ll seek.
He says he must discover the words to his own song,
but they wonder why it is that they cannot sing along.
It seems this is one journey that he must make alone.
They can’t Skype him from their laptops. They can’t call him on the phone.

Organization for his  journey will be strictly alphabetical,
making for a travel plan that is less theoretical
but based on whimsey—something that’s been missing from his life
since he embarked on his career and since he took a wife.
He might start with Algeria, Australia or Agora.
And next choose Bangladesh, Berlin or Bora Bora.

Then he’ll take a plane to Cuba, to Columbia or Crete.
Until he’s finished the whole alphabet, his trip won’t be complete.
What he’ll learn on this journey, they’ll have to wait and see.
“This journey’s not for you,” he says. “This journey’s just for me.”
He’s retiring from his family for a year or two.
“I’ll be a different man,” he says, “when I come back to you.”

His family can’t believe it when he commences packing,
and when he’s gone, at first they feel that he’s sorely lacking.
But after a few months, the hole he’s left just slowly fills.
The kids take problems to Grandpa, and Mother pays the bills.
His son enrolls for driver’s ed and learns to drive the car.
A new guy comes to town to fill his old spot at the bar.

At dinner parties now his wife becomes the handy single,
so she can pick and choose occasions wherein she can mingle.
The TV’s set on programs other than golf and fights,
and no one ever chides them to turn off all the lights.
His daughters’ dates don’t have to meet with him to be okayed.
His wife does not consult on each and every purchase made.

Slowly, all his family feels less and less bereft.
After a year they barely remember that he’s left.
So when after two years they hear a key turn in the lock
one night approaching midnight, it’s somewhat of a shock
to find their old dad home again–bearded, stooped and worn,
long locks descending from a head formerly neatly shorn.

No arms reach out to greet him. No shouts of joy are heard.
They find his presence strange and his appearance most absurd.
When he sees they’re watching “Dancing with the Stars,” he’s clearly shaken,
and he’s crushed they are not curious about the path he’s taken.
In every empty room, there are still lightbulbs glistening,
but when he starts to chide them, he finds no one is listening.

When he goes to check his car, he finds that it is missing.
He hears noises in what was his den and finds his wife who’s kissing
a stranger he’s not seen before. Has his whole life gone crazy?
He takes some time off for himself and things go upsy daisy?
Then, finally, the truth hits. While off looking for himself,
it seems that his whole family has placed him on a shelf.

His son has commandeered the car, his daughters came and go,
never introducing their dad to any beau.
His old job has been filled and his family’s fine without him.
Even buddies at the bar seem somehow to doubt him.
He sleeps down in the basement while some guy sleeps in his bed.
He’s been divorced for desertion, or so the papers said.

His wife’s new husband’s given him a week to pack his stuff
and head once more into the world, where living will be rough.
All those years he quested to find out more about him,
it seems to be the truth that his life went on without him.
So though he found himself at last, there’s no place where he fits.
Having a self with no place left to put it is the pits!!

 

 

Prompts today are mixed feelings, theoretical, hiatus, song and journey.

Advice to a Brand New Stepmom

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Advice to a Brand New Stepmom

Release your indignation. Try to quell your grief.
The air is redolent with clues of the impish thief.
Don’t you smell the bubble gum? Can’t you catch a sniff
of the perfumed hair gel that makes his hair so stiff?
Those two dozen cookies that you’d put in a stack
to package for the bake sale, I’d bet are in a sack
high up in the tree house in your own back yard.
The next time you bake cookies, you’d better post a guard!

 

The prompt words today are thief, release, redolent and impish. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/03/27/rdp-wednesday-thief/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/03/27/fowc-with-fandango-release/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/03/27/your-daily-word-prompt-redolent-march-27-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/03/27/impish/

Retribution

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Retribution

He built himself a sanctuary in the old garage
to shelter from his mom’s complaints, his stepfather’s barrage
of insults that he spewed out whenever he drank beer
and his teenage stepson happened to be near.
He frequented the shadows of their viral house.
Took shelter in the attic, quiet as any mouse.
Hid out in the garden in a cave of loam.
Anyplace his stepfather was not became his home.

His meals lacked spice and savor also missing in his mother.
Her meals furnished nutrition, but very little other.
No laughter flavored mealtimes. The food rendered no spice.

He secreted small bits of food—a slice of bread, some rice—
to feed to his companions—a family of mice.
It was worth the beatings that he’d suffered twice
when that man not his father saw him hide away
some morsel in his pocket and said he’d have to pay.

 Raising his fist, he said he would take it from his hide
and gave another beating  to the boy who never cried.
The boy who simply stored it up—kept all of it inside—
bore the abuse stoically and then crept outside
to commune with his real family who lived in wall and  rafter
of the garage he’d made his home, and filled with love and laughter.
They came out at his bidding, swarmed around his feet
to eat a bit of porridge, some carrot or a beet.

Some crackers from his school lunch, some lettuce or a plum,
proved the presence of a heart that otherwise was numb.
Mice frequented his pockets and sat upon his shoulder—
every generation seeming to grow bolder.
They slipped into his mother’s house when she was sound asleep
and crept into those places where he could never creep.
They nestled in her shoes and chewed out all the toes,
severed all her bra straps, gnawed holes in all her hose.

They found the belt the monster man used to beat their friend,
dragged it deep under the bed and chewed it end-to-end.
When they crept into the larder to finish off the pie,
it must have been an accident that the can of lye
spilled into the sugar, pouring out in one fine stream
right into the bowl that would be placed beside the cream
on the breakfast table.  For how could it be
that vermin knew only the man took sugar in his tea?

 

The prompt words today are sanctuary, garage and nutrition.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/09/rdp-saturday-sanctuary/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/09/fowc-with-fandango-garage/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/09/your-daily-word-prompt-nutrition-february-9-2019/

The Leech

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proclaimed to be fine,

The Leech

They’ve plugged up their ears to muffle his mutterings.
They’re tired of his self-serving utterings.

He’s an indulgence they’d like to be shed of,

expunge from their sofa and free their spare bed of.

He thinks it’s tradition that they should take care of him,
yet they’d prefer that their house just be bare of him.

He’s a caricature of self-indulgence,
wallowing in familial abundance.

They need to be boxing his ears or possessions
and signing up for codependency sessions.

They’ve supported him well and sent him to college,
imbued him with clothes, with playthings and knowledge.

Now he needs to be kicked out to find his own life—
to be taught by experience, seasoned by strife.

Lest they make a mongrel of a fine pup,
it’s time they encourage their boy to grow up!

 

 

The prompt words today are tradition, caricature, indulgence and boxing.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/12/26/rdp-wednesday-tradition/
FOWC with Fandango — Caricature
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/12/26/your-daily-word-prompt-indulgence-December-26-2018/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/12/26/boxing/

Mentoring

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Mentoring

Those in their declining years have wisdom they should share
to give incentive to those younger to achieve what they might dare.
Each youth should have an elder ready to inspire

and show him  different types of things to which he might aspire—
to bring a bit of renegade out from where it’s hidden
so he is not inclined to always do what he is bidden.
Just a touch of wildness befits the mildest maiden,
lest she simply be a helpmate much too fully laden.
And they should also all  be told, each sister and each brother, 
not to squash that renegade they might find in another.

 

The prompt words today are elder, inspire, renegade, decline.  Here are the prompt links in case you want to use them and post a link to your blog on their site:

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/08/23/rdp-84-elder/

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/08/23/fowc-with-fandango-inspire/

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/08/23/renegade/

https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/Decline

Family Night

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Family Night

Grandma’s tired of pussyfooting, Mama’s tired of tact.
Daddy has lost his silken tongue. I fear that is a fact.
Grandpa has no further wish to sugar coat and pander.
We’ve had an epidemic of hereditary candor! Continue reading

The Meeting

 

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The Meeting

A simple country rube was he,
short at the cuff and out at knee;
but standing with his hat in hand,
he made a gesture brave and grand.
He faced the richest man in town—
a brutal man of wide renown
who saw him as a simple clown—
a fool just made for shooting down.

While in his case, it was debated
whether being educated
made a fellow learning-smart
at the expense of building heart,
nonetheless, he was well-suited.
His choice in fashion not disputed.
Well-barbered, polished, buff and tan,
the epitome of a GQ man.

He stood there in his doorway wide,
framed by the luxury inside
and eyed this bumpkin, shy and dim.
What business had this man with him?
“Speak up,” he barked, “if you are able!
You’ve pulled me from my breakfast table.
Speak your piece and take you off
to plow or hoe or watering trough!”

And though the rube was shy and humble,
he did not stammer, falter, mumble.
He simply drew a folded note
from the pocket of his coat,
handed it over, and said good-bye,
facing him with steely eye,
and with no other reason to stay,
climbed in his pickup and drove away.

The great man turned upon his heel
and went in to resume his meal.
He buttered toast and spread compote
before he thought to read the note.
“Jacob,” it said, “I am Janelle—
that one that you once knew so well.
When I left, you never knew
inside I carried part of you.

But now my life is nearly done,
I think it’s fair you meet your son.
Because of my sad circumstance,
he promised to give you a chance
to reap the harvest you have sown
and meet the son you’ve never known.
But, take care that things do not go badly.
He does not suffer fools gladly.”

 

The prompt word today was rube.