Four short, related poems about members of my family... wrote this a while ago... not too good.

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Do you remember the days, sister
When we hid in cold rooms
When the snow filled the alleys
Of our world?

I held you then, sister
And felt the beating of your heart
Like a kitten's
Against my palm.

I kept you warm, sister
In the coldest reaches of our past
And saved you
From the dirt.

I loved you, sister
As we counted the birds on the wires
And waited for the day
That we would grow wings.

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You stood there with my blood, mother
Splayed across the backdrop of my impermeable reality
I called for you,
But the voice that returned was mocking.

You stood there with your fury, mother
In your hand, it was a dangerous tool.
I could count my hours
On the shaking fingers of one hand.

You stood there with my youth, mother
Lifted easily from my limp submissive palms
And I knew it was no use
To ask for its return.

You stood there with our pain, mother
Though we each despised the one before us
We knew without asking
That we were both the same.

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You were the world, father
The only thing in my vision
In your eyes, I saw
The strongest man that ever lived.

You were a man, father
The person I wished to be
The flaws did not matter;
I was proud.

You were troubled, father
I did not wish to see
That we both traveled the same path;
That you were mortal.

I am grown now, father
And I see you in my mirror
Yet inside me I know
That you would be proud.

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You knew that I was broken, lover
Yet it did not deter you
And you held me
Until I was no longer scared.

You understand me, lover
For you too are not whole
And haunted sometimes by dreams
Of those who have used you.

You heal me, lover
From the pain of the past
And soothe in me the memories
That cry through me at night.

You are existence, lover
A reason to live
A solid reality
That does not wish to hurt me.

These poems show you as a gentle man, who has loved much and been hurt much. You write well, at least in my opinion.

Both of the poems that pay tribute to your father are deeply moving to me. What an excellent son you have been. It is wonderful to see a boy who so loves and admires his father.

It is sad that your relationswhip with your mother was so much different.

Keep writting, especially if it makes you feel more free and joyful.

Bob

SP
poetry usually does nothing for me, although I love to read and write and enjoy the use of words. But somehow most poetry seems to lose me in the first few lines.

But your's doesn't lose me at all. The opposite happens, it grips me, moves me. It's what I want to read.

Don't put yourself down about what you write, it's from the heart and it shows.

Dave