To fathers past, present, and future.
And for me, to my own father, long gone; to Michael, my long-time love and the father of our son; and to My Beloved Draughn--one very, very special father of daughters...I love you and honor you all.
(Daddy and me)
Happy Father's Day!
A pair of his old shoes
were left in the back closet-
they fit perfectly
Oh, Dave! This is absolutely wonderful, on so many levels.
A tear and many kisses...
father in spirit...
our son's soul inhabits you
his heart in your chest
I love and admire you for honoring him, Dearest.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy, wherever you are.
not a good father
but a great leader of men
loved him as he was
To My Beloved D.
your daughters love you...
you're the beacon they follow
safely to harbor
your daughter on your stomach
you hold one plump leg
years slip by quickly
babies become young women
daddy is constant
you the foundation
upon which their lives are built
love never ending
For you and the girls, Darling...
if ever you fear
i'll be watching over you
whether near or far
when you need my touch
ride the stream of memory
find me in your heart
man of mystery
papa was a rolling stone
we never knew him
I was thinking about how men are often characterized as the less "present" parent--somewhat less feeling or less involved in the emotional, physical, spiritual, and psychological growth and well-being of their children.
I have found this to be untrue in my experience. Although my father was absent because of his Naval career, he was a loving and tender dad. The father of my son was a super parent--totally involved, loving, supportive, and demonstrative. My Beloved, Draughn, is the best father I have ever known. His world revolves around love for his daughters--he is utterly present, always encouraging, always loving and understanding while furnishing the perfect balance of guidance and discipline, he is a grown-up in the best possible way while staying young at heart and physically fit so that he can participate with joy and lightness of spirit in their everyday lives. He has laid a foundation of love and commitment for them that will serve them well their entire lives.
Even this amazing lullaby was written by a man, music and words.
slumber my darling
thy mother guards thee from harm
'til morn's blushing ray
Although this poem is not haiku, I want to post it here. Cummings exquisitely illustrates in it the kind of father I was speaking of in my last post. There are more fathers like this than I think is generally acknowledged.
My father was, and My Draughn is, such a father.
my father moved through dooms of love
by e. e. cummings
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height
this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm
newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots
and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.
Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin
joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice
keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father's dream
his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.
Scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain
septembering arms of year extend
yes humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is
proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark
his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow.
My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)
then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold
giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am
though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath
and nothing quite so least as truth
--i say though hate were why men breathe--
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all