Updating Dad (a sonnet)

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 – Prompt #295 – Yesterday and Today
Today is Father’s Day.
As we did with Mom back in May, we can pay homage to the man who had a hand in giving us our start. Write a father poem. Anything dad will work here. Or you can error typographically and write a farther poem, or a fatter poem. You can go wherever your poetic license will allow.”

Dad, the news of the world is rather grim
today, and I think of what you would say.
‘Gotta get to the bottom of this; sin
is nothing to fool around with. We strayed–

this country–off path of morality.
Dad, we have a dangerous dictator
whose lies and mendacity you’d find beastly–
after teaching us equality matters.

You’d look in horror at our nation
divided, black lives taken–no reason.
Dad, we’re in midst of pandemic invasion,
many dead and suffering, no treatment.

Though I’d love to see you just for a day,
your soul would mourn this world of dismay.


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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3 Responses to Updating Dad (a sonnet)

  1. 🙂 Excellent poem! Touching. Thank you.

    I’ll recite a pivotal experience with my Dad, when last year he had quadruple bypass heart surgery, while already having Parkinson’s, though a year before when he was lucid our connection laughingly deepened, and THIS year he gets the quadruple crown of 6/21 being his birthday, the Solstice, Father’s Day, and the annular Solar Eclipse in Gemini right before it cussed-ducked to Void Of Course at 5p as it moved from Gemini towards Cancer. We’ve always been close, though not in a deep feelings expressed way, just that beyond-their-faults there’s a deeply loving person in there. We have had wonderful intellectual conversations, some about creativity, though he’s a language professor, poet, creative writer, author, English professor. I, architect, tarot reader and author, astrologer, poet, writer, artist, and et al, etc. And, I’m glad he wasn’t mean on the outside Growing up, too. Quite the opposite. Standard issue parent. Both Mentor and Tormentor at one and the same time.

    Let’s see how this goes off the cuff in homage to my Dad, still alive and kicking, though not always having the twain of those 2 meet. D = Dad. J = Me:

    D: Oh Jordan,
    that pseudo-science Tarot jumbo jumbo
    and New Age Astrology bullshit.
    Why are you such an anti-intellectual?!!
    I don’t believe
    in that Tarot stuff you know.

    J: LOLOLOLOLOL. (Catching my breath) LOLOLOLOLOL

    D: Whatever is so funny now? Why are you so tickled?

    J: Oh Dad.
    (Catching to a big breath and smile)
    Dad, let’s cross-check ourselves
    Into the blue line wall
    So hard
    That our helmets shatter the glass.
    Shall we?

    D: Oh, you have an issue
    With what I’ve said?
    By all means.

    J: Dad, I don’t believe
    in Tarot or Astrology,
    either. Go figure.
    I don’t believe in it
    Any more than I believe
    In my range or fridge,
    Daily I use them to prepare food.

    D: welllll….

    J: NO. STOP> I am not finished.
    Here’s where the gig gigs up good.
    You’re a Professor.
    You’re standing there
    In the Ancient Greek Senate,
    Ruling sovereign
    In your white robe and gold laurels.
    Your protege asks where your son is,
    And for the 1st time you fluster,
    You fluster in hubris-interference-pattern chortles.

    (Your son comes to your defense as I step into the Seante)
    J: Well, Sir. Hands off my Dad.
    You ask where I am
    In the context
    Of his Reason?
    Well now.
    I do not exist there.
    I live
    In a place where reasons are unreasonable.

    J: You see,
    My Dad’s here running this joint,
    This Senate gig…
    Where am I?
    I’m in a little
    40-mile town called Delphi.
    I’m the Oracle, and I run the place.
    Ever heard of it?
    ~ The End

    🙂 My Dad laughed like I had never heard anyone laugh before. SO from the hart. From the Soul immortal. When he came down off the inability to use words from the amazing laughter…

    D: Wow, Jordan. Just WOW!
    I don;t know
    If I’ve ever heard someone
    With another’s argument
    Sop aptly,
    So concisely,
    And so empathicallu accurate
    For BOTH parties,
    For BOTH of us.

    I couldn’t agree with what you do less.
    I couldn’t indelibly resonate any more
    than with the pride of seeing my son
    Know and poetically defend
    His way,
    His very mode of being.
    There’s no talent
    There anymore, Jordan.
    You spent that up
    Into developing your abilities.

    I don’t like your way in the least.
    I LOVE the way your clarity of vision
    Has been developed,
    By You,
    In just the way
    You were born to see.

    I respect that you’ve always taken the long road home.
    I love you, period.
    But, OH YES I love you
    For becoming strong enough to be gentle,
    Comfortable past mastery,
    To teach, and chaff off defensiveness.
    (LOLOLOLOL’ing again rumbling to a chuckle and wet eyes looking up)

    40-mile town.
    Delphi. Oh yes, we’ve heard of that place.
    Kings have to go there for permission, huh?
    I love you.
    You make sure you run that place right.
    I’m behind you no matter what.
    Stay in there and keep on pitching.
    Stay in there and keep on pitching.
    Hope we don’t have to lose the range and fridge now. 😉

    ~ The End II, The End


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