to my father, the only way i can

[vurtomatic]

i see him
on the couch
newspaper in whithered hands
eyes dead
illuminated by flickering images on tv
shrunken
drawn into himself
lost unto himself
is he here
or away
eyes alight on monochrome images
i see the fire leave him
year
by
torturous year
take their toll on him
as i grow
from them
one life
for another
i am
but his vassal
of hopes dashed
dreams failed
i look upon him
heavy in me
i look him in the eyes
history a film upon them
does he see me
or himself
in me
afraid for him
as the days pass
on the couch
eyes dead

 

[SelectionIll]

hi,
i know family is a tricky situation and remarking on someones relationship with a father could turn into me shooting myself in the foot, but, i have something that may help.
i only met my father for the first time when i was 17. for all intents and purposes, he didn't exist. and when i met him, i was suprised by how old, how slow he seemed. he was only about 40 at the time, so not old at all, it's just that in my imagination, where he existed, he was vibrant and capable and alive, and here he was, in izods and khakis, driving a bmw, a card carrying republican and my enemy. he looked pasty. he looked dead.
but over the next few years, i found out about him, in his hay day, and he LIVED. he was a jazz trumpet player (the reason he and my mother split-irresponsible-drunk-etc... she never talked about him ever) he told me about wild adventures in vw bugs, sharing bottles with stan getz and getting spit on by miles davis. tours as the house band at radissons across the country, at 24, in a van with his combo and screaming madness at every city between ohio ans san fran.
what i'm trying to say is, find out what bombs exploded for your father. find out how he courted your mom. why he had you. who his pavorite poet is or if not that, what is his favorite painting is, and if he doesn't have one, drag him to an art gallery.
i don't know you, and obviously don't know the details of your life, and i hope i'm not imposing, but i see the desire for connection in your piece.
i know from experience, your father is not dead, he's just resting, and you can wake him up.
let me know what you think, or better yet, what you do.
by the way, great piece. if you haven't noticed by now, it really struck me.
seemore

 

[syke]

*sigh* How raw the nerve, how close a chord your words strike vurt. Perhaps it is due to similar cultural background, but whatever it is, you have struck home.
BRAVO! and F@#K YOU! I don't know whether to commend you or to curse you...

 

[punch e punch]

Vurt, I relate to this poem so much. It pretty much sums up the way i feel about my relationship with my father.
Nice work