My Dad.

I've written a couple of poems about my dad in the past, but it's hard to put into words what I feel about someone that has shaped almost every aspect of me. I read this poem awhile ago, and while it doesn't reflect how I feel about my dad, it does mirror my feelings about our ageing and how I am scared that I may just be a carbon-copy of him? Or that he is now an emotional burden to me? It could also touch on how upset I am to see my father no-longer able to be the great man that he was. But sadly, he was never a great man to begin with. But I still like this poem. And I still love my dad.

FOLLOWER

My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horses strained at his clicking tongue.

An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck

Of reigns, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.

I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.

I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow around the farm.

I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.

Seamus Heaney

April4 Poem

Your breath is broken glass
that you spit upon my face.

April3 poem

Drip
Drip
Drip
said the tap.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drip
went the water.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drip
went my night.
Up
Up
Up
Up
went my water bill.

April2 poem

Why do squirrels beep?
Is it GPS?
A medley of
growl
growl
beep
beep
whenever they're upset
At least they can always find their nuts
I'm jealous
I confess.

April1 poem

You sway and yet stand
You blossom and smell sweet
You provide fruit for the pleasure of others
And provide shelter for those that tweet.
You require less than I
Yet provide so much more
You look pretty in the summer
Wile I just sweat and smell
If the heat gets too much
I'll sit in your shade
and you'll be my friend as well
You're many things to many things
but to you you're just alive
you want nothing but the barest things
and none of what I strive
I panic and work for things I don't need
and get upset when I'm in pain
While all you have to worry about
is whether it will rain.
I worry about such stupid things
While you just sway and grow
I worry about punctuation
and a missing H in wile
In many ways I envy you
But would you envy me?
Are we both sat here wasting time wondering who is watching who?

Testinf......

Ok. A certain poetical lady told me that it was poetry month or something? I thought it was April? But anyway. She's planning on writing a poem a day for a month and I figured I might as well try to do the same? Good luck people.