|My Father's Boots
I see you there
--come out of hiding--
trembling beneath your mother's feet;
I feel you there
--carry me to sleep--
grasping the air for love;
I hear you there
--sheath your sword--
crying out at monsters;
I want you here
--take up your boots
8 Mar 09
Rated 9.3 (9) by 3 users.
Active (3): 8, 10, 10
Inactive (1): 3
(define the words in this poem)
(22 more poems by this author)
(1 user considers this poem a favorite)
Add A Comment:
what did you revise... j.g.smiles
didn't mean to have revise in the title, not sure how it got there!
This is really quite nice, very humble, loving, the last verse especially. The 'catch up' got to me, as we are really only catching up to the dead.
At least I'm sensing he's dead. Is that right or he is just old and not really 'here' anymore?
Thanks for the sweet comments Isa, but no, not dead or old...
not so black and white as that I suppose
I want to feel your repeats as powerful, but I can't. There's nothing here I can relate to. Readers don't have to share a similar life experience to enjoy a poem, but there has to be something, some common thread for it to work. For me, there is none.
so your father is uncircumcised.
I don't like to give things away, why not let a reader really think about it? If they find something of their own in it, great, if they find the exact inspiration, that's exciting.
Nice poem sherains--very poignant. I could be very wrong, but what I see is a father who hasn't been a part of your life for a very long time, hasn't been there for the good times or the bad times--hasn't been there when you needed him most.
thank you paul, i always appreciate your comments. yes, it's more about a father who has been emotionally absent than physically.
as a father I see -- the distinctive end-note is, to me, both satisfying as well as crying -- our children ought to see farther as they stand on the shoulders of giants before them -- nevertheless work as a means of identity, a mistake many fathers make, can distance him from the family to his regret later when nothing else means anything anymore -- nicely knit with the beat of 'my father' carrying the piece to that shrill end-note
thank you for the lovely comment alch!