Torment and Choices
A different Father's Day Poem91 total reviews
Comment from I am Cat
Rhonda... It's now after midnight... and I've written this earlier, posting it now... you'll understand, as you read.
(((hugs)))
Cat
From my short story, "Can't Want To Daddy"...
'But, those same hands would tenderly cup a harmonica on late summer evenings and move to and fro with his breath to create the resonant sounds of such songs as "The Green, Green, Grass of Home", "Four Walls", "Danny Boy", and "White Christmas". I was always amazed that the same breath that could sicken my heart when it reeked of alcohol, could soothe it when given a cool, slender, harmonica to breathe into.
It wasn't him. It was the alcohol. He was an artistic, intelligent man, with no drive. No passion. He was trapped in a life of under-achievement, much as a chameleon that never changes colors. His life was dull, so he turned to alcohol. To women. To abuse... out of frustration. We just happened to be convenient. They say that you always hurt the ones you love. It was the only thing he knew. The only thing his parents had shown him. If it talks back, hit it. If you want it, take it. So he did.'
Rhonda, wow. You know... I don't think I"ve ever thought of it this way before this moment. It's 6:20 pm CST Saturday evening. I'm all out of sixes, and I sit here in suspended animation... on the one hand, dying to send this review... to write it, to get it all out, and on the other?
I would never do that without the proper rating. What it TRULY deserves. For you have touched a part of me I didn't even think existed. Your line in your author notes which said, "The poem is a tribute to my father, who was my muse and my first broken heart." just reached out and grabbed me by the throat.
What? The man that molested me? The man that stripped me naked and beat me when I was a child?
Yes. That same man took me to art galleries, and we discussed techniques of art, and we went home and we practiced them. That same man told jokes and laughed and played the harmonica, and we shared a love of music for Jim Reeves... and that same man... didn't care enough to ever call me in the last five years of his life. Hell, I was the one that initiated any contact we had past the age of thirteen.
A girl will always seek the love of her father. Even if the father is no 'daddy' to her... she will always... always be a bit chipped, cracked, broken... because of it.
LOL... no matter how hard she struggles, there will always be that.
So I came to this poem with no expectations... and when I saw it was about an addiction, I still had no fear... and when I started reading, I still had no expectations of being touched by your words... yet still, I was.
'The greatest man I've almost known,
his heart was troubled, tempest blown.
A father, true, a man beset,
by life's struggle...we almost met. '
(wow, I was really touched by the first and last lines of this stanza... well said, 'almost known, and almost met'... so true)
'I knew him, yes, but not quite well,
his life, alas, was spent in hell.
Addictions steal both heart and life,
his health, happiness, child and wife. '
(again, with this stanza, 'but not quite well, and his life was 'spent in hell'... yeah, mine was for some of it... and parts of it, most of it mental, but he died alone... his choosing... for the choices he made. that can't be a fun ride. and those last two lines... so true... yet he wasn't married anymore... two failed attempts)
'A brilliant mind, an artist's heart,
poor choices made, life torn apart.
What might have been I never saw,
addiction, alas, his fatal flaw.'
(this stanza really hit home... the first line gets me... so true for my father, his IQ was off the charts and he was an artist... and such poor choices... an alcoholic... and child molestation? really? what a loser. he thought that being beaten by his mother was worse than smacking his own kids around, because hey, he cared about them... he told me once (of thumping us upside the head when he was displeased with us) "Well, it's better than slapping you across the face, which is what my mother did to me.", I said, "No dad, for YOU it's better, for ME... it's the same exact thing." and he sat there and cried.)
This poem truly touched me... poetically, there were a few glitches in the meter, but you know me... I don't give a damn about the meter. lol I personally think that the last line would work better to say, "addiction was his fatal flaw", but you know what? it's fine the way it is. It obviously has touched my heart and soul, and I won't soon forget it.
You've made me see things in an entirely new light, Rhonda... and I thank you.
You are correct, in some sort of way, he has become my muse... whether or not I like it... it is what it is... and it works. And he definitely was the first man I ever loved. Even if when he died, I did not love him... I loved the thought of a Daddy... It's just sad that he couldn't rise about the demons which plagued him.
I'm so sorry that THIS is what has joined you and I in our understanding of each other... but then again... there are always reasons for everything, and I am at peace with the thought that I am not alone in this feeling as well.
I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Cat
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Rhonda... It's now after midnight... and I've written this earlier, posting it now... you'll understand, as you read.
(((hugs)))
Cat
From my short story, "Can't Want To Daddy"...
'But, those same hands would tenderly cup a harmonica on late summer evenings and move to and fro with his breath to create the resonant sounds of such songs as "The Green, Green, Grass of Home", "Four Walls", "Danny Boy", and "White Christmas". I was always amazed that the same breath that could sicken my heart when it reeked of alcohol, could soothe it when given a cool, slender, harmonica to breathe into.
It wasn't him. It was the alcohol. He was an artistic, intelligent man, with no drive. No passion. He was trapped in a life of under-achievement, much as a chameleon that never changes colors. His life was dull, so he turned to alcohol. To women. To abuse... out of frustration. We just happened to be convenient. They say that you always hurt the ones you love. It was the only thing he knew. The only thing his parents had shown him. If it talks back, hit it. If you want it, take it. So he did.'
Rhonda, wow. You know... I don't think I"ve ever thought of it this way before this moment. It's 6:20 pm CST Saturday evening. I'm all out of sixes, and I sit here in suspended animation... on the one hand, dying to send this review... to write it, to get it all out, and on the other?
I would never do that without the proper rating. What it TRULY deserves. For you have touched a part of me I didn't even think existed. Your line in your author notes which said, "The poem is a tribute to my father, who was my muse and my first broken heart." just reached out and grabbed me by the throat.
What? The man that molested me? The man that stripped me naked and beat me when I was a child?
Yes. That same man took me to art galleries, and we discussed techniques of art, and we went home and we practiced them. That same man told jokes and laughed and played the harmonica, and we shared a love of music for Jim Reeves... and that same man... didn't care enough to ever call me in the last five years of his life. Hell, I was the one that initiated any contact we had past the age of thirteen.
A girl will always seek the love of her father. Even if the father is no 'daddy' to her... she will always... always be a bit chipped, cracked, broken... because of it.
LOL... no matter how hard she struggles, there will always be that.
So I came to this poem with no expectations... and when I saw it was about an addiction, I still had no fear... and when I started reading, I still had no expectations of being touched by your words... yet still, I was.
'The greatest man I've almost known,
his heart was troubled, tempest blown.
A father, true, a man beset,
by life's struggle...we almost met. '
(wow, I was really touched by the first and last lines of this stanza... well said, 'almost known, and almost met'... so true)
'I knew him, yes, but not quite well,
his life, alas, was spent in hell.
Addictions steal both heart and life,
his health, happiness, child and wife. '
(again, with this stanza, 'but not quite well, and his life was 'spent in hell'... yeah, mine was for some of it... and parts of it, most of it mental, but he died alone... his choosing... for the choices he made. that can't be a fun ride. and those last two lines... so true... yet he wasn't married anymore... two failed attempts)
'A brilliant mind, an artist's heart,
poor choices made, life torn apart.
What might have been I never saw,
addiction, alas, his fatal flaw.'
(this stanza really hit home... the first line gets me... so true for my father, his IQ was off the charts and he was an artist... and such poor choices... an alcoholic... and child molestation? really? what a loser. he thought that being beaten by his mother was worse than smacking his own kids around, because hey, he cared about them... he told me once (of thumping us upside the head when he was displeased with us) "Well, it's better than slapping you across the face, which is what my mother did to me.", I said, "No dad, for YOU it's better, for ME... it's the same exact thing." and he sat there and cried.)
This poem truly touched me... poetically, there were a few glitches in the meter, but you know me... I don't give a damn about the meter. lol I personally think that the last line would work better to say, "addiction was his fatal flaw", but you know what? it's fine the way it is. It obviously has touched my heart and soul, and I won't soon forget it.
You've made me see things in an entirely new light, Rhonda... and I thank you.
You are correct, in some sort of way, he has become my muse... whether or not I like it... it is what it is... and it works. And he definitely was the first man I ever loved. Even if when he died, I did not love him... I loved the thought of a Daddy... It's just sad that he couldn't rise about the demons which plagued him.
I'm so sorry that THIS is what has joined you and I in our understanding of each other... but then again... there are always reasons for everything, and I am at peace with the thought that I am not alone in this feeling as well.
I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Cat
Comment Written 30-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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You know, Cat, I have never spent as long thinking out a reply to a review as this one. In fact, I'm not sure I've even put this much thought into a review. You are a kind and sweet lady, and I think it touching beyond words that you waited to be able to give me a 6 star rating. That, alone, made me cry. Hugs back to you. I cried over the rest for other reasons.
I knew you had struggled with child abuse and molestation, but didn't know the extent. People seldom talk about what really hurts them. We talk about the little things, like a bad day at work, or the kids not writing, a failed love affair, whatever, but the deeper things are harder to reach, and much harder to turn into poetry.
My father only beat me three times and never molested me, but he did abandon me and my sister over and over again. He was a musician, as well, and a writer. In your short story, you wrote about the very songs I've heard him sing. He played the harmonica, and most stringed instruments. I still have one of the guitars he made by hand sitting in the corner of my room. He was tall, with dark curly hair and a winning smile. Everyone fell in love with him, but no one could touch him. He was always the man we almost knew.
It's funny that you were able to pick up on those lines, because if you've never lived through life with an addict, you don't know what those words really mean. Another person wrote a review and gave me 4 stars because he didn't know what I meant about almost knowing him, and I told him he didn't understand because he hadn't lived through it. Obviously, you have!
I am so glad that the poem and its message reached your heart. I dealt with the loss of a father for most of my days of growing up, and wrote poetry about it from time to time in a very feeble attempt to do so. As you know, it's a new to me to really try at poetry. I'm much more comfortable writing stories, and, by the way, the one you wrote an excerpt from was brilliant. It sounded so much like my father it was as though we were describing the same person. The demons they fought were the same, and it turned them into like creatures, and we are joined forever, you and I, in a bond survivors of abuse and neglect share.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart! You have touched me, encouraged me, made me cry, made me smile. I can sincerely say that this is the most heartfelt review I've even gotten, and I will always cherish it. I originally wrote the poem for the writing prompt about a life that was never lived, but missed the deadline, so I changed it a bit and posted it independently. Now I'm glad I did! I have always respected and admired your work, and now I have felt your heart, which, like me, was first broken by the one man God put on this Earth to guard it.
Hugs again,
Rhonda
Comment from Chrissy710
This is so nice but tragic in its telling, beautifully written and so easy to read. Well put together a nice poem . What a shame that addiction was his final flaw. How that can be so destructive to a person and their families. However your father did pass on his legacy to you as a creative writer Cheers Christine
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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This is so nice but tragic in its telling, beautifully written and so easy to read. Well put together a nice poem . What a shame that addiction was his final flaw. How that can be so destructive to a person and their families. However your father did pass on his legacy to you as a creative writer Cheers Christine
Comment Written 30-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Thank you, Chrissy. I appreciate the lovely words. Yes, he passed on many things to me and my sister and we are thankful for that. I just hope he's found the peace in heaven he never had on Earth. Thanks again,
Rhonda
Comment from mfowler
This is such a poignant and personal piece. The man you almost knew. When you reveal he is your father, the relational aspects of his inability to make wise choices, suddenly comes into focus. The daughter, describing his life with genuine compassion and personal affection, reveals he's a talented, creative man who let addictions and other weaknesses lead an unfulfilled life. Your verse smooth and engrossing. You say enough without resorting to maudlin imagery to create emotion. Loved the poem. Sorry about your father. Deserves a six but the cupboard's bare.
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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This is such a poignant and personal piece. The man you almost knew. When you reveal he is your father, the relational aspects of his inability to make wise choices, suddenly comes into focus. The daughter, describing his life with genuine compassion and personal affection, reveals he's a talented, creative man who let addictions and other weaknesses lead an unfulfilled life. Your verse smooth and engrossing. You say enough without resorting to maudlin imagery to create emotion. Loved the poem. Sorry about your father. Deserves a six but the cupboard's bare.
Comment Written 29-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Thank you so much, my friend. As always, I value your reviews and opinion. I have written similar poems throughout my life about the man who was at once my greatest supporter, and at other times, my deepest sadness. It hurt, but time heals all wounds, does it not? Thank you for your careful and endearing review. Also thank you for the "virtual 6". Your opinion matters.
Rhonda
Comment from TAB_that's me
When you could choose to be resentful of the choices that your father man, you sound like you choose instead to be kind and a bit wistful. nicely written Rhonda.
teresa
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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When you could choose to be resentful of the choices that your father man, you sound like you choose instead to be kind and a bit wistful. nicely written Rhonda.
teresa
Comment Written 29-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Thank you, Teresa. You're right, I am not bitter. He died with my sister and I by his side, though he died of complications from one drinking binge too many. You can't help someone who won't let you help them, and when you are a child, there isn't a whole lot you can do, anyway. Thanks,
Rhonda
Comment from LeslieP5
This poem accurately portrays the heartache and loss an addiction can bring on the person and his family. What could have been never materialized, stolen by the flaw of addiction. So sorry if this biographical poem applied to your relationship with your father.
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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This poem accurately portrays the heartache and loss an addiction can bring on the person and his family. What could have been never materialized, stolen by the flaw of addiction. So sorry if this biographical poem applied to your relationship with your father.
Comment Written 29-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Thank you so much, Leslie, for the sweet review. It was about mine and my father's relationship. He admired my writing, and I, his, but there was a part of his heart no one was ever able to reach, least of all me. Take care,
Rhonda
Comment from Michaelk
When I first read this poem, I thought you were talking about Hemmingway.
It's. Great that you think of your father in such lofty terms. And yet it's sad that his flame burned out before you truly knew him.
This was an excellent, lyrical, and descriptive poem that spoke of him in such an amazingly descriptive yet brief way. Even his flaws you managed to give an air of greatness.
Wonderfully done.
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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When I first read this poem, I thought you were talking about Hemmingway.
It's. Great that you think of your father in such lofty terms. And yet it's sad that his flame burned out before you truly knew him.
This was an excellent, lyrical, and descriptive poem that spoke of him in such an amazingly descriptive yet brief way. Even his flaws you managed to give an air of greatness.
Wonderfully done.
Comment Written 29-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Wow, Hemingway. True, he was a bit like my father, maybe Poe as well. I'm afraid many of the world's great artists have also battled addictions. My father's was alcohol, but I left that part out of the poem, so that people could plug in whatever their loved one's problem was. It all ends up working out the same way. Addiction is addiction, and neglect is neglect. The end point is the same. Thank you for the wonderful 6 start review. It literally warmed my heart! Take care,
Rhonda
Comment from Barb Hensongispsaca
Nice tribute.
Flows a little rough but that being said the rhyme makes up for it.
The feeling and emotion and what yu are trying to say comes through very well
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Nice tribute.
Flows a little rough but that being said the rhyme makes up for it.
The feeling and emotion and what yu are trying to say comes through very well
Comment Written 29-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Thank you for the review and comments, Barb! It was written from the heart.
Rhonda
Comment from Janet Foor
My step father had his addiction (alcohol) and it cost him his wife (my mother), his children and finally his life. A sad story and legacy for anyone. Well done..
Janet
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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My step father had his addiction (alcohol) and it cost him his wife (my mother), his children and finally his life. A sad story and legacy for anyone. Well done..
Janet
Comment Written 29-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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My father's addiction was alcohol, too. Sometimes drugs as well, but those were mainly an attempt to self medicate so he would't drink, or to come off of a drunk. It effects so many people! Thanks for taking the time to review and for sharing your own heartbreak! Take care,
Rhonda
Comment from sweetwoodjax
this is an excellent write, davisr, you did an excellent job writing this quatrain poem about the wrong choice that was made that ruined your father's being there for you. i'm sorry about that.
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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this is an excellent write, davisr, you did an excellent job writing this quatrain poem about the wrong choice that was made that ruined your father's being there for you. i'm sorry about that.
Comment Written 29-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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It happens to so many people, and I don't talk about it often, but felt compelled yesterday for some reason, to share the story. Thanks for taking the time to review! Take care,
Rhonda
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that's like me today, normally acrostics are hard for me and feel a little forced, but today I picked the word and it just flowed.
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I tried the acrostic, too, for the contest, and it looked so pitiful when I was finished, I changed my mind about entering. Instead, I wrote this poem, and I'm glad I did. Thanks again,
Rhonda
Comment from Gloria ....
Oh how well you've written of the profound sorrow attached to those surrounding a family member in the grips of addiction. They are indeed all consuming and those in its claws will resort to anything to get their next fix, whether it be alcohol, drugs or gambling. Such a waste.
Very nicely written although about a very sad subject.
Gloria
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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Oh how well you've written of the profound sorrow attached to those surrounding a family member in the grips of addiction. They are indeed all consuming and those in its claws will resort to anything to get their next fix, whether it be alcohol, drugs or gambling. Such a waste.
Very nicely written although about a very sad subject.
Gloria
Comment Written 29-Aug-2015
reply by the author on 30-Aug-2015
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I know that addiction wears a very ugly face, and as you said, it has vicious claws. That's why I left open what his addiction was, and for him it was alcohol, but I have a son taken down by gambling. An addiction is an addiction and it leaves a huge mess behind! Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Rhonda