Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Thirty, Poem Number Thirty: “Stupid Children”

I finally got caught with my pants down
Leaving more on her face than a frown
She spat and struggled and shrieked
And told the world that I’m a dirty cheat.
I behaved like a weakly selfish degenerate
That sent her running for a warm straightjacket.
There was never a better one for me to meet,
We’re a pair of blind toddlers crossing the street.
I’ve been warned and threatened to stop the calls
Or else she’ll finish me off and take my balls.
Although this isn’t a comedy meant for cheers
The madness has me laughing through the tears.
Hopefully one day I’ll grow into a man
And tear off the filthy tights of Peter Pan.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twenty Eight, Poem Number Twenty Eight: “Accursed”

Her legs are crooked,
her arms are obtuse.
Your humor is dark
there is no excuse.

If you are Love,
then why is this so?
Such a beautiful girl,
not in body but in soul.

She has needs
as most of us do.
Yet she was unworthy
but for daily abuse.

The anger wells within me,
a punishment so unpleasant.
The anger pools in her,
frustration turned resentment.

I don’t want to be a father
for my own selfish reasons.
You shouldn’t be a Father,
guilty of spiritual treason.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twenty Five, Poem Number Twenty Five: “A Brusquely Told Tale of Love, Marriage, and the Death that Comes After”

He didn’t want to get married,
She didn’t want children, let alone two.
Together, away they were carried
by the things they swore they would never do.

The love came easily enough,
but not the hard work that made it count
because that’s something that never does
if it did we wouldn’t want it anyhow.

The marriage was never faultless
but it was always safe and assured.
Alone they would hardly impress,
but together they flourished and endured.

Suddenly, he was revealed a fraud
and their life was mashed and bled
like the enraged fist of God
pummeling pure innocence in the head.

He took to sleeping on the couch
only after she had left her keys
because the bed they’d shared, he found
was too big and cold and empty.

His crime was indiscretion and poor taste.
This was a fatal flaw deep in his character.
Tragedy is often what heroes await,
but brave and bold he was not – he abandoned her.

The fight swirled beneath his skin from the start.
However he refused to let it seep through.
The fear and remorse tore him apart,
his guilt shackling him to his lonely truth.

Ultimately his daughters never blamed him,
not outright to his face at least.
Yet they still learned a valuable lesson:
love is only as perfect as people can be.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Nineteen, Poem Number Nineteen: “Junior”

To my unborn
and never will be born
Child
I’m not a good man,
I don’t do things right.
This is what keeps me up at night.

Had he been a boy,
here is what I would have said:
Always be responsible and fair.
Never lie, cheat or steal.
Behave in the opposite way that I do.
Love not only yourself but those around you.

Had she been a girl,
I would’ve spoiled her until she was rotten.
Daddy’s little girl surrounded by enough
stuff to keep her happy in her cage
because dating was never going happen.
All boys are dirty, just like your old man.

He would be in little league now
hitting home runs, wowing the crowd.

She would be winning the spelling bee
having no trouble with words like ‘illegitimacy.’

I pray that he doesn’t hold it against me
but that prayer is false
because it was for the best.
No matter how many sad words I write,
I gave him up without a fight

I pray that she won’t hate me
but my empty prayer will be heard by no one
because I don’t believe in God
and He doesn’t believe in me.
So what right do I have to plea?

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