Posts Tagged ‘kids’

Ministering To Others: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

April 6, 2013

People need the love/
I have to offer. I wish/
my kids would join me.

Childish Forgiveness: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

February 17, 2013

Can we forgive as
Children do, and play* again
Before tears have dried?
*love

Or
Can we forgive as/
Kids do, and play together/
Before tears have dried?

A young mother of two children, 4 and 2 years old, told how her kids would sometimes fight, but then feel bad. One would say to the other “I’m sorry”, and the other would say “It’s okay”, and they’d be playing together again “before their tears had even dried.”
I wish I could do that.

Parental Help Fail Pain: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku Lament

September 28, 2012

Only a parent/
can know the hurt of failing/
when trying to help.

OR

Only parents get/
the pain of failing when they/
try to help their kids.

Not rejecting friends: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku

September 23, 2012

I canceled meeting/
friends for the chance to be with/
my kids. Understand?

Famous Dad But They’re Just Kids: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

August 1, 2012

537 pm est their dad is famous,/ an Olympic champion./they are still just kids

Some Fathers Don’t Care For Their Kids: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Poetic Lament

March 28, 2011

I work/
in Detroit winter/
and OK desolation,/
alone/
and lonely./

My flesh rots/
and/
falls away/
bcuz I can’t /
afford meds./

It’s the price I/
as dad/
pay/
2 care/
4 kids.

No Kid Moonlight What If: Romantic ConTEXTing Haiku

June 18, 2010

What if kids were gone,/
and the moon, not yet zenith’d,/
warmly shone? What then?

Dying Because of a Red Car: a Revolutionary Poem

March 13, 2009

Yesterday I bought a car.
it was red. Fast. Old.
I traded two cars for it.
They didn’t run worth Sh*t.

Nearly a decade and a half old
was this new red car.
Black leather interior.
heated seats. Superior.

Really loud speakers.
Cranked Weezer.
Why do they gotta front?
What makes them so violent?

I always thought I looked
just like Buddy Holly.
So I played it loud,
sunroof open: music spilled out.

Seattle springtime surrounds us:
Bright. Warm. Glorious.

And then it started.
A promise I didn’t remember,
brought first by my son,
then by his sister,
then by their mother.
Texts on my cell.
Dozens of messages from hell.

Liar.
Always lying.
Always changing your mind.
Stupid. Crazy. Liar. Unkind.

Did they ever think
I honestly don’t remember
promises made?
“Yeah, you can drive it!”
Things said off
the cuff?

Or,
Did they ever think
The world is changing as we speak?
That it’s important for me
to have a cheaper vehicle?
Better gas mileage?
I drive more.
Last time, to avoid any fuss,
I almost took the bus.

Got screamed at anyway.
Always in texts: “Go away.
I have no father.
I’m not your daughter.”

After a while, I decided
not to take the abuse.
The name calling.
“Liar.
You’re not my dad.
I hate you with everything I have.”

You are an F**n idiot.
I have no father.
From she who once fell
off the bed laughing so hard
at me.
(Hard to write
when tears make it hard to see).

Then, from him, the son:
The same venom.
Only harsher, unexpected.
But I stood firm.

For a minute.
Then I thought
What the heck? It’s just
a red, fast car! With no rust!

But realized, too late, maybe,
that I had no money.
6 months out of work does that.
Who covers the insurance premiums
when dad doesn’t work
for the kids’ car? (The jerk!)

I asked that they step up.
Get off their rears for a change.
Work.
As I did.
As their brother and sister,
did. Older, wiser.

You can drive the car.
The condition is
you pay.
Logical?
Normal? I’da thought.
But evidently not.

Not in our rich neighborhood
where “all my friends”
get “whatever they want”
and don’t have to pay.
I want to do a survey.

But I won’t.

I was hoping
they would step up,
see their mother trudging off
to work at 5 a.m.;
see me working late hours
trying to find something
anything
to keep her in school,
to keep him fed,
a roof over their heads.

See that and say
“maybe I should get a job today
and help pay
insurance
just once”.

Nah.
“I hope you die!”.
Because I didn’t let them
drive the car?
“But get a job in Dublin,
like you wanted.
Then die.
We won’t have to pay
for the funeral that way!”

Crazy, selfish liar
in a Dublin funeral pyre.

In the end,
both said “don’t talk to us,
don’t text us,
don’t contact us again.”

“Get a job out of state.
Don’t show your face again!
Move far away!
(Oh, but Daddy… still pay).”

Yesterday I bought a car.
Today I lost two children.
Or they lost me.
And it brakes my heart.
Perhaps if I go really fast
The pain won’t last.

Maybe I WILL die.
Aye.