deepundergroundpoetry.com
Poeem
my dad is so southern,
he says “poem”
like “poeem”
and I’m just manic enough
to appreciate that
what I appreciate more, though
is that upon hearing my
latest scribblings, declared
he would write a poeem of his own
he grabs a notebook that I’m certain
is aged nearly as many years as I have,
but dare I say not nearly as well
*insert a wink emoji, if you’re into
that sort of thing*
I’m hit with a starburst of memories;
he, in his Bible-studyin’ chair
-and me, on the old hand-me-down couch,
both of us with notebooks in our hands
I knew, even then
that the sensory delight of
sliding pen across paper
would become my favorite thing
he sits in his beloved chair,
the ugly green recliner my mother
insisted on having, and of which
he obliged her, as he was inclined
to do in almost all things;
its once-too-bright color now faded
to a nondescript sage
amazing how something you hated
can suddenly become a treasure…after
and now he writes, pausing briefly to
scratch his head with the pencil eraser,
wrinkling his brow in concentration;
I can’t help but feel the anticipation,
many years ago
I found a box of his journals,
written faithfully
when he was a pastor;
I dug inside them and found
a passion
and I stole a bit of it for myself
and when he is finished, he reads
and re-reads
his work, making small adjustments
in the margins,
and hands it to me, clearly satisfied
that he told the story he intended to tell;
knowing his writing
almost as well as my own,
I’m sure he did
it’s amazing the way
the things you love will become
priceless…after
he says “poem”
like “poeem”
and I’m just manic enough
to appreciate that
what I appreciate more, though
is that upon hearing my
latest scribblings, declared
he would write a poeem of his own
he grabs a notebook that I’m certain
is aged nearly as many years as I have,
but dare I say not nearly as well
*insert a wink emoji, if you’re into
that sort of thing*
I’m hit with a starburst of memories;
he, in his Bible-studyin’ chair
-and me, on the old hand-me-down couch,
both of us with notebooks in our hands
I knew, even then
that the sensory delight of
sliding pen across paper
would become my favorite thing
he sits in his beloved chair,
the ugly green recliner my mother
insisted on having, and of which
he obliged her, as he was inclined
to do in almost all things;
its once-too-bright color now faded
to a nondescript sage
amazing how something you hated
can suddenly become a treasure…after
and now he writes, pausing briefly to
scratch his head with the pencil eraser,
wrinkling his brow in concentration;
I can’t help but feel the anticipation,
many years ago
I found a box of his journals,
written faithfully
when he was a pastor;
I dug inside them and found
a passion
and I stole a bit of it for myself
and when he is finished, he reads
and re-reads
his work, making small adjustments
in the margins,
and hands it to me, clearly satisfied
that he told the story he intended to tell;
knowing his writing
almost as well as my own,
I’m sure he did
it’s amazing the way
the things you love will become
priceless…after
Published 13th Jan 2023
| Edited 14th Jan 2023
Author's Note
The ways a family grieves is as unique as the family.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 12
reading list entries 5
comments 24
reads 208
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
13th Jan 2023 2:36am
Super sorry about the afters but great story piece, it takes us back home. Tight
13th Jan 2023 1:21pm
13th Jan 2023 2:46am
This is both soft and intense.
Feels like appreciating a fireplace on a cold night. With rosy round cheeks of a satisfied smile. Warm. Comfortable.
Feels like appreciating a fireplace on a cold night. With rosy round cheeks of a satisfied smile. Warm. Comfortable.
13th Jan 2023 1:23pm
There are these happy moments that exist among the detritus that (I feel) need to be plucked and cultivated. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment. It means so much to me!
13th Jan 2023 4:16am
13th Jan 2023 1:23pm
13th Jan 2023 4:36am
13th Jan 2023 1:23pm
Anonymous
- Edited 29th May 2023 7:45am
13th Jan 2023 7:19am
<< post removed >>
13th Jan 2023 1:24pm
13th Jan 2023 12:37pm
13th Jan 2023 1:24pm
13th Jan 2023 2:05pm
Dear L,
What a touching and thoughtful piece. You take the reader right in with the introduction of your father. We get to know you both so well in such a short space of time. The connection the two of you have is understood between the written words. The “after’s” are all any of us share at one time or another and assuage the chasm of loss that becomes a catch in one’s breath. Lovely write. H🌷
What a touching and thoughtful piece. You take the reader right in with the introduction of your father. We get to know you both so well in such a short space of time. The connection the two of you have is understood between the written words. The “after’s” are all any of us share at one time or another and assuage the chasm of loss that becomes a catch in one’s breath. Lovely write. H🌷
13th Jan 2023 2:32pm
Your comments are always poetry to me, Honoria. Thank you so much for reading, and for taking the time to write such thoughtful comments. I always look so forward to them 💖.
Anonymous
- Edited 26th Aug 2023 5:45pm
14th Jan 2023 00:20am
<< post removed >>
14th Jan 2023 1:14am
The heritage of my father before me and his mother before him and her father before her is such a rich and lavish gift. We come from old, dead-broke southern ways; there was so much dysfunction that seemed normal. I took a lot of dark things from that heritage, but the older I get, the more I see that I also got an abundance of creative gifts, as well. I’m so glad this piece resonated with you - I’ve never written a poem in one take before, so this is as raw and honest a spill as I’ve ever done here. It’s so encouraging to know it resonates. That too, is a gift. I appreciate it deeply.
14th Jan 2023 5:46pm
Luna there is a lot to admire about this writing, the clear and honest voice, the unhurried unfolding, the depth of it's emotional resonance, the bit of sweetly playful aside that lends a sense of dimension to it, but the intimacy is in the details, haptics and imagery in alchemical rotation, to me, that is what I often look for in something resonant and meaningful.
I’d hoped to capture a moment that is the culmination of hundreds of moments, which felt huge to me, but I didn’t want to allow it to become too heavy. As always, I appreciate your insight and kind words, Daniel 💖
This hits home, hard.
Having gone full circle from when I could barely hold a chisel I'm once more often sat at the work bench my father used to school me on. Crafting something with the skills he left me, often with the same tools but always with the memories.
He never got to read what I write, passing before I returned to paper. Sure he'd have raised an eye but always encouraged in the way he did.
While my mother didn't write she did read some of what I had before she also passed and the insight and the stories that followed, I will always have.. one being about my great grandfather who as it transpired was a published sonnet writer and she was able to pass on what she had and knew. Some of them with such notes in the margins as you mention.
As you've touched on in your closing lines...
it’s amazing the way
the things you love will become
priceless…after
Thank you for sharing this piece of you Luna. Emotional read but in a good way!
Having gone full circle from when I could barely hold a chisel I'm once more often sat at the work bench my father used to school me on. Crafting something with the skills he left me, often with the same tools but always with the memories.
He never got to read what I write, passing before I returned to paper. Sure he'd have raised an eye but always encouraged in the way he did.
While my mother didn't write she did read some of what I had before she also passed and the insight and the stories that followed, I will always have.. one being about my great grandfather who as it transpired was a published sonnet writer and she was able to pass on what she had and knew. Some of them with such notes in the margins as you mention.
As you've touched on in your closing lines...
it’s amazing the way
the things you love will become
priceless…after
Thank you for sharing this piece of you Luna. Emotional read but in a good way!
15th Jan 2023 1:40am
It’s always so encouraging to hear that something you wrote, often feverishly and more often without regard to grammar’s rules, resonated with the person reading it. To me, it is the greatest prize. Thank you for sharing your story, it sparks memories of my grandfather’s work shed, where he whittled and worked over old wood furniture, the solid stuff of his childhood. Those memories are among my most prized possessions.
Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate it.
Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate it.
16th Jan 2023 2:18am
Seems like a classic piece. Imagining myself reading beside a fire place. It takes me back. I love everything about this poeem!! Excellent!
16th Jan 2023 2:33am
17th Jan 2023 2:52am
Oh this tugged at my heart. It’s the little things that have bigger impact later and are imprinted in the soul. It’s a wonderful memory, touching and so beautiful.
Thank you for sharing
Thank you for sharing
17th Jan 2023 2:53am
