#Fathers Day Poems

[loveelizabeths]

love elizabeth s.

[nico-nico-suavecito]

preorder my book: The Weeds Grow Anyway

[maihonhassan]

“Baap ki daulat nahi saya hi kaafi hota hai.”

[wrought-tweaks]

THE SHIP OF LIFE

by John T. Baker

Along the shore I spy a ship As she sets out to sea; She spreads her sails and sniffs the breeze And slips away from me. I watch her fading image shrink, As she moves on and on, Until at last she's but a speck, Then someone says, "She's gone." Gone where? Gone only from our sight And from our farewell cries; That ship will somewhere reappear To other eager eyes. Beyond the dim horizon's rim Resound the welcome drums, And while we're crying, "There she goes!" They're shouting, "Here she comes!" We're built to cruise for but a while Upon this trackless sea Until one day we sail away Into infinity.

“What I do from now, I do for her.”

— Corlys Velaryon

[camcameroon]

This poem absolutely destroyed me.

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #19: A poem recounting a historical event

To a Man Commenting Upon Lincoln's Homely Features

Abraham Lincoln knew quite well He had never been beauty-graced. When Douglas met him in debate And told him he was quite two-faced, Old Lincoln made a quick reply With his usual sense of fun: "If I'd another face to wear, Do you think I would wear this one?"

[cure-smiths-headrest]

just some dad appreciation

Father, Where Do the Wild Swans Go? - Ludvig Holstein | The Passing of Shah Jahan - Abanindranath Tagore | Father and Daughter - Amanda Strand | Book of Dreams - Peter Reich | Ferris Bueller’s Day Off | Connect the Dots (Saga of Frank Sinatra) - Car Seat Headrest | Me and My Dad - Onfim (ancient child)

[guulabii]

my fathers violence held me by the throat and it felt like love. my fathers voice has become the call of death, the reminder that i was always the daughter who had to hide in the night. i have scratched his touch to forget, i have locked the doors so that the night no longer frightens me, and i have left him behind. but ever so often, his language spills from me and it is the biggest paradox of my existence.

that his language, my tongue remembers like the water. but his name i tore from my throat so early on, a ripped muscle that never heals, occasionally bleeds. the blood pools at the end of my feet and the little girl who yearns for her father to say her name like she is worth something stares back at me in the mirror. i claw the mirror with a rage that blurs into his face.

am i my fathers daughter? a cracked mirror, a bleeding child, a dark room, but every time i speak his language, the muscle contracts, the bleeding slows, and it whispers, you were once a part of me, and a part of me i wish you never were. my father gave me two things— the violence of love and a liking to black forest cake.

[asterlune]

Happy Father’s Day — aster lune

a poem dedicated to my sweet husband

[maxwelljacobfriedman]

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Dear Cody - a poem by Maxwell Jacob Friedman

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

excerpt from Forgiveness has Eight Wobbly Legs by Tyler Hurula (Love Me Louder)

[theyellowonethatfeelsblue]

[sadfragilegirl]

To All The Dads

To all the dads

Many kinds of dads

Every unique dads from different kinds

Wanna-be dads

Soon to be dads

New dads

Comedian dads

Best Chef dads

Expert fixer (sort of or almost) dads

Pet/animal lover dads

Teacher dads

Old school dads

Dads...who are passed away...but still be there for us...

All kinds of dads in every color and in every world...

Thank you for being there with us from the day we were born and met you for the first time to the end of the age.

From your love, sacrifice, advice and unforgettable times, you are our hero without a cape on it.

I love you, dad.

[mariellaolden]

An ode to my father

(No one writes about the good, loving father, and it’s saddening because he deserves the recognition too; so let this be one.)

Growing up, my father would always tell me not to cry and waste the entire day on it. I didn’t understand why. My father is an island of wisdom, a lighthouse of courage, and a sky of blue. He’s not showy, but when he speaks, intelligence flows. He rarely cries. He is so good that his kindness to others always comes back to him tenfold. His jokes may be silly, but they brighten our days. He always had a way with words. He's an explorer and all-rounder, always willing to go the extra mile to provide. Fear has never been a part of his vocabulary; he's never afraid to take up space.

My father has been there for us since day one. He's one of the people who made home feel how it's supposed to feel—warm, comforting, and enough. In my many moments of loss and failure, he's there to reassure me, saying, "It's okay, you can try again next time." I've heard countless words of affection, but his I love you's will always be my favorite. To love my father is to love his thousand wounds, cuts, and imperfections. People say we look alike, and perhaps it’s true. It's in the strength we share and the perseverance to move forward. If I could make a wish, I would ask for the courage to hold my father's hand so I could take out his suitcase of pain, his back full of suffering, and carry the weight of life’s challenges.

If someone were to ask me who my first love is, I would say it’s my father. If someone were to ask me in what way I'm lucky, in a heartbeat, I'd say it’s the way I have him. And if I were reborn, without a doubt, I would still want him to be my father. On his special day today, I pray that the world will be a little kinder towards him and that his purpose will never end. I pray that he will continue to fight his battles, we will always be beside him. I thank him for listening to my stories, for supporting me in pursuing my childhood dream, and for never pressuring me to be anyone but myself. His presence matters a lot. It took quite a lot of effort to shape me into the woman I am today, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

Now I know the reason why. My father told me not to cry to understand that life does not end there. For me to keep living, to think of solutions instead of weeping, and to embrace pain but not actually own it and be defined by it. As I grew older, I realized he was right; he always is.

[goodvibesatpeace]

Mighty Father's

In this hallowed land, on this day so grand,

We pay tribute to fathers, whose hearts command.

Their presence, a beacon, guiding our way,

A source of strength and love that fills our day.

As mighty oaks that stand tall and proud,

They provide shelter in every life's shroud.

With wisdom's roots deeply planted in the soil,

They nurture our dreams, help us reach our goal.

Like the gentle breeze that whispers sweet,

Their words bring solace, calming every beat.

They listen with patience, and show us care,

Lifting our spirits to heights we couldn't bear.

Their unwavering faith, a guiding light,

Through storms of doubt, it banishes the night.

They teach us courage and resilience too,

To face adversity and make dreams come true.

From boyhood's days, they shape our hand,

Leading us onward with their gentle stand.

They teach the value of hard work and skill,

Preparing us for life's inevitable thrill.

Their love knows no bounds, it knows no end,

A bond unbreakable, forever to blend.

Through laughter and tears, they walk by our side,

Their presence our anchor, our unwavering guide.

On this special day, let's raise a cheer,

To the fathers we love and hold so dear.

May their legacy, like a golden thread,

Weave through our lives and make our hearts unfed.

For in their strength, a mighty force we find,

A beacon of hope that never will be blind.

So let us honor the fathers who bless our way,

And celebrate their love, come what may.

[palerosepoetry]

To Father

We sit, it is warm and calm, and you fold your hands, as if praying—useless.

With new eyes I can see it was a fist, doubled.

For what comes out of your mouth is not grace or an appeal, but a harsh grating, grinding.

I can hear the echo still, reverberating in my skull.

Alone we sit, eyes untouching, and the air is serene, and yet those noises, like razors shredding.

Stuck in me, these fragments of hate, without understanding or care.

Whittling me down, sharpening me— although I was serrated— til I cut anything that came near.

I thought I was worthless, subhuman, undeserving of what could've been.

I can't remember how it ended, but I remember the tears later, wet with salt, sometimes red.

Those words are still in my head, with all the things you've said.

© original author @palerosepoetry (Reblogs welcome.)