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Broken leg

By jfarrell

I was 7; hit by a car; leg in plaster;

Alone at home, parents at work;

With 50p left me, to get me dinner,

No food in the house.

So, off I go to buy me dinner;

A usually 5 minute walk took ages,

Taking me past my school,

Scared of being told off for being outta school

I get me cup of soup from the baker’s

And return home

And passing my school

I had to stop, to rest, so tired

Spotted by a teacher, dragged into school

Forgot about the day, in school, as I should be.

Arrived home to the mother of all beatings

I’d left the front door open, all that time.

I’m 7, leg in plaster, no food in the house

And no bloody key!

What was I suppose to do?

Lock myself out?

Funny little mother

Funny little mother in the morning

She cooks and cleans and frets all day

She is a funny little mother in the morning

Funny little father

Funny little father in the evening

He drinks and stinks and swears all day

He is a funny little father in the evening

Funny little parents

Funny little parents all day

They are funny little parents all day

my father is a fortified man 
with dark, verdant eyes 
that shame the forest moss
that burn harsh and cold
seeing through deception 
honest, stern, but fair

my mother is a gentle woman
with soft, cerulean eyes 
that transcend the clearest sea
that glow bright and warm 
always saying the right thing 
tolerant, caring, but unwavering 

and I was born with that azure gaze 
though mine is not same 
on half my left eye
a drop of my father's jade 
and so I see the world 
as an even balance 
through both my parents eyes

our parents! 2011

our parents wern't rich but we didnt go with out

a roof over our heads we had with out a doubt

the laundry was hung to dry on the hill

we never went hungry our bellys they'ed fill

our mother was special and us kids knew it was so

she would sacrafic her needs so we would all grow

and make us all mind with a kind but firm hand

when we'd disrespect she'd take a firm stand

our dad was the greatest our souls he would care

take us to church and pray with us there

kept us all safe he woud watch us all grow

never leave us alone he loved us all so

we wish they were around we miss them so dear

up to heaven they went to be with god there

but miss them we do we we wish they were here still

even thou time passes there love never will.

dedicated to our parents your love and care made us who we are today

we love you both always and you will never be forgotten

                                             zoeycup16.

Hit or miss, it is better to have swung than not,

He would often say to me in my childhood.

Always put forth your absolute all in any effort,

she would tell me after a tough game.

These axioms they provided me, no charge.

It’s ironic, but also fitting in retrospect isn’t it?

That the wisdom they handed out for free,

turned out to be the most invaluable gift they gave.

Knees so weak-

But full of power.

Glances through and through-

Tears wore out.

He's tall as a tower-

His grasp pulls me through.

Through, this hurricane.

Crashing waves would pull me under-

But his love gives me strength.

Maybe I should run,

Run for cover.

But his palms keep me safe.

Through, this hurt and pain.

I might be lost in this fire-

But I feel peace and warmth.

One deep breath-

Oceans sweep and swept.

Alone, but not alone.

Through, this hurricane.

~~~

the glistening dew upon

the petals of a rose,

and the

mourning sun

<¤>

the caustic yet subtle pungency

of sandalwood twirling past my nares

and 

the forest leaves underfoot

<¤>

a newborn baby's wail

and walls

and walls

of silence

layers

and layers

of denial

and

shame inflicted

love constricted

*

tightly wound 

to cover the 

pain of the past

ironically

making it last

<¤>

now,

here

i

sit

with dimestore favorites in an old shoebox

my kept treasures

after your funeral

and memories that you left

it feels so senseless

bereft

 <¤>

your burning passion

LOVE

LOVE

love of country

that was

that gaping bore,

carved into the very core of your soul...

...from war

<¤>

the depth of compassion in the heart

of a nine year old

waking in the night 

to the sound of

weeping

¤

sneaking down the stairs

peering through the railing

the clenched fists pressed tightly to eyes

desperation overflowing

overwhelming feelings 

of sorrow

of shame

of anger

of helplessness

*

torment

*

 teardrops

that brandished holes

upon my heart

to watch you

hide your turmoil

 in the darkness of the night

...alone

¥

and now

you are gone

.:-'*'-:. 

  you never knew...

I saw!

you never knew

I felt it too!

~~~~

............

who cares if there 

are flowers on my corpse 

if I'm dead?

if love is your intent

then bring me

some good memories

and things you learned 

to make your life easier

and more worth living.

wrap it up in a rusted coffee can

from some dark alley where babies lie in dumpsters

and place it somewhere all can see and be comforted

that someone thought about them, and cared

about why their lives ended, and tried to understand

not to punish, but to prevent it.

give me life in my death,

and not sorrow for

what you forgot to do

or not do, to prevent 

yourself from being hurt

on the day I leave here.

funerals are for the ones who are left here,

because the only thing I intend 

to leave you after material possessions

are divied out,

is the same thing since the day 

I first looked in your eyes,

the gratitude for having shared moments together.

we have all been dying since the day we were born,

and if we arrive at our final resting place in peace,

and not at the hands of violence,

then we have been granted more than enough

to say we have been blessed.

I spend my days now thinking what a beautiful soul you are.

5:35 PM 8/4/2013 ©

inspired by http://www.postpoems.org/authors/huliganfish/poem/964713

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