Skip to main content

Father to Son

                                  Elizabeth Jennings

I do not understand this child
Though we have lived together now
In the same house for years. I know
Nothing of him, so try to build
Up a relationship from how 
He was when small. 

Yet have I liked
The seed I spent or sown or it where
The land is his and none of mine? 
We speak like strangers, there's no sign 
Of understanding in the air. 
This child is built to my design 
Yet what he loves I cannot share. 

             



Silence surrounds us. I would have 
Him prodigal, returning to
His father's house, the home he knew, 
Rather than see him make and move
His world. I would forgive him too, 
Shaping from sorrow a new love. 

Father and son, we both must live 
On the same globe and the same land, 
He speaks: I cannot understand 
Myself, why anger grows from grief. 
We each put out an empty hand, 
Longing for something to forgive. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Childhood

                    When did my childhood go?            Was it the day I ceased to be eleven,             Was it the time I realised that Hell and Heaven,              Could not be found in Geography,               And therefore could not be,               Was that the day!                   When did my childhood go?        Was it the time I realised that adults were not all they seemed to be,  They talked of love and preached of love,  But did not act so lovingly,     Was that the day!                 When did my childhood  go?  Was it when I found my mind was really ...

The Voice of The Rain

                                                                - by.   Walt Whitman  And who are thou? Said I to soft-falling  shower,  Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer,  as here translated: I am the poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,  Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,   Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely  from 'd,  altogether changed, and yet the same, I descend to lave the droughts,  atomies, dust-layers of the globe,  And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;                                    And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin, ...

A Tiger in The Zoo

                        Poem of the day.                                                    by-  Leslie Norris                       He stalks in his vivid stripes      The few steps of his cage,        On pads of velvet quite,         In his quite rage,             He should be lurking in shadow,      Sliding through long grass      Near the water hole       Where plump deer pass.       He should be snarling around houses      At the jungle's edge,       Baring his white fangs, his claws,    ...