Poetry Friday

November 6, 2009

Something I wrote once upon a time.


the ink blots, lines
appearing thick and coarse
as the paper tears under tears
of frustration, whilst a shaking hand engraves
angry marks on the oaken desk.
a simple letter never felt so hard;
a plethora of lines inscribe the desk,
well respected and loved by the man
whose image once superseded his.

“a man’s work reflects the man himself”
the saline forms puddles in the
scars, ever so slowly rotting the wood;
decaying the memories that took a lifetime to build.

“what are you making father?”
top quality leather never felt so cold.
the ottoman unused; those imprints
were not his, they belonged to a bigger man-
a master craftsman, a master diplomat,
the master of his home.
the swivel chair abused (marked by age
and liquor); is impressed by the shape
of one and the same man.

the restoration of a memory begins
with a heartbeat. as scars heal over,
a stain remains; a remnant of a learned past.
the chair is repaired: new leather laden upon
tender upholstery, its vitality refreshed
by a genuine recognized belief;
i am my father’s son.

a frenzied hand writes its past
on paper soaked in sentiment, letters
blur and colour the melancholy blue as
the paper tears under the stress of the pen,
writing words of wisdom from a familiar mouth:

“He was my father,”


One Response to “Poetry Friday”

  1. monash rep said

    i like this
    except it doesnt seem to sit well with todays stifling, clear-skies weather haha

    stay strong bro

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