My sons were born some years ago…

they swelled my pride and filled my soul

now their mother hates me…this I know

I used to be a daddy once…

They are smart and they are strong

I hope they understand that I was wrong

the name I’ve shamed…they carry on…

I used to be a daddy once…

Because of lust…I’ve a broken home

my heart is pained…I’m sooo alone

I cling to hope and clutch the phone…

I used to be a daddy once…

So listen fathers to my words so blue..

to your wife…your love be true…

dont let my story happen to you…

I used to be a daddy once…

to the one who nursed my joys…

my perfect kids…my loving boys..

who unknowingly killed me with feindish ploys…

I used to be a daddy once…

So hug your kids and hug them tight

thank your maker you’re there tonite

but because of anger…I lost that right…

I used to be a daddy once…

Now if only I could reverse the clock…

I’d be a better man…on this take stock

into sunsets with my kids …I would walk…

I used to be a daddy once….

So listen now and listen well….

forgive me mother…I’m here in hell

so learn this story..these words do tell…

I used to be a daddy once…

To be with my boys…hear me mother…

I’d be a good dad…a faithful lover..

to be true to my family…to want no other…

Just to be their daddy once…

I know my faults..please understand..

My spirit was weak..I’m just a man

to be with my boys…is my greatest plan…

Let me be their daddy once…

I cling to hope…I clutch at straws

I know my rights…I hate the laws..

so hear me now…please take pause…

I used to be their daddy once….

this is my story…of my wounded pride…

I’ve exposed my fear…it will not hide..

I was wrong…there is no side….

I used to be their daddy once…

Mike Laures – 2007

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at I Used to be a Daddy Once.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Why you should care….

Underneath the tremors
There’s no Mother for a child
Underneath the rubble
Is what’s left of broken smiles

Underneath the bridge
Is a man without a home
Underneath the moonlight
There’s a child who cries alone

Underneath the remnants
Children played without a fear
Underneath the blanket
An infant clings to life so dear

Underneath the tragedy
It’s up to us to make a start
Underneath the grief
A chance to unbreak someones heart

Underneath the dreams
That were shattered in a glance
Underneath the ruins
Is help to build a second chance

Underneath the sun
Where lovers long to sail away
Underneath the gray sky
A child survives another day

Underneath disaster
Is a longing to reach out
Underneath this calling
Desire burns through all self doubt

JCM 1/2010

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Tremors.

Written by: Miranda Patterson, (A.KA. Heart 4 Poetry)

November 11, 2009

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at What it’s like to be rejected.

All the minor faults of Christians, while I miss the love of God.

I defend my rights to swindle you, as long as I can pick

One cathedral in a hundred, where the dead have caught the quick.

So I shun the men, who promulgate and serve communion bread,

As I justify the heartless things I’ve done with life instead.

I’ll attack the credibility of all religious creeds,

To procrastinate the chances of the pastor sewing seeds.

I’ll ignore the fact that Jesus came to die upon the cross

To redeem the sins that brought my soul near such a tragic loss;

As I focus on the things that drag the Lord’s name through the mud,

Never mindful of the way He offered up his precious blood.

I’ll enjoy the jokes that paint the Bible’s narrative with smut,

While I overdose on drugs to dull the anguish in my gut.

I’ve no time for church on Sunday, since I’ll spend the day in bed,

With a hangover of damage to my liver, lungs and head.

But this doesn’t really matter, once my high tech microscope

Helps me spot the spec in your eye; so that I won’t need to cope

With the knowledge that my vision’s been distorted by a plank.

When I’m barred from Heaven later, I’ll just have myself to thank.

I will question those afflictions that a God of love permits,

While I bless the world with dodgy deals, to prove the slipper fits;

So that God becomes a scapegoat for discomforts men have made,

Like depletion of the ozone; though God’s trees have yielded shade.

I blame God for child abuse by men who infiltrated deep

Into youth groups; as it won’t occur to me that God will weep

So much harder than the rest of us, when children bear a scar

Put there by someone without the gospel in his repertoire.

I can take the wide and easy road, with words to please the crowd,

Who will never know the secrets I’m afraid to voice aloud,

Of my private insecurities, which God would love to heal,

If my sour grapes gave way to humble pie for my next meal.

I’ll forever point the finger at the preachers on TV

Taking tithes, because I’ve missed the point that my salvation’s free;

If I’d make a true repentance and accept God’s greatest gift

Of the sacrifice He made to fix a most expansive rift.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Oculist was a Carpenter.

Of bushes and forest and small hills; and readied himself, with a chance.

He stood on the edge of a sunset, with houses not far from his rocks,

And somehow the sunset was lengthened, slowed up through a trick of the clocks.

He harnessed the wings he had fashioned, aware they’d permit him to glide,

But never to fly any higher; and planned his penultimate ride.

The suburb he’d wandered for decades had come to its outermost edge.

He felt like a pioneer, waiting for strength to step out from the ledge.

Around him the movement of minutes had now (from his viewpoint) grown slow.

But night can’t be held back forever, since time need continue its flow.

The slowdown had only extended the best hour of one summer’s day,

With sunburn unlikely, and also an hourglass providing delay.

Recalling his visits to galleries, with sunsets of canvas and paint;

He’d never seen anything like this, as time showed its generous restraint.

The colours of twilight would summon orion to twinkle and shine.

For once that could wait until someone had soared over branches and vine.

He bent his legs quickly and kicked out, so eager to see so much more.

Beneath him were fresh summer breezes; and he took his first chance to soar.

He curved over treetops, and wondered if branches beneath them were sharp.

With everything else in slow motion, he somehow could still hear a harp.

He veered in another direction, to mansions built next to the fern;

And spied, on a balcony-courtyard, the one who had caused him to turn:

A feminine woman, whose music was flowing in relative synch

With time’s little gift for the glider, who knew he had no need to think.

He had enough height left, and reached her, as nightfall and real time were set

Concurrent with both of them, once more; its duty done once, they had met.

Like him she’d spent all those years waiting, unaltered by children or change;

So both could embrace their fulfilment, which destiny chose to arrange.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at HAVENFLIGHT.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at day before christmas.

life for life, we suffer endlessly

predator and prey, living the gruesome existence every day.

death for deth, it only leads to decay.

fight the death is futile, we all die.

fight to live is thriving, we must keep the light.

give to give, get what’s left and do what’s right.

be aware of things in the night.

never give up and never give in

to victimize is to sin.

eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth

be the best we can be and surrender to the truth.

to live the lie is wear and give the hangman’s noose.

let the flower grow, let the child thrive.

to suffer is to die, to flourish is to be alive.

give in to the shine, say, “yes it is mine”.

give in to the night that is true, do not fall for the false light.

wisdom is the ageless treasure, curing the blight.

be the children lyf or deth, blakk or whyt.

the children of the almighty’s might.

sometimes the weakest is what is right.

peace, love and eternal life.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Living Off of Death.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My prayer for You.

BANG

To watch a sunrise
And then see it set
In this harried life
It’s as good as it gets
God must know
The pleasure it bestows
To all His children
He created here below.

There are many
Who say
There’s no God
To whom we do pray
And without Him
Our surroundings
Would be here anyway,

Because
Worlds collided
There was a big bang
And from the din
And confusion
This wonderment sprang.

How utterly ridiculous
It would be
Of me
To conceive
An explosion
Making a tree.

Tom Fenning
2/26/2006

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at BANG.