I used to write a lot of poetry. It was my main way of coping with my dad’s death. This evening, I happened upon my old portfolio. I found hundreds of poems… from when I was ten to when I stopped writing at about nineteen. Poems about depression, happiness, hope and anxiety. It was such a wonderful look back on my emotions & everything that I’ve been through. But my absolute favorite poem was one that I wrote when I was fifteen about my dad. It was inspired by E.E. Cummings’ my father moved through dooms of love. One thing that I didn’t even realize, until tonight, was that E.E. Cummings wrote this after his own father’s death. Mind blown. This poem is my favorite because I felt like I was able to describe my father in the most vivid way possible. Enjoy.
my father moved through harm of laughter
my father moved through harm of laughter
through duty of charity through need of release,
laughing as we woke as we fell asleep
my father moved through cheer of sadness
this strength he bared
though apparent and hidden
would break the sturdy tree in half
a glance of his eye would tear its roots
fresh and new though older than most
was the person who, since late october
planted feet in air firmly on ground
raised feet on ground to touch the air
and should a child start to weep
my father could sing her gently to sleep
but he kept his wisdom at a hush
though he knew how a rainbow could cry
Tearing the grass from a desert
my father moved through victories of defeat;
praising the day each sunset promised
preaching one’s dream into life
humor was his song and humor so raw
billy crystal would bow at the presence of a joke
and humorous so now and now so humorous
belushi would cry from one word
quick as a shooting start more quick
smart though not bearing a degree
so strictly(and rather apparent
to both of us) stood my father’s words
his skin was skin his breath was breath:
no unhappy man but one wished him happiness;
no mute frog wouldn’t croak
endless hours to hear one joke
a man just like any man
but a smile that put pearls to shame
his sweat smelled no glory in it
yet the work he put in was idolized
his parents were irish and damn proud
yet he was jamaican puerto rican italian
he had but four children to his name
yet a handful came with the new sports season
very careful, never foolish in risks
since he was grateful for being forgetful once
his care was not enough to save
for it was another who killed him
i am now moved through guilt of innocence
through a life of death
through failure of success
yet through humor i feel alive
and nothing quite so least as truth
–i say though carelessness is why i hate–
because my Father lived and entertained
the world will laugh once more.
Thanks for sharing this I really needed this.