Surviving the Cold

Father’s burden. A Poem by Coyote Poetry My father taught me to appreciate laughter and woman. Father’s burden (My father  was a Ojibwa/Mexican man in 1950 USA. He never allowed anyone …

Source: Happy Father’s day

Powerful poem about fatherhood. I would highly recommend a read!

 

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The men that built this country

Rosebuds at the end of each barfly

The cold

Granting the fitness

Necessary for survival

The many miles

Across this country

Were planted

Under brown feet

Under the feet of an immigration

A union of the five corners

To break the back of each of our fathers

And oppress indiscriminately

The frostbite is inherited

Brittle bones

Weather worn

Losing toes to frigid time

The nails

In the hands

Of our many martyrs

Look so much

 like

Icicles

Staying Silver Ponyboy

For my father, Ross Silver

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A great man is not measured by his accomplishments,

By the money in his wallet.

Greatness is measured in sacrifice

It’s recognizing the work of the sole’s

At every shoe bottom

Sewn to heel

To walk out the door

To something greater.

We pass down carbon

Like treasured heirlooms

And though there are many days

Where I can’t manage the resources to stand

I feel your strength in my legs, sitting.

I’ve been blessed in this life

And for the nanograms

Lost in the wandering transition

From life into the ethereal

I’ll be blessed after.

You poor insomniac

Granting me pleasures of privilege

In the witching hour

As well as mid-day

In the trenches

And on their pedestal.

Who could doubt

The suffering

Of a scimitar back

Pressure treated

From years of brick and mortar?

Who could doubt

The callous hands

Of the forgotten working man?

I Will Not Smile

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My father’s first poem in the last four to five years. I love it. It’s been a hoot to see where this writing is coming from. Thanks for the read, and thanks for the poem Dad!

 

By Ross Silver

 

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,

take your flowery high mindedness

take your justice fairness and kindness

And put it in a sack and drown it in the river

Celebrate cruelty, inequity, victimization, despair

Refute your hypocritical facade

Lay you bear and naked

for all to see

Your grim sadism

You will not fool me anymore

I will not smile today

 

Hong Kong Shark

He was never my son. He was hers, and when she left, I, of course, got stuck with him. He never did understand. He wanted to save the whales, the turtles, the sharks, would save the devil if it was a living force oppressed on earth. It wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t so soft. They call it a Hong Kong shark for a reason. They aren’t kind creatures. People need to eat, and this creature is large enough to feed a village for a week. I know what they’re getting at, but they’ve never been overboard with a Kong. They’ve never been waiting to be pulled back on deck, with those beasts circling around, like a child playing with its food. Finally finishing their prey in two or three generous bites.

He couldn’t do much, so I’d have him pull in the net, but this time something got caught. He leaned over the side of the ship, freeing the excess fish caught with the Kongs.
Sometimes I’d look at him. I’d look at those fish flailing like if they struggled enough they could earn their freedom. I have been struggling for the better part of my life.
He had other things on his mind. He thought it too cruel to leave these fish trapped with such a predator. Hell, I figured it made it easier to find the net. The blood; a single drop of food dye in a bucket of water, spreading, expanding, but otherwise dissipating. He didn’t ask for my help then, probably felt like he had something to prove. His body balanced on the edge of the ship.

“Be caref–!” And he fell in. “Dad!” he looked at me with cavernous eyes. His head jerked as he searched the uproarious waters. A grey, slick nose rubbed against the underside of his foot.
“Get me out of here!” Thrashing in the water. He stopped then. He must have remembered the way it would draw attention to seals, sea lions. They’d be left in pieces, too minuscule to salvage for sushi. He stopped, waiting. I couldn’t make out what swam around him, only movement. The sea beneath him looked like a wild orgy in a storage closet. I panicked. I grabbed one of the rods we used to hold down the fish that overwhelmed the deck.

He gripped it, sliding his hands up the pole, using the ledge of the ship as leverage, I leaned back.
It took all of the strength I had.
He screamed before the pole snapped.
“Dad,” His voice tremored. He looked pale, his skin the same hue as his widened eyes. The wriggling mass of life that was under him had become foggy and red. “I’m getting help.” I didn’t shout. I didn’t panic.
I didn’t know if it were true, but I knew he needed to believe it if he was getting out alive. I worked the control box, raising the net, but this only brought them closer together.
I watched as a second and third Kong eyed my son. There was a look in the face of these monsters. I had seen it few times before. Like they were solving a math problem, just before they’d speed towards the kill their face would contort into a smile, indicating they’d found the solution. There isn’t much I wouldn’t give to never see that face again. I pressed the button on the control box, the net dropped opening to the sea. That was the last time I ever saw him.

I need a Father.

We fight, we argue
I resolve the conflict

“Sometimes I feel like you’re the adult”

I don’t have time for anything but,
I need a father

Incompetent,
he believes.
I can change
That. World.

Inadequacy creates
A bird in a cage
We are

He doesn’t know
He won’t
He did before
But discouragement
And experience
Has taken it all.

The Scarlet Cooler

Her toes sink into the mud
cold beers daddy pulls out of
the cooler
she lays on the blanket
lifting her skirt

feeling the warm sun
on the back of her thighs
he watches
drinking cold corona
out of his scarlet cooler
the scared yet?
cooler
darker than blood

She lifts her foot
but the mud rises
daddys drinking cold corona
out of his red cooler
she shrieks disbelief
“Daddy why?
Daddy
I don’t want to die”

His head spins
“where’d that little
bitch
run to?”
grabbing her by the wrist
he pulls
“Daddy it hurts”

He grazes the crotch of his jeans
and he pulls
“STOP DAD”

“shut up”

she cries
screams
he hears a crack
and her arm lies limp at her side

Lifting her over his shoulder
his hand on the back of her thighs

standing erect
slurring
bronze

“My arm Daddy.”

Lying her down on the blanket
he cracks open another beer

Modern Day Monroe

She stands at the bus stop
Monroe piercing
lonely, starry-eyed
she sifts through the gutters
for halvsies
and whatever smells
of marijuana

She stands
four inch heels
waiting for the number 6
so she can get to the poor part of time
town

and suck the cocks of men
that resembles her father
loosely
and for money
the last time she saw her father
posters of Monroe paved plaster
and stuck her face
for the name

she tried college
her report card
consistent
A big red C-A-B
Passing, sucking off
back of a C-A-B
the best grade she’ll recieve
until after he cums.

Daddy always read the big words
out loud
She was an investment
So he’d sound it out for her

I-N-C-A-R-C-E-R-A-T-I-O-N

Sometimes when she’s working
she remembers laying on the couch
her legs on his lap 

I-N-C-A-R-C-E-R-A-T-I-O-N

Now he knows the definition better than anyone
and she still loves, but fails to forgive

there are some words in that dictionary
too foul to remember.