A tanka for my father

Powerfully understated and a beautiful and poignant tribute to your father and all ftahers. Strikes very near to home for me. My dad is wheelchair-bound with deteriorating multiple sclerosis. He only has one working limb at this point. He had planned to work on cars in th egarage after his retirement. He was a swimmer, diver and wrestler in his youth. It seems as though all fathers were giants, either in the presence or absence, teaching or temperment. Your poem reminds me of this father poem by Dick Lourie, different than yours, but also beautiful and powerful and read at the end of the awesome movie, Smoke Signals, the film adaptation of poet and writer Sherman Alexie's short story, The Lone Ranger And Tanto Fist Fight In Heaven: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QutfN2wb1wc Thank you for this heart-opening, Nina. -Michael

I.D., Nice tribute, but I would like to have seen more positive words. Maybe I just don't know the rules of tanka. Are they simple? wcw

Hi Ink, This doesn't need any extra words at all. It's beautiful and emotional. You know my 'father' poem so it's a subject that touches me. All your love for him is wrapped up in these 5 lines.... ~Stella

I know it must have been hard to write on such a sensitive subject. I applaud you for it. a deep poem, very emotional, written with powerful words. sometimes less is more. love always, Kata

Ink, My father died a couple of years ago. I wanted to write an epic poem about him., (He was great)and about his passing. (he was amazing)and his last words, which were to my son, and my mother.(he died at home, just before I got there. What I came up with is a much harder read than your tanka, but I submit it today, in remembrance of fathers, and because the subject is up. wcw

It is very difficult to see someone deteriorate who is close to you. I have a family member who is the same, though she has somewhat stabilized. It hurts watching a mental deterioration, too, such as the case of my grandfather-in-law. He was once a very sharp, very intelligent man who would debate the world with you, and always win. Now, he can't even remember how to tie his own shoes, and without his wife, he be completely helpless. But, it's the moments of true clarity that we hope for now. Unfortunately, they're becoming farther and fewer in between. Good luck with your father. I'm sure he'd appreciate such an awesome tribute - have you shown him? ~Jess K. ---------------------------------------------------- -"And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication And silent replies that swirl invitation Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea A grim intimation of what is to be" - Pink Floyd

with a few lines you told what all people, especialy women, are feeling of their lost fathers. You think as i think and that makes me have you a special poet.

Though I am not one for knowing the different styles or rules of poetry, this poem is short, simple and to the point. It is the summary of my poem "Daddy". I too watch both my biological father (strong, stubborn, manly man) and my stepfather of 20 years (strong, kind, loving gentleman) dewindle to nothing and leave this world . I was there when he died, and missed the death of my stepfather by a few hours. That's a hard pill to swallow. I tried to pay tribute with "Daddy" for my stepfather and "Life's Essentials" for my father. Not much more can be said of your tribute. It is beautiful. I send positive energy to you and your father for the battle your family is going through. Warm wishes for better days and better health. Thank you for sharing. If you need a shoulder, i'm an email away, just so you know. I understand how difficult this can be. I spent many days waking up and having to take dad to the hospital. Never knew what I would encounter from day to day. Both of my dads battled cancer. Thank you also for teaching about this form of poetry. I also read your forum topic. This is the type of education those of us who don't know need. Thank you. Maybe I will try my hand at this form... (no promises though!) Live, Laugh and Love (and don't forget to write) Tink

My dear daddy, he died when I was 32 yrs. weakened by rheumatism, it was a relief that he didn't have that terrible pain any more, he never died for me. below is the poem my aunt wrote to her father my far far in Norsk. now you've got me going on Daddy. I have a lovely little round photo of him that inspired this write. this is NOT a good poem but says a lot about the family :- "DADDY" ANN Daddy was a little laddie with lovely curly hair,  He nearly died of jaundice, he nearly succumbed to gas,  He finally died of rheumatism and that was a great loss.  Kind and thoughtful all his life he helped us through it all,  Was always sad he wasn't young to take part in it all. He married, late, our Mother, his duties lessened then But all the things of family he took seriously on. We as a family played the game of tennis, cricket, dance And all were eager to take part in life's great game of chance Jeannie took up sporty things and I did art perchance Maisie wrote her poetry and used humour when in trouble She made us food, and food for thought and never pricked the bubble The joy of life, of nature, stars, they both gave us so much That here I am the daughter Ann, who loved them very much. Just look at him, the little lad with eyes so full of love Of keen quick understanding deep in natures world Of microscopic details fine, and photographic puzzles Of working man's tough trials of life he helped them as he could Old ladies fell in love with him, so ready to give aid, Or mend that clock that didn't go and hadn't gone for years. He died when he had fixed the watch of Uncle Nat his brother And having finished, he gave up to rheumatism's lures. 'Twas he who climbed the chimney to clean it at the mill 'Twas he who saved the face of that thief who came to be- Manager in charge, then came another theif who charmed his sister fair With golden teeth and charming ways he stole my Father's camera So poor Aunt Gloria was OUT and never heard at prayer. Aunt Dora kept her mind alert with quizzes on the wireless And cross-word puzzles, tying newspaper knots to mend the fire with An egg shall cook like that, she said, and no one dared to differ. Her ways were of the Old School, if she could she would use the stick.  Then Uncle Nat who played the piano with his fingers large,  On hearing Glen call out so loud, a sound that shook the flowers 'Twas animals who ruled the roost among the gear and tackle  Of car exhausts and bridles, and lots and lots of prattle. Their daughter Di who rode so well rosetted walls in red Her charm and joy of life she spread to all she met she said What ho! jolly good, how lovely to be with such a joyful  Boyful clan of boys for company. And Jeannie, don't forget she married into fame As wife of Donald Cameron a clan of high renown Had son and daughter, one of each, and saw that they became A pianist and an engineer they have the right to claim That they did well, and Catherine with three bairns to feed and cloth And Alexander on the hill with stags to interpose. The buzzards hum, the rabbits run, the flowers grow tall for them Up high in "Northwood" where the sky fills all the windowpanes. And golfing tennis dance a play of fiddle, voice and drum Her life is full and buzzing still at over sixty one. Margaret and Philip were off to far off lands To Canada, Australia, to carry on the clan of Harvey's Who were busy bees and all the Bishop's musical. Where all the love of Gertrude, John, spread round the world To give to life a culture grand in all their influences. All this is what a photograph of Daddy brought from me An admiration of his life and strong intensity of love That to this day is wine for me, tapped from his fond memory. ______________________ And his father:- TO J.T.HARVEY (John Tempest Harvey, Gloria’s father.) 1927. (My grandfather written by aunt Gloria-ann) His mind as vigourous And fine as tempered steel Was moulded from the ore with skilful care By the young strength of Opportunity. This youthful craftsman In the forger’s art More excellent than Circumstance his master Had fashioned for his use a wond’rous blade Upon the mighty anvil of the world. The master-smith In envy of his skill, Scorched by the flying sparks, in blind distraction Seized the marvellous weapon from its maker, Lest all should know his power, and knowing, turn From Circumstance to Opportunity. The finished blade Sprung in the master’s hand Shuddered, and cooling, hardened to its fate; And suffered to decay. The edge soon frayed And on the surface came long marks of pain The creeping, spreading, ruthless hand of rust. Then in his sorrow Opportunity With gentle loving hands bore out the sword To Death, the mirthless trade at the door, Who, bending it to try the metal’s strength Snapped it in two and passed the broken frame To Time his silent dreiver. Then as now Young Opportunity served Circumstance. (On the opposite page a photograph of John Tempest Harvey. The next page with a beautiful pencil drawing of Gertrude Coulson his wife, her mother.)

never knew my birth father, I will never forget my foster dad, and the last times I saw him. He had a stroke, and was lying, comatose in the SICU of Metro Hospital in Cleveland. He was a terrible, mechanic sight, breathing artificially like a CPR dummy. I truly feel pain reading this. Mark W. Galatians 5:22-23 "22 But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, and self-control. Against these, there is no law!" My favorite verse(s) in the Bible

I think of the famous poor Haïku poet Issa, he lost so many of his dear children that he enjoyed immensely and when a very much loved child died he wrote this:- The world of dew is a world of dew and yet and yet Ann