Dave The Poet
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My Dads Hands

6/6/2010

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Bedtime came we were settling down, I was holding one of my lads

As I grasped him so tight I saw a strange sight, my hands…they looked like my dads!

I remember them well those old gnarled hooks, there was always a cracked nail or two

And thanks to a hammer that strayed from its mark, his thumb was a beautiful blue!

They were rough I remember, incredibly tough, as strong as a carpenters vice

But holding a scared little boy at night, they seemed to me awfully nice.

The sight of those hands-how impressive it was, in the eyes of his little boy

Other dads’ hands were cleaner it seemed, the effects of their office employ

I gave little thought in my formative years, of the reason for dad’s raspy mitts

The love in the toil, the dirt and the oil, rusty plumbing that gave those hands fits!

Thinking back, misty-eyed, and thinking ahead…when one day my time is done

The torch of love in my own wrinkled hands, will pass on to the hands of my son

I don’t mind the bruises, the scars here and there, or the hammer that just seemed to slip

I want most of all when my son takes my hand, to feel that love lies in the grip

This was the first poem that I ever had published in anything other than a coffee table book of poetry. My Dad’s Hands was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul part 5. Chicken soup also used it in one of their calendars. It’s kind of cool to also find this poem on many websites especially around Fathers day. I don’t remember the date that I wrote it. I think it was in the late Eighties. It’s hard to believe that now I have two adult sons and one fourteen year old. My oldest, Doug would now have hands that resembled mine when I wrote this poem…probably while holding him as a lad. If he was 2 years old at the time, that would have been around 1989. Dad will be 85 next month in March 2009. His hands have gotten pretty rough with sores brought on by his cancer. My brother Mark and I are going to try and go see Mom and Dad at their home in Eugene Oregon next month.



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The Beauty Queen

6/6/2010

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As I looked at you this morning I saw sparkling eyes so fine, your hair done up so pretty and that smile that seemed to shine

I said to myself, “wow, what a catch!” can all of this be mine?!

“Why?” I had to wonder, as my thoughts I jotted down, did the beauty queen in this circus of life, decide to marry the clown?

You really are a queen sweetheart, I realized it again this morning. But I know it’s easy for you to forget, when you’re so busy performing

Three rings you have all going, abuzz with noise and lights! You the skillful leader, wowing the crowd with sights

The crowd they see the show, and applaud with all their might. But me, I see the queen…collapse into bed at night

Me? I’m just the clown, enjoying all the fun! Working the crowd, making them laugh, skipping off when the show is done!

But isn’t that what you loved about me, with your quiet thoughtful way…just laughing and playing , forgetting the trouble…if only for a day??

Honey, I can now understand, it’s not all games and fun. The castle we live in is a labor of love, till the going down of the sun

There never seems to be an end to the work that we call life. But my, how much easier to do when it’s shared by husband and wife!

So I tip my hat to you my love, the beauty queen of the town…but let’s not forget to have a little fun…says I the happy clown!

 I’m not sure when I wrote this poem for Brenda. It’s pretty cool that It could have been any year in our almost 30 years together. She is still the love of my life. I love how the circus theme captures our relationship on so many levels. The three rings for our three sons, her… the driver / analytical ring master, and me the goofy clown. The thing that attracted us to each other was the difference we saw in each other. I loved her quiet thoughtful togetherness. She was always well put together, organized and classy. She loved me because I was just a shade dangerous, not so put together and funny.  


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