My Father's Dance Poem by Robert Charles Howard
My Father's Dance
The phone rang after 2: 00 am.
Taking the steps in pairs
my legs faltered at his door -
paralyzed by denial.
Forcing myself inside,
I saw father's lifeless frame,
wired to synthetic everything -
a cold white line
still against the black.
My aching soul
railed at that liar screen,
knowing his true lifeline
danced with passion -
precision cutting with his lathe,
strumming passing chords
on his Gibson Les Paul.
That morning I knocked a ball
through a neighbor’s glass
I learned what honor meant.
With dad's steady hand
on my shoulder,
I stammered apologies
and learned to glaze a window.
We'd play catch after supper.
or down franks and pop
at Briggs where the Tigers played.
Detroit is flying high this year:
God, how I wish
I could give the old man a call.
September, 2006
Such a beautifully pace poem my friend. This uses language to create a maximum impact of the narration, whilst ensuring that oversentimentality never happens. The use of varying stanza lengths add to the piece greatly and draws the reader in. I love how you do not waste words. I think that is what gives the piece its strength.
My good friend Denis has said all I'd want to say so eloquently. However, your last stanza did bring a lump - just beautiful, Robert.
Robert, this poem about your darling dad moved me to tears. So gently and lovingly understated. There is music in it's soul. And the title....perfect. fondly, Allie xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Robert, this is beautiful, the controlled pace in this heartfelt narrative guides the reader over every word and phrase in this soulful tribute of love, loss and longing. Kind regards, Justine
So stunningly beautiful..i can also relate to this..oh, i miss my Father, too..
Oh Robert..... that's just Brilliant! I'd pay to read that one.... I Love the way you transport us to another time! The Childhood memory is awesome.... one of those occasions you never forget, they burn themselves into your unconsciousness, and pop out when you least expect. True Life! Roger
Briggs Stadium, now it's been many moons since I heard my folks say that name...Old Detroiters just like your folks I suspect.
My own father died at exactly 2 a.m., October 17th,1999, which was a Sunday. For almost one year I woke up every Sunday morning at 2 a.m. and was just so unable to go back to sleep...it was very troublesome. My mom said that maybe I needed to use that time to talk to him, so, I did...Daddy, loved to dance....maybe now when I am awakened by his dancing spirit at 2 a.m., I should get up and dance with him. Again...another stunning poem, Robert. Thank you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/5/2024 10:01:23 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Straight from the soul with no hesitation. An extraordinary tribute to an extraordinary man. I am very touched and very sorry for your loss. I am sure he would treasure this beautiful poem, Take care, Robert. Kindest regards, Sandra