Sparing The Rod one i
My father always stood at the thin end of his sarcasm,
A great gaping chasm.
A bare foot from the buckle,
wrapped round his right knuckle,
opposite the sharp end of his thick belt.
Which ofen I felt.
He enjoyed trying to break me.
And he knew that he never actually would.
Today I thank him for helping to season my blood.
I remember he liked Johnny Cash and also Floyd Tillman.
Sometimes he almost seemed human.
If only he could.
But he thought I was a horse to be ridden.
Allong cobble and midden.
Never did he spare his rod.
He believed he could break me.
Wherever he trod.
I walked away at fourteen.
Never to be seen.
Again by him or his God.
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Comments about this poem (Sparing The Rod one i by Anthony Di'anno )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(31 March 1934 – 31 May 2009)
(January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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