For My Father

Dad Louis Mason - 1980

© 2013 Joyce Mason/ All Rights Reserved

He was surrounded by women

but learned to love, not fear them,
despite his jokes to the contrary.

He cried and did dishes and knew
that none of us were born stupid
for being born female.

He was stubborn and sentimental

and hard-working

and had this knack for making me laugh

every time the sky fell down

(or me on another bleeding knee).

He had faith in my dreams
and was always smart enough to realize
he couldn’t figure me out
(neither could I)
but he was so much a part of me
you could see me in the morning mirror shaving.

He was half of love
of parents
of every foundation
that’s held me up.

He was, when I was at his knee,
and is, now that I’m old enough
to be my own person,
the greatest father,

man and hero
any daughter
could have ever found.

So when you ask me about love
and why it’s been so long in coming
(and sometimes so short in staying)

realize
that when it comes to men
my dad is a tough act to follow.

~~~

Photo Credit: Family photo album

Postscript: I first wrote this poem in the 1970s.  Just before my dad died in early 1997, I reunited with my childhood sweetheart and married him the next year. I was so glad Dad got to see me happy with Tim before he passed. It was only years later that I realized, in the end, I married someone remarkably like my father.

From my unpublished poetry book, Thick Water: Poems on Bonds of the Heart.

Happy Father's Dad to All and to the nurturing Dad inside everyone, male or female.

Drive

Poem © 2013 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved

Personalized plates
drive home my favorite affirmation:
High energy!

Gone are the days
when people didn’t get it
asked, “What’s a high nurge?”
I’d never think of a good comeback
till they were long gone.
“It’s an urge to get high.”

That’s my urge now
not on weed or other substances
but on joy and life force
body chemistry firing go-juice
torching my vitality.

Recovering from exhaustion
worried that my license plates
might be revoked
for violation
of truth in advertising

I sit in my energetic slump
wonder if the fact
that I’ve misplaced
my DMV renewal
is another sign
I still drive myself
too hard.

Rosary

 Poem © 2013 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved

The men I’ve loved

are beads

interconnected

heart amulets

strung together,

beads I’ve prayed over

since my first love

in Catholic School.

He was my sign

of the cross

made with the cross

of the rosary itself:

start on my forehead

follow with

the chaste ritual kiss

on the cross

before the litany

of repetitious prayers.

First love, my passion

sacrificed so young

all the others

carried and continued

the loss.

No wonder to this day

I still sing the requiem Mass

spontaneously

the Latin words bursting from my lips

at the most inopportune moments

religious Tourette’s

a sanctimonious, musical tic.

Most of my men

were the Joyful,

Sorrowful and Glorious Mysteries

all rolled into one.

The Church taught me little

practical

about how to deal with any of them.

Thank God I disobeyed

about birth control

and didn’t drag

any children

into my

learn by burn

my hell

on Earth.

Now even with the cosmos

the only God big enough for me

I work so hard

on loving myself

as much as all those men

and every living thing

I still crave

the rhythm

of the rosary

the linkage

of all my loves

with a Bigger Love

the love

that now must start

and end

with me

on my own tongue

where I receive

Communion.

~.~.~

Photo Credit: © Pietro D'Antonio – fotolia. com