Tuesday, February 5, 2013

My father was a young man once



My father was a young man once:
high school football, dreams
of college and medicine but it all
changed one day, one fine
October day in 1929,
it all fell apart, shattering, shadows
splintering across the pathways,
disappearing into the reality
of no food on the table. Instead
of tending patients he tended
oil fields, the work was dirty
and smelly but it paid and it
fed four people,
even if he hated it, hated
the dirt and grease and grime
and coarseness and each payday
punctuating dream's end. I wonder
if he ever cried Abba.

This poem is submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Please visit the site to see more poems.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

13 comments:

Steve Finnell said...

you are invited to follow my blog

nance said...

my father was a young man once
is a good story
communicated well
in just enough words
a powerful point
without power point
allowing me to think of everyone's young dreams
and how they change as we live through time

Covnitkepr1 said...

Just checking back for any new posts you may have written.
I’ve been a follower on your blog for a while now and would like to invite you to visit my blog and follow me back. Sorry I took so long for the invitation.

S. Etole said...

Another favorite.

Covnitkepr1 said...

You know...this hits home as I was a machine repairman for 31 yearsin the desiel truck industry and it was dirty and had work, but paid well and supported a family of four very well. Thanks for posting this.

Brian Miller said...

i imagine he did...i hope he did...its a hard life...giving up ones own dreams for the sake of another but it is a high calling as well...

Laurie Kolp said...

My grandfather had to ditch his plans for law school for the same reason.

KatGracedByU said...

These words gently reminds me of how much my parents' sacrificed to make life better for our family.

All the things they did without so we could know joy in our childhood.

Thank you for sharing.

Seth said...

"Talk about your miracles, talk about your faith; my dad he could make things grow, out of Indiana clay."
-Rich M.

This poem was good. Reminded me of a ditty I've always liked.

Fred Rutherford said...

really strong piece, shows diligence, purpose, priority and pushing through. Excellent write. Thanks

Martha J. M. Orlando said...

What a moving tribute to your father . . . we so often take the opportunities we have for granted and can't put ourselves in a place where suddenly our dreams go up in smoke.
Thank you for sharing this, Glynn.

Ann Grenier said...

I'm sure there are many today who have suffered in this economy, which none call a crash, yet the effects of the "downturn" have been devestating to many. Nice to read your work again.

Congratulations on the publication of your novels.

city said...

thanks for share..