VJs Weekly Challenge 40 – Things My Father Said
Photo: dwphoto.com.au
Hard Work
How to describe,
what to say of it all,
what comes as I remember
that his fists talked more than his jaw?
The tears he wept when he broke things
that mattered to the heart,
recompense so cloying
nothing could repair,
he was battered by birth and by life
he knew little of China or Morocco
but he knew that the coal that he shovelled
wasn’t anything of him,
though he never felt devalued
cos’ he’d say:
“Hard work never did anyone any harm.”
Yet it’s understatedly hard when
you love who hurts,
and that’s the real work of life;
it’s years now since he’s been gone
and my thoughts are more sober now,
I miss him a lot for the good things
and the occasional reactive quip:
“Don’t worry son, worry never achieves anything.”
and, in spite of everything,
I’ve discovered that’s true.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
So poignant. Our feelings are never one way or the other, and yes to love and forgive is work. Sounds like his words stood you well.
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Yes, they have, in spite of his ways, they are good words. Thank you Heather for reflecting back on this.
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You are welcome.
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there’s the undying love for the father, though flawed the son sees his heart beneath the coal dust and crust, then there’s also the sadness that stains your lines, a sadness from a son’s heart wishing things could have been better and happier for dad. any story about a dad is precious to me for I loved mine so much. I love this poem Paul, so well written
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Thank you Gina, it was hard to write this one, and thank you for sharing.
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always a pleasure to read your work Paul
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This is so powerful and moving, Paul. Your vulnerability, his vulnerability, so beautifully expressed.
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They were difficult years, thank you for the very thoughtful response Dawn.
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I am familiar with the child’s journey …
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Yes, not many of us had the charmed life of the silver spoon.
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Highly over rated.
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Absolutely, strangely, well, apart from the violence, there’s not much I’d change in my own life.
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My father wasn’t a violent man, but I know he hurt and hated what made him feel powerless. I would be the only one who would join him for breakfast. My earliest memory of ‘being there’ for someone in distress. What we know, is what we keep. Be well.
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Yes, you too.
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Very Good one Sir,thanks for writing.
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Thank you – it was difficult to write this one.
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Never mind after all you have completed it,nothing is impossible for talented people like you.My pleasure.
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Thank you Francis
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My pleasure Sir.
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A painful, but brilliant write, Paul. Culling the good from the bad is no easy task.
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Particularly difficult, and difficult to write this one. Many thanks Sandy.
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You are most welcome.
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Oh Paul, what a beautiful sharing about your dad. I really am moved. Thank you. Blessings to you, and to his Soul.
Debbie
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Thank you for sharing how it moved you, it was really difficult to write too, thank you Debbie.
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Your poems are ever beautiful, even when gut-wrenchingly hard to think about…they trigger so much. Blessings to you.
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Thank you for sharing that, much appreciated
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Always sincerely welcome.
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“His fists talked more than his jaw” an angry man for sure. Glad you could find some good!
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Yes, he was a tyrant, but there were some nuggets of gold too, thank you Ruth.
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A very touching poem, Paul! I can feel the son’s longing for his father. I can relate because I feel that sometimes.
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Thank you for sharing your feelings Winnie, appreciate your transparency. It was difficult to write though.
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Wise words from your dad, Paul. 😊
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Yes, in spite of everything, there were nuggets 🙂 thank you Dorinda
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You’re welcome. 🙂
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A portrait well told of a man of his era – fists at the ready, sorrow for what he has broken, purpose in hard labour. I was reminded of my father.
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Thank for sharing how this spoke, yes, I found it poignant and difficult as well, parents are never perfect, but some were hard.
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Yes. My dad was brutal. When he died my mom said she felt relief that it was over. Still, he was a brilliant man, who had much wisdom to impart. Nothing is simple.
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I agree, nothing is simple, and nothing good is lost either. And partners have a different view and relationship don’t they?
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Well, that is true!
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Powerful poem🙂
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Thank you so much for that.
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wow says so much …
We all have a mix of good and bad but as children we experience a very different reality to others who knew them. Hard to write but does it get any easier once they’ve died?
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I think in some ways it does, well, it did for me because it gave me space to work through.
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good and you chose a completely different way of life, more reliant on your grey matter than your brawn 🙂
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Too true 😉
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smart and healthy!
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😉
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Oh my. So wrenching. It takes time to get to the place you are at with this subject… Such a powerful piece of writing.
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Thank you so much, yes wrenching, that’s a good word for it, thanks for reflecting on this.
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A difficult poem, but hopeful . From reading your work, you have clearly astopped the cycle of violence that you grew up with. So often it seems “like father, like son” is spoken as a passive way of giving up on personal growth from generation to generation. So I say this not in a flip way at all but with a bit more hope for the world: Good on ya! 😊
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Thank you, sadly one of my siblings carried it on for a time, I did do a lot of personal work. Many thanks for those encouraging words. 🙂
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Thank you for that VJ
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Wow well done in writing something so close to home and holding such deep emotion – a wonderfully raw poem giving us a glimpse into this world
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Yes, very difficult one, thanks Lyn
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Beautiful, Paul.
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Many thanks Janet
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