a letter from your father

 

You’re coming, going, rolling like a stone
down the valley where angels come from.

The room is still empty,
a cold patch remains
and I’m rolling, rolling again.

You’re mother doesn’t smile
and I haven’t for a while
there’s a crack in the corner of the frame.

The birds don’t sing, at least not like before
and the sun doesn’t shine as it did.

There are pictures, letters, a dying primrose
hanging over your name
but
everything else is still the same.

 

And I’m rolling and rolling, rolling my sleeves

I’m ready to start work again.

Those working class heroes who don’t have a choice
their children stand up and rejoice.

I stand, and sigh, I fight back the years
still standing before his Grace.

I stand like a statue
under the sun
tall and chin raised high.

And the birds come together
and nest on my shoulder
I sit, dark and heavy as a boulder.

 

I leave, take a stroll, go down to the beach
your hand always out of reach
           like a spoken word lost in the breeze.

The music comes over, crawls on my skin

it’s there burning in the wind.

I’m rolling, rolling into the waves

I wave, I cry out your name.

The children all whisper
the words of a song
that song, it’s over and done.

They’re rolling, rolling like the tears down her face

Rolling towards forgiveness and grace.

 

I’m rolling, I’m rolling, just like the waves
rolling into the reefs.

We’re reaching, reaching as far as the sea
the water never touching our feet.

You’re rolling
down the valley
where the leaves are all green
and the laughter of the kids still ring.

 

While I pray, and pray, every single day
and kneeling to the sound of your name.

Hope you’re happy, happy, happy again
Happy ‘til the end of your days.

Rocking and rolling
down to the floor
rolling like I never did before.

 

Rolling, rolling down the corridor
through the broken glass
and the broken door.

Rolling, falling down at your feet
like the waves rolling into the reefs.

We’re rolling, rolling upon the ocean floor

Rolling and rolling once more. 

2012.

Author's Note

this was written during a hazy period of my life. i was a bit depressed and my thoughts were disordered. thus, i do not really know what i was talking about but a feeling of deep sadness was at the basis. reading this in an old noteook, finding myself in a similar state of mind now, i decided to share it. by the way, i titled this notebook "gEometric sHapes and non-Linear Narratives," which says a lot about where i was.

thank you for all your support. i've been on and off this site but i will try to get back to everyone when i can.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Yes Ernest. Nothing stays the same. I left my home in 1977 and I returned a stranger in 2000. I like the description used. You allowed the reader to see and feel everything. Good morning from cold and chilly Michigan. Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

i heard a lot about how cold Michigan gets. stay warm, my friend. and thanks for reading this work. everything changes indeed.

[Thomas W Case]

Brilliant work. Powerful and evocative.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks Thomas!

[Re-Pete]

fine poetry and telling effective choice of metaphor. quite emotive with lasting impact. very enjoyable although a bit sad. one of your best for me.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks Pete! it is a sad one, but im glad you vibed with it.

[Sami Khalil]

Lots to take in from this poem, lots to fathom.
It will.take time and effort to climb from the valley up to the mountain.
Our states of mind change always, no doubt.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks for the review. im glad you could understand the many levels this work takes you. i was feeling a lot of things at full volume as i wrote this and thus the complex nature of this piece.

[Miss Marlette]

Rolling Rolling Rolling you have me Rolling here ! All sickness gone.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

poetry has that mgic effect! thanks for the review.

[Ken Simm.]

I can empathise and appreciate this. What I can't match is the sheer beauty of the writing.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

absolutely disagree with you on the latter. your works inspire me. im glad this work tugged a bit at your heart-strings. this was a mournful piece but not one devoid of hope, i think.

[Lorry]

I feel the weight you feel within you, when all else is fluid and light, moving effortlessly while you struggle against the gravity of your own mind.
I was in two minds whether you were writing to your Father because of him living far from you or you living far from him. Either way the connection is still solid and I felt a pang of jealousy a little in never writing to my father when he was alive, other than a Christmas or birthday card.
Maybe if I did it wouldn't have been left to late to the end of his life to try telling him all he meant to me.
Perhaps the fluidity subject is the reason, but I do have an urge to read Yoko Agawa's the diving pool again, so thanks for reminding me of that.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

strangely enough, this wasnt autobiographical. i think the 'father' in this work was a paternal figure that i wished i had. my realy dad doesnt know if im dead or alive.
so, that explains why it is vague. but it was written with a general feeling that i was missing something, i guess.

[Pryde Foltz]

The rhythm and melody of this was very effective. It carried the deep emotive character of the write into the heart of the reader. Missing someone you love like this, very difficult. Fine writing.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks Pryde. im sorry ive been a bit unwell but i will soon be checking out your works too. always love seeing your smile.

[Pryde Foltz]

Oh now. I hope you feel better soon. Sending healing vibes:)

[Samuel Dickens]

I won't pretend to understand all you've written here, but I do sense the " place" you were in at the time, rather like a panic attack in which one is flooded with thoughts that seek cohesion. I experienced something similar once, and it's not a good place to be. Hopefully, you're way past that now.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks Samuel. im not really sure what it means either, but it was written in a general mood of gloom. i think i was searching for something that was missing in my life and this pseudo-narrative came up. the creative processis a weird thing, i guess.