Caught in the Act

You used to sing sometimes

in your man-cave under the house

when we were playing outside:

It’s only words and humming

and words are all I have -

a song not meant for six-year-olds;

You had more than words,

even back then I could sense,

I knew somehow there was more:

The look in your eyes and

delight clear in the wrinkles

at their tired edges of love

whenever you got home

from work when I surprised you then,

or now in this moment now here,

busy painting a name, Paul or David, I can’t recall

on the trailer of a tricycle I couldn’t see;

it was for some kid in the parish.

Only later, much later did I understand

Christmas was a poor one that year;

those tricycles were brand new we thought

wondering how Santa managed the chimney

so narrow; the struggle needed that beer on

the mantelpiece which explained the lipstick

on the glass; or was it blood you both

shared in the silent poverty of faithful trust in . . .

the more, for whom no words are adequate?

That tenderness, Dad, was the more,

a gift beyond any tricycle new or otherwise;

fatherly love imbued all through and divinised.

Just as well I can write, for like you

I couldn’t say without welling up with tears;

and words are all I have of gratitude and love

for you, yes, but more for the Mystery

by whom we both share life and love still;

and while I paint with only words in a poem

crafted in the skilful creativity, yes,

bequeathed by a mother’s artful talents,

all I hope is to be also caught in the act…of love!

About This Poem

Last Few Words: I wrote this on the thirtieth anniversary of my father's death.

Style/Type: Free verse

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
[This option has been removed]

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Manawatu-Whanganui, New Zealand

Favorite Poets: Sam Hunt

Comments

dear Patrick,

Wow!
this poem is exquisitely laid out in structure. i like your title, it takes form in the readers mind and is what you make of it. I was surprised by the ending, I loved it! is this form what is known as Tercets?
thanks for sharing this!

*hugs, Cat