My Old Man

For a number of weeks I have been playing with the idea of writing a tribute poem . Of at least it is a tribute of sorts to Fathers in General, especially my father who in his elder years never ceases to amaze me. In order to make this work I tried to fit the tribute with other poetic elements so it would fit as I would like it to be.

I am highly uncomfortable in writing such a poem that takes me beyond a comfort zone. Also our relationship was never as great as IT could have been nor as close as I would have liked it to be. But as one with a rebellious heart and an equally rebellious spirit I walked to the beat of my own drum so to speak.

One such memory that had an instant life lasting impression was a sunny day when My youngest child was with usand whom was disabled and with poor eyesight was laying on a living room floor while I rushed to prepare a feed for the child. when I returned to the room, My father who lives possibly 45 minutes drive away, was laying on the floor with the child talking with him. That mean more to me than anything else ever could mean. That someone could spend time a non judmental time with a proufoundly disabled child and look on him as any other child. Thus this poem is for this man, my father.

As usual I welcome comments etc, but ask that people are polite as it helps in various cultures in understanding etc.

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My Old Man


Am I worthy to fill his shoes?
For all that i did I hit the booze.
Rebelled in youth I failed that load,
Walk the road find your own abode.



Am I worthy to walk his paths?
I but struggled to do the maths.
A rebellious soul wanders free.
Without the heart to sail that sea.



Am I worthy to match his deeds?
I followed my roads full of weeds.
Outdated with all unseen or so I saw,
Weak in spirit is my unwelcome flaw.



Will I see the day to reach his age,
Labour as each day turns its page.
Honoured to see the fruit turn ripe,
I foresee the day I sit and type.



Turn the clocks and Swipe the card,
This old man will be out in the yard.
For years I failed to see his way clear,
Love, respect I find each passing year. 



© Pat Fitzgerald

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Thank you for taking time to read this poem. It is a step beyond what I usually do and is a little uncomfortable for me to place it out for all to read. I welcome any comments etcas I always enjoy reading through. Such encouragment is a great help in my writiing. Until next time Please take care and keep an eye out for those in need of a loving embrace and help at this time.. If any typos etc appear, I will correct and update as I find them, thus appologies in advance for any typos.

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