This Poem was Submitted By: JACK M HRINIAK On Date: 2004-08-03 18:19:49 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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UNTITLED
I take his heart in my hand
and
burn into dust,
riding on a midnight wind.
I whisper his dying sounds to sleep
and
tears burn in the passion of one.
My father is dead.
Endless waitings out of sightless windows
and
than
he dies alone
under a silent sky
dreaming of fate.
A lone chord moves in my ear
echoing
between the folds of time.
My father is dead.
My father always had a song to sing. He taught me "the meaning of all things." He would say, "every bird has its own words to sing. This uniqueness is the beauty of all life. In the knowing comes grace, in the showing comes love." After my father died I went to the edge of my lake and sang high his melodies, holding each note in my mouth to taste the sweetness of his life.
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Copyright © August 2004 JACK M HRINIAK
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-09-07 20:43:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
What a moving and lovely tribute to a beloved father,
I take his heart in my hand
and
burn into dust,
The passionate intensity with which this son loved his father is evident in the first lines
of this powerful piece
riding on a midnight wind.
I whisper his dying sounds to sleep
amazing
and
tears burn in the passion of one.
My father is dead.
Endless waitings out of sightless windows
the word "sightless" is poignant here
and
[then]
he dies alone
under a silent sky
dreaming of fate.
A lone chord moves in my ear
echoing
between the folds of time.
My father is dead.
Excellent. And the music still plays... would like to see more of your work
Best
Rachel
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2004-09-06 14:25:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.78378
This is a wonderful tribute to your father. I really wouldn't change a thing EXCEPT there are
some techical difficulties I would like to see changed. I shall go to the last line first.
Why do you have it run on? For me it takes away from the flow and meaning of what you have
written which is so sweet. Next, to me, NEVER have an untitled poem. Each one has its merits.
Perhaps at the time you wrote it you couldn't come up with one. Let it sit for a day or two and
one will come to mind. Even a simple title such as "My Father - A tribute." is better than none.
Thanks for allowing me the privilege of reading this.
This Poem was Critiqued By: James Edward Schanne On Date: 2004-08-27 11:16:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.17857
When a poem is this personal its hard to suggest making any changes, But I wonder if the first:
My father is dead.
might work better as
My father dead?
Perhaps I'm just not reading it right . Thanks for letting me read your poem.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-08-25 19:24:37
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.88235
Jack, a beautiful elegy to your father - so brief, yet so complete with much going on between each and every line. I only see one thing to change:
and
than - [this should be "then", I believe]
he dies alone
No other problems, and an emotional read well told. Thanks for sharing the note, as well.
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-08-20 15:39:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.90909
Hi Jack,
What a beautiful tribute to your father...but what a sad and soulful read. It makes
me remember the death of my own father and how I stood holding his hand as he took his
last breath. But both my husband and my mother held on until I left the room before they
died...and I have never gotten over that. I have heard many say that people can do that..
stave off death until they are alone so as not to see their loved ones cry. Every word of
your poem was a stab to my heart as I felt so much empathy in reading the words. Your
father told you so many truths that will be with you always, which of course was his
intention..my father did the same for me. Losing a parent leaves an awful vacant space
in the heart of a child and one that can never be filled by anyone else. But we do go on
as that is the devine scheme of things..even though the journey is a painful one. This is
a wonderful poem that is filled with emotion which caused me to read it over several times.
Thanks for posting such a sensitive piece
Peace...Marilyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: Gerard A Geiger On Date: 2004-08-14 00:23:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Jack;
I love the soulful way you describe
your father's death and how you went to the
edge of the lake to sing your father's melodies.
What a wonderful tribute to the man who taught you
that every bird has a song to sing.
This poem has a base spirituality which hearkens back
to american Indian folkways.
It is wonderful....your father is proud,
he has taught you well.
Thanks for sharing this fine work..
Gerard
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lynda G Smith On Date: 2004-08-10 09:55:19
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Jack
You have inheritied a beauty of soul from your father. He was a man of wisdom who obviously shared that with his son. There is great strength in gentleness and the time you are taking and have taken, to honour him with your words will ease your pain and set a fine example for your son.
I love the passion of these first lines. What an incredible image you paint - A memory of who he was in your life, you carry with you, and that you seek some answers to life's mystery is in your whispering of his dying sounds. It seems intrusive to be reading this somehow. Thank you for sharing.
The blunt statement of 'my father is dead' ... acceptance, stoic love, simplicity - your words bow before your head and leave me in a quiet place.
Endless waitings out of sightless windows.... eyes to the soul, eyes that no longer see, windows that are blocked.. what could he not see visually that he saw with his soul internally, this heart that knew the individuality of the universe. I'm reading the 'than' as 'then' - these two word lines so alone in themselves, so full of pain...do you not think that a man of such wisdom would hear in the silence, the song of the birds who touched his soul... I like to think so. I don't think we are ever truly alone unless we choose to be. He does not strike me as a man who was touched with self pity but with grace and love.
and I love your conclusion... the chord 'echoing' - you will carry your father's song as will your son will, your own.
This is a fine tribute to your father Jack.
Lynda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Karen Ann Jacobs On Date: 2004-08-08 00:54:19
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Dear Jack,
Thank you for showing your Dad’s uniqueness to this stranger. Your note at the end of this poem added a lot to the poem. Have you thought about making your note a part of the poem?
Your poem was full of wonderful imagery. This phrase really inspired a powerful image in my mind:
I take his heart in my hand
and
burn into dust,
riding on a midnight wind.
These lines gave me a vision of being kept awake by memories of his love and not really wanting to sleep. I like the feeling this inspires.
I feel privileged to have been allowed to read this poem. Losing someone sucks, but your Dad has left you some wonderful things, including his wisdom. Thank you for sharing it here. It has made an impression on me.
Kay-Ren
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