Father’s Ocean.

I say as the tempered sands
lace into the dark ashes
an ice-bled face of red, and frozen river eyes
a man I admire deeply and love,
his voice swimming
like larva;
His words gentle as he looks at me
with blue-eyes. A shade of silence
surpasses us both as a wound into the ocean
and I let myself drift away in anger and rage
at myself.

Father, I am sorry,
I flew upon the blue decks
of your song, and in extreme feathered mind,
darkness crossed a foreign branch
in the wintry year, one I’ll never forget.
And I sit there and cried,
you held me with your arms,
and kissed my head as I grieved with winter,
for the taste of feral anger receded by a frail
death of the lamb;
you were with me through the night,
the nobility in the vines of wrath
(For father, for mother, you were always there for me).
Look in my eyes, father,
they are yours too, our ocean eyes,
bluer than the Tasman sea,
fallen upon what you gave to me,
from your mother, to her mother,
to tombstones in shadows,
and a father’s youth in a death war
that let his mind drift in finality
but he died years later;
I guess we could say we never truly knew him either.
But father, I knew you,
and as I saw more,
you’ve done so much for me;
Fallen in autumn, father,
a pink rose grew on the thorny bush
of my childhood home,
and it was pink to the sunrise,
a hymn to beauty and mankind,
like you—innocent and versed with tenderness,
like a soldier’s stoic face and impression,
a testament to silence fallen around others,
but around us, you were yourself and no one else;

Father, there is an ocean in provocations
of love as it traverses to the sea,
my father’s ocean; tears expel from your eyes,
illuminated over worry for your daughter,
but I will be okay, father,
please don’t shed any more tears for me
my tears will fall to the ocean.

I grew from your leg,
I am caressed by your hands
as you let me on your broad shoulders,
and we play. I glide along,
the weaves of your dark hair
foreign as it grows thinner;

in youth, the flower I’ve found
that brought me wealth by the twilit laden waves
that wakes in autumn hue,
oh, it reminds me of the good in the world,
when there are people like you
in the dancing of a Renaissance
pure droplets of sunlight in each shadow
nestled in a dream;
a man who is kind
shielding himself as clear as the horizon
setting upon his eyes as he sleeps;
tears in his eyes
to the white fallen leaves
that numb my skin,
as you’ve picked the glass
that cut my feet
and wrapped them in bandages,
sitting with me to make sure I didn’t bleed too much;

Oh, father,
you are a field in a blue star-light,
and a wind with a gazing satyr
under the winged moon with bled eyes;
my eyes have shattered,
I feel blind yet I’m not
and I think of how your words
provided me comfort in my anger.
We’d make fires at a camp site
and choke on the smoke that burnt the firewood.
We bought the logs from the cabin,
the first of a spring to winter
suffused with the cold;
an age of a river held
with the night dew glimmering
with an infantile moon,
and whispers of crickets in a fragmented wind.

Oh, father, you’ve taken my tears
and wielded them as your own,
you’ve taken your love
and gave it to me,
into the fertile water this dark earth has,
Father, I love you,
as the orange of the sunset fades to the ship’s berth,
to the fields of a cherry birdsong so darken like a lute,
your song purifies my broken soul
father, you are everything, my world, myself,
I love you.

May 14th 2020.

© 2020 Pseudopsychosis All Rights Reserved.

Contrary to what my poems reference, I actually have a good relationship with my father–Just a poke at a few fellow poets who asked about it, nothing serious you guys. 😉

I wrote this nearly two years ago, and I’m shocked that much time has passed. I read this to my father and he hugged me while I was a shaking nervous wreck (damn you, insecurities). Still, nothing beat the time I got him a Yoda ornament when I was a kid, and he was jumping in glee asking how I knew Yoda was his favorite from Star Wars.

Reposted 06/19/2022 for Father’s Day.

30 thoughts on “Father’s Ocean.”

  1. This part really stood out for me. – “Father,
    my eyes have shattered,
    I feel blind yet I’m not
    and I think of how your words
    provided me comfort in my anger.”
    Wonderfully done, Lucy, thank you for sharing it. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. We all want to, establish that strong, intimate, relationship with our, fathers, only, that most of us aren’t, able to, because as we were, growing up, they were, too busy, working, and failed, to realize, jusy how important it is, to spend those, precious childhood years, that are, seeping through our fingers, way too, fast, and, most of us ended up, estranged from them…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It is sad, and I think it is a much more common experience than what most would probably realize or want to believe. My dad was always there, physically and emotionally, for me and I realize that not everyone gets to have a dad that’s around. I was lucky enough to have parents that were always able to be around and available when growing up, and sometimes, I think I still take that for granted in my relationship with them.

      Thank you for reading, and if that is your experience you shared, thank you for sharing it. It’s a sad story that’s true for many. I think some people go through an epiphany about how they breezed past their child’s years away knowing they could have done better for them, but this often comes too late in the game when a relationship can no longer be salvageable.


  3. So awesome to read your poetry, Lucy! We are made vulnerable by such love, and when that love is as faithful as your father’s, that vulnerability is in good hands. May God bless and keep you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Aww, thank you Dora! ❤ ❤ ❤ I think it’s the best type of feeling to be made so vulnerable by love and knowing it’s in good hands. May God bless you as well. Have a happy and healthy new year too!


  4. Really beautiful, Lucy. I was swept along in the ebb and flow of it, the whole thing felt like an embrace. Many lovely turns of phrase, such as:

    “an age of a river held
    with the night dew glimmering
    with an infantile moon,
    and whispers of crickets in a fragmented wind.”

    “as the orange of the sunset fades to the ship’s berth,
    to the fields of a cherry birdsong so darken like a lute,
    your song purifies my broken soul”


    Liked by 1 person

  5. This is exquisite verse, Lucy. So many symbols, love that is as deep as the ocean, and language, as always, as elegant as the sky is blue. It is so good to read you again. Will be back soon for more. Happy holidays, dear friend. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

    1. So sorry Jeff for missing your comment. You have put a smile on my face with your words, though. Thank you so very much for your kind words and commentary. ❤


  6. Reading this had me reimagine the beauty of a Father’s love that was absently wrapped around my heart. My father-figure has been my uncle, and I’ve adored my mother’s love since I was a kid. I miss her! I wrote a poem for her back in 2019 but I feel like it’s not complete that I haven’t published it. Thanks for this Lucy

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Aww, thank you so much. I’m glad it could touch you and make you think of the people who were in your life. ❤ ❤ If you ever publish that poem, let me know. I would love to read it.


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