A Father's Lament

I was never one for my kids to look up to
That's a stone cold fact that I'll always regret

I was never the best dad, for them to hold on to
I was there and I provided, I cared…and yet

I didn't give enough love, I wasn't tender enough
I was too much a disciplinarian, too quick to berate

I wanted to teach them to be righteous and tough
I realize my mistake, now that it's much… much too late

Too late to do the proper things…,
to say the words I wished I'd said

Too late to cherish them over, and above all other things
Too late to tuck them snugly in bed

To hold them tightly, to kiss them goodnight
Too late to see the happiness on their faces

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poem by David Whalen
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Ode to Bouncer (is this your dog too?)

Ode To Bouncer

Playful and stinky
First come to mind
With faithful and honest
Not too far behind

These things are what make him our dog

large brown eyes
Big Black wet nose
On my pillow he lies
In canine repose

He’s poopy and snoopy
With an aura of funky
Ears sad and droopy

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poem by David Whalen
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I sho hates the Devil (but God, you gots ta shape up too

I know the devil’s the bad dude, and you’re sposed to be good and all that
But big guy, let me tell you, I jes don’t think you know where it’s at
A lotta things they need affixing and that’s a pure and simple fact
Howsa about getting your holy arse a stirrin and perform some miraculous act

Big guy, they’s a lotta problems and they’s more seems to be growin each day
So why aintcha out there affixing ‘em, in this big guy, miraculous way
Why, hells bells, you made the earth and I’m a guessing likely the cosmos too
So why do ya let public restrooms, smell like some ‘ol gol-danged zoo

Big guy you a real puzzle. I’ma thinking you just might could be lazy
Lettin women get raped and kids starve sure seems crazy
Seems like you alookin tother way, seems like you surely do
Yeah, I hates the devil, but God you gotta shape up too

And hows about foot fungus, arthritis and my achin back
Big guy, sho nuff, atimes I’ma thinking you just don know jack
messy ’ol airplane crashes, way big ‘ol floods an such
Hell, I’d point that religious finger and stop ‘em with that righteous touch

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poem by David Whalen
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Today I'll Look for Beauty

This Sunday morning
from my usual booth at McD's
I thought to look for something new
For which my eyes to please

I decided this day to look for beauty
In actions, form and graces
And as I gazed, I was amazed
At what I perceived in those faces

The little dark eyed Mexican girls
Of an age no more than three
With umber eyes and ebony curls
Stared wide-eyed back at me

I smiled at such a charming sight
They smiled right back at me
Their mother turned, in a bit of a fright
To see what their children could see

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poem by David Whalen
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Quirks and eccentricities

Quirks and eccentricities (I’ll show you mine if you show me yours)

I have my favorite fork and spoon
Also gotta drink from my favorite glass
Never fasten top button or tuck shirt in
Guess that shows a definite lack of class

Never fold pages in books to mark places
Only one food item on plate at a time
Buy shoes that fasten with Velcro, never laces
And when thinking, try to make my thoughts ryhme

Arrange used creamers with lids in flower petal form
Always sit in a booth, never at a table
Read funnies first, in the paper, in the morn
Sniff every flower, whenever I’m able

When out for a walk,
I never step on a crack
I always pick up pennies for luck,

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poem by David Whalen
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Dodged Another Bullet

A sound as of a baseball bat
striking a cardboard box

Then… sudden silence
Cold and dry

A white car receding into the distance
A numbness creeping into my leg and thigh

Flat on my back, akimbo in the median
Looking up, confused, at clouds and blue sky

Books that I carried just a moment ago
Now they're gone and I don't know why

Slow realization that I'd dodged
Yet…another bullet

As I raised on my elbows
With a grimace and a sigh

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poem by David Whalen
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Their World, Not Ours

Their World, Not Ours (free verse)

Watching the doves and chickadees
From my patio,
looking into another wild world
Wishing them to alight,
Like my parakeets, on my finger
Bringing back a precious memory
From my youth…

Out of the shade of the dense forest
And into a glade of soft grass
An unexpected dale of tranquility
Sun shining warmly through natures skylight
Into their world,
not ours

My gun at rest on my shoulder
eyes gazing in wonder
At this shallow valley, a sunlit Eden

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poem by David Whalen
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Please Pay Attention Pt 1

Pay Attention Part One

Your eyelids begin to flutter, shy morning light yearns to peek in
Savor that fleeting moment between worlds
Mind, not in the dream world, nor totally awake
Savor that pleasantly confused state of mind
Of household sounds distantly intruding
Sift languidly through tattered remains of diaphanous dreams
Extend and enjoy this common to us all morning experience
That the majority of us completely ignore

Really pay attention

To your soul-mate, still asleep across the bed
Hair tousled o’er face and pillow
Look closely at that sleeping face and see the lines and wrinkles
That you, the kids, and daily life have imprinted on that brow
Don’t see her as you do every day. Look very closely
See her not, as you know her, but as a stranger would
See her as a unique individual, not with the sort of faceless familiarity

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poem by David Whalen
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Fog, Yet Another Point Of View

Fog, Yet Another Point Of View

Near Fisherman’s Wharf, quite late at night
Tendrils of music and mist mix together
Slim young ladies and slender young men
Street musicians, with grand aspirations
Dressed a bit tattered, on lonely street corners
Used as impromptu stages
While fingers of fog probe…searching tentatively…
Testing and tasting

Self-written songs ghost into the night
Tremulous voices, hopefully singing
Few people stop, even less truly listen
Some dropping change in foam cups at their sides
All the while fog sniffs like dogs, at ankles and feet
Touching, licking, testing and tasting

Too young to truly know of their songs deep emotions

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poem by David Whalen
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Don't you just hate it? (or is it just me?)

Don’t You Just Hate It? (or is it just me?

Having a doctor who looks eighteen years old
Not having two socks that match
Havin’ nausea and diarrhea, along with a cold
Usin’ public bathrooms with doors that don’t latch

Noticing no toilet paper, way after the fact
Toilet paper that tears vertically into confetti-like strips
While goin’ bouncy-bouncy, your dog noses in on the act
Movie stars silicon inflated, gross, fat, puffy lips

Teenagers inexplicable, selective deafness attacks
Unrecognizable substance, in your drained coffee cup
Havin’ a flat, late at night, and no spare and no jack
Noises your knees make, every time you stand up

Closed tellers and herds of bank employees doing zippo
Hot seats in the car and jumpin’ in wearin’ shorts
E Z open caps that really aren’t so

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poem by David Whalen
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