On My Nephew Naming His First-Born Son After Me

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Poem Commentary

"It is better to be hated for who you are, than loved for who you are not." --Kurt Cobain

On My Nephew Naming His First-Born Son After Me


My glories mix with failures,
That burn like dust--
Dust that smites my eyes, dust blown by the desert wind.
My main mark has not been made before I end,
In this wild whirling world of love and lust.
Ghost-written works, unlikely to be uncovered as my own;
But still, under my own name, there is enough of my flame
To catch fire in the world, and show my light from a growing great blaze.
After I end, then.  Little for me, before I die.  I live poor, and lonely for a lady, until then.
Unless I find new feminine love, who can love me as I now am--to give me love again--
I must feel unloved, unpleasured, lonely, lonesome--a man without a woman--so alone.
-----------------------
My healthful days are gone--as soon I must.
I yearned to have a son--to be his friend--
To share my values in his values' blend.
My once wife defeated that dream, with my unborn child's end.
I still grieve.  I hope for love, somehow, at life's crumbling crust.
But time has taught me only tombs to trust.
-----------------------
I learned my baby was a son, my son that iron fate took to destroy.
So I lost my only child before he could be born to my loving gaze.
And yet--perhaps I had a son, a born and living son, in the past;
When my nephew Anthony and I shared special days,
My sister's son, whom, in his earliest years of life, I helped to raise.
From when he was a baby, till he became a precious little boy.
-----------------------
My heart's deep dreams are lost; 
I am now treated as if my life were as worthless as a cheap broken toy.
Yet I'm kept alive at a price I cannot long keep paying, a crippling cost.
But I am happy to know I did have a son, a living son, in my life's past.
For Anthony, who grew up, oh, so fast--
To become a good young man, who became a new glad father--
Chose--not his father's name--but my name, rather--
Saying I was more a father to him than anyone else; and, to make that last,
He honored me with memory and praise,
To give his son my name, to my great joy.

=============================================


Written by Michael LP
aka MLP, aka Mr. Poet, aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC
(I'm just me)
Copyright (C) 2010 by Michael L.P.  All rights reserved.

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lunamarie commented on On My Nephew Naming His First-Born Son After Me

10-21-2010

.......... this poem ... is one of the best poems I have ever read ... I have no words ..............................

arronpalmer commented on On My Nephew Naming His First-Born Son After Me

10-20-2010

So so frank and touching is your admission to your disdain at life, or the tribulations of it (possibly a scandalous understatement to someone in your circumstance, but I trust you know where I'm coming from), robbing you of a chance to become what you are no doubt to your nephew, who clearly idolises you, to a son of your own. But a Father is more than flesh and blood. It is the love, the care, the sacrifices made in the interest of a child. Things you no doubt did to/for your nephew. A Father isn't ever forgotten, especially if another generation bears his name. I think you are more a father than most could claim to be.

abuelita1 commented on On My Nephew Naming His First-Born Son After Me

10-19-2010

Your nephew and his son are both blessed by having you in their lives. What an honor to be named after you. ;)

arronpalmer commented on On My Nephew Naming His First-Born Son After Me

10-19-2010

I love this, but I have left a more detailed comment in reply to your comment you left on my profile. I didn't want to simply copy and paste. A ten from me.

abuelita1 commented on On My Nephew Naming His First-Born Son After Me

10-16-2010

Your words are as cherished as you are to any. Oh, lucky is the woman to have you.

Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

PoetWithCancer’s Poems (224)

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