My Father --- a poem

By Winthrop Smith

A boulder mountain
Of compositions'
Bulk, hardbound,
Notes lined, dreams,
-Cold, volcanic ash
-Settles, disguised as
-Dust motes, black
-Changed to grey;

Fiery outbursts,
Warning shots of youth,
Some bet time,
Some stepped back,
-Women heel toed the
-Tremors, tracing from
-Line's fault to
-Cradle's side;
Stick built castle: farm;
Workers; income: time,
-Bars stop, legs block, 'Don't!'
-'This, not that way,' 'No!'

-Draw pictures,
-Mom, sisters;
Core erupts, barn door
Splinters, invective
Curls, chasm
-Listening, upstairs,
-Watching across the
-Table, when
-Ankles grabbed;
Weekends, conjuring
Symbols from silence
Scribbled on
Sides of times,
-Skin surrenders to
-Scissor's detachment,
-Map without
-A treasure;
Empty promises,
The handoff of a
-Tightrope strung between
-Rent check and Drudge work,
Trust your instincts as
Observer, he said,
Ground coated
Plate gouged, bathed
-In acid, ink spread,
-Wiped clean, filled lines pressed
-Down, absorbed
-In sheets pulled;
Trust your judgement from
Works studied, books spread,
He said, walls'
-Vetted, venom penned,
-Victims paraded,
-Callus spared
-Hands resigned;
Trust to looks in youth,
Beauty's currency
Travel, meals,
Talent, luck?
-Draw social circle,
-Art school naturals,
-Packed pants? Stalls,
-Hands valets;
Broad jacket shoulders
Deep blue background, but
Shirt's neck left
-Blood red tie loosely
-Hitched, father, son
-Seeking the
-Right balance;
Bald dome, seated on
Concrete, squinting as
Notes travel
The distance,
-City's vibrancy
-Resonates too late,
-Sound, fury,

Winthrop Smith lives in Maine and writes poetry. Three volumes with his work are out on Amazon.