A Letter to Dad

Let me fly on your wings,

To explore and learn things.

Propel me to greater heights

Urge me to take higher flights.

Live and let me watch you,

That I may learn from it too.

You’re someone I look up to,

Whether I’m two feet six or six foot two.

Be the torch that would take me far,

Like the headlights guide a car.

May I see God’s light in you,

So I’d walk a Godly path too.

Chase me ‘round the yard,

Let me rise when I sit down hard,

Sing with me and laugh out loud;

When I look at you, let me be proud.

When I’d be on my feet one day,

And people speak to me, I’d say:

“I’m as lucky as can be;

A Godly dad belongs to me.”

S.O.S.

Help me to be kind

When other kids are cruel;

Help me to resist

Temptation in school.

Help me to be patient

When I’m about to lose my temper;

Help me to be calm

When danger’s signaled by the alarm.

Help me keep my head

When my day is much stressed;

Help me to remember

To count on You, Father:

That when I’m down to nothing,

You are always up to something.

An Apostrophe

I once followed as your kid held the torch, high.

Fire lit earnestly, I heard the question, “why?”

Then the jet-black cloak gave way to light.

Your kid showed me something as I flew to a new height.

Your boy holds the torch everywhere he is

Even when we’re just enjoying some bliss:

He wears it always, your cloak,

And I see it even when he throws a joke.

Everything went blank again, I start from zero.

And I write something I should’ve written long ago.

I’ve got a brother in your kid who’s great.

He tickles me when I’ve got much on my plate.

It is no question, he got his gifts from thee:

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

We’ve never met—it’s something I regret:

Personally saying thanks is a chance I’ll never get.

You’ve done a great job raising him. My applause.

Your kid is serving a very noble cause.

In these verses, I let my message drift:

Thank you so much for my brother, your gift.

A Poem at the Courtyard

I attend your class every other day. You

Discuss things and make students do some stuff too.

Sometimes confetti is in the air. A happy song

Is heard. Sometimes the period just seems so long.

A dirge is playing, then I would console myself

By going to the Muse. Right there, I write a poem about an elf.

Another subject required me to think like you, see through

Your eyes. Facing the blank Word, I rack my brains

About how to start a lesson, but all I think is airplanes.

How do I crack the ice and stop the dirge from playing?

Every idea I think of gets worse, my creativity waning.

Then I see you in your office, absorbed in your own

Business, preparing perhaps, for another class. I should’ve known

You’ve got more to it than signing the square cards. It’s true

It is not that easy, the task assigned to you.

John Hay Poem

I always see you walk home when a cab I take.

You and your colleagues talk of GSIS over that thin steak.

Then I see you in your office, head bent on papers, the red pen

Moving to and fro. You glance up now and then.

Now in this breezy, comfy place I see you again

In my mind’s eye: you’re at home, reading, then

Your little girl asks help for her homework. A meal

Is to be cooked for supper. Work doesn’t stop for real,

Not even away from that four-walled room. You punch

The calculator: bills, food, loans. Paycheck not enough.

You’ve got lots on your plate, yet you

Teach with energy and passion, easy as the old one-two.

To think that I sometimes clench my fists silently

Because of your rules and requirements. How silly

Of me to miss that when I’m done, I’m done. No need

To think of ways to make tomorrow colourful. Indeed

I sometimes see things only through my eyes.

I miss it: your path, it’s a life of sacrifice.

I’m sorry for sometimes thinking crap and not being nice.

A Poem on the Fourth of May

The voice I heard was yours,

Speaking to me while doing chores—

Or when in the office—

The warm caress, telling me this:

That I’d be a fine child, and

That you’ll wrap me without end

In your warm embrace: unlimited

Love and care. You assure me.

The voice I heard was yours.

The first to rejoice, of course,

As I had my first fumbling

Steps. And when I was uttering

My first incomprehensive word.

You excitedly showed me the world.

You said “Well done” when

I received my first star from school.

The voice I heard was yours,

When from my young eyes water pours.

You tell me to rise and walk again.

From the sidelines you say, “No pain, no gain.”

You let me rise on my own, to deal

With my first wounds and to heal.

You let me learn the lesson of life,

Something I could not find in books.

The voice I heard was yours

When it was time to select the course,

The path I would take. At the forks

You showed your wisdom, and though lurks

Danger, you reminded me of Ithaca and the journey

I must take. Of Cyclopes, you said to me:

“You will not meet them, I am sure.

Unless you would call them out.”

Now these words you read are mine,

Written as the Muse visits my mind.

From my first steps and words

To my exploration of my world, and other worlds—

“Thanks” is but a cliché, a word used too much,

I try in vain to search for another. As such,

Please know I am grateful you are here,

For your love and care. I end with cheer.