To Dad

[Lawrence]

And
Went
Down
Stairs
Into the unlit basement
Of your memory; of our times spent
Conquering roller-coasters,
Nursing cavities with Butterfingers,
And the feeling that, by movie night’s end,
I'd watched more decapitations
Than an overworked undertaker.
One day, I no longer fit on your shoulders-
And then what happened?

The basement is what’s left. It’s small-
Like crawling into an underground office
Of clutter and centipedes. When you first left
I could spread out my arms down here,
And there was always some light.
Now, I can’t move without hitting my head,
Or slamming my shin, or stumbling over
Some ancient pain planted in the dark.

I don’t know why I go. Maybe to open
A box of photographs, and laugh at the way
You put me in a play headlock in that picture;
My grin defeating your grip, teeth peeking
Over your massive arms. God,
I never got out of it.

Some nights, I sit for hours
With grief's elusive engines,
Wishing that love wasn’t a pit-bull
Who locks its savage jaws like a vault;
Knowing that always, the heart will hold
What could have been
In its crippled hands.






I don’t understand.

[billy]

i seem to remember a dad poem done by you before though this one wasn't it i don't think.

And
Went
Down
Stairs for me the start of the poem comes in too far of left field, i do see that you wanted them to look like stairs though
Into the unlit basement
Of your memory; of our times spent i like the twist in the memory thing
Conquering roller-coasters,
Nursing cavities with Butterfingers,
And the feeling that, by movie night’s end,
I'd watched more decapitations
Than an overworked undertaker. this simile feels too weak/light/missmatched for me
One day, I no longer fit on your shoulders-
And then what happened?

The basement is what’s left. It’s small-
Like crawling into an underground office
Of clutter and centipedes. When you first left
I could spread out my arms down here, good image of you growing bigger.
And there was always some light.
Now, I can’t move without hitting my head,
Or slamming my shin, or stumbling over
Some ancient pain planted in the dark. good metaphor

I don’t know why I go. Maybe to open
A box of photographs, and laugh at the way
You put me in a play headlock in that picture;
My grin defeating your grip, teeth peeking
Over your massive arms. God,
I never got out of it. love this verse

Some nights, I sit for hours
With grief's elusive engines, feels too much
Wishing that love wasn’t a pit-bull
Who locks its savage jaws like a vault;
Knowing that always, the heart will hold
What could have been
In its crippled hands. the last 5 lines i really like






I don’t understand.

all in all i really enjoyed the read, apart from the opening, for me it came from nowhere and added very little. the poem could have started;
\the unlit basement...without losing anything in my opinion. from that point you laid down some great images which showed us the closeness, the loss. the growing up. good to see you posting a poem
thanks for the read Lawrence

[addy]

And
Went
Down
Stairs I like the segmented, descending quality but the words themselves seem incomplete and therefore a bit ill-fiiting
Into the unlit basement
Of your memory; like that it's his, not yours of our times spent
Conquering roller-coasters,
Nursing cavities with Butterfingers, great line
And the feeling that, by movie night’s end,
I'd watched more decapitations
Than an overworked undertaker. Not the perfect metaphor I guess, since regular dead bodies are rarely so gruesome
One day, I no longer fit on your shoulders-
And then what happened?

The basement is what’s left. It’s small-
Like crawling into an underground office
Of clutter and centipedes. Like the line... but I'm wondering if its not really a simile, but an honest characterization of the basement in which case there's no need to phrase it as if it were figurativeWhen you first left
I could spread out my arms down here,
And there was always some light.
Now, I can’t move without hitting my head,
Or slamming my shin, or stumbling over
Some ancient pain planted in the dark. Adore this line

I don’t know why I go. Maybe to open
A box of photographs, and laugh at the way
You put me in a play headlock in that picture;
My grin defeating your grip, teeth peeking
Over your massive arms. God,
I never got out of it. Man, these last lines really got me

Some nights, I sit for hours
With grief's elusive engines ???,
Wishing that love wasn’t a pit-bull
Who locks its savage jaws like a vault; For me "pitbull" already implied "savage", so it's okay to drop one descriptor or use and use an alternative potent one... just imo though
Knowing that always, the heart will hold
What could have been
In its crippled hands. Poignant






I don’t understand.

A very moving piece. The lines here are some of your best work imo