At The Deathbed

[peter6]

Of course, I was the last to arrive at his bedside;
I feared him the most.
It made no difference that he was dying.
Dying would only make him more unpredictable.
“Christ, you are ugly” he might say.
or “I never liked you, anyway.”
That’s what I was thinking when I leaned over
to greet him.

“Dad, it’s me.” I whispered dutifully,
hoping he wouldn’t wake;
but he did, his face brightening,
thinking his oldest son
was there to save him,
to take him home.

He reached for my hand,
gripped it fiercely,
and threw one leg over the side of the bed.
I pretended to help him;
but I wanted him to stay there
and die without a fuss,
the way it’s done on TV.

His body slumped into the white sheets,
his eyes large with questions
and the realization
there was to be no escape.

He’d talked about his dying to me on the phone.
“It’s okay” he said, “I’m ready”
I was hoping he meant it;
but I could see he was terrified;
the thin thread of life slipping
from his hands.

As usual, I made this all about me,
and stood over him in shame;
I wanted to say something helpful;
but my tongue,
my tongue,
was ash.

[heslopian]

The only thing about this poem I don't like is the repetition of "my tongue" at the end, which I think is slightly corny. This is such a haunted poem, bristling with bad feeling and implying the emaciation of the father without ever being grotesque. It also avoids self-pity, which is the biggest trap of a confessional poem like this. That said, I of course can't be sure if it's strictly confessional, but it's about a painful experience told in the first person, so the trap is still set, and you avoid it with skill. An excellent poem.

[billy]

i had a quick read and liked it , it's 5.am here so i have to get some breakfast but will be back with a more definitive reason why.
hi btw

[peter6]

Heslopian,
Thank you for picking up on the repetitiveness of the last line. I have been trying it different ways. Your feedback was important.
...and thank you for taking the time to comment. I'm new here and will do my best to return the favor.

blue skies,
pete

---

Hi Billy,
Looking forward to hearing more from you.
pete

[billy]

Of course, I was the last to arrive at his bedside;
I feared him the most.
It made no difference that he was dying.
Dying would only make him more unpredictable.
“Christ, you are ugly” he might say.
or “I never liked you, anyway.”
That’s what I was thinking when I leaned over
to greet him.

“Dad, it’s me.” I whispered dutifully,
hoping he wouldn’t wake;
but he did, his face brightening,
thinking his oldest son
was there to save him,
to take him home. for me this verse needs a good image

He reached for my hand,
gripped it fiercely,
and threw one leg over the side of the bed.
I pretended to help him;
but I wanted him to stay there
and die without a fuss,
the way it’s done on TV.

His body slumped into the white sheets,
his eyes large with questions
and the realization
there was to be no escape.

He’d talked about his dying to me on the phone.
“It’s okay” he said, “I’m ready”
I was hoping he meant it;
but I could see he was terrified;
the thin thread of life slipping
from his hands.

As usual, I made this all about me,
and stood over him in shame;
I wanted to say something helpful;
but my tongue,
my tongue,
was ash.

there isn't much can be faulted (imo) it feels a little prose and lacks poetic device bar the good enjambment. the narrative style of the poem counters the prose a lot so it still reads as a good poem. personally i would love to see two or three really strong images, or maybe the use of a couple of metaphor or similes within the piece. the really good thing about it is it's originality, it has lots. it also flows really well.

i found it intriguing that throughout the poem the 1st person felt enough emotion to want the father dead and at the end, wanted to say something helpful. in some ways it mirrors many lives, in that we often leave things till it's too late.
thanks for your first poem, i hope we get to read many more
all jmo

[peter6]

Billy,
Thanks for your help. Lot's of things for me to think about. I'll do some experimenting off line and see how it reads.
gratitude,
pete

[addy]

Of course, I was the last to arrive at his bedside;
I feared him the most. Intriguing opening lines that really drew me in. Nicely done.
It made no difference that he was dying.
Dying would only make him more unpredictable.
“Christ, you are ugly” he might say.
or “I never liked you, anyway.”
That’s what I was thinking when I leaned over
to greet him. I like how revealing these lines are. It's not the fact that the narrator thinks these things, but it's that these specific thoughts come to his mind even as he looks at his dying father... that's what speaks volumes.

“Dad, it’s me.” I whispered dutifully,
hoping he wouldn’t wake;
but he did, his face brightening,
thinking his oldest son
was there to save him,
to take him home. At this point I think you've gone too long with a thought/POV narration... you need to bring more image devices in to carry the poem as well

He reached for my hand,
gripped it fiercely,
and threw one leg over the side of the bed.
I pretended to help him;
but I wanted him to stay there
and die without a fuss,
the way it’s done on TV. Wow, these last three lines were like a punch to the gut

His body slumped into the white sheets,
his eyes large with questions
and the realization
there was to be no escape. I don't think you need this whole stanza at all

He’d talked about his dying to me on the phone.
“It’s okay” he said, “I’m ready”
I was hoping he meant it;
but I could see he was terrified;
the thin thread of life slipping
from his hands.

As usual, I made this all about me,
and stood over him in shame;
I wanted to say something helpful;
but my tongue,
my tongue,
was ash. Poignant, painful place to end it. You kept vague whether not an emotional resolution between father and son would come after. Nicely done

I agree that the way it was written was pretty literal and almost didn't rely on imagery save for a few instances... more prose than poetry. But it's unique and beautiful, and very brave in the perspective it depicts... a son who has become callous but still sympathetic, more so in the face of death (even the narrators reaction to death intrigues me... a relief, a discomfort, something confusing and ineffable). That's a very hard balance,, and you do it well. Just a polish and this will be truly fantastic.