Pencil Stubs Online
Reader Recommends


 

Clarence

By John I. Blair

My father had a name that no one ever used.
Instead we called him Bud, or Uncle Bud,
Blair, C.I., Cast Iron, or Dad,
A bluff and earthy man with sunburned skin
Who knew rough tales and hammered nails or tin
Like some Viking god.

But he had another side.

Clarence read books by hundreds,
Knew the names of all the trees and birds he saw,
Made pretty things of wood,
Carved willow whistles, blew smoke rings,
Showed how a top is spun,
Loved children and was loved by them,
And, despite his deafness,
Often hummed a quiet tune.

We should all retain a special name
Just initiates can know;
For what lies inside may not always
Match the face we show.

2003 John I. Blair


Click on author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.


 

Refer a friend to this Poem

Your Name -
Your Email -
Friend's Name - 
Friends Email - 

 

Reader Comments

Post YOUR Comments!
Name:
Email:
Comments:

Please enter the code in the image above into the box
below. It is Case-Sensitive. Blue is lowercase, Black
is uppercase, and red is numeric.
Code:

Horizontal Navigator

 

HOME

To report problems with this page, email Webmaster

Copyright 2002 AMEA Publications