Saturday, January 29, 2011

Saint Paul

A gentle man of calm and quiet restraint,
Memories, because of him, were wonderful,
I’ve always walked in the shadow of a saint.

To me, manners, grace and class he did acquaint,
Your presence, to all, is always delightful,
A gentle man of calm and quiet restraint.

His cool consideration some have thought quaint,
For you, high honor and respect is rightful,
I’ve always walked in the shadow of a saint.

A kind sparkle to his eye, at friendly feint,
With blessings a life past and future is full,
A gentle man of calm and quiet restraint.

A moment of doubt my memory shan't taint,
This, nothing new, you were always forgetful,
I’ve always walked in the shadow of a saint.

A long well-spent life his good story does paint,
Don’t worry, still my hero, be not fretful,
A gentle man of calm and quiet restraint,
I’ve always walked in the shadow of a saint.

Ken Goree

I’ll be writing a poem to Mom too, of course, but Dad got his first.

This poem is a villanelle. Since I don’t want to plagiarize by cutting and pasting the description, you can see the description at the following site:
http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/villanelle.html

I was reading Dylan Thomas’ poem “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night.” After reading it, I read the history behind it. He wrote it while his father was sick and dying. He loved his father very much and he wrote this poem for his father. I love my dad very much also, but decided to write a poem for him while he was still young and healthy enough to enjoy it.

My father has mentioned lately that he worries about getting forgetful. I thought that was a silly comment, and told him so.

“Dad,” I said, “You have always been forgetful. The only difference is, now you are worrying about it.”

Don’t get me wrong, my dad is brilliant. He just has that absent minded professor thing kick –in occasionally. It is a genetic disposition. Those that know me can attest to it. I just have a lot less of “The Professor” in me, and a whole lot more ADD.

My dad is great man. I am sure he is a saint. I have interviewed many relatives and childhood friends of his. Not a single one could produce any dirt on the man. I even got several a bit tipsy in the attempt to glean a bit of information. No luck, my dad was always the guy that got his friends out of trouble. I even hit up a great aunt in the late stages of dementia. It started off looking like I had my way in … she thought I was my dad!

“Hey Gertrude, remember that time when I was a kid and got in really big trouble.”

“Oh, Paul,” she said a twinkle of rational thought and shrewdness flickering across her face, “You never did anything wrong in your whole life.”

Dang, the meds would have to kick-in, right then.

There is more to be said about Dear Old Dad, but enough for now.

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