ManicDDaily

My Father

My father knelt beside my bed; his round head
reflecting the bedside lamp with the look
of lighting within.  “And the genie,” he said,
“came out of a big blue jar.”  Not from a book
were the stories he told me at night.
Always of genies who were big-blue-jarred
and did fairly little, only the slight
magic of minor wishes, often ill-starred.
Though the stories were just a warm up to
the bedtime prayer.  “Our Father,” that would start,
then straight out head for “hallowed”, “trespass” too,
unknown words, to me a spell he knew by heart,
invoking, croakingly, a wished-for will
bigger than jars blue genies might fill.

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This is a very old poem, a sonnet, that I am reposting (with some slight re-working) for the wonderful Brian Miller’s prompt “bedtime stories” at dVerse Poets Pub.  I am not at my best so may be slow returning comments, but will get back to people eventually, thanks!   (Yes, I know Pat the Bunny doesn’t really go with it!) 

I have gone back and edited the last line of this poem since first posting. I still don’t feel it’s quite right!  Agh!