Poems about my father and grandfather

A cousin of mine was mining through my grandfather's things (he died many years ago) and found a poem written about my father by a member and friend of his from the Rotarian Club in Iowa. It reminded me that I had once written a poem about missing my dad and a poem I wrote just after attending my grandfather's funeral. With your indulgence, I would like to share them with you.

My dad was, among many things, a clown. When I was a real little kid, he came up to me and my mom dressed as a clown during the WL parade...scared the bejesus out of me. He was "chased away" by a friend of his. I didn't know it was my dad until after he had died. I never saw him again dressed as a clown. Ironic that I became a pantomime in school and college. I have all of my dad's clown costumes and stuff. Funny how things turn out.

The Joy of the World’s Smile

Touching his reality with soft powder
He examines the stories in his face
Reflects the reflection
Smiles sad and wise.
Adds meaning to the blue cake tears
Resting on cheeks white as laughing stars.
Tattered gloves smooth perma-wrinkle clothing
Dance along scattered patches
Parts fire-orange curls for a hat
That has never seen better days.
Loving us so dangerously that no risk is too great
Needing so badly that no laugh is belly-big enough.
He speaks to us with eloquent silence.
Gives us slapstick as rich as gold.
With crazed colors in a riotous rainbow
We learn courage.
We see the tears trapped on his cheeks
And laugh at the pain he endures for us.
I try to catch his eye for only a moment
I want his smile to be for me.
Lights and laughter melt into the sand
Leaving only a silence
Which is both life and death.
Softly the shadows console his longing to be loved.
Do not cry, Mr. Clown.
Wipe the tears gone and share with me the joy of the world’s smile.
Sing to me songs with the magic of your silence.
Take my hand let me see
The sweet/sad beauty of your inspiration.

For a moment he turned towards me
Managed one last love filled smile
And the cheers of a thousand clowns filled the silent tent.
Then he was gone
Never came back.
But the silence still knows his songs.
I listen and remember.


Dedicated to the memory of my father, Ronald D. Butler
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Grandpa Butler was the patriarch of the Butler clan. He was a teller of stories, a professional speaker. He was a gentle constant of nature for a family lost in waves of grief from my father's death.


A Story Worth Tellin’

It was easy to touch
The world of his smile.
Draw strength from eyes
Which had seen more than I.
Listen to his wisdom behind the punchline.
Watch him recall breathtaking beauty
From the ugliest side of man.

He loved us
Although he wouldn’t have put it that way.
Cherishing stories of family.
And I think this is why
His death is so hard to grasp.

His is a story worth tellin’.
But I’ve no words to do him justice.
Cannot tell it the way he could.
The world I know is quiet.
Having lost its teller of stories.

I can see him.
Sitting back in his green easy chair
Laughing with the Hawkeyes
Half buried in clippings on a T.V. tray.
He laughs for the joke is still funny to him:
“Its all timing, “lil chicken,
I’m as close as your favorite story
I used to tell”.


Dedicated to the memory of Emmett F. Butler, my grandfather.
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Share with me your thoughts about your fathers and grandfathers.