Bitter Yellow Sorrow




Oh bitter yellow sorrow

Of pain and death and bile.

The Death Watch has begun.

In his Hundred Years of living

He never said “I’m sorry”.

I told him  “I forgive you”

I said “I thank you for

All you have done.”

But Papa* never said

“I’m sorry”

Never said “It was me,

I am the one.”

Not Papa. No, not my Papa.

In One Hundred Years

He never said “I’m sorry.”

And now the Death Watch

Has begun.

He lived a life of

Gentle kindness …

And deceitful nasty guile.

I am filled with a

Bitter yellow sorrow

Of pain and death and bile.




*Bear’s note:  Papa was my step-father


20 comments on “Bitter Yellow Sorrow

  1. Deborah says:

    Sorry for my delayed response, Bear, but I have been very moved by your poem and your sharing. I have been thinking of you.


  2. Hey Bear.
    I ‘like’ this poem as a poem.
    And because it’s got a sharp, honest edge to it.
    Disturbing mix of kindness and nasty guile. That makes one stop and wonder what lies are hidden down under.

    On another note, Emotions posting will be Saturday instead of Friday. I hope you’re open to an easier posting schedule on certain set days –if not, okay, we can still play other ways.
    Something like Wednesday and Sunday? Do you have other suggestions?
    Hmm. That’s all for now.
    No bile from me.


  3. willowdot21 says:

    Bear that is so lovely , so sad I hope you recovered I hope this is not your family crisis . Why do we so often as humans have so many side not all good.


    • Recovered? Me? Tis Papa who couldn’t recover. He died shortly before I got there. He really was (almost) one hundred. We humans are human. XX


      • willowdot21 says:

        God bless him, I thought you sounded as if this was a healing circle, you coming to terms with the loss.


        • Well it is a bit cryptic. There are a couple of revealing words and phrases that will resonate with persons who have experienced similar childhood circumstances and maybe a few (good) therapists. Of course it will be subjectively interpreted by whoever happens to read it based on whatever has happened in their own lives, and which parts reach out past the words. I did not grow up with my Father, the Flying Fortress navigator. Papa was also WWII veteran. I made the note that he was a step-father so as to make clear that my biological Father and Step Father are NOT the same person …..

          You are right. I did come to terms with the circumstances I was dealt, as a child, long long ago. It is something coming full circle, but not exactly a, er, uhm, ahh, a Healing Circle ….. though, as the person present who knew him the longest (I’m the oldest “child”) I was able to facilitate remembrances that warmed survivors, depending on what I high-lighted and what I omitted.:-) I kind of like you interpretation better than the reality. Thank you, Willow.

          And he actually died when I posted it. Some unforeseeable circumstances delayed me and while waiting for the circumstances to resolve I was compelled to write this down …. my notebook was already packed and loaded in the car … I was all set to go with what would have been plenty of time …. except for the Grae .


  4. Miranda Stone says:

    This is very powerful and moving, Bear.


  5. cindy knoke says:

    Oh, I am so sorry. Such a brave, honest and kind poem. Just like you. Hugz and empathy~


  6. bluesage63 says:

    wow,powerful poem,my sister.. Peace and Blessings i offer you this evening and ♥



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