Inspiring and Touching Father's Day Poems

Fathers Day Cake
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Of the many traditions associated with Father's Day, the proverbial Father's Day poem is one of the most loved. These poems can be used on handmade or printed cards, put on a plaque, or just read when recognizing a father on his special day. Some are by well-known poets, some not so well known, and some by authors unknown. But each one has a special theme and can be used in a variety of ways on Father's Day. 

  • 01 of 05

    Story Telling

    Father reconnecting at home
    Creative RM / Getty Images

    Most every night when they're in bed,
    And both their little prayers have said,
    They shout for me to come upstairs
    And tell them tales of gypsies bold,
    And eagles with the claws that hold
    A baby's weight, and fairy sprites
    That roam the woods on starry nights.

    And I must illustrate these tales,
    Must imitate the northern gales
    That toss the native man's canoe,
    And show the way he paddles, too.
    If in the story comes a bear,
    I have to pause and sniff the air
    And show the way he climbs the trees
    To steal the honey from the bees.

    And then I buzz like angry bees
    And sting him on his nose and knees
    And howl in pain, till mother cries:
    "That pair will never shut their eyes,
    While all that noise up there you make;
    You're simply keeping them awake."
    And then they whisper: "Just one more,"
    And once again I'm forced to roar.

    New stories every night they ask.
    And that is not an easy task;
    I have to be so many things,
    The frog that croaks, the lark that sings,
    The cunning fox, the frightened hen;
    But just last night they stumped me, when
    They wanted me to twist and squirm
    And imitate an angle worm.

    At last, they tumble off to sleep,
    And softly from their room I creep
    And brush and comb the shock of hair
    I tossed about to be a bear.
    Then mother says: "Well, I should say
    You're just as much a child as they."
    But you can bet I'll not resign
    That story telling job of mine.

    By Edgar A. Guest

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  • 02 of 05

    My Dad's Hands

    Father and daughter (4-5) holding hands in park, mid section
    AAGAMIA/Getty Images

    Bedtime came, we were settling down,
    I was holding one of my lads.
    As I grasped him so tight, I saw a strange sight:
    My hands... they looked like my dad's!

    I remember them well, those old gnarled hooks,
    there was always a cracked nail or two.
    And thanks to a hammer that strayed from its mark,
    his thumb was a beautiful blue!

    They were rough, I remember, incredibly tough,
    as strong as a carpenter's vice.
    But holding a scared little boy at night,
    they seemed to me awfully nice!

    The sight of those hands - how impressive it was
    in the eyes of his little boy.
    Other dads' hands were cleaner, it seemed
    (the effects of their office employ).

    I gave little thought in my formative years
    of the reason for Dad's raspy mitts:
    The love in the toil, the dirt and the oil,
    rusty plumbing that gave those hands fits!

    Thinking back, misty-eyed, and thinking ahead,
    when one day my time is done.
    The torch of love in my own wrinkled hands
    will pass on to the hands of my son.

    I don't mind the bruises, the scars here and there
    or the hammer that just seemed to slip.
    I want most of all when my son takes my hand,
    to feel that love lies in the grip.

    By David Ketter

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  • 03 of 05

    A Little Girl Needs Daddy

    Portrait of jumping cool girl with sunglasses
    Klaus Vedfelt/Getty Images

    A little girl needs Daddy
    For many, many things:
    Like holding her high off the ground
    Where the sunlight sings!

    Like being the deep music
    That tells her all is right
    When she awakens frantic with
    The terrors of the night.

    Like being the great mountain
    That rises in her heart
    And shows her how she might get home
    When all else falls apart.

    Like giving her the love
    That is her sea and air,
    So diving deep or soaring high
    She'll always find him there.

    By Unknown Author

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  • 04 of 05

    What Makes a Dad?

    Father and family outdoors
    Creative RF / Getty Images

    God took the strength of a mountain,
    The majesty of a tree,
    The warmth of a summer sun,
    The calm of a quiet sea,
    The generous soul of nature,
    The comforting arm of night,
    The wisdom of the ages,
    The power of the eagle's flight,
    The joy of a morning in spring,
    The faith of a mustard seed,
    The patience of eternity,
    The depth of a family need,
    Then God combined these qualities,
    When there was nothing more to add,
    He knew His masterpiece was complete,
    And so, He called it ... Dad

    By Unknown Author

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  • 05 of 05

    Seize the Moment

    Father and Son Playing Baseball
    Creative RF / Getty Images

    It's Saturday morning. The tall grass needs mowed.
    The garden needs weeding. The drain's overflowed.
    The garage is a clutter. The car needs repair.
    All need his attention, but he doesn't care.

    The roof has a leak and new shingles are waiting
    His long list of "to-do's" are accumulating.
    What's so important to warrant delay?
    Does he think if ignored, they will just go away?

    How can this man with so much on his plate
    Find good cause and reason to procrastinate?
    It's because he's a man who is certainly wise.
    A giant of a man in his dear family's eyes.

    A man who knows well his priorities,
    And chooses the moments important to seize.
    So where is this man with so much to be done?
    He's in the backyard playing catch with his son.

    By Ron Tranmer