Holidays & Occasions Father's Day Our Favorite Father's Day Poems By Mary Shannon Wells Mary Shannon Wells Mary Shannon is an Associate Digital Editor and has been on the Southern Living team since 2017. She helps run the brand's social media accounts on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, and TikTok, where she's happily behind the scenes. When she's not ruffling feathers with an etiquette poll via Instagram Stories, she's writing content for the website and assisting in various print projects like gift guides and home stories. Southern Living's editorial guidelines Published on May 18, 2018 Share Tweet Pin Email Trending Videos Photo: Rae Russel/Getty Images After we shower our moms with flowers, love, and gifts on Mother's Day, Father's Day can get put on the backburner when it arrives the next month. Show Dad some extra appreciation this year with these Father's Day poems. If you're looking for a message but can't quite get the words right, let a poet do the heavy lifting. Whether you need a Father's Day Instagram caption or you're looking for the perfect wishes to tell him in person, these poems are a meaningful route to take. If you're feeling sentimental or you're in the mood for a laugh, there's a poem for you, and if you're mourning the loss of a father this year, you can find solace in a beautiful poem in loving memory of your dad. This year, show Dad you love him, say thank you, or simply dazzle him with a few favorites. 01 of 07 To Get Sentimental: David Turnley/Getty Images Fathers Are Wonderful PeopleBy Helen Steiner Rice Fathers are wonderful peopletoo little understood,And we do not sing their praisesas often as we should… For somehow Father seems to bethe man who pays the bills,While Mother binds up little hurtsand nurses all our ills… And Father struggles dailyto live up to his imageAs protector and providerand hero of the scrimmage… And perhaps that is the reasonwe sometimes get the notionThat fathers are not subjectto the thing we call emotion, But if you look inside Dad's heart,where no one else can see,You'll find he's sentimentaland as soft as he can be… But he's so busy every dayin the grueling race of life,He leaves the sentimental stuffto his partner and his wife… But fathers are just wonderfulin a million different ways,And they merit loving complimentsand accolades of praise, For the only reason Dad aspiresto fortune and successIs to make the family proud of himand to bring them happiness… And like our heavenly Father,he's a guardian and a guide,Someone that we can count onto be always on our side. 02 of 07 From Son To Father: Orlando/Stringer/Getty Images A Boy and His DadBy Edgar Guest A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip—There is a glorious fellowship!Father and son and the open skyAnd the white clouds lazily drifting by,And the laughing stream as it runs alongWith the clicking reel like a martial song,And the father teaching the youngster gayHow to land a fish in the sportsman's way. I fancy I hear them talking thereIn an open boat, and the speech is fair.And the boy is learning the ways of menFrom the finest man in his youthful ken.Kings, to the youngster, cannot compareWith the gentle father who's with him there.And the greatest mind of the human raceNot for one minute could take his place. Which is happier, man or boy?The soul of the father is steeped in joy,For he's finding out, to his heart's delight,That his son is fit for the future fight.He is learning the glorious depths of him,And the thoughts he thinks and his every whim;And he shall discover, when night comes on,How close he has grown to his little son. A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip—Builders of life's companionship!Oh, I envy them, as I see them thereUnder the sky in the open air,For out of the old, old long-agoCome the summer days that I used to know,When I learned life's truths from my father's lipsAs I shared the joy of his fishing-trips. 03 of 07 From Daughter To Father: George Marks/Getty Images FatherBy Ella Wheeler Wilcox He never made a fortune, or a noiseIn the world where men are seeking after fame;But he had a healthy brood of girls and boysWho loved the very ground on which he trod.They thought him just little short of God;Oh you should have heard the way they said his name –'Father.' There seemed to be a loving little prayerIn their voices, even when they called him 'Dad.'Though the man was never heard of anywhere,As a hero, yet somehow understoodHe was doing well his part and making good;And you knew it, by the way his children hadOf saying 'Father.' He gave them neither eminence nor wealth,But he gave them blood untainted with a vice,And opulence of undiluted health.He was honest, and unpurchable and kind;He was clean in heart, and body, and in mind.So he made them heirs to riches without price –This father. He never preached or scolded; and the rod –Well, he used it as a turning pole in play.But he showed the tender sympathy of God.To his children in their troubles, and their joys.He was always chum and comrade with his boys,And his daughters – oh, you ought to hear them say'Father.' Now I think of all achievements 'tis the leastTo perpetuate the species; it is doneBy the insect and the serpent, and the beast.But the man who keeps his body, and his thought,Worth bestowing on an offspring love-begot,Then the highest earthly glory he was won,When in pride a grown-up daughter or a sonSays 'That's Father.' 04 of 07 For A Good Laugh: Mirrorpix/Getty Images FatherBy Edgar Guest My father knows the proper wayThe nation should be run;He tells us children every dayJust what should now be done.He knows the way to fix the trusts,He has a simple plan;But if the furnace needs repairs,We have to hire a man. My father, in a day or twoCould land big thieves in jail;There's nothing that he cannot do,He knows no word like "fail.""Our confidence" he would restore,Of that there is no doubt;But if there is a chair to mend,We have to send it out. All public questions that arise,He settles on the spot;He waits not till the tumult dies,But grabs it while it's hot.In matters of finance he canTell Congress what to do;But, O, he finds it hard to meetHis bills as they fall due. It almost makes him sick to readThe things law-makers say;Why, father's just the man they need,He never goes astray.All wars he'd very quickly end,As fast as I can write it;But when a neighbor starts a fuss,'Tis mother has to fight it. In conversation father canDo many wondrous things;He's built upon a wiser planThan presidents or kings.He knows the ins and outs of eachAnd every deep transaction;We look to him for theories,But look to ma for action. 05 of 07 The Ultimate Thank You: Fox Photos/Stringer/Getty Images To Her Father with Some VersesBy Anne Bradstreet Most truly honoured, and as truly dear,If worth in me or ought I do appear,Who can of right better demand the sameThan may your worthy self from whom it came?The principal might yield a greater sum,Yet handled ill, amounts but to this crumb;My stock's so small I know not how to pay,My bond remains in force unto this day;Yet for part payment take this simple mite,Where nothing's to be had, kings loose their right.Such is my debt I may not say forgive,But as I can, I'll pay it while I live;Such is my bond, none can discharge but I,Yet paying is not paid until I die. 06 of 07 For The Hard Worker: Ed Clark/Getty Images Only a DadBy Edgar Guest Only a dad with a tired face,Coming home from the daily race,Bringing little of gold or fameTo show how well he has played the game;But glad in his heart that his own rejoiceTo see him come and to hear his voice. Only a dad with a brood of four,One of ten million men or morePlodding along in the daily strife,Bearing the whips and the scorns of life,With never a whimper of pain or hate,For the sake of those who at home await. Only a dad, neither rich nor proud,Merely one of the surging crowdToiling, striving from day to day,Facing whatever may come his way,Silent whenever the harsh condemn,And bearing it all for the love of them. Only a dad but he gives his allTo smooth the way for his children small,Doing with courage stern and grim,The deeds that his father did for him.This is the line that for him I pen:Only a dad, but the best of men. 07 of 07 In Loving Memory: Rae Russel/Getty Images my father moved through dooms of loveBy E.E. Cummings 34 my father moved through dooms of lovethrough sames of am through haves of give,singing each morning out of each nightmy father moved through depths of height this motionless forgetful whereturned at his glance to shining here;that if (so timid air is firm)under his eyes would stir and squirm newly as from unburied whichfloats the first who, his april touchdrove sleeping selves to swarm their fateswoke dreamers to their ghostly roots and should some why completely weepmy father's fingers brought her sleep:vainly no smallest voice might cryfor he could feel the mountains grow. Lifting the valleys of the seamy father moved through griefs of joy;praising a forehead called the moonsinging desire into begin joy was his song and joy so purea heart of star by him could steerand pure so now and now so yesthe wrists of twilight would rejoice keen as midsummer's keen beyondconceiving mind of sun will stand,so strictly (over utmost himso hugely) stood my father's dream his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:no hungry man but wished him food;no cripple wouldn't creep one mileuphill to only see him smile. Scorning the Pomp of must and shallmy father moved through dooms of feel;his anger was as right as rainhis pity was as green as grain septembering arms of year extendless humbly wealth to foe and friendthan he to foolish and to wiseoffered immeasurable is proudly and (by octobering flamebeckoned) as earth will downward climb,so naked for immortal workhis shoulders marched against the dark his sorrow was as true as bread:no liar looked him in the head;if every friend became his foehe'd laugh and build a world with snow. My father moved through theys of we,singing each new leaf out of each tree(and every child was sure that springdanced when she heard my father sing) then let men kill which cannot share,let blood and flesh be mud and mire,scheming imagine, passion willed,freedom a drug that's bought and sold giving to steal and cruel kind,a heart to fear, to doubt a mind,to differ a disease of same,conform the pinnacle of am though dull were all we taste as bright,bitter all utterly things sweet,maggoty minus and dumb deathall we inherit, all bequeath and nothing quite so least as truth—i say though hate were why men breathe—because my Father lived his soullove is the whole and more than all Was this page helpful? Thanks for your feedback! Tell us why! Other Submit