Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
Michael Simms: Jude the Obscure, Forgiveness
Jude the Obscure
My daughter Lea is my friend
so I called her last night. We talked
a long time about what she wants.
A good marriage, a better job,
a baby before the window
of youth closes. She remembers
her house in Botswana.
Two hours on a crowded bus
to buy food at Bush Baby Calls
in Maun. She got robbed twice.
Later, her pet goat Bantlé
ate the Baobab in her yard.
I told her I had another family
before she was born. Two stepchildren.
I sometimes wonder what became
of them, whether they survived me.
Lea sometimes wonders what became of Bantlé.
He probably ended up in a stew, she said.
The sunrise in our garden is really something
I said, changing the subject. It really is
she said, remembering the last time
she was here. And now
standing on the patio in late summer
I wish Lea could see this light
lowering itself gently into the arms
of the Aphrodite sweet shrub
and tangling itself in the thorns
of Jude the Obscure named for
the many petals of our sins against others.
Echinacea are holding their last blossoms,
songbirds are praising the new day,
and the tenacious morning glory
is surviving uninvited, but not alone
~
Forgiveness
Our garden has survived
the warmest summer since the Pliocene.
I tell friends Eva is in charge of beauty
while I’m in charge of digging holes.
They think I’m joking, but I enjoy
breaking through the gray clay
of this ancient mountain
to reveal darkness where something–
earthworms, mycelia, nematodes —
is supposed to be alive but isn’t.
These days digging down
I don’t feel resentment anymore.
I’ve forgiven everyone, even myself.
Years ago I let go of my father
who confused money with virtue
and died broke, full of regret,
saying I’m sorry I’m sorry
because forgiveness wasn’t enough.
He came late to understand
we don’t get what we want,
we don’t get what we need,
we get what we get. What’s done
is done. No do-overs. I’ve tried to be
a better father than my father
but maybe I’ve failed. The jury
of my past selves can’t arrive
at a decision in the dark.
~~~~
Michael Simms is the founding editor of Vox Populi. His speculative novels include The Blessed Isle (Madville 2023, 2024, 2025) and his poetry collections include Strange Meadowlark and Jubal Rising (Ragged Sky 2023, 2025).
Copyright 2025. These poems first appeared in a special section of European Poetry, edited by Helen Pletts.
Discover more from Vox Populi
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Dear Michael,I found these poems after looking for other poems – isn’t that something, how that works? – and I took both in after talking with my son, miles across the ocean, homesick and lonely, while typing in his bedroom.The poignancy of these poems together went whoosh, right into my heart. Oh, the tenderness of love and parenthood, of forgiveness and repair.I wonder if you’ve heard these words from Bayo Akomolafe? They came to mind while reading your poems:”Your life’s work is an intergenerational project, an ancestral conspiracy, a continuous meeting of bodies, a queering of temporality. Your life is not yours to resolve, yours to complete, or yours to contain. You will not finally be decolonized; you will not finally be enlightened; you will not finally be ‘good’ – no matter how conscientious, aware, ‘woke’ or alive you are. It is because your life is necessarily the life of the many – blessed with shadows, inner workings, sedimentation, ruptures, departures, arrivals, and frayed edges. Be thankful for the threadbare places of your life, for it gives the many who are yet to come something to stitch theirs with.”- Bayo Akomolafe
Thank you for your regenerative words.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh my, Karly. I am so honored by your words. The quotation from Bayo Akomalafe is new to me and so moving and profound. Thank you!!!!!
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are very welcome, Michael. I believe I found Bayo’s words in one of his articles on his website, and they have continued to feed me.
Year by year life teaches me to welcome the threadbare places of my life, and the threadbare places of the ones who came before me. What a thought – that these threadbare places could be one of the inheritances I leave my loved ones, along with my love. And that my ancestors’ threadbare places are a part of their love, too. I think poetry is fertile ground for this kind of stitching!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautifully said, Karly. Thank you.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Something in the air tonight made me go seeking Michael’s gut-level honest poetry. Is it because of how complex the world has become, how disingenuous people are? Because I needed some truth-telling about the human condition apart from the political landscape? I don’t know – I only know it helped soothe me. Thanks for being here.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Patricia. Your generous comment means a great deal to me.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
A power duo, Michael. ❤️💔
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Lisa!
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, these two together. Wow. There is something so much more beautiful and profound about this conversation with a daughter after reading
“I’ve tried to bea better father than my fatherbut maybe I’ve failed.”
And oh, this exploration of what we tend, what survives, what finds a way to grow, and this ongoing practice of forgiving ourselves, each other, the world …
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Rosemerry. This is a very generous thing for you to say.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ditto, Rosemerry’s comments. Love these two poems together, Michael.
The second poem suggests a failure that the first poem refutes. Breathe easy…
Also, I’m sorry your dad was so mistaken about virtue. And, about his struggle to receive fully in life the gifts of self-forgiveness and unconditional love. I pray for your family that all generational curses are broken and that, no matter what happens, each of you thrives.
Lastly, these poems made me remember many little ways in which I’ve failed, wrongs that, by now, no one but I remembers. I prayed the morning I first read your poems for forgiveness for these things and have been feeling new freedom since. Thanks so much! Rock on!
LikeLike
What a lovely and generous response, Desne. Thank you.
>
LikeLike
Michael, I’m about to leave
LikeLike
Where are you going, Laurie?
LikeLike
Michael— so sorry. My message got cut off. I was just saying that I was/am about to leave to give a reading tonight and needed inspiration— which I got from your beautiful poems. So thank you!!!!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Laurie. I thought you meant you were leaving the country — which is something I think about often.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
These poems move me so, so deeply. Thank you, thank you, Michael!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, thank you, Meg. I love your poems as well.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
These are such gorgeous poems, Michael. Linda
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Linda!
>
LikeLike
These two are as beautiful as they are treacherous and tenacious, well dug by the digger of holes! To not feel resentment anymore—a profound goal. The voice is knowing, friendly, deep. A garden well tended.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Adam!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I followed your poems. Things are changing. From concentrating on your inner self to concentrating on the world of things, stones and plants.Now the familial narrative is showing up but it is clean, no Freudian crimes or struggle. Relations are pure as to say the humans reflect closely innocent nature.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Saleh. I admire you so much. Your praise is like gold in the air between us.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
michael, thank you. i read these poems early in the Easter dawn and welcome their light. sublime as was said and i repeat. goat stew to make me laugh, tenderness to make me dream of fathers that can and could…a bow to read that you were such a one… these poems touch a raw nerve in their brave simplicity. thank you for them.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Margo. I admire your ecstatic imagination.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
We get what we get.
So profoundly true.
Thank you for your gift of vox populi in my email.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you for your time and attention, Lori.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Exquisite. Exquisite.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Councilman. My deepest respect for your service.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Councilman. My deepest respect for your service.
LikeLike
Perfect poems for today. Regret and blame rule and destroy some lives. If we can accept “it is what it is” in our personal lives and forgive we can then appreciate and smile at bird song and the glow and beauty of Jude the Obscure. I’ve got to buy one of those!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks as always, Leo…
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Those poems are in such deeply human conversation with each other — those questions, those doubts, those moments of love and vulnerability so important to me right now. I’m grateful for them, glad you brought them to us together. A togetherness that — just like these poems — makes us, your readers, stronger and more hopeful by their openness & universality.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Oh, thank you, Laure-Anne. I admire your poems so much.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Strong, vivid, and touching! Reveal what parents feel about the relationship with their children. “I’ve tried to be / a better father than my father.”–Like this line.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, John. I admire your poems as well.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
I love this! Poignant description of “parent guilt” that crops up in every parent. Congratulations at least 40 times for weathering the storms of life and finding joy and forgiveness in spite of them. I am in awe of your accomplishments and insights, and forever grateful happenstance brought us to the same place at the same time. U considering reading your poetry a privilege.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you! You are very kind to say so.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Oh Michael, you have captured the joys and pains of parenting, especially ‘no do-overs’. We just each try our best to love in our own imperfect ways. Thank you for these touching poems.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Jan. We’ve been online friends for a long time, and I’ve always appreciated your comments and encouragement.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Michael, a mutual appreciation.
LikeLike
Such moving and wonderful poems. I so identify with all of this.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Donna. Love your work.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
And I love yours!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Each poem in its own right powerful, poignant, and absolutely beautifully crafted. I shrugged my shoulders with Lea and tried to forgive myself as a not perfect parent. But apart from that I just admired the writing. I am taking this very much with me: “The jury
of my past selves can’t arrive / at a decision in the dark.”
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Rose Mary. I appreciate your poems and comments here.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Is that every parent’s fear, “What’s done
is done. No do-overs. I’ve tried to be
a better father than my father
but maybe I’ve failed.“ and I’ve tried to be a good citizen, voted in every election, stood up for the disenfranchised and what is done is done and why didn’t it make a difference for family or country? Pain is universal and suffering does not feel optional.
LikeLiked by 2 people
(And thank you for the poems)
LikeLiked by 2 people
Life is suffering. Also it is joy and love.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Beautiful poems, Michael. As always.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Stephanie, my good friend.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
Powerful metaphors lift both these poems from the ordinary to a literary intimacy with a daughter, a family, and through them your readers. They become a pair of texts with extraordinary vision of what’s deep and real, in some ways transcendent, and for me redemptive.
And as an old friend, a biologist, once remarked: all praise to the nematodes.
LikeLiked by 2 people
OMG Jim: Those nematodes! They’re still gonna be here after the asteroids have come and gone!
indomitable!
LikeLiked by 2 people
I love nematodes. We wouldn’t last long without them.
>
LikeLiked by 2 people
I really enjoyed these Michael–the accepted sorrow, the accepted past that cannot be changed, and the Stones ringing behind the second poem–we certainly don’t always get what we want or need.
LikeLiked by 3 people
As I read these two fine poems of Michael’s I thought of your words in the book FInding the World’s Fulness. Both Words of Power, and metaphors to live in came to mind as I finished each poem here. Thanks for that wonderful book, btw. My copy is now a mess of underlinings.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks so much for your words. That book meant a lot to me,
Bob
LikeLiked by 2 people
Finding the World’s Fullness, not Fulness. hehe
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Bob. So glad you’ve joined our VP community.
LikeLiked by 2 people
So deep, beautiful and stirring. Each piece on its own, together sublime.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Sublime…? wow, thank you!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Michael:
What perfect timing these poems arrive and provide something so consoling and retrospective to my soul. This is whole life arriving in time in our broken, disjunctive world that leaves me speechless. Even if the goat wound up in a stew, and even if our fathers are gone and what we’ve gotten is what we got, the three poems give me an essential consolation about what has happened and what is to be next. Thankyou. They are exactly what I needed between the day of darkness, and tomorrow’s blinding light.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Beautifully said, Sean! I’m honored that a poet of your skill and inspiration would praise my work. Thank you!
>
LikeLiked by 2 people