Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Narrative Mother Poems | Narrative Poems About Mother

These Narrative Mother poems are examples of Narrative poems about Mother. These are the best examples of Narrative Mother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative | |

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

You were beautiful, 
my tiny child, 
wrapped tightly in my arms, 
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
Helpless, 
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.

Will you hear me
when I cry out? 
Will you hold me close
as I held you then? 

I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway, 
cautiously, 
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run? 
no longer work? 
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too? 

I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.

I am proud too, 
of my writing
and my drawing, 
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you? 
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth? 
Will you be proud of me too? 

I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however, 
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.

But 
I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left, 
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am? 

You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love, 
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.

I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.

You welcomed her home today- 
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.

You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately, 

"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "


Details | Narrative | |

Precipice of a Lost Innocence

I am standing outside my bedroom, on the precipice of lost innocence.
Wide eyed, and barefoot on cold hardwood.
Someone is hammering on our front door.
My father, looking a bit annoyed, shuffles anxiously down the stairs.
Tussled hair, a bewildered vein bulging in his forehead,
wearing his old, blue plaid robe, the one with the woven rope belt,
he looks like a lightweight boxer, ready to enter the ring.

There are two grim faced policemen waiting on the front porch.
My mother, at the top of the stairs, clutches the neck of her gown.
She looks as if she might choke herself.
Confused concern, reflects in sleep swollen eyes.

They ask my father,  “How well do you know those folks across the road?”
As they notice me standing on the stairs, they quickly lower their voices.
In a hushed, rather husky monotone, they explain to my father... 
whispering something about a boy who has taken a shotgun out into the hills… 
He has taken his own life…and has been identified as the boy..., 
the teenager, who lives kitty-corner across  our road.
The same kid who mowed our grass when Dad was sick for a spell last summer.
The one who bags Mom’s groceries at the local A & P.
They think I don’t hear them            ……but I do…
and I hear them ask my father, 
      would he,  please, come along to help them break the news?

My father, glazed eyes, and head low, steps away a moment, to quickly dress.
I remember hearing my mother gasp, then suck in a  sob,..
But then is right behind me, pulling me towards her…..
and I can feel her heart pounding, through flannel of my pajamas.
She is squeezing my shoulders..so hard that it hurts,.... somehow I don’t mind.
I look up seeking reassurance,.... her eyes are huge, …
                      and she knows that I have heard…. 
And we both know,...that nothing will ever be the same. 
After this day is over,  the childhood of yesterday, will wear a different face…

Father pulls a coat over his pajama tops, …he gives my mother a touch on the arm.
With a desolate look at me, he touches my head.
He steps out into the darkness of a not quite dawn.
And through the window,  I can see the line of shadows on the lawn.
Three men, like hunched over soldiers, walking slowly into the wounds of a new day.

.............................................
(Sadly,  this is based on a true story)


Details | Narrative | |

Life Is What You Make It

Birth was suppose to come easier than this
I pant quickly as I was taught, but it isn't helping,
nor is squinting my eyes,  helping to make the pain go away
But, then when pain evaporates like the tears in the corners of my eyes,
without ever getting a chance to slide slowly down my cheeks,
it fools me in thinking it is almost over now, and I should be happy
 
But all I can think about is my mother
and how different it was for her, 
especially while her young husband was so far away

My back aches, and then once again, 
I look for the owner of the mysterious voice, that is my own
I groan, and the doctor finally makes the desperate decision
I am given a block for the pain, an incision is made
and although I feel numb, and foggy, my mind in a haze
I can feel hands grope, ... a tug, a void, and then...the small noise... a cry...

And the next several hours are a blur
until everything is clear and I'm back in my room
on the sterilized sheets, too stiff, and too sleek, 
too fragrant of bleach, to think about sleeping

This miracle I bore, soft as silk, with tiny closed fists, rose-petal nails
fills me with joy, with relief, with a deep pang of grief
for another time, another place, a place long ago...

I bathe in the scent of my brand new beginning ......
But my thoughts stream behind me,...... to a hope that had ended
My mother in bed, after losing her first....
So young, without child,........ bleeding red
from the war that she fought, while my Dad fought his own

I cry tears all alone.... for the grief that she owned
I so cherish the breath.....of this babe on my breast

The circle of life, starts with birth .....sometimes, death




_________________________________________________________
3/14/14


Details | Narrative | |

Birth, in a Quiet Room

“Well,” She asked; her eyes wide. Beads of hot sweat glistening on her brow like miniature 
crystal suns. Her angst was palpable. “What is it!”
     The air was still. There were no words. Just the sound of bodies breathing in – and 
holding.
     “Congratulations.” He held out his arms, handing the mother, her baby, “You have a son.”
     The moment shone like glass in the center of the heavens – pure and eternal.
     It was redemption from every wrong thing she’d ever done. 
     It was the shining eyes of God smiling onto her exhausted face; lighting it with hope.    
     It was the only place there was – the only time, the only space. 
     It was the only feeling that existed. 
     They were the only two incarnate souls in the room; on the planet, and in the universe.
     This was her child –
     her son.
     And she was his mother.

     (there are no words for such things. suddenly, I feel like an intruder. there are too many 
eyes, words and moments here. so it is here, I take my leave; leaving this mother and the 
only soul in her universe to their perfect moment. they will have many more moments in this 
lifetime; but none as sacred, as human, or as eternal as the first look from life to life; 
mother to child; heaven to earth, as the very first. None.)
     
“It’s a boy.” she whispered. Her throat a crumbling tunnel; stunned, but not really. Like 
she’d known it all along. “My baby boy…” She smiled into his ancient, brand-new face; 
tracing his delicate cheek with the back of her finger. “He’s perfect.” 
     She ran her palm along the bottom of his soft, miraculous foot, and laughed. “Look at 
your feet – they’re huge!”
     And as she wiped the tears with the heel of her shaking hand – smearing what was left of 
her mascara - she looked in to his, as close to heaven as one can get, eyes, and said, “Hi.
I’m your mama.” He smiled at her. He knew. He’d known it all along. “And I’ll love you 
forever…”
     The world closed its shades then. Leaving the sacred to its history; the moment to 
eternity; and their universe to its quiet, little room.
     


*Inspired by Deborah's, You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby, contest; and every mother 
who has graced this sacred room.


Details | Narrative | |

The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee


Details | Narrative | |

October's Gift

It is October again, but I have another in mind
One long ago, and it brings tender memories
It wasn't the usual, of Halloween kind
Of parties and goblins, of which there were many

It was a year of some changes, our family had moved
I was ten years old...struggling and shy
A small little town, I'd been replanted and torn 
It was late in October...now uprooted and more...
A different school....a country lane....no close neighbors next door

On Halloween night, it rained and it poured
The end of the world...I was unhappy and bored
Leaving what had been home, familiar and sure
Where our old street had been filled
With Halloween thrills
Here in the country, ...no one came to the door

I was dressed to go out...but storms plagued the night
My mom understood....she saw my sad plight

She went up to her room, made up her face
She combed up her hair, until it stood on it's roots
Covered her face with black fireplace soot
She threw on her robe, and pulled on dad's boots
Crept out the back door, and to the front porch

When the doorbell rang....I jumped in delight!
Trick-or-treaters had come to our house this dark night!!
When I opened the door, at first I didn't see
It was mom, ...trying to hard, bring me some glee!
She grabbed me and laughed and pulled me to come
Out into the rainstorm....up the road we would run
We ran in the downpour, getting soaked to our skin
Laughing and yelling....such fun it had been!

Later that night, we warmed by the fire
She let me stay up....no one was tired
So cozy and warm...no longer so cold
With popcorn, and candy...and the ghost stories told
That one Halloween, on that night of the storm
Was the best Halloween....and reminds me of home.....
I'll never forget  when each Halloween comes
The gift of the fun....   all thanks to my mom.....


Details | Narrative | |

Surprise Factor

    (Why I'm Still Breathing)

When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.

She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."

Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.

At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming 
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.

I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.


Details | Narrative | |

Night Angel

They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
The man.
The child.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
The terror
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Agonizing
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A passer-by.
A doer of good deeds.
He stops.
He sees.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
Bravely
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
He runs.
He hides.
The passer-by,
Believing he saved
A child
From a long, cold walk,
In reality
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.


Details | Narrative | |

Christmas Delivery

As December winds swirled the snow in drifts outside
   Lisa covered Mama, held her hand as she cried
“It’s my last Christmas, I know it in my heart, dear
   Send my prayers to God; deliver them with my tears”

“Hush, Mama, you can’t die; Tommy needs you so
   And his tour of duty still has six months to go”
Mama fell asleep, Lisa bowed her head in prayer
   Adding her own tears, she asked that Tommy be there

“Please let my brother see Mama just one more time
   When her eyes open, may it be her son she finds”
Tears fell on the floor as Lisa kept vigil
   Beside her cancer-stricken mother so fragile

Awakening to see Tommy standing nearby
   In uniform he appeared; Lisa exhaled a sigh
“God sent you home, I knew He would, our pleas were heard”
   Tommy stroked his sister’s hair, saying not one word

‘Twas then Lisa saw Mama standing behind him
   Aglow in heaven’s light were her mother and twin
“How blessed we’ll be – together on this Christmas Day!”
   Lisa exclaimed, just before they faded away

Confused, she saw her ashen mom so still in bed
   ‘Neath the door a telegram, Tommy too was dead
And though there were tears in Lisa’s blue eyes so bright
   Her loved ones would spend Christmas together in God’s sight

A smile came as candles flaming in the window grew
Lisa realized one Christmas she’d be with them too



*Rhyming narrative for Paula Swanson’s “Tear” contest


Details | Narrative | |

GOD Has Taken EVERYTHING

                          My daughter`s budgie "Sissie" died a late night
                       The next morning I told her that "Sissie" was dead
                     With tears on her eyes and cheeks, she asked her mom
                      - Is "Sissie" in heaven with God and grandmother ?
                       - Yes, she is with God, grandmother and the angels
                                                I answer her

                         Surprised at this answer, my daughter investigate
                                            whether it was true
                             She walks into the room where the cage with
                                         the budgie used to stand
                             After a short while, she runs back to mom....
                        - Mom, mom.... God has not only taken "Sissie"
                                       - God has taken the cage too




                                   

                              This is a true story  -  - - from gold child`s mouth









dedicated to: Laila A.Mjelde
10.05.2012
A-L Andresen


Details | Narrative | |

Passing On of Little Bee, Ojibway, Thunder Bay

Little Bee, Deaamoo, grandmother of the Crane Clan, lies staring. The light of 
winter’s first full moon falls into the room. Through a ghostly haze of tobacco and 
sage smoke, she sees her loved ones. One withered hand clasps a cowrie shell, 
mee-ghis, tightly to her heart and in the other she holds a small dreamcatcher for 
her youngest granddaughter Little Aamoo. Strands of gray white hair escape from 
her braids which trail down beside her bird-frail form touching the fringe of her 
parting dress. Her clan has been in the sweat lodge praying for her safe journey 
home, some appear red-cheeked; others are a pale as the shades of her 
ancestors.  It is the end of her days, a time for passing on.

Outside of the house near the fringe of balsam pine a circle of stones are laid, each 
one blessed and bringing an anchoring comfort to man, lodged between earth, and 
sky. The four directions are marked and her way west is clear for her. Soon, she will 
ask loved ones to lay here amongst the gifts laid for Pacugu, The Great horned Owl, 
near the spirit house.

The veil is thin now between this world and the next. The smoke branches upward, 
showing the way to sky world where Gichi Manidoo waits. The songs are being sung 
for her now. The Shaman’s rattle is crisp and clear. All about her is beauty. Drums 
keep the beat of her heart. They wait. Remembering one last story, she calls her 
family to her, she must leave them with all the knowledge she has. "Ah, what was 
that story? Well, that is not for you." 





Details | Narrative | |

Adult Child of an Alcoholic

Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
         and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
         wooden legs
         betray
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
         bourbon tweaked philosophies
         of life begins
         at  forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
         the glass that begins another
         day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
         lipstick coated leeches who prey on
         your diminishing
         breath.

Through these wintry days pass faces long past
         into what was then
              while with the coming spring ...
                       at last!  at last!
One can remember
         and want no more 
              what could never be:
                      a Mother.


Details | Narrative | |

A Mothers Last Goodbye

“Good-bye my daughter dear,” she said As tears welled up in her eyes “It’s time for me to go to sleep This must be no surprise The good Lord knows my battles And my health is ailing still He’s given me so many blessings I’ve passed them to you in my will I’m sad to say good-bye For we have shared much joy Remember me to Sarah My grandchild I love and enjoy I love you my daughter These years together have been sweet I’m so glad you love the Lord And again we will meet I’m not afraid of dying ‘Cause I know that in a while Christ will call me from my grave I feel my life has been worthwhile For I taught you to seek your Father To help you through every trial He’ll always be there to guide you With never a denial I leave you in His hands”, she said As she gently kissed her daughter’s hand Her eyes closed very slowly Against cancer she’d lost her stand She’d been a wonderful mother Teacher and true friend Faithful to her Lord And gracious to the end. Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2007-2012


Details | Narrative | |

The Bell My Mother Rang

The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we couldn't overcome her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only "managed" with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things -- arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes, we sniffed
her scent, which, more than her yet familiar
face, to us identified our mother --
a smell we never would mistake
for any other. It went quickly
as her body cooled. The rouged and pickled
carcass they displayed was more a statue
than a person. We planned to bury her
with homely tokens, like an ancient mummy:
a family photo, a brooch she liked,
a pink hairbrush, and the brass bell she rang
to call her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not bear
to see her leave so finally;
I took the bell from her metal box.
And, now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.


Details | Narrative | |

BROTHER - BILLY

It started growing in a field
Billy Stover watched it grow

Because the corn was tall
Because Billy Stover was small
No one knew
Now one saw

No one saw how the tiny boy watched by the hour    in summer's heat
Even from the top of high elm trees by the road
    who could have detected that small lad    stretched out
    on his stomach    leaning on his elbows    watching

On stormy days    Billy watched from the closest window
    elbows propped up on the sill
He knew it was growing    though he couldn't see it
He'd be down in the field now    in the mud    watching
    but    his mother forbade it
"What do you do out there    Billy    all by yourself?
What is it you do out there instead of playing?"

On certain days    when the wind swayed the green stalks
    and    nipped Billy's cheeks    his eyes would light up
He fought back a burning desire to run into the white kitchen
    to tug at his mother's apron    to bring her out
    and show her his one spot
He jumped up    once    when the flames leaped high
    started running for the house
"Mother!    Mother!"    he silently shouted
Every part of his small body shook with joy    but
The bleak    white walls of the kitchen
    his mother    her hands dipped in bread dough....................................

It started growing in the field    in the dirt    in the mind of Billy Stover
And    no one could have kept a secret better than Billy


Details | Narrative | |

The Blue Danube

*
   There's an old upright,
   standing tall, against the wall,
   no one plays it much anymore
   as it sits there in silence, out on the old sun porch

   But I can imagine it quite regal in its prime, shiny and new
   And age has turned the varnish yellow
   The veneer, a bit buckled, and the bench has been repaired
   With clamps and screws, and Elmer’s wood glue

   A relic from another time, although the
   sound has not changed throughout the years
   and tears have spilled upon the keys
   There's one key that sticks, and three more are chipped...

   If only time could skip…backwards to then…
   To when my mother and I sat side by side
   together,.... playing “The Blue Danube”.

.....

Her hands over mine, pointing out the key of C
And what I do see,... still in my mind….,  
         are the blue veins of her hands
                  enveloping mine,
                    and hearing the waltz, a bit off key

                   (It needed tuning…it always did, it never mattered, it never will)

I was small…my fingers couldn’t reach them all, 
         those pock marked, scarred, and magic keys

But the measure of Johann Strauss would bounce off the walls…

She would hum into my ear…
        Her soft brown hair would mix with mine
I could smell Breck shampoo, and feel her breath upon my cheek
And the music, soft and sweet, classic light…from that old Upright...

A simple tune…the waltz of time
     that has played on and on... long beyond her life
        and will play on long beyond my own…

           ___________________________________________

Recited on youtube.....        http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Huza5He36b0

____________________________________________________________________


Details | Narrative | |

True Praise

I used to look at your wrinkly hands
And see the veins follow routes like a map
Your fingers shook like a spayed chihuahua on the piano keys
Demonstrating the chord in which I was supposed to play after you

I was thinking instead about the stool we were sharing
How old and fragile  the wooden piece was
The green-blue floral padding faded and worn
The chipped, wobbly legs 
That creaky sound when you repositioned...
And I was praying it wouldn't collapse under our bodies

Your voice was gentle and calm 
Softly pushing me back to my practice
 and my fingers played that bright G Chord
“Very good,” You praised with a smile
Your voice so small and lightly faded
But still loving and pleasant

You explained to me arpeggios and broken chords
And I was glad it was you explaining it
I remember yelling at my dad
And throwing a big tantrum over playing “Allouette” 
His straight harsh voice cut my fingers off the keys
As he ordered me to pay attention
Watching his hairy fingers demonstrate the left hand
And then the right
Pressing loudly and ramming the song into my every being

And I remembered 
I was never concerned about making him angry
I would laugh if he made a mistake in teaching
Or if he stumbled on his words - which was frustratingly rare
I would scream if he corrected me
And yet I was determined for his praise
That he never gave 

Your son loved music like you
And he wanted me to love it just like him
In an annoyed kind of way, I obliged
But I would make him suffer for forcing it on me
Even if I couldn't deny it was something I would always love

We never have our piano lessons anymore, Grandma 
But I will never forget how you taught me
That stool remains in the room
It hasn't been sat on for days

And it took far more than mere days
To receive from your son…true praise

But that’s okay
I will pray it collapses under his body


Details | Narrative | |

Touching the Stars

The blue mood of silence, is there on the screen
Not a whisper, not a word, just a humming is heard
The sound of the reel, spinning backwards in time
Little bird sounds, ticking away
Open the curtain, on one special day
A backdrop of childhood that bends time again

I am watching the ocean breeze catch your hair
It frolics, embracing you in the gauzy blue dress you wear
You are running barefoot in the sand, alongside the incoming tide
The beach is as smooth as the silk of your skin
Flying a kite in the swift summer sky
You are raising your hand
And you wave at me....
There is laughter in your face, in your eyes, in the way that you race....
I can almost hear the sweet sound of it ring in the gloom
It shatters the silence of this cold winter's room
The joy of it falls through the years....
It falls in voiceless wonder, to rest on my tears

I follow along...watching you play
Your lips are moving....what is it you say?
I find myself reaching...wanting to catch
Set a small trap...somehow reach into the past
Where are the chords,...the notes....the score to that song?
This music I long for.....forevermore gone?

But no....................the heart of it...the heart of your laugh
Never can vanish ...it still sails....it still lasts...
Like the kite reaching higher....it pierces the sky
Weaving a magic...and a joy that can't die
I watch how you hold on....that kite in the sky...
Before me in silence....you wave and you laugh...

Then you throw me a kiss.....that I'm trying to catch
I can hear silent laughter......that my heart wants to grasp
     And for a moment together, .... we are touching the stars....

_____________________________________________________________

"Left With a Kiss"


Details | Narrative | |

Deer

His family had lived here all their lives untold and he had too.

His father had died when he was young and he vaguely remembered him.

Mom tried to cross the busy street which she had been warned.

She had instantly been killed as her family watched with horror and fascination.

 

No funeral just sadness as the machines whizzed by but the last of his kind remembers.

As a youth, he had run and played in these fields but steered away from the machines 

as he had been warned.

The machines are fast and you must always watch for them and be clear.

The woods were loved as he chased the young females until they let him catch.

 

He had two of his own children but they had died at very young age.

And soon after, the big trucks came with the men that would be vilified.

They uprooted one hundred year old oak and built twenty homes.

Across the road where the field was, forty more were taken from his youth.

 

The last of his family had all been married out or were dead until he was alone.

And as he walked and looked, he was frightened and filled with grief.

He saw his mother standing gracefully at the top of the house filled field.

His brother and sister played until dusk when his mother would call and recall.

 

He ached  where he ran and still he searched.

As the tear rolled away with those distant memories and the pain.

Slowed by the ache he laid his final time with grief.

And he knew he was the last and his youth died with him.

 

 

 

 

The last deer


Details | Narrative | |

Iowas Child

Gone are the fields of winter white
soon to be replaced by hues of greens and yellows,
in the interim, fields of barren brown and dirty gold
turned, to breathe warm air from departed winter chill

Plumes of black and gray from mans machine
kneading the back of Mother Earths desire,
before impregnating her with the many seeds 
that will produce offspring to quench mans many needs

oh, how lonesome she looks, so alone
holding yet to some remnants of children past,
left only to cradle her dead, left by man
yearning to suckle new life, as only a Mother can

Above, from the heavens, Father prepares
to germinate those so many seeds,
with life sustaining necessities only he is allowed
sunlight and life giving rain, loosened from the clouds

within days Mother is impregnated
she can feel the multitudes of organic life,
moving within her womb, yearning,growing, needing
the escape, to be warmed and nourished by the Sun

Minutes turn to hours, hours to days
suddenly weeks pass,and yet another life,
giving rain, descends from guilded clouds
arms and fingers, of her children, open, sustained

nearing the end of a warm and wonderful summer
it is time for Fathers other children,
to reap what he has sewn
time for Mother Earth to let her children go

My, how they have grown, tall,lush and full
of the fruit they were meant to bear,
to provide nourishment for the masses of seeds
grown to maturity, in need from the father

Again, the gray black plumes of mans machine
come to life, they move through her fields,
her children, like a predator among prey
until, she is left again, with remnants of children past

Soon she will be blanketed again in winter white
gone will be the warm breath of life,
her children taken from her, she is again barren
only to be betrothed to a promise of new life.


I wrote this on a day trip to Illinois from Iowa across wide open farm land.

                      God Bless....Taz


Details | Narrative | |

Fractured

My grandfather on my father’s side, was a pecker-toothed sidle who raped his 
daughter when she was just ten. He threw down vodka from an eternal well and took my father out to buy prostitutes when he was just fifteen... It was here that my father first learned the true value of a woman. Mercifully, a permanent steel brace got loose at the Pennsylvania steel mill where he worked and crushed Grandfather into a pool of blood and urine.
     My father was a dried seed rattling in an empty gourd… he had grown up 
hardened with leather-stiff roots exposed too long in the sun. My mother knew 
that he wanted to rape me, so I kept guard with knives and ran away whenever I could. I went to bed fantasizing how to sneak into his bedroom and kill him with 
the kitchen carving knife. 
      My older brother hadn’t adjusted well to the chaos either, so he put all his expectations and dreams into a matchbook and burned down three houses in the neighborhood. He secretly, robbed his friends of their valuable coin collections. He grew weary and confessed and was taken to a local Mental Hospital for evaluation. At fourteen, I needed a good stiff drink! I was transferred to two different foster care homes and grew up like a weed.
     My mother Dolly was an auburn haired porcelain bisque, matt finished doll from a
discriminating collections of dolls... her father's dolls. She was not a witty woman 
but silent, afraid and alone. She gave birth to three children who grew up like 
wild dogs while Dolly made Betty Crocker weekends and otherwise TV dinners 
until she grew tired... very tired.
      One day the brothers were playing with Dolly tossing her back and forth… 
like a ball, one to another... until we dropped her. Fragile, she shattered into pieces 
on the gray cement patio. My father came out determined to put the pieces back 
together but clumsily, he repeatedly stepped on Dolly crushing the refined 
fragments into powdered dust.


Details | Narrative | |

A fountain for Carmela

A Fountain for Carmela....
 
In the village of Santa Maria, high in the mountains lived a little girl named Carmela. It has 
always been the tradition of the women to carry water from the well no matter how far and bring 
it home.  This was done sometimes twice a day.  
 
 
It was another beautiful morning as the Sun began to rise.  Outside the front door, brightly 
colored Parrots were singing sweet songs as Carmela’s mother, Esperanza, prepared the 
morning meal of tortilla’s, black beans and sweet coffee.  Carmela so enjoyed sitting next to her 
mother by the cooking fire.  This was her time, alone with her mother, learning how to tend the 
fire and grind the maze that she loved the most. 
 
 
As her Mother dipped her ladle into the water jug, it was plain to see that it was almost empty.  
Carmela looked into the jug and asked….
 
 
"Mama, can I carry the water today?"  Little Carmela asked, she was so happy to be old enough 
to do such a thing.  Her mother had taught her how to balance the jug on top of her head just 
right, so as not to spill even drop on their many trips to the well.  But the well was half a day’s 
walk down the mountain and back and she had never gone all by herself.  It was a hard task for 
sure but her familia needed water for cooking and cleaning.


Details | Narrative | |

Potawatomi's Beginning...

The story I have to tell- was told long ago to me, 
About the creation of the Potawatomi Nation; 
In the beginning the Creator made Anishabe, 
And the Creator told Anishabe to name all of his creations,
 Anishabe set out with a wolf, his companion, 
And he went around naming everything; 
From the mountains and the canyons, 
To the Summer and the Spring; 
He became lonely realizing, he alone had no mate,
 And as he traveled everywhere searching, 
He traveled towards the Great Lakes;
 And there he heard a woman singing, 
Her song was a thing of beauty, 
About the home she was making for them;
 Anishabe crossed the lake to meet her, finally, 
The daughter of the Firekeeper-And quite a gem 
Their’s was the first unity bond, It is where life came from; 
Of each other they were inordinately fond;
 Their union gave life to four sons,
 Each of their sons went a different way, 
The First son traveled North, it’s color is White, henceforth;  
Given the first gift of the Creator-sweet grass-braided in a bouquet, 
He married the daughter of the Spirit of the North; 
The second sun traveled East, into the rising sun, 
He learned that fire is the essence of life; 
He was given the second gift-herbs to speak with the One,
East is the color Yellow, East’s daughter became his wife; 
The third son traveled South, known as “The Way of The Woman”, 
The way of seeds and all that give life, the color of South is Red; 
He was given the gift of cedar-to purify and prepare food for his clan 
And to the daughter of the Spirit of the South he was wed.
 The last son traveled west, towards the mountain highlands, 
He learned that the setting sun represents the circle of life; 
Black is the color of West-Sage was the gift for his hands,
 Married to the Spirit of the West’s daughter, Black stands for strife. 
This is the story of the Creator, That my Grandmother told to me,
 How my culture was started, And what our banner means.

~I've been holding on to this a while-Hope you enjoy the beginning of my culture~

~3rd Place in the "Broad Horizons" Contest by Deborah Guzzi~


Details | Narrative | |

My Mom

Dear God, how did You sleep.
I had a dream and it made me weep.
Did You see it, it was so real.
I think it might even help me heal.

Anyway that dream last night 
sure was kind of cool.
Except for the times  
I acted the fool.

I was a whole lot younger
then I am now.
I was talking with my mom
and I was wondering how?

We sat at the kitchen table
and she had on that grin. 
The one that always told me.
I know where you've been.

I could talk to her 
about anything I ever did.
Not only when I grew up
But since I was a little kid.

She was the only one
on this whole entire earth.
Who made me feel like I belonged.
Who gave me a sense of worth.

We talked for hours.
We laughed and we cried.
I didn't leave the table 
till the day that she died.

It was a roller coaster ride 
of every high and low I could feel.
Then Lord You got out the projector
and then You put on the reel.

We watched home movies
and most of it was good.
You would fast forward
those parts that you should.

There was this one scene
where Jesus had a part.
Remember when I asked for Him 
to come into my heart?

On a scale of 1 to 10
I would give it a ten.
But there was this one time 
I don't remember when??

When I asked for Jesus to come into my heart
He walked right in like He belonged.
But what I didn't know then 
was that He walked in with my mom.


Details | Narrative | |

Not So Perfect

Here she comes, walking with pride.
Her face is so vibrant, she looks so alive.
Nothing can stop her, no one dares to try.
Her entire life is corroded with deals, tricks, and lies. 
Her beauty is everything, her smile kills all 
It brings down the strongest men, makes the highest building fall.
But when she comes home,
The story does change.
Her life’s not so perfect,
The positions rearrange.
Her father's an alcoholic, and not very nice.
She has a brother who gave up on school, and can’t read or write 
Of all of her family, her mother is the worse. 
Sometimes she wonders if she'll survive this curse.
He mother yells,and tells her that she's no good.
She would give it all up, if only she could.
At the end of the night she goes into her room,
She begins to weep, and eventually cries herself to sleep.
She wakes up the next day,
Puts on a happy face,
And goes to school as if nothing happened the previous night,
Or that absolutely nothing is wrong with her life.
So now that you’ve seen what’s behind the closed door,
I hoped you’ve thought about this girl a little more.
With the utmost respect,
I present to you, the life of someone "perfect".


Details | Narrative | |

GREET THE LITTLE KING

Greet the little King,
who has been born in a cold manger
on the holiest of nights;
and by the glitter of a descending star,
He will spread peace in the land...
follow the shepherds and find that sight! 


My gift to Him is my joyful song,
and with this clarinet I will usher in His coming...
walk side by side with the pretty angels and rejoice;
bring Him your gift, and surround Him with joy!
See the three Magi arriving on jewel-draped camels,
holding in their laps the gifts of His destiny.  


A winter's night has always been completely bright,
every hill is hidden by darkness, but an heavenly light 
appears across the frosty sky of Bethlehem, while divine
voices announce Emmanuel's glorious birth,
everyone wakes up and sees that star and follows it;
and where it stops, they find a baby without a crown.   


Greet the Son of the Highest, the Wonderful Redeemer, 
whom the Virgin Mary has borne in the humblest of places...
in the small town without a temple, or a palace for the Emperor,
where Mary and Joseph will train their child in Godly ways;
greet the little king, He will smile and invite you in,
and His smile will spread peace beyond the star-lit hill. 
 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Narrative | |

Miracles Do Happen

She looked in dismay at her mail today,
her bills are mounting, how will she pay?

Soon a mother to be, and unable to work,
thoughts of regret, for trusting that jerk.

Caught up in a moment, she let herself go,
her Prince Charming is here no more.

Only eighteen, and all alone in a small little place,
her mother told her, you are a disgrace.

Phone turned off, and soon the power,
frightened to death, I despise that coward.

All he wanted was a one night stand,
all she wanted was a loving man.

Now a baby to nurture, and care,
all she can do, is worry, and stare.

Maybe a couple that has a nice home,
will take my baby, and give her a good home.

A very nice lady at the office down the street,
notified the girl, I found just who you need.

A couple had tried for 10 long years,
but all they got was bills, and tears.

They want to meet you, if you are sincere,
they want you both, these people are so dear.

Rich in material things, they have so much,
but the warmness of a family, is out of their touch.

So pack your things, and I'll take you home,
this is the miracle, you prayed for, so long.



Details | Narrative | |

A Love To Remember

Her children will always be, a mothers greatest joy...
Nothing more important, than her baby girl or boy...
From the minute of the birth, and she holds her tiny babe...
Her life forever changed, and her future is made...
All the diapers, bottles, and such...
She does not mind, for she loves them so much...
Her sacrifice is so great, now she is busy all the time...
A mothers love is like no other on this earth, that you will find...
A mother will always put her childs needs first...
From her sweetest, right down to her worst...
Remember your mother, when life makes her old...
This woman will be the greatest person on earth, that you will
ever know...


Details | Narrative | |

The Best day of My Life

I always thought that I knew love
How intense that feeling could be
But, you were my gift from above
Just exactly what I'd need

I never thought I'd be a mother
I thought that time had past
It was a shock to believe another
For I was pregnant at last

I was 39 at the time 
I felt kind of tired and old 
My doctor said that I was fine
And a child is precious like gold

It wasnt always very easy 
Being pregnant, working each day
Some times I'd get kind of queasy
But, eventually it went away

Tests, ultrasounds, bloodwork , all were fine 
An amnio to see if you were okay
Monthly appointments, filled much of my time
Everything was progressing each day

I worked until the day before
Your grandparents flew out to see
I was very ready, couldn't take no more
Wanted my child for just for me

Finally the day had come,when I was to see my son
I got up early, got everything ready, even checked your room.
Slowly I drove to the hospital ,awaiting for the fun
For this was it what I had waited for, i'd see you before noon. 

At the hospital they readied me
A Doctor put a catheter in my back
My Mom and Dad rushed up to see
Their grandchild in a wrap

I told them of my nervousness 
How I forgot the words to say
So together we as a family
We were able to pray

I had to wait for a long time 
Emergency twins were on the way
They said I was next in line 
In the holding room was where I stay

So at 930 they brought me in to the room
They draped a sheet in front of my face
I hoped my head wouldn't  zoom 
I wanted to start this race
 
At 9:54 you came into my life
Your Dad ran to the end to see
The child that was bore by his wife
We became a family of three

My eyes filled with tears and I felt joy
It was all so new, I never had felt it before
Here's your child, perfect, handsome, and its a boy
For on that day my love for you grew even more

The bond between a mother and son
Is a story that can't be told
To look into your little eyes, I was overcome
My memories of that first time will never get old

So on this day when you had came 
Was the best day I could have ever thought
Never mind fortune and fame
To have a child is a lesson in life that can never ever be taught. 


Details | Narrative | |

Grandparents Before - But not today


Grandmothers and grandfathers how they look,
how can we see that there is a grandmother or a grandfather
When I was a little girl we could see a grandmother and a grandfather
Grandparents used hats, glasses, and walking stick
The skin of their face was weathered and wrinkled
Some had teeth they put in a glass in the evening

Grandmothers always had time for a glass of juice and a hug
She was never impatient, tie shoelaces with pleasure
Always in floral dresses, which smelled like grandma
Grandmothers wont not be at work tomorrow, she has time for an adventure
She does not skip a single word, to be finished soon
It was always sweets in grandmother's hand bag
She never spared, but shared with a beautiful smile

Grandfathers were a bit more restrained,
 bit concerned about the day's news in their newspaper
He would like to go for a walk, and he walks with small cautious steps
When he meet someone he knows, he lifts a bit on his hat and nod
He has very little hair on his head, and his head shines in the sun
Grandfathers have a strong hand to hold, I was confident in his hand
He could tell me what all the birds called, he was so wise

Everyone should experience an old-fashioned grandmother and grandfather
one that does not have a television, computer or washing machine
A grandmother and grandfather who always have good time


But it was in the past ..... not today...





23.02.2013
A-L  Andresen :)


Details | Narrative | |

Baseball in Heaven

My grandfather and I had a special relationship.

When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore.  But, my family moved away from 
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my 
grandfather.  Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to 
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles.  I was the one grandchild who 
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.

Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when 
he was young.  In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make 
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or 
get married and raise a family.  As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by 
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that 
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove, 
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.

But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the 
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the 
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles.  As crummy as the Baltimore bums are 
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than 
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.

I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing.  Had he 
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a 
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much 
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.

When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once 
again strap on his spikes and don the leather.  Without a doubt, they must play baseball in 
heaven.  And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young 
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.

(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)


Details | Narrative | |

A Red Christmas Bike

It had been two days since Christmas
The one where the fates had granted me my fondest wish
A shiny, red, Schwinn bicycle..... a basket in the front, and a bell to ring

On that cold December night, the sky was stained by the color of trepidation
I remember my young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
rousing us all with calm haste

Deep red reflections seeped through the mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us downstairs, down the raw-grained stairs, 
not tying her robe, pushing from behind with her two hands
out onto the back porch, into the frost of the wee, early light
Then, we stood and watched the fire from a safe distance, 
as it consumed our garage.  And, my bike.

From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose
warning him to keep safe,
while sounds of sirens wailed in the distance

When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice 
"Hush now, don't cry"
"We'll find another one, just like it"

Then, I remember looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold


________________________________________________________________


Details | Narrative | |

We Are There With You

You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit

We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you

You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love

If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
 


______________________________________________________________________
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.


Details | Narrative | |

A Church Service to Remember

Maud, the meek poverty stricken seventy year old matriarch of the people spoke proudly as the relief shown on her face. “Two weeks ago I had tests run at Sparks Medical Center in Fort Smith they told me that my old body was almost totally eat up of cancer. I ask a brother at that time here in the church whom I respect and have faith in to pray. He simply said as he laid hands on me, them that believe shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover. (Mark 16:18 KJV) Why that is all he said as he asks me to agree with him.” “I stand before you today, one day before Christmas, totally free of cancer. I was scheduled yesterday to begin receiving radiation, but when they did my blood tests again they could not find one trace of cancer. My doctor said he just could not explain the miracle that had apparently taken place. You apparently know a doctor who is far greater than I am.” Tears of gratitude flowed down Maud’s old, weathered cheeks as the whole church stood and rejoiced with their precious matriarch mother. This was a Christmas eve of rejoicing like non other, and there was not a dry eye in the whole church. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A true story from 1987 in Moreland Arkansas Free Full Gospel Church. This charitable hearted lady lived several years after this and died of simple old age at around 90 years of age. For Carolyn’s Contest: Your Christmas Miracle


Details | Narrative | |

Healing Words

My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.


Details | Narrative | |

Scars Left Behind

Story of a boy.....

I was to go to bed at 8 that night
When there was firing at the door,
Heard mom gasp,"God save my son."
I had no idea of what was in store.
We ran to the basement and shut it tight,
Mom pointed to the passage where dad hauls in wood
Sternly commanded me to go
While still as stone there she stood.
The sinners banged the door hard,
Through the passage there was just room for me to fit
So I sat down and shook my head,
There was no way that on my mother I'd quit.
She looked at me in the eye and gave me a kiss
And said,"Darling please listen to me,
I love you so very much
As fast as you can, do get to daddy."
'I'll get Dad' I thought and started to crawl,
I had to hurry,the door had almost gave way too
Noticed a sharp thing in the way and stopped,
But mom, in haste pushed me through.
I yelped in pain as iron cut my arm,
But what hurt me more was the door falling with a 'thud'.
Scars on my soul left me nightmares for years to come
Mom's cries and final scream echoing as I ran in the mud.
Fifteen years later, in the same but better town,
I show my arm to my wife and say
"If not for these scars I was left with
I would be with mom today."

-Sadaf Syed


Details | Narrative | |

THE ERASER CAME WITH SAGE ADVICE

The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other 
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a 
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My 
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a 
watershed episode from my formative years. 

I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing 
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my 
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I 
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them 
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined 
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
 
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I 
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time 
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible 
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than 
half of the eraser.

Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat 
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I 
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one 
armed desk made for a 5th grader.

“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE. 
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”


*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.


Details | Narrative | |

A Mother's Cry

"Tap! Tap!" the drop
of Her tears.
Pouring on the
ground from the
clouds of fear.

'Roar! Roar!" Her
thunderous shout.
From the pain She
felt, She cried out.

"Woosh! Woosh!" She
breathed fast.
"Why my love?" She
asked.

How poor Mother
Earth was.
Tortured by her
children, She sent
Haiyan to us.


Details | Narrative | |

Mother

In her womb she carried her child nine months,
Bliss and joy he brought forth.
Satiate her a ray of hope in newborn eyes,
She bosomed her gracile in first cry;
Nurtured, fostered and fledged.
He grew up a young lad,
Belligerent and wasteful he turned;
Scathe her emotions and physical,
Never heed mother’s wist.
deplore her for damsel beauty,
Abandoned and ill he felt;
Whence mother’s forbearing love aided.
Spued blood for months,
And in no hope of survival;
Mother’s earnest prayer and supplication convalesced him.
Lackadaisical and Impenitent natured,
By and by he erst;
Wend the lady who abased him his manhood,
His love forsook,
His last days embodied in insobriety.
On the day of funeral oration,
Mother retold unchanging love for her child,
And tears that never dried,
Bid her son last adieu.
And lived the rest of her life bewailing,
Till one day her body gave away to ageing,
And died a mother whose love for her son
Never be bought by any gold or silver.


Details | Narrative | |

Don't Leave Me

I can't imagine being alive without you
I can't imagine what it will be like when your gone
I don't know what I'll become without you
Maybe I'll just run
Run away from everything and leave everyone behind
Maybe I'll find a way to be close to you
Because I won't believe you died 
My heart will ache so much more 
Tears will always run
My eyes will hold the wisdom 
That you bestowed upon me young
And my recklessness will be noticeable
People will wonder why
Why am I running when the person I needed most died
How can I face my life when I can't do anything right
I won't believe you have gone away
When God decides to take you
I'll still come by your house and always expect an answer
I Love You Gamma
You Taught Me About My Heritage  
Please Remember Me When God Takes You
Please Guide Me In the Right Way


Details | Narrative | |

Puzzled Pieces

It was a dazzling day.
In the park where we gathered.
I watched the sprinkler spray.
Whilst Oleander got lathered.

A pierce of minty laughter.
Came from my mother.
The day, now full swelter.
Brought mephitic curses, from father.

My mother,
A piece, of distinct edges, shapes, and color.
My Father’s piece,
Gossamer... A ghost in the Parlor.

My aunt buzzes ‘round,
Looking to peck.
Her greatest skill,
Tearing wealth from flesh.

She is an ugly thing,
Constantly tithing kin.
Her tabs busted,
Only darkness within.

My uncle walks water,
Crying divine inspired droll.
Then he sees foreign breasts,
And his eyes start to roll.

He is piously loathsome,
A delusional winner.
His piece, contrasting color,
A chronic Casanova of a sinner.

My grandmother sits,
By a row of briar’s.
From here smelling sweet,
Closer and the peril gets dire.

She is a dandy,
Addicting to be around.
But when her corner piece shows,
It can cut to the ground.

My grandfather rests,
In the middle, on a bench.
The tether that keeps,
We are bolts, He is wrench.

His piece.....
To us much renowned.
His piece is the core,
It holds me around.

There it is, my family puzzle.
And on the fringes I sit.
See, I’m an edge piece,
That doesn’t quite fit.
With my teeth on a muzzle.

03/04/13







Details | Narrative | |

A Genuine Memory of Love

Wish I could rewind the hands of the clock,
Only love songs with you I'll slowly rock.
There's many things I didn't get to say,
You left me & gone on a rainy day.

I still didn't give you that gift,
Just once more in my arms, you I wished I'd lift.
Your many attributes & words I did admire,
Like Jesus is the only way to escape Hell's fire.

A granny so awesome you showed that you care,
And a strong shoulder needed you were always there.
Teach all daily to do what's right,
And there's victory for us if we unite.

How can I forget whenever you call,
A short prayer was said for me & all.
I'm ever thankful for your blessings & love,
I'm guilty for not giving you what you deserve.

Through grief & pain you were holding strong,
Still hoping your days on earth were more long.
But you will always stay deep in my heart,
Because of the great things to me you taught.

"Don't trod the road that's broad & wide",
I'm trying hard so I'll see you on the other side.
Surely you're up there looking down,
With flowers, white dress & a golden crown.


Details | Narrative | |

Jeepney Ride

Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney*—
Too full,
with a jeepney strike going on.

Rushing, 
mother and child ride along.

Greasy, dirty, malnourished…
The woman holds a can—
a makeshift drum.
Little boy hands out envelopes,
he looks like he's 3 years old,
he's most likely 6.

Woman beats her drum,
nobody listens
chatter drowning out the rhythm…
Invisible ears to go with
invisible envelopes

His head touches my legs,
dissipating heat—
an indicator of how long
he's been under the sun and smog
The thought chills me…

He stares at my sister's shopping bags
with searing eyes…
Windows that I can’t bear to look into,
afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration

I shake my head, no food to share
but my hands reach out to his,
to give him some money.
My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea, 
and hands it to him.

He has a hard time opening it,
and asks for help from the school girls…
Invisible again.

I reach out and get the bottle from him
Temporary refreshment
for a body that is parched,
for a soul who is thirsty for so much more.

I cannot help but gulp in guilty air.

He sits on the aisle,
savoring the tea
as his mother thumps on the can.

The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty—
as hollow as the sound of the beating drum.

What do you do,
what can you do?

The jeepney stops.
They alight from it...
The mother looks back 
and says, "Salamat.*"
It goes straight to my heart.

Her eyes move me most—
one eye is cloudy, grayed out,
perhaps a manifestation
of the storms in her life?

That single word seared through me,
and I felt how much she meant it…

Her thank you
made me want to give so much more,
to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment
but they are gone...
Lost in a crowd of faceless people,
and I myself want to get lost,
hide my face in shame…

What can you do?





--For  Debbie’s Tell Me a Story contest…

*jeepney—is  a public transportation vehicle here
*Salamat is “Thank You” 


Details | Narrative | |

GOODBYE MAMMA

Although you never knew it,my LOVE was always there;there were many who did tell you,I 
was a son who didn't care.But lifes a funny journey,some parts are good and bad;your 
passing without warning,has truly left me sad.I'll pray to God to give you,all the LOVE you 
hadn't here,lets hope we meet in HEAVEN......so I'll see you MOTHER Dear. ~ Princefreakasso

Your broken hearted son PRINCE!

Mother decided to die without saying goodbye,didn't give me the opportunity;to shed a single 
tear or cry. 

My mother passed away a short while back and I was too late for her funeral.Just got to put 
some flowers and light some candles at her grave.Let's hope the good Lord blesses and 
keeps her until we meet again.


Details | Narrative | |

My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess


Details | Narrative | |

Curve Balls --re-posted in paragraph form

When I was ten I went to England with my mother and younger sister.  It was the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. For 
Monarchists, you’ll know what a lot of fanfare goes on.  There were “block parties” everywhere—streets closed off and 
whole neighbourhoods dancing.  And then came the Royal Procession—that golden carriage, the Queen with her little 
wave, Price Phillip smiling to the crowds of screaming people. Like rock stars, but with really with good manners.  

We did a lot of stuff in England: went to the Tower of London, where people used to get their heads cut off or get 
stretched on the rack till they split open; we ran through Trafalgar square, with the pigeons that no one is allowed to 
feed anymore. 

Going home, my Nan came with us to the airport.  I started to cry and she said; “now there, brave soldiers don’t cry.” I 
wasn’t sure that I wanted to be brave or a soldier but I tried not to cry when we had to go on without her.

The next thing I remember we were at the airport, probably in Vancouver, and my mum was in a phone booth.  My 
father was saying; “don’t come home right now.” He’d decided to leave my mother and put the house up for sale.  
Mum, never one to hold it together under pressure, began to sob, incessantly.  I don’t think it stopped for a year or 
more.  

There wasn’t a “For Sale” sign on the lawn when we arrived home. Apparently Dad had not got that organized.  
Nonetheless, he had managed to pack a few things and find somewhere (I think a girlfriend’s), to stay in the interim—of 
whatever this was.  My mother, looking for consolation and a shoulder, understandably reached out to her eldest daughter of twenty-one, only to find that she had eloped with her boyfriend.  

At ten, almost eleven, the last weeks of summer lay before me.  Things were changing rapidly—most notably, my father 
would move to a different city, where he’d stay for several years.  I’d get a paper route and buy my first bike with the 
earnings.  My younger sister withdrew into her art and my older sister became increasingly isolated living with an 
insecure husband who, when laid-off from the mill, took to selling pot to make the mortgage. My mum cut her hair and 
discovered disco. 

Life has some strange curve balls.  Never could have seen these coming and not sure how their spin affected my swing.  
Sometimes, even with lousy pitches, we can hit those balls right out of the park.


Details | Narrative | |

Divine intervention-w

While flying from Uruguay to America,
I experienced some fearful problems,
Some were real and some nightmares.
I was tossing my handbag left and right
I heard a sermon my mother used to sing
I was quite engrossed for a few minutes
Forgetting all the problems I was worried about
Hey, my co-traveler said, “your tape is running”
I remembered recording my mother’s voice
I think my mother came as protecting force
Giving an edge over my imaginative problems.
A mother is next to godliness, God personified.

An event of March, 2010 confirms my belief.
An Australian mum brings her premature baby son
Back to life by loving cuddles when chances none
The doctors battled for twenty minutes gave up
Of saving  her lifeless baby boy born at 27 weeks.
Doctors gave the child to the mother to say goodbye
The grieving mother cuddled him tightly two hours
Bringing back her son to life, weighing 2 lbs.
Twenty minutes of science two hours of love
I bet it is nothing else but divine intervention


Second part of the poem relates to a miracle happened in Australia. Anyone interested to read more, here is the link

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/search.html?searchPhrase=Miracle+mum+Kate+Ogg 

====================================
Sixth place winner in
Contest: Divine Intervention in honor of Catie Lindsey


Details | Narrative | |

Mother

I am alive today
Because of you.
Death has knocked at my door multitudes of times and you've been there to scare it away.
There is no one else that means as much to me as you do.
You may never read this nor ever know the Honest truth.
The peices of me that've been broken you've found a way to peice back together every time.
You taught me how to smile, to love and to cry.
You have fixed every broken heart every cut and bruise.
I love you more than you'll ever know.
When the pain is too much for me to explian you were my shoulder to cry on.
Whenthe darkness creeps in on me, you are my light that shines it all away.
Dear lady of peace you took me from a broken home and abuse, gave me reason to be happy and watched over me through everything. 
When I had given up and was letting go of my life you were there to keep my heart beating.
Deasperatly alone I've felt but you came through with a hand to hold.
No one understands me like you.
Please know that all the times you've helped me see, that this world isnt as cruel as i think, still sticks with me.
As I walk this road with the sun setting I can see you laughter in your eyes. The smile that touches you face. And i am content with life. All I want is for you to feel joy.
You may not be blood, but you are more than that. I love you more than you could ever know mom.
You will always be my Mom my best friend and the person i trust most.


Details | Narrative | |

Dead Reckoning


~                                                                              
Black as the pit in the well of my dreams
I'm here all alone,  and the silence is long...
I'm engulfed by the drone and the low pitch of dread
Dead reckoning beckons me to hold up my head 
in a whirlwind, a gust of the fierce prairie wind

I open my eyes, with the last of my breath
There is a field of wheat, I am gasping within
My grandmother's house, in a waving mirage
is seen through the dust, just as once it had been
What do I fear?  Perhaps it is death?

Perchance this is slumber, and the sleep monster taunts me,
The nightmare is haunting, as it calls through the dark
I am playing the part, I am child, just a spark
of the fire that wants me, as the field is engulfed

Heroic, and fearless, now, alas, not afraid!
An arm reaches out, and shows me the way
“You can be brave” as she lends me her hand
Shouting, "Stand by my side, let the flames be your guide"

How brave, that I am, when deep in the place
in the trace of the vaporous face of my dreams
The shades of fire, and smoke of the night
will consume me, if only, I fight off my fright
It is only my fear,  that consumes while awake
of the things that are real, and things that are not

I'll not bend like wheat strands, or the flames of the fire
I'll stand tall when I wake, and will wake with new power



__________________________________________________
1//5/14  For the Contest sponsored by Poetess Darkly
"Pocket Full of Dreams"


Details | Narrative | |

Grandmother

"A child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts."

			W. Wordsworth
								

I am your grandmother.
I spent 24 years making
parenting mistakes, so I think
I'm pretty well trained now,
pretty worn down, open-minded
and accepting.
I think we'll be good friends.

At sixteen, your mother 
said she was having a baby 
and held up to me the blue pastic
device that tested her urine stream
like when she held up the blue ribbon
she won in kindergarten for the best
easter bunny nest made from marshmallows 
and dyed yellow coconut.

Then she threw the blue device out 
into the space between us on the bed, 
like it was the best card in her deck, 
her ace in the hole.
Your father waited in the other room
sitting in the thick silence,
afraid to breathe and miss
my response.

You and your mother did all the work,
but I was there at your birth, 
Standing alongside, coaching your
mother to good contractions until
I was exhausted from gritting my
teeth and pushing too.

And your dad was there, too,
but closer to the business end 
so he could be the first to know the sex.

 
An unsolicited psychic had told us
you would be a girl, 
and when your dad was told,
he sulked all day 
like it was a conspiracy 
between the women to produce 
only other woman.
He wanted another guy, 
someone to give the men the edge, 
a male child.

When your mother's body could 
keep you from the world no longer,
your head appeared, eyes tightly
shut and a pout on your lips.
Your dad was watching closely,  
the shoulder, the belly and then
his arms flew up in the air 
like he'd made the touchdown
and he cried, "It's a Boy, 
I told you, I told you,"
like he and I had placed a bet.

But then he saw how much
I could love the boy child.

I'm a pretty good grandmother, 
and I think we'll be good friends.


Details | Narrative | |

And Sometimes Why

I hoped to be with you today 
That once again we two might play
True friends forever we will stay
One thing that will not go away
Why

A funny thing you’re asking me
For there is nothing wrong to see 
This time I thought it best to be
With friend awhile and live care free
Why

Again persistent question why
Pounds at my doors for its reply
No longer can my sighs deny
A friend who really needs to cry
Why

For breakfast Mama didn’t show
And where she went he didn’t know
He didn’t even see her go
What made my mother behave so
Why

I don’t know why I’m telling you
With all the pain that you’ve been through
We’ve always been like brothers true
There nothing that we two can do
Why


Details | Narrative | |

The Misery of Poem Writing

I sat there staring at the screen
Thinking about lunch
Feeling very lean

I sat there still
Letters taunting me
Staring out the window sill

All I got was Nature staring back
Mocking me completely
I grew so slack

Haiku’s flashed through my head
So short and sweet
Frustrated, I went out to my shed

But narrative poetry that I must
 Haiku’s so less sticky
My heads about to bust

Haiku’s I pressed on
The boss said otherwise
So much I think I might go eat a flan

Who’s this boss?
Master of school and more
Salad she did toss

She who is the bomb
Yet stern as a stone
She is known as my wonderful mom

What shall I ever do
Going through such misery
I shall go watch Winnie the pooh

Going to the big screen
I watched away
But I must return to my previous scene

Back at the small screen I ate a skittle 
Procrastinating much
Thinking little


Finally arriving at the last
I think about Haiku’s
But I actually had a blast

In the yard I see our gnome
Standing there alone
Telling me to end my narrative poem


Details | Narrative | |

Granny And Your last glass of water

He starts singing songs of Ireland and we are home in a jiffy
"What's a jiffy," my mother wonders
"Guess  where we went Granny?"
"I don't know but I have a feeling you are gonna tell me," answers my grandmother
"And Don't call me Granny!"
"We went to church so Poppy could ask secret questions."
"The priest gave Poppy a shot and a beer and Poppy sent me next store and he gave me money for  taffy."
"He told me not to tell anyone especially you about the priest cause it's only for the priests ears."
"He said God would take away taffy and I'd never get another goodie and God would strike me dead if I told."
"So I can't tell anyone."
"He did," and she starts yelling and grabs a weapon,"what kind of idiot would be scaring a little child?"
Granny is standing on  Poppy's toes and and asking him questions of where he'd been and getting a sniff of his breath
"So what did you tell  the priest and him giving you consolation and a shot and beer."
"That little rat ," and thinks about the money for candy
Later, Granny is chasing Poppy with that big iron frying pan and poppy running and singing
"In Heaven they have no beer, that's why we drink it here."
"You damn fool I'm gonna bust you in the head, "and throws the pan at his head
And later
Cousin Francis has bill collectors come to the house looking for him
Granny was four foot seven  inches and she starts kicking him in the shin
My Mother grabs his Dick Tracy hat and she jumps on it and flattens it
I ask my mom where I was when this happened and she pauses
" You were in Heaven Patrick waiting with your brother!"
The truancy officers bang on the door and want to know where Uncle Charles is
Granny shrugs and says, "He is upstairs and the sound of the window going up sounds
They all run upstairs and see Uncle sliding down the tree and running as fast as his
seven year legs can move
He comes home later that evening holding a goose under his arm
And Poppy has a soft-boiled goose egg for breakfast every morning
I ask Uncle what happened to that goose and He said,"one day he came home  and
they had chicken for dinner."
And Poppy was gone to heaven to get me and my brother ready Mom says
And Granny sits my brother and me on her lap and says,"you two knuckleheads listen up."
"This is very important so don't forget it."
"Treat people the way you want to be treated, because you never know who is going to hand you your last glass of water"


Details | Narrative | |

BUNDLE OF JOY

Sharp piercing pains
rendered me breathless
I double over,
crouching low like a panther.
Fire, searing fiery fire
leaped at my sides,
licking my backside.
I groan and writhe,
growl and curse!

only the ticking clock
dares to surpass my loud moans.
Sweat trickles down my backside,
flowing down, forming rivulets as 
they meet and scamper downwards.
Another tormenting wrench!
This time a wounded lion’s roar echoes.
And so it went on—
Doctors and nurses
mumbled words meaningless
in the face of my helplessness!

I was gripped in the throes of labour pains;
my body betraying me
as it struggled to give life to another.
Seconds, minutes, hours ticked away.
and finally at the eleventh hour,
my energy spent,
my body bushed,
she burst through--
piercing the birthroom with a keening protest!

I lay down my head,
too exhausted to even offer her
a proper welcome
but a weary smile.


Details | Narrative | |

Female Companion

                                                     She is so typical
                                                           So critical
                                                   For most part difficult

                                   I never really could grasp her in such way
                                       She just wants me to some how stay
                               She comes to my man cave and makes me obey

                                          Shy she was and now I am scared
                                              In such way I almost cared
                              She thinks she can do everything for me I swear

                         She makes me guess everyday but I keep on believing
     Because it is fun to give her a kiss, while she does not know when she is sleeping
                She stresses out but I will tell her my love for her keeps deepening

                So for the most part I just keep her close to make her smile and me
                                When I do things I do it for her it is always a key
            Call me romantic or call me stupefied, but it makes her so, so, sooo, happy


Details | Narrative | |

Mama's Enduring Love

Go to war and you will find out
that everyone bleeds red blood.
Be you red, yellow, brown, black or white;
if you are wounded, bright red blood comes gushing out.
Skin color doesn’t make any difference whatsoever.
While I’m on a railing rant let me tell you another war truism:
if you are mortally wounded and die a slow lingering death,
you will cry out for your mama.
No man cries out for his wife, no woman cries out for her husband.
No one even cries out for their papa.
When you are lying on the doorstep of death’s eternal rest,
you will leave this mortal world with mama on your mind.
Do you want to know why?
Because your mama will always dearly love you
whether you grow up to be a good person or even if you turn out bad.


Details | Narrative | |

Family

A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman, nearing
a century on Earth,
braces herself in
a doorway of
the house,
she has lived in since birth.

Her oldest son unfastens his belt, and takes a seat at the end of her table,
where her middle son just fixed the legs of the chair; to make sure it was stable.
Her youngest son brushes the webs off the wall, and scrubs the stains from the floor.
Her only daughter packs up her pictures, and helps her through the door.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a life, almost
a century long,
comes flooding back
to the thoughts of a woman
who feels removed 
from where she belongs.

Her daughter tries to lift her spirits, (from the room in which, she slept as a child)
but no one could easily witness their memories, all being sorted, and filed.
Her house is dissected, and put in a truck that waits - like a thief - in the drive.
-The cumbersome stance; the delicate dance; together, they help one another survive.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a woman approaches
a century - passed.
A man in the attic
waves from the window -
Assuring her: 
This home will not be her last.


Details | Narrative | |

Curve Balls

When I was ten I went to England 
with my mother and younger sister.  
It was the Queen's Silver Jubilee. For Monarchists, 
you’ll know what a lot of fanfare goes on.  
There were “block parties” everywhere—streets closed off 
and whole neighbourhoods dancing.  
And then the Royal Procession—that golden carriage, 
the Queen with her little wave, Prince Phillip 
smiling to the crowds of screaming people. 
Like rock stars, but with really with good manners.  

We did a lot of stuff in England: 
went to the Tower of London, 
where people used to get their heads cut off or get stretched 
on the rack till they split open; 
we ran through Trafalgar square, 
with the pigeons that no one is allowed to feed anymore. 

Going home, my Nan came with us to the airport.  
I started to cry and she said; “now there, 
brave soldiers don’t cry.” 
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be brave or a soldier 
but I tried not to cry 
when we had to go on without her.

Next thing I remember 
we were at another airport, 
probably in Vancouver, and my mum was in a phone booth.  
My father was saying; “don’t come home right now.” 
He’d decided to leave my mother and put the house up for sale.  
Mum, never one to hold it together 
under pressure, began to sob, incessantly.  
I don’t think it stopped for a year or more.  

There wasn't a "For Sale" sign on the lawn when we arrived home. 
Apparently Dad had not got it organized.  Nonetheless, 
he had managed to pack a few things and find somewhere 
(I think a girlfriend’s), to stay in the interim—of whatever this was.  
My mother, looking for consolation and a shoulder, 
understandably reached out to her eldest daughter of twenty-one, 
only to find that she had eloped with her boyfriend.  

At ten, almost eleven, the last weeks of summer lay before me.  
Things were changing rapidly—most notably, 
my father would move to a different city, where he’d stay for several years.  
I’d get a paper route and buy my first bike with the earnings.  
My younger sister withdrew into her art and 
my older sister became increasingly isolated 
living with an insecure husband who, when laid-off from the mill, 
took to selling pot to make the mortgage. 
My mum cut her hair and discovered disco. 

Life has some strange curve balls.  
Never could have seen these coming and not sure 
how their spin affected my swing.  
Sometimes, even with lousy pitches, 
we can hit those balls right out of the park.



Details | Narrative | |

Mammogram

She stood there
humiliated,
nearly naked
as a
stranger
touched her.
She was
searching for
something
she could not see,
she could not feel:
A silent killer,
a raper of
self-esteem,
identity,
womanhood. 
She endured it,
the pain,
the embarrassment,
because
her mother
had died
and she would
survive.


Details | Narrative | |

Granny1

God's glance and a fine memory
Poppy snores away sitting in his comfortable chair
And Granny takes a feather and tickles his nose
He  wipes at his face and goes back to his fantastic snore
Poppy from Ireland and his shot and a beer
On payday Granny sends my Mother with Poppy as a reminder
"And don't take any side routes"
He gets his pay and starts to home
They walk to the chapel and  just one
It's always just one
He tells my mother to wait outside and he hands her  25 cents
"Now don't forget when Mommy questions you, where did we go."
 "We went to see Father Duke and Poppy I'm not dumb."
"I'm gonna have a palaver with this priest," as he goes into the bar
"Keep your mouth shut I need to ask the priest some advice."
He drinks a few quick shots and faster beer's 
And my mother buys a taffy
She stands waiting and eating taffy and Poppy happily comes out of the bar
"Now don't forget that we got the pay and I took you to get a goodie."
"But Poppy what about the priest who gave you a shot and beer?"
"Don't be talking and eat your goodie."


For some reason it wouldn't take the whole poem,, That's why I had to continue to Granny2


Details | Narrative | |

An Inmates Dark Christmas

An Inmates Dark Christmas....
It was the first Christmas right after my momma passed away.
Any other Christmas I'd be making the best of the situation, but it was a very dark day!
It was a day I wanted to escape from, and nothing could distract my mind.
My body felt so numb, and the pain fed off of me being confined.

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
I laid on my bunk in a funk in that cold dark cell.
I was emotionally drunk, and that Christmas day was pure hell!
I pictured my momma in my minds eye, we were hanging decorations on the Christmas tree.
It was at that moment I wanted to die, for I just knew I would succomb to insanity!

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
That day I even contemplated suicide, for the pain and loneliness was just too much.
A bonified emotional homicide, for my momma I would never see or touch!
That Christmas I was a man with an empty shell, and a troubled soul.
A day of pure hell, and alone in that cell became my dark little hole.

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
I thought that day would never end, but then Christmas was gone.
No family or friend, for I was still terribly alone!
Christmas is still the hardest day of the year, but I manage to get by.
And although I still shed a tear, at least I no longer wanna die!


By Jimmy Matthew Anderson for Constance La Frances contest "Your Saddest Christmas 
Ever"


Details | Narrative | |

Thanks for that Memorable Day

07/31/2012
Written by:  Florence McMillian (Flo)
Dedicated and written for my friend, Lisa Giessinger, as a special message from her to her mother, Hazel – about a most memorable day they spent together.

 
To My Mother Hazel Thanks for that Memorable Day This poem is specifically Being written just for you I requested it from a friend For she knows just what to do That special day we spent together Is so very memorable for me, I’d say I want it to be memorable for you too With a poem written in a rhyming way We’ve had our ups and downs in life With probably most of them being down You raised me to know how life can be Not easy to cope, with down things all around Well I’ve stepped up to a new level To be happy no matter what the hell Of any negative surroundings to be I live thankful that my life is all well That special day started out so bad for me As I was headed for back injections again I was really happy you were taking me there With a comfort feeling knowing we are kin It seemed like the first time in a very long time Where we just enjoyed each other that day You were kind of like that sweet rose One stops to smell along the way In this path I have traveled Through many overgrown weeds It was refreshing and pleasant this time With no discussion of what someone needs We got along together talking and laughing It gave me such a lasting good impression We even ate at Don Julio’s afterwards I sure hope you had just as much fun I want you to know how much I appreciate this time we spent together Making this a most memorable day for me To truly cherish for always and forever Now let me tell you, that day did get worse With everyone putting me down everywhere You were the rose amongst the trash talkers It felt good to know my Mom really does care Even if everything dips to the downside Within the journeys of my life I may go through No one could ever take our shared moments away They’re in my heart forever and I’ll always love you I had the best time with me and my Mom If I told the world, that’s what I’d say So I really want to thank you Mom For that most memorable day Love, Lisa Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

My Mother

MY MOTHER          
Mother more than just a word; my mother is where my life began. My mother 
protected me from the world bonding together from the beginning. Safely tucked 
away I would spend the next nine months listening to her heart beat, gently 
floating in water. Our blood would mix and nourishment she supplied to me. 
My world and hers suddenly changed when my birth came about. No matter the pain 
we both endured, comfort quickly came as I found my way into her arms! Together 
we would make our way in this world as nothing compares to the love of my mother.
We listened to the birds singing, watched the lightning bugs, and talked of things 
on earth and heaven. My mother taught me love and gentleness’. Early in life I 
developed a sixth sense. I knew, “I had a guardian angel” and “God was always 
with me”.
Growing up was not so easy and I made many mistakes. Many times I did not 
understand my mother and swore she could not love me. I was looking through the 
eyes of a child and did not look through hers till aged and wiser!
My mother continued to love me forgiving my blunders in life for we bonded early 
when my heart first began to beat. With the passing of time my mother proud and 
supportive always tells me of her love for me. At times when I look in the mirror, 
looking back at me is my mother!
 I know life as I know one day may end however; my mother and I having shared 
life from the start will always be bonded in the heart. My mother gave from her 
heart and soul. Now to you my mother, in your honor; I dedicate and give this poem 
with all my love from all my heart!
						Your, Daughter Debbie 
Dew!
								
	July 20, 2011


Details | Narrative | |

LISA'S IVORY MUSIC BOX

Many Christmas stories are told every year,
and many songs are sung with pure cheer;
do I have a good story, at least one, I can tell,
or a simple song I can hum and spread good will?


When Lisa's grandmother passed away unexpectedly...
by her dying bed she kept an ivory music box,
and to her lovely granddaughter she gave it
to saying," Take care of it, and smile when you think of me!"


The day after granny died, she went down the dark cellar
to hide the ivory music box in an old dresser's drawer,
and once in a while she would open it and play it and listen to it sadly;
the pretty angel swirled...and Silent Night played as Lisa touched it tenderly.


It was almost Christmas Day and the pine tree wasn't decorated yet,
she rushed outside carrying a red basket with ornaments in it;
how could she had forgotten to adorn it with bulbs and garlands?
" Oh gosh, I feel like the Grinch!"  she displeasingly uttered to herself. 


There was no snow predicted for that evening and the illuminated town
was lacking Nature's magical snowflakes to make it festive and vibrant;
five minutes to midnight the choir from the nearest church gathered outside,
and waited for a miracle...silence...tranquility...every heart felt so alone.


But Lisa with an indomitable spirit ordered them to sing, 
and they began singing looking up the clearest, starriest sky;
everyone seemed sad and some of them wanted to cry,
but before sadness set in...snowflakes began falling.


Lisa knew that it was the miracle she had been waiting for,
but something was missing from the snowy scenery...
she remembered her ivory music box she had put away,
and running, with awe in her bright eyes, she opened the cellar's door...


Clutched in her caring, careful hands, she carried the ivory music box,
laid it gently underneath the twinkling, scented Christmas Tree;
Lisa kissed it tenderly...until the golden angel started to swirl at midnight,
as that divine music filled the nippy air...making all cheeks so peachy.        


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Narrative | |

Maizie

When I met Maizie, she was about eight years old.  We were living in Kentucky and my wife's mother and brother lived near us.  Her mom was a widow and suffered from some physical problems that restricted her to her home.  Her son was an unemployed n'er do well who spent a lot of time drinking and living off of his mothers income.  He had been married several times, none of which lasted.

It was a pleasant summer day when my mother in law called and said that her sons first wife had showed up to visit, along with her current husband and their daughter, Maizie.  Since we normally were over to her house several times a week to clean and shop, we soon met all of them.  It turns out that the husband was “between jobs” and it soon became apparent that they were there for whatever they could get, and quickly settled in.  Her mother accepted everyone at face value and couldn't see that she was being used.

We kept a close eye on the situation, stopping by more often to see what was going on.  It was during these visits that I noticed that Maizie was odd man out.  She was a very affectionate child, but was usually ignored and or yelled at by her mom.  She would frequently sit quietly on the periphery, swinging her feet and observing.  I felt sorry for her and started to pay her some attention.  We would talk, and laugh, and take short walks around the apartment project.  Sometimes, when I would go shopping, I would take her with me.

One day we found out that they were going to move on.  When we went over, Maizie seemed despondent.  I asked if she would like to take one last walk and she eagerly agreed.  While on our walk, Daisy suddenly blurted “would you like to be my daddy”?

I was at a loss for words, but finally said “Maizie, you have a father”.

“I know” she said.  “But I want a daddy”.

That's the last time I saw Maizie.  Today she would be a woman in her twenties and I can only hope she found the love she so richly deserved.


Details | Narrative | |

Great Grandma Kicked some Butt

When my mother was at the age of thirteen,
A dirty old man asked her to come clean,
He invited her over so she could make a few bucks
When she arrived he was in a black tucks
He was the neighbor across the street,
His wife was at work and he viewed my mom as weak
This man locked the door when my mother arrived,
Went to go kiss her, to feed his sick drive,
My mom ran out the back door and went across the street,
Little did this man know he was in for a “delightful treat!”
My great grandma lived six towns away
My mother called her in a state of panic and disarray
A forty minute drive, granny made it in fifteen
Granny drove her old ford like a race car machine
When she arrived, she kicked that man’s door down
She did not care if anyone was around
That man jumped up by that loud sound
She hit him so hard he fell right on the ground
She slapped him around with her left shoe
Cursed him out in Italian, while threatening him too
Later that night my mother’s dad came home
He is a little man with a loud groan
He heard the story and went across the way
Took his shot gun and made this man pay
Told him if he ever touched his daughter again,
He would shoot off his little “private friend,”
He made this man cry in his own living room,
But I promise you this man never again tried to consume,
Every little girl on that street,
He knew not to look at or he would get severally beat,
My family has many stories of my Great Granny saving the day,
Never mess with an Italians family, they handle things in their own special way.

By:Sabina Nicole
Contest:
Written:9/29/11






      Every family has stories that get past down from one generation to the next. I was blessed to have had my mother’s grandparents until about 6 years ago. They did not speak any English and my great granny was a crazy awesome woman. She grew up on a farm in Italy and had to do a lot on her own. She raised all the children and grandchildren but was old school about a lot of stuff.  I remember my great grandparents fighting with each other even in the nursing home. They were married for 58 years; they shared a room in the nursing home that had two separate beds. My great grandma use to hit my great grandpa with her cane from across the bedroom. It was funny to watch.  They may have fought but they loved each other so much, my great grandma died 6 years ago and less than a year later my great grandpa died too. Now they are in heaven together, I don’t think there’s fighting in heaven, God don't allow that;)


Details | Narrative | |

The Beautiful Hands of the Bridegroom A true story

~The Beautiful Hands of the Bridegroom(A true story)
   "Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two, and this story . . . "


~My grandmother called me one day disturbed  by a recurring open vision, 
  saying, “Two beautiful hands were let down unto me from the ceiling. 
  “What does it mean? I keep seeing these hands every night after 
   I lie down in bed.” 

~Immediately, I knew the answer.  I said, grandma, the left hand has 
   a wedding ring, on the left finger, does it not? A brief silence on the 
   other end of the phone, “Why yes John it sure does, now that you 
   mention it. It is the most beautiful wedding ring that I have ever seen.” 
   To which I replied, “Granny, it is your Lord assuring you that He is your 
   spiritual husband. Do not be sad when He comes to take you home“ 
   I reassured my eighty year old grandmother. She said, ”Yes that is exactly 
   what it means. I had not thought of that.” 

~This was a divinely granted clear plan given to my granny afterwards 
   she was never frightened of death again. 

~A few days later, my expression of principle said,” One day soon I will 
   awaken your granny New in the night and tell her to go into the living 
   room and sit on the couch, for it will be the time that I will take her 
   soul home with me. 

~About eight months later the shuttle truck for the elderly stopped at 
   my granny’s door one morning to take her into town for dinner with her 
   friends. She did not answer the door. The body could be seen through 
   the window, sitting upright on the couch hands folded in lap with head 
   leant to one side as if asleep. The fully clad body wore house shoes... 
   This was the adoption of my dear granny… Martha New.


Details | Narrative | |

Last of the Mohicans

I have a new cell phone
It allows me to text...

I have finally caught up with the civilized world
Me...who swore on my soapbox....
                       "Not for me! Thanks, but no thanks, ..I'd rather talk"
                        Why doesn't anyone want to talk anymore? !!

Resisting the change
Resisting technology
Embracing the old, scoffing the new

I've learned to text.....last of the Mohicans.......I've learned to text

Tolerated their smirks, their ridicule, tolerated their bahahas behind my back
Saying it over, and over, ...and over again....... 
                "Why do people resort to the cold, the impersonal,
                 glued to one's ear, purse, hip-pocket, mentality?"


Last night my daughter sent me a text
Then a photo...

The photo...well, ... at first I couldn't quite see what it was
But then I realized, it was an old recipe card...scribbled in my handwriting,
written by me, for her, long ago, when she was first learning to cook 

Meatloaf!! 
 
Same old recipe...that's also tucked away in my own recipe box,
only mine is scribbled with love, given to me by my own mother

I was startled, looking at that bloomin', handheld, tiny red, impersonal device...

reading... "Hi Mom...made this 4 dinner 2nite! Yum !!"....

So, here I am........spilling a tear over this stupid red phone
                                                              while falling off my soapbox


Details | Narrative | |

In The Embrace of Mountains

Mountain soften the gawp of sun 
far beyond the boondocks, 
where the fog plays in stillness,
 ‘fore the banties arouse the glade
When life came to Bottom Land 
bare feet stomped common paths 
Between the tall oak trees 
echoes stood for seconds, 
as tiny voices cartwheeled  
from hanging rocks that bite into the dell

The Good River lend a hand, Big Sandy, 
to water the Bottom Land, 
three acres that fed nine mouths
 and satisfy our bellies
When the snow turn up, 
and pile high on the new year, 
like cotton on a mule cart, 
Pap wore rags to keep his toes; 
we count ten in early spring
When God send Roosevelt and the WPA, 
Pap wore cow hide boots like men ought to

The log cabin was heaven; we lived like gods
In winter, we listen to the hissing of burning 
fir and pinewood, and Pap’s alluring hunting tales
Ma’s fried-green tomatoes and cornmeal pancakes 
were more than quails falling ‘fore Mt Horeb,
and Pap was more than Moses, 
We loved more than Israel, 
far from the isle where milk and honey flow


Details | Narrative | |

A Twist of Fate

It is a Wednesday afternoon during the school year.
That means sixth-grader Sallee Jacobs will be walking home today.
Sallee's mother works in the emergency room on Wednesdays,
Otherwise she picks Sallee up at the school that is one mile from their home.

On this particular Wednesday, it is pouring down rain.

As Sallee reaches the half-way point, 
an empty stretch of road between two housing developments,
a red sedan pulls up next to her and the driver rolls down his window.

"Hi," shouts the man over the sound of the pouring rain beating down on the roof of his car, "your mother asked me to pick you up - come get in out of the rain."

Sallee simply stares at this stranger and quietly says, "No thank you", even though she is miserably soaking wet, cold and angry at her mother for working Wednesdays.

"It's okay," reassures the fully-bearded man, "my name is Mr. Thomas, and I am a friend of your mother."

Sallee studies his face, thinking, you don't look like any of my mom's friends.  "No thank you," she repeats as she starts backing away from the car.

Then, out of nowhere, another man appears at Sallee's side.  He is wearing a rain coat and flashes a reassuring smile.  He looks at Sallee and asks, "Is everything all right here?"

Sallee, simply looks at the man in the car.

"Everything is fine," says the man in the car, "Her mother asked me to pick her up out of the rain."

"Do you know this man?", the rain coat asks Sallee.

"No."

"Do you want to get into his car?"

"No."

"How far away do you live from here?"

"Just up the hill and across Madison."

"Are you okay walking there by yourself?"

"Yes."

There are now four cars lined up behind the red sedan.  They start honking their horns at the car in their way.

"I don't know, Mister," says the rain coated man, "I think you just best move along before I call the police."

The bearded man asks Sallee one more time, "Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

With water dripping down her face, Sallee shakes her head, yes.

The red sedan moves on.

*****

It is 10:00 Wednesday night.  The red sedan is parked in front of Sallee's house.  Mr. Thomas holds Sallee's mother's hand while trying to describe to the police what the man in the raincoat looked like.  Sallee is never seen again.


Details | Narrative | |

Vesper

Her eyes, though once bright, are cloudy,
Shrunken and fragile the form
That long was brimful of vigor
And a will to outlast life's storms.
She stares past a blank horizon
Through a door that I do not know;
The colors she sees are mem'ries,
Scents and sounds of the long ago.

A kaleidoscope of faces
Turns merry-go-round in her mind;
While trees out her window whisper
Soft lullabies long left behind.
The sound of my cheery greeting 
Draws her back to this metal room,
Away from a creaking rocker
And her mama's sweet, gentle croon.

If is not my name she whispers
As I bend down to kiss her cheek,
But a name more dear than ever
Mine was is the name that she speaks.
"Papa," the feeble voice quavers.
I'm no more a part of her world;
The grandma that soothed my sorrows
Is once again Papa's wee girl.


Details | Narrative | |

L O M L Always

The thought of her smiling gave me faith
From when we were little we bathe
My mother and her mother is best friends
They both took care of us and gifts they send
We pulled each others hair
And she was always quick to dare
When I smiled at her she knew it was no good
She learned to pull me up and she understood
I just wanted her attention and that she gave
She knew it in her heart love was my slave
From when we were a child with full of energy I had my way
She was the one who was my guide and she did not push me away
When I saw her cry one day and her eyes was so sad
I gave her a flower and I smiled at her and made her glad
When some one special leaves her heart
I sat by her and never wanted to depart
She is the love of my life always
She is the one who gave me my hope through out my days
So I gave her my heart and love from within
And I did not make it thin
I stood by her side since I was a child
I gave her my support when we were wild
She knew who I was and I let her go the distance
I did not hate her or give her resistance
My mother and her mother are great friends and their virtue will never end
Because of their love they both trusted us to live our ways to transcend
So my childhood friend was my best friend, and now my wife
She new it from the start that we part of each others life


Details | Narrative | |

From A Hell Doing Time

As I read each word on every line,
that he wrote from a hell doing time,
my heart hurt so deep inside,
how many tears has this mother cried...

He talked about how he hurt those he loved,
and all those days I didn't know where he was,
I could tell the tears were falling from his eyes,
he said mother, I'm done with all my lies....

Then he told me he was ashamed of his past,
and did I think we could ever move on,
I assured him with all my heart, and soul,
a mother can't rest until her child is home.

Then he said something that made me smile,
as he talked about how things were inside,
so many in here don't have a friend,
I have my Bible, that's how I have survived.

Then I knew my son would be just fine,
now he knew with all his heart, and soul,
his Savior saved him, and gave him comfort from within,
that goes to show, Jesus follows us wherever we go.


Details | Narrative | |

On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 1

I hadn’t seen a house for an hour ; talking to a social worker, is pretty short
I’m off to a new Foster home; the Courtermarshe’s, a new Big Sister; Brenda
How much longer, Mr. Hodges I have to pee, so do I ; Behind a Mighty Oak
Harry we have to talk, I have bologna sandwiches, the family your going to today:
The Courtermarshe’s, can not have Children of there own Brenda is a foster child also
She’s going to have a hard time being a big Sister, after Alice Loved me so much
Alice and me still write back and forth, She is the Very Best “BIG SISTER”
Little did I know, how close Brenda and me would become as Black Clouds Weep
Blocking the smile of the Sun, closing the door to reality for two and a half Years
Harry, wake up there it is your New Home; Wow It’s a farm, cows, pigs, and chickens
The happiest nine year old, bolted out of the car zipping towards the Big, Red barn
Harry! Harry!!  Yes Sir, Come over here and meet your Mom and Dad, Phoebe and Dan
Time for the (speech): Thank-you Mr. and Mrs. Courtermarshe, I'll try to be a good son


                                                         To be Cont.


Details | Narrative | |

FOREVER ALL THE TIME

I hear your trembling voice
and see your tear stained face
my heart feels these things
because my pain can't be erased

one day he was here,  
happy as could be
then like a fading rainbow
he was taken from me

the emptiness in my heart
that only he could fill
nothing makes it go away
I keep repeating, "this can't be real"

a mothers love is special
different from other kinds
loving all her children
forever, all the time

when one is taken
nothing is the same
everything is different
my heart calls his name


Details | Narrative | |

AN AFRICAN WOMAN

Somewhere in Africa, the cries of a woman
Bearing immense cutting pain
Wishing life not as cruel as it is 
And forgetting the excitement
That came with knowing her man.
Alas, it falls.
Almost like a creature, 
So bloody yet so fragile
Tiny fingers, tiny legs, tiny arms; 
Whatever shall I call her
“Naa awula” indeed, 
She will be my lady; my only lady 
Spread the word my dear sisters, 
For today a new member has joined us
Seven days, seven days it will be.
 And the world will say her name
Pray we must; 
My little lady ought to dwell amongst us
Let no evil eye beseech her
Let no evil mouth revile her
Let no evil hands stroke her
For seven days it will be
 Just seven days.
Hail to the sun, for we present Naa Awula
Truth she must know and truth she will speak
Her feet shall flee from the wicked 
Lest she be bewitched.
Make merry, for she comes to stay.
Come round and present your gifts and blessings.
She will grow into a very beautiful maiden
She will know no pain
 But happiness
May she continue in the league of child birth.
Lest her face be drenched
 In the mud of mockery.
Lighten your hearts and grease your faces
Herein rises An African Woman.


Details | Narrative | |

The unusual grandmother

Before morning would emerge
The infants stomach became large,
Usual infant's cry became scarce
Where is the mother 
Or father?
Tell them to surface.

Mother cried as she saw her babies face,
"Thou unusual thing, where from?
Bring me the broom
Mother needs the broom
In Africa, brooms
Cures gloom And doom.
Mother flogs the infant
Yet she was not triumphant 
Weeping became enormous
Like an elephant.

Mother cried a river,
While grand mother sat 
In a corner,
Without the sign of anger,
worry, ponder or wonder.
But cherishing laughter.
She picked the broom to
It's position.

Where is the preacher?
Where is the preacher?
Mother seem to remember
Needed is his attention
Tell him to his God, mention.
Grand mother squeezed her face 
For things were about to be in place.

The preacher was summoned,
Prayer was altered,
Some one confessed.....
The unusual grand mother
Sibling of Lucifer....
=================
such things really happen down here, we only watch and pray.



Details | Narrative | |

Sunny with a chance of egg shell

Never had an Easter hunt, never got an easter basket
Each Easter we had a new outfit and easter shoes
Never any candy nor chocolate bunnies
We looked well dressed walking in at church
Smiling like a princess with chubby cheeks and freckles
We were ok, did not need the candy and I have never had a cavity
Mom knows best, she knew what we needed
Like country fried steak and mashed potatoes
Homemade biscuits Sunday morning
That was the smell-alarm for us
We got to eat at McDonald's some Sunday's after church
All the way in the next town, our town only had DQ
Life was good even though we never heard of an Easter bunny
Mom could sew real fine too, she kept me covered
Mama, thanks for the raising!!


Details | Narrative | |

Una Visita con Mama -- A Visit With Mama

We walk the rocky shore
and you lean heavily on me,
Mother, bruising my balky arm --
muttering "Ay, Hijo!";
a few steps and, breathless,
we are both exhausted.
Your once-brown eyes, gone gray,
are like concentric rings
rippling from a random stone
thrown into a polluted pond
in winter: eyes as flat
as the latex paint that
coats a cheerless rented room.
Cataracts circle your lenses;
they have a ruptured look --
purple, jellied -- like the eyes
of a dead fish, which I poke,
perversely fascinated.
It is puffed and rotten.
Your eyes are puffed, too, red-rimmed,
moist with tears that brim over
though you try to blink them back.
That you love me and I you,
and that we wish to extend
our time together, is clear --
as clear as the black water
in the pond, as clear as your
cataract-clouded eyes,
as clear as my conscience
when I drop you at the Home,
cleverly inventing an important
meeting, to which I hastily fly.


Details | Narrative | |

Thanksgiving Is Just That

It's funny how we associate things.  They become one with each other.  Who can imagine an Easter without the bunny, or losing a tooth and not being paid a visit by the tooth fairy.  And Christmas would be unthinkable without Santa.  So that is why, I guess, that I still remember one particular Thanksgiving from my youth.

Back then, turkeys at the market were fresh, not frozen and encased in plastic as they are today.  They also represented an extra expense on an already tight food budget.  So my mother made arrangements with the market manager to set up a layaway of sorts, paying some each week, and they promised to hold one for her.

I remember when, on the afternoon before Thanksgiving day, she sent me over to the grocer to pick up the turkey.  I jumped on my bike and rode downtown to Converse Market.  Walking up to the door, I found it locked.  Shading my eyes, I pressed my nose against the window and saw that all the lights were off.  Turns out they had closed early that day to give their employees a little more time to spend with their families.

When I returned home and told my mother what had happened, the look on her face was one of devastation.  What would Thanksgiving be without a turkey?  I thought my dad would be mad, but instead he just said “we've got food in the house don't we”?  And we did.

So, although the letdown of a Thanksgiving without the traditional bird could have been a disaster,  on that particular day, we chose instead to give thanks for what we had, and, as a family, dived into our pork chops with all the fixings.


11/19/2011


Details | Narrative | |

MEMORIES OF AN AUSTRALIAN CHILDHOOD

From England's dark blackout
We came to these shores
I and my siblings
In refuge from war.
How enchanted we were
With all we saw.

First Sydney's fine harbour
And her bridge of one span
Then the azure blue sea
The long beaches of sand
The beautiful city lit up at night
To our youthful eyes a wondrous sight.

The Aussie soldier in his famous slouch hat
The long train journey to the far outback
The Cockies screech the Kookaburra's cackle
New sights and sounds for my brain to tackle.
The grazing sheep the fields of wheat
The fun of the master the blistering heat
The long hot summers with respite at the sea
Where we swam and surfed in unspoilt glee.

School days were spent in city or mountain retreat
Strict was the discipline our uniforms neat.
Happy the friendships spacious the grounds
Nuns telling rosary beads flitting around.
With firmness and patience they taught us well
Recreation was announced by the tolling bell.

Oh the joy when the holidays came
What fun we had on the old school train.
It trundled along past wilga and gum
Past meandering creeks and billabongs
Past Emus grazing and Roos hopping along
Through wide open spaces rich in bird song.

At the graceful homestead with veranda surround
Stood the welcoming grandmother so recently found.
With parents far off she gave care and love
How proud we were of her pioneer blood.
She cooked and scrubbed and chopped the wood
She could do everything she really could.

But tragedy stuck
With her soldier son killed.
She grieved and withered and lost her will.
No longer in her life
Would he take part
Months later she died of a broken heart.

There came a time when with many tears
I bade farewell to this life so dear.
I had no choice I had to go.
The years passed on
I missed it all so.

This time when I came
I touched down by plane.
New visions flood my startled brain
Australia I find is absorbed in change
it makes me feel so very strange.

The laid back Aussie with his old world charm
A computer wiz now and amazingly calm.
The coastline is cluttered highrises abound
The noise of the traffic an ugly sound.
But the song of the Bellbird is still a wonder
It soothes my senses as I ponder.

For no land on earth has so much to offer.
So I’ll settle here I will not hover.
Perhaps the maternal ancestors smile from above.
For at last I'm here In the land they loved.
And I'll spend the twilight of my years
In this country I've always held so dear.


Details | Narrative | |

Mother Marys motherhood

The Church cannot forget her mission
Was made possible by the Motherhood of Mother Mary
Who conceived and bore a Son
Who is God from Eternal God
True Eternal God from True Eternal God

Mother Mary is truly the Mother of Lord Eternal God
Whose motherhood as the vocation to motherhood
Bestowed by Eternal God on every man raised to its highest level
Thus, Mother Mary becomes the mother of the Church and to be New Mama Eve
The mother of believers, the mother of the living
4202013


Details | Narrative | |

Black Leather Pouch

I stood before the mirror
in my violet cotton shirt
and jeans from the Gap,
with combed brown hair 
falling just below my shoulders,
my backpack in tow.
Small but mighty,
there I was,
ready to be one of 
the big kids now.

I held on tightly to my mom's hand
on the corner of Hazel and Greenleaf,
anxiously awaiting the arrival 
of the yellow school bus
to take me off to my first day
as a 1st grader. 

She sensed my nerves
and knelt down beside me,
placing a small black leather pouch necklace
in my hand.
"Put this around your neck
and whenever you start to feel
scared or lonely at school,
just rub the pouch and I'll be there,"
she said with a smile.

I clutched the pouch 
in my hand as the school bus
pulled up to the corner
and opened its doors. 
Charlie the bus driver
welcomed kids with a warm smile,
but I didn't want to let go of mom's hand.
With the pouch in my right hand,
and her hand in my left,
everything was right.
But as the last of the other kids
boarded the bus,
I knew it was time to let go
of mom's hand.

I waved one more time from the bus
as I sat down on the sticky brown
school bus seats.
I looked out the window
trying to hold onto my mom
with my eyes until
I couldn't see her anymore.

I felt the tears begin to well,
and my lower lip trembled,
the only thing I wanted 
was to be back with my mom.
I took the pouch out of my hand,
and slipped it over my head
onto my neck.
Closing my eyes
I rubbed the pouch,
and just like she said,
she was there with me
holding my hand.

Years later 
on a humid day in late September
I stood in front of the mirror
in my apartment,
wearing a yellow tank top 
and a loose brown skirt,
my short hair pulled back
in a ponytail.
As the time came for me to leave,
all I wanted to do was cry.
I wish mom was here to hold my hand,
I thought, looking down at my
empty hands.
I grabbed my bag from my chair,
and a worn black leather pouch
fell from the chair onto the carpet.
I stared at it for just a moment,
and then picked it up and tied it tightly 
to the strap on my bag.
As I walked into the room
for my first day as a big girl
in the real world.
I realized I was rubbing the pouch
with the fingers on my right hand,
just as I did on the first day of 
the 1st grade.

I knew she was there with me
holding my hand through my struggles,
just like she promised me years earlier
while waiting for the bus
on the corner of Hazel and Greenleaf.


Details | Narrative | |

MOTHER

The  one who was always dearest to me                                                                                                                                But now you are slowly killing me.Words like arrows you shoot to my heart .                                                                                                                           And I am slowly falling apart.                                                                                                                            MOTHER,You carried me and gave life to me and yet you cannot let me be.                                                                                                                      Everything I do is always wrong,yet my love for you still remains strong.                                                                                                                           MOTHER,I have found love and one so true,but somehow he does not conform to you.                                                                                                                               You drive him away,you drive me away with cruel and vicious things you say.                                                                                                                               MOTHER,I am a person on my own,God only gave me to you on loan.                                                                                                                              If you look into my heart you'll see,a daughter who is true unto thee.


Details | Narrative | |

A Two Woman Duo

A Two Woman Duo
 
By Missy Yourist 



I am from the inside of a woman whom I have never met. 
A birth mother who I do not know one ounce of who or what she is about. 
A person who bearably carried me for nine months. 
Gave birth to me, a 3 pound toe-head baby. 
She had to have held me right after, but my baby eyes don't seem to remember. 
Blurred by the brightness of the world, 
I never saw who my birth mother was. 

But after two months, I was passed onto the most beautiful creature 
that my premature eyes had ever seen. 
A woman who would ultimately become my real mother. 
A wonderful being who would raise me with pride. 
Teach me the ways in which she thought we right. 
A mom who would love me with all of her heart and care for me 
for the 14 years that she would be able to share with me.


Details | Narrative | |

Home Remedy

Banished to the front porch
brother, sister and I lay, 
dispirited, on quilt pallets,

with knees drawn up 
to meet our chins,

spewing forth to the ground
the meager contents
of our aching stomachs.

Mom called it "Summer Complaint."
She took her third arm,
the garden hoe, into the woods.

The roots, scrubbed and boiled,
imparted a brew so bitter

we choked and sputtered
but drank, at her command,
with faces skewed, lips puckered.

Not the worst of Mother’s
home remedies brewed
in her country kitchen,
but close. 


Details | Narrative | |

The Tinsel Tree


"It's a fake tree", I said the year
my mother lost her mind and decided that real trees were too much trouble!
My best friend, who lived next door
thought it was just great,....that giant, silver monstrosity!
That is..until I told her to close her eyes, and sniff.
"That's the ugliest tree I ever smelled!" she said, ...finally agreeing with me.
Her support helped to convince my mother of her error in judgment,
and that was the last tinsel tree we ever had.

That was the same year
that we noticed that Santa Claus looked a lot
like our neighbor, Mr. Hendrickson.
We had called him "Mr. Hiccupson"
until we would go into fits of giggles
watching how his belly jiggled.  

Spending all those Christmas's apart
 after her family moved away, was painful
Never again would we have special sleepovers, 
      and times like singing around that fake tree,
         and listening for Mr. Hendrickson's reindeer to land on the roof.
We had written letters for awhile, but after a few years
   we drifted apart....her living on one coast, me on the other.
But I had never forgotten that last Christmas....and the silver tinsel tree.

Out of the blue...a phone call,...a voice that time hadn't forgotten.
Suddenly, we were laughing and giggling like two little girls once again.
Sometimes, when you least expect it,
Christmas shows up early,....like a long lost friend
   and wraps you up in it's arms.
         Thank you Santa Claus.....or Mr. Hiccupson, ......wherever you are.....


Details | Narrative | |

On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 3

Another boring, Protestant Traditional, Sunday Family Dinner 1:00 pm sharp
This week it’s at Uncle David’s  house in Alford, Mass. I haven’t meant Him
Actually the only Family I met so far “Momma“, Poppa, and Big Sister Brenda 
YOU probably thought I was going to say “Momma, Poppa, and Baby Bear
Went for a walk in the forest“. Sorry I’m reading Goldilocks while I’m trying to Write
Brenda ( B B ) , and I use to wonder why they had to be called Momma and Poppa ?!! 
Pizza for dinner, on a Saturday night ,Baths, pajamas, robes, and slippers out to the car
Alright kids, It’s a 3 hour drive to Uncle Dave’s Let’s play “Grandma’s Suitcase” 
The subject Grandma is infatuated with is her : LOVE of Animals
Harry you start, Grandma went on a vacation , in her suitcase she put an alligator
Brenda, “Grandma went on a vacation, in her suitcase she puts a female Baboon 
“Poppa, it’s your turn, “Grandma went a vacation, in her Suitcase she put a Catamount
I challenge You  Poppa, Mount is Mountain ,not Animal  I brought my dictionary, Read;
The definition of catamount; a mountain lion, Cougar  A feline animal born in nature
Harry your out of the game; “Momma” Your turn “ Grandma put in her suitcase The Devil”


Details | Narrative | |

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY

OK!  i'm at the store ! now where's that card isle?
whew! looks like i;ll be here a while.
who ever knew there would be so many cards,
well! there's the Mother's day ones ,that's where i'll start.
i need to go thru these cards pretty swift, 
because i still need to figure out what to get her for a gift.
i see kitchenware, i see flowers , i see  hats i see rings
what do you get a mother that has almost everything.
ok i found it ! now let me check out ,
because i still have a long drive to get to her house. 
we'll give her the gifts after we get out of church,
and then go out to eat til our belly's hurt .
and just thank God for making a way, 
 for us to have such a glorious and happy MOTHER"S DAY.


Details | Narrative | |

Ghostly Child

Ghostly child
peering through
foggy mist
watching from afar
from another dimension
in another era
from another place
drifting through time
caught in between worlds
towards spirit light
of beacon bright
shining on her
the way to go home.

She lingers on
from dusk until dawn
floating through air
searching for her mother
who was lost at sea
from long ago
entity from eternity
forever lives on
in her daughter's ghostly heart.

Free her from her earthly plane
into the spirit world
where she belongs
in finding peace
rather than remain
in limbo state
away from her mother's
loving embrace.


Details | Narrative | |

Womb for Sale?

Ever since a little child,
Away from the family he was kept,
His  protests were ruled out,
Searching for the reason,he silently wept.

No affection, love or bed time stories for him,
Always sad and dejected, his childhood was grim.
He longed for his mother's love,yearned for her time,
Unfulfilled desire of a little boy,what was his crime?

Away from home to Bangalore he was sent,
In a hostel to live alone,he had no intent.
Though dejected initially, he learnt to live alone, 
Study ,work and earn, he soon became a gemstone.

Career enhanced and to Mumbai he came,
Appreciated for work, he rose to fame.
He met a girl and friends they became,
Cupid Struck and in love he was lame.

Happily, they decided to tie the knot,
His neglected childhood, he totally forgot.
Happy in love and enjoying his fame,
Life for him became a successful game.

Then one day his mother called,
All his happiness was suddenly stalled.
She demanded his house and his money,
She dictated ... he abandon his honey.

He fought, protested and decided to abandon her,
She said something that made his eyes  blur.

"I hate your dad and your handicapped brother,
And sent you away,so I could join you later, 
I made dad pay for your education and so you earn
I gave you birth....so now you have to return"


Details | Narrative | |

He Left These Here for You

Granddad saved change under the paper in his dresser drawer.
We never dared to look and see how much he had to share.
He saved it there with a purpose; to give when I was there.
For a nickel I would comb his hair; a quarter bought a shave.
He loved to give me money; I loved the way he cared.
A playful sort, he loved to laugh; he always teased and joked.
There was endless time to play with me; that’s how my granddad was.

My granddad grew a garden, the prettiest one in town.
I would help him plant the rows of corn.
Three seeds dropped in each hole that he made.
Row after row, together we worked our way down.
And when the work was completely done, it was time for fun!
A shave, hair comb, and a pedicure would make him fall asleep.
Grandma brought bright red polish to decorate his feet!

When he'd wake up, I’d sit on the floor, knowing what was next.
He would bring out coins from his dresser drawer
And laugh about his toes…  (A tradition as my grandmother knows.)
He was always amused while I counted all of my loot.  
He would tease and laugh and taunt.  To me, he was number one!
At age eighteen, while in the Army, the horrible message came.
Granddad had died from an allergy; life would never be the same.

I tried not to cry, like I promised him; I could not bear the pain.
He loved me so and I loved him.  I felt so alone.
How could I go through life and never hear his voice.
I must go on; we had talked of this; even now, he still is missed.
I didn't go home for many years; when I did…he wasn’t there.
Emptiness came over me, and an ocean full of tears.
Then, Grandma took me to his drawer… “He left these here for you.”

© July 9, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen 


Details | Narrative | |

Morning Raga - "Tell Me A Story!"

In the first grey light of dawn, a young woman begins the morning song.
The simple cadences of her song are as tranquil and liquid as the monsoon rain, 
Trickling down the broad leaves in her mother’s garden.
The steady drumming on the veranda roof echoes her rhythms. 

She sings of joys, of sorrows, and of love … always of love … 

This morning song is as familiar and comforting as a lullaby.
Her mother brought it with her from the South, 
And sang it every morning for her father.
Now, she sings for them both, as they begin the day.

Today will be special for her.
She is to meet her future husband for the first time.
She has never seen him, but she trusts her parents’ judgement … 
After all, they love her, don’t they?

She hopes he will be kind, and maybe a little bit handsome … 
Like the boy she’s seen in town.
But she must try to forget him … 

On another veranda, a young man sits silent, listening.
He sits here at every dawn to hear the morning raga, 
Entranced by the voice of a girl he cannot see.

He, too, is to meet his betrothed today.
He wishes she might be a singer, or at least enjoy the morning song,
When she comes to live at his mother’s house.

He remembers a lovely girl he saw … sly glances, shy smiles … 
If his new wife is half as pretty, he will be well content.
Yes! He will … 

He believes his secret is safe, but mothers see everything … 
And his mother loves him. So she whispered to a friend,
And her friend whispered to another, and, well … 
A good husband is not hard to persuade … 

The sun has risen above the clouds.
There is much to do today – and if the young people agree,
There will be a lucky Monsoon wedding to arrange.

But first, the song.



Entered in Elaine's "Tell me a story" contest


Details | Narrative | |

Flying Fortress Mi Amigo Rememberance

Mi Amigo It happened in the year nineteen forty-four Ten young lives from that day were with us no more They were flying a B17 bomber plane A ten man crew “Mi Amigo” was her name Returning from a raid over Denmark Badly damaged and struggling back to her mark Her radio dead and engine misfiring The skin in tatters from all the shell firing A nurse plane was left to guide her way home But they lost sight in the clouds and presumed she was gone But the pilot valiantly tried to find the English coast He needed to reach Charleston but managed Sheffield, their last post It was just before five on that February day Children in the Endcliffe Park with a football to play Mi Amigo couldn’t wait she had to come down She spiraled and tried to land in the Park ground The pilot he saw the children playing there He lifted the nose and tried to climb in the air There is a Memorial Stone in the park these days They planted ten oak trees for the boys they couldn’t save The boys were all American aged twenty-one to twenty-four February Twenty Second, they were lost far from their own shore The Pilot determined he missed the children and hit in the trees Heroes to the parents of the children playing in that February freeze My mother watched the plane as it struggled overhead The engine sound and smoke from it filled them with dread They had souvenirs made from the Perspex nose of the plane But they are now lost like the lives of the boys that were claimed
It was the anniversary in Feb of 10 American boys that died in a Park where I played as a child. My mother would normally have been playing there with the others but she watched it from her sick bed at home as the plane passed yards from their roof. Although she was an eyewitness this information is from A book By D Harvey called Mi Amigo Sheffield's Flying Fortress


Details | Narrative | |

My Father Gone These Forty Years

My father gone these forty years,
my mother gone twenty, I remember...
the acrid smell of tobacco
on my mother’s rough fingers,
as she sat, silently,
in a predawn Texas coastal town,
my head in her lap, the short-wave
radio crackling with static.
She strained to hear the chatter of
shrimpers in the Gulf of Mexico,
yelling out to each other
in Cajun patois French,
Mexican Spanish, accented English;
she stroked my nine-year-old hair,
her middle-aged body aching,
hungry, worried, sleepless,
far from her roots, stranded
in this strange, dry,
totally foreign place.
Her imaginings of my father’s
struggles with the sea
and its weathers filled her mind,
and she knew, all the while, that
even if he were safe, earning money,
he (and she) would fail
and we would still suffer
the poverty of the hopeless
and desperate doomed
whose minor, occasional comforts
were only, onshore, the cold beers
and noisy camaraderie of the others
like him, like her,
like us.


Details | Narrative | |

The Baboon Dossier

The Baboon Dossier…….. By Peter Onyancha

The child laughed, blurred
There were little tears steaming
The mother Baboon; a signature smile
The story teller sustained –

The Dossier:

As I said, that was long ago
We were like them, yes
The humanbeings, with human things
We used to wear cloths; our skins were delicate
We struggled and caged ourselves in houses 
Even the feet cushioned with solace Shoes
We have come a long way.
Nature was alien, child

But how, mummy how 
An intelligent child; curiosity – distinction
How did we become today, mummy
Will they successfully walk naked?
Will they ever change, poor things!
(Evolution – child, from mother )
And stop the baggage of those cloths
And be free from fear; and become normal
Mummy, do they also think!

Child, you think too much
Mummy prevails; they are not as bad
In their homo-egosystem,  they are fine
You may not understand the science inside
Ours is ecosystem; theirs egosystem
 “Ego” and “Eco” is too much, child 
Ask your dad, when he climbs down
It takes millions of millions of time to develop
When they become us, we will be their histories

A Mercedes Benz with a flag – 
And another many other around it mill
Then land rover with humans dressed like the bush
Mummy, look, poor things

Child, Listen before we go up home
The flak you saw, flags the hope
These creatures, too, cherish some hope
The bush –like dressing is the vision
A future, where they shall be, Child
Where we are, Child

When you grow up, run but learn
The myths, the truths and the gem
You will note them, child
You will not then, chide!


Details | Narrative | |

Covenant House Prayer


Lord God,

All people have problems and troubles in the world.
Provide children someone to love and be loved,
Help them have someone to walk with as far as they wish.
Give them wisdom or understanding and knowledge to do what is right and what is wrong.

Help children have strength and courage to face their oppressors who tease and bully them
Those who gather socialize and trade their images
Children who are being rape and abuse
Enlighten people to realize their horrifying acts

Please help children choose the right decisions to the things that happens
Help the children's attitude towards people.
Give them fortitude or strength to hope for their brighter future
Help them reach their teenage years in peace

Give them courage to face their trials,
Perseverance to strive hard to reach their best and be successful
Help them have Patience and Tolerance when dealing with hardships
Comfort them mentally and physically to be calm.

We ask this through Your Son, Fr. Christ
Who lives and reigns with You forever and ever.  

  Amen  


Details | Narrative | |

My Earliest Memory

 I was in a museum. I suppose there were many displays of animals mounted or posed in 
their realistic forms to show them as they appeared in their natural environment. However, I 
recall only one display. It is the one that has stayed forever emblazoned on my young 
impressionistic mind. There in front of me they stood, in all their bloody glory: two wild 
animals. One (I cannot recall now what animal it was, only that it had hold of its victim’s 
throat.) Perhaps it was a wolf; maybe a wild boor. What matters most is that it was clearly 
the aggressor and it was the victor over the other animal in its natural habitat. The other, I 
am sure, was a deer, a poor innocent deer. Though its eye sockets were now filled with dark 
marbles, I could imagine in those eyes, terror beyond words. Whoever had put together this 
display had done a most realistic job. Heavy blood matted the neck of the deer and flowed 
down its body. Blood also gushed forth from the attacking beast’s mouth. I do not know what 
thoughts were running through my mind as I beheld this scene. I only remember standing 
there utterly transfixed.

Years later, I told my mother that my earliest childhood memory had been of two animals 
posed in struggle at a museum. So much time had passed, I was not even sure if maybe it 
had not been just a dream. My mother confirmed for me that I had indeed witnessed it and 
that it took place when I was around three years old. She then told how I had stood in front 
of the display for many minutes, perhaps fifteen, just staring and staring at it. She said that 
she and my dad could not tear me away from it, and they finally had to drag me away. Why 
that is my first memory I do not know. Perhaps because it was my first visual impression of 
violence. I wish I could remember what went through my mind as I gazed on it. Later in life, 
I was to witness acts of violence in the “real world” which greatly disturbed me, particularly 
those acts of cruelty involving man against man. However, I am someone who is able to step 
outside myself and view things in an analytical and detached way. I think this makes me 
sometimes misread by the "too feeling crowd." Furthermore, I always find myself strangely 
titillated by scenes of the macabre in horror movies. I do not enjoy gore. But I very much 
enjoy a good psychological thriller. Just something about me. I don’t know what it means. 
And I have no room to explore it here! 

For the Contest of Leighann Anderson: 
Sea of Words


Details | Narrative | |

giants do fall

Look up in the sky now tell me what do you see

people tell me I need to go down on my knees and say something to, but everytime I call 

on you I always get a beep... I am starting to feel like there is nobody home up there, if

so why am I laying my head down in places where it is illegal for me to sleep?

my mind is full of troubles and in my time of need all I keep running into is struggles...

they say being gay is a demon and if it bothers you why didnt you think about all of this 

when you found out he loaded you up with his semen?...

I wasnt asked to be in this world just like you didnt expect to be beaten, but damn I am one

of your kids too so why am I so mistreated?...

they also say what goes around comes around..... now you really got me thinking back to 

all those nights when I wasnt eating... (it wasnt by choice but by force)

but that didnt stop you cause you would still be home whipping up a main course...

you waited 22 years to finally get a divorce because you thought your man was gonna 

wife you up, until he figured out your ways and threw up them deuces to you, but luckily 

for you, you still living in high class, but what are you gonna do when that child support

stop coming to you?


Details | Narrative | |

My Butterfly

A butterfly I saw pass by.
Brilliant colors and big dark eyes.
It flew a circle , landed by my side,
I knew I knew that butterfly.

We just stayed still and did not speak,
a tear of joy ran down my cheek.
Such beauty and grace ,I'd seen before,
every time my mom opened the door.

She spead her wings to say goodbye,
I hear her say,
 "little petoot,please don't cry".
Although its fall,and I must go
There's just one thing I want you to know.

I must go but I,ll be back,
When the flowers bloom and the sun is hot.
Till then remember this precious day,
 and remember I am not far away.

To flight she took,and flew close by,
in a moment or two ,she headed for the sky.
I watched her go,I started to cry,when she stopped mid air
and waved her wing with a sweet  bye bye.


Details | Narrative | |

Time! A beautiful Rhyme?

Noise everywhere for me alone 
Yes I don’t like disturbance, while I study
From my bedroom to the library
I once at home started reading in a tone
Every now and then there is a knock, so petty 
Busy all the time, not fit to study
I have to finish my studies, my prose  
Then I chose a near by library to study 
My mobile started ringing but hourly
That was enough and I was sent back home
Suddenly my mother told me 
“Dear son you are not fit and ready”
I felt very bad and found my faults upon
I realized that for every problem that apply 
There is a solution you need to try
It was just a matter of time that with a tone 
I finished my studies and I felt happy
My mother pulled me out of the fiddly

 


Details | Narrative | |

Mother's Angry

August, it's late in the month,it's been many years
but a quiver is felt in the earth, in southern Colorado.
Some folks slept right through it, others felt it and 
realized what was happening, An Earthquake. Was this
meant to be?    
                         Maybe....Mother's Angry

The very next day, in the part of our Country, where
our Country began. Mid morning and again the earth
began to quiver, then shake. Buildings were evacuated,
The Capital... Evacuated, bricks loosened and felled, Why ?

                         Maybe... Mother's Angry

The following week, calm was interrupted by darkness,
hail, lightening, tidal surges, flooding, devastation and death.
New York as well as New England as a whole felt the wrath
of a storm named Irene, 43 dead...Why?

                        Maybe...Mother's Angry

The day after Irene, was the anniversary of yet another storm,
where the sky grew dark, hail, floods and people died, Her name was
Katrina. The Northern Gulf States felt her wrath. Why?

                        Maybe... Mother was Angry


Throughout the history of Mankind, we have done with this Planet as we will.
We dug and drilled into her womb for her resources, we have deforested, not only
for lumber for space but mostly for necessity, which turned to GREED. As any other 
living thing, it takes and takes and takes being abused for just so long, and then
It Gets Angry! Guess What !

                                       Mother's Angry !


Details | Narrative | |

On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 2

Are you strong, young man? Can you help me keep this Farm going?
Do you fear hard work? Calluses on your fingers and hands “tough Love”
You will be a great man, you follow my directions , People watch You growing
You can have  “ A Real Life “ something to Love; Love from GOD Above 
Dad I appreciate Your taking me in; giving me, shelter through a Stormy Life 
Yes I accept , the rules of Your House; I will be diligent in my chores 
The day starts at 3:45 AM , milk the cows; out to pasture before 5 O’clock
Muck out the stable, feed the chickens, Slop the hogs, breakfast at six
Your tutor will be here  from nine ‘til noon; Have a shower, he’ll be here soon
I( walk to the house, and what do I see; Brenda’s Eyes, Red like fire, a serene Blue
I hear the Pain : “She Screams” I feel the Violations She had to Endure 
Brenda, What’s wrong, I have seen pains of fear, pains of life, pains of Death
Your face shows all, from the mountain top, to the deep Waterfalls Depths 
You are my Older Sister; “I’m concerned : Is that blood on Your Dress??

                                         To be Cont. 




Details | Narrative | |

Barbara Rose

Barbara Rose

Barbara Rose her prayer she would pray for all:
 
I wish for the beauty of thoughts and beauty that come through life's walk through the soul
 and heartaches and laughter and love of each other..
the memories of what could have been and the life song for the future..
I wish for the beauty in words to come alive in the mist of our souls,
to show the world what words of beauty could really accomplish in peoples hearts,
that the ecstasy of life could blossom in each person lives and sing the beauty of songs and 
to reach the hardest of hearts and just be friends.
I wish for love for each of one of you..
 
With melodies flowing
the day is long
Blessed are those that love
and wait the wait
Enthralled and enslaved by the char
of those sparkling eyes for all the world to see
Empowered by Saviors grace
 
Her eyes spoke of things to come
A Love of the master for all
Compassionate feelings of her hearts
Were of her family That she had been so blessed
Her name was Barbara Rose
 
Dear Momma,
I love you so much
One day I will be there all the way up there
In glorious heaven with you
to dance with you
And walk the streets of gold
I miss you mom
Your wonderful smile
Your gorgeous laugh
Our long talks
You being so wise
Telling me all about Jesus.

You always told me,
Love life
Life will love you back
Love people
People will love you back
Pour out your love my daughter
Love will pour back....

Keep extending love and your will receive
Be found faithful and your will be rewarded.
Thank you my momma
Love you dearly
With all my heart
Love you: Brooke

This mothers day is hard without you mom... I miss you so... 
but all the memories from you is the best I ever had... 
Love you so much.... 
Brooke....
This is my dear mom that left us back in July 2011.. 
She had a long hard illness but everyday to her was a blessings with a big smile on her face.
 She loved all and all loved her.. Blessings to each one of you..

Happy Mothers day to all...


Details | Narrative | |

Looking Back

Dedicated to my children who have kept my dreams alive.

LOOKING BACK We can’t go back To the days of yesteryear To capture those lost feelings With those whom we loved so dear I am just looking back to see Where all of my dreams first start You know those deep seeded dreams Buried way down deep in your heart I’m not trying to revive a lost love That I once had forty years ago Or even trying to replace the twenty years Of not seeing my grandchildren grow There were times of much struggle Filled with pain, fear and torture It was the love I had for my children That developed my strength to endure My children only remember the 2nd set Of twenty years that have come and gone When they were all moving out on their own And when all of the grandchildren came along It’s like I was locked in a rock Throughout those 20 to 40 years Not able to see my grandchildren Filled my heart with so many tears The bitterness you feel towards me Is understandable and really okay My children, you all have the right To your feelings and to feel that way I have finally made the escape Since that rock has split wide open I want you all to know who I really am I haven’t changed at all, only my situation The gift of feelings we have in our heart Whether right or wrong, just happen It matters not what others may think We should let out our own self expression No feelings are really ever wrong In another’s view or even our own Our thoughts trigger our feelings inside The feelings we have are ours alone Looking back strengthens my heart Reminding me I want to pass along To all of you, just who I really am Before my time on earth is gone One day I hope you will realize With you I have always been Filling you up with that extra love You may have noticed you’ve been given You have all filled up Such a big part Of all the dreams Living in my heart My best friend Grace, reminded me That our feelings are meant to be and to last God wouldn’t put the dreams in our heart If He didn’t plan to bring the dreams to pass My dreams haven’t changed I am not letting them go They are for new adventures With new beginnings of tomorrow Now that I’m looking back I’m so glad to have survived I know now, my love for all of you Has always kept my dreams alive Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

the Epiphany

The phone call changed everything....

As I ran into the hospital room
The tears rolled down my face.
So fragile she was,
In so much pain.
Then it hit me....
   Today could be the day I lose her,
   As they rushed her to surgery.

....Her recovery was so slow,
So painful.
At her age her body did not cooperate.
Once again it hit me....
I had to be the strong one now.
I had to take care of her.
My mother, who would never again
Be strong and independant.
As she had been her whole life.

....I had always needed her.
She had always been there for me.
Now, she needed me
And I prayed I would not let her down.




for Desiree Birdseye's "Epiphanies" contest


Details | Narrative | |

I Have You

As the days grow darker.
My future grows bleaker.
And hope seems out of reach.

Falling; falling down.

Screaming; but no sound.

Is my life coming to an end?
Then fluttering in the wind.

"Don't worry i'm here" 
Rings through out may ears; 
My body hits the ground cold as ice.

Then...

When I open my eyes

I see you next to me.
I awoke from a scary dream.
Sometimes it's lonely and dark

If I open my eyes in the night,

I'll have you and be alright.

No matter the evil deeds I've done,
or if i fall behind everyone.
A mothers love aways wins

Forever... 

safe in her arms


Details | Narrative | |

A Mother's Love

I am a mother filled with love
I wonder if they know we come from above
I hear people talk because their kids are bad
I see all the hate which is very sad
I want to be admired like the white dove
I am a mother filled with love

I pretend to be things that I'm not
I feel that people will put my child on the spot
I touch on my child's heart as much as I can
I don't worry because with that he will be a man
I cry at night to the Lord above
To make me a mother filled with love

I hope they understand the nine months of pain
Or the dangerous walks through the snow or rain
I say things to him so he could understand
I went through the suffering, not the man
I dream of living comfortable and nice
I try to make sure he is good though, for that suffice
It's not our fault if we sound stern or mean
It's just that we've seen more things than you seen
As mothers we love with the love that comes from above
The only way a mother could ever love


Details | Narrative | |

No Ordinary Day

There was a day
No ordinary day
Until that day, I always had the stars to hold

My mother had said I am going now
When you are alone, you will be all right
Whether or not you think so
The stars will tell you so …

Beloved fields withdrew into space
I watched them dwindle, watched new lands unfold before my face
Weary mountains made an exchange 
For shapeless pain

But night settled down
And with it came new stars
Some were the old ones, some I would soon discover
And though the nights were longer
The stars still shined in the same familiar way
They seemed to be closer
And they seemed to be brighter
Yet, they were harder to reach
Harder to hold in my hand...
But, somehow they told me
My mother was right


-------------------------------------------
Inspired By Frank Herrera's Contest: "Coming of Age"
By Carrie Richards 2/6/12


Details | Narrative | |

GERTY GRIBBLE'S DILEMMA

My aunty Gerty Gribble was a true blue pioneer 
as she and husband Harold ran a place called 'Bendemere'. 
Two dinkum Aussie battlers, who had given their life's blood 
to fifty years of toiling on their outback cattle stud. 
 
So constant had the struggle been that Gert would often quote, 
she'd worked her tiny butt off just to keep the place afloat. 
The hours were so demanding she had no time for romance  
and motherhood had passed her by, she never got the chance. 
 
Old Gert was old and wrinkled when they gave the game away, 
though fit as any Mallee bull and jogged ten k a day. 
They bought a little donga in a Queensland coastal town, 
but sadly, being childless often got old Gerty down. 
 
She knew that her poor Harold was beyond it, without doubt, 
so Gert would try a new technique that she had read about.   
"You're far too old for IVF," the Doctor kindly said, 
but Gert was not to be put off, she forged on right ahead.  
   
"It happens that my Harold has been looking to donate  
a hundred thousand dollars to a worthy cause of late. 
However if you cannot help".  "You'll make a lovely Mum 
I'm sure ... so may I ask would next week be to burdensome?" 
 
Aunt Gert she fell first time it seems and had a little boy, 
which left her Harold overwhelmed and Gerty filled with joy. 
This news then spread like fowl manure and folk were left enthralled, 
The Premier and local Mayor among the first who called. 
 
One day while I was driving past I thought I'd duck in too 
and see my little cousin ... sort of pop in out the blue. 
Aunt Gert was glad to see me, but she asked if I could wait  
until he woke from sleeping, though did not elaborate.  

Within the hour to my surprise ten other folk called by 
and aunty Gert told them the same and I was dumbstruck why. 
We sat and dunked our biscuits in the tea she'd kindly made 
while Gert was scratching her old head and looked somewhat dismayed. 
 
The Doctor from the clinic, who'd been playing basketball, 
had wondered how Gert's baby was and thought he'd make a call. 
"It's nice your dropping in" she said, "but Doctor would you mind 
just waiting till the baby wakes - I'm in a  kind of bind." 
 
"A problem Gert?" the Doctor said, "There something I can do?" 
"Not really Doc.  He's sound asleep,  these folk are waiting too. 
I'd show you him asleep and all, if that is what you'd like,  
but Doc, I can't recall just where I put the little tyke."


Details | Narrative | |

Our Little Girl

The light I see
In your eyes
only when I speak of her.
Our little one.
She would have had your eyes,
your nose.
she would have had my hair 
and my my mouth.
Our little girl would have been perfect.
But that horrible day in July,
I cried and I hated myself.
That horrific day in July when I lost her.
My world broke down.
Now when I speak of her. 
Your eyes water up, 
as do mine.
But one day we'll see her. 
I promise.
Our little girl, 
is waiting for us.
I promise.
And one day,
she'll finally say daddy.
Our little girl.


Details | Narrative | |

If Roses Grow In Heaven

If roses grow in Heaven Lord

Please pick a bunch for me.



Place them in my mother's arms

And tell her they are from me.



Tell her I love her and miss her,

And when she turns to smile,



Place a kiss upon her cheek,

And hold her for awhile.



Because remembering her is easy,

I do it everyday.



But there is an ache within my heart 

That will never go away.


Details | Narrative | |

tales about them

each time when some stories
are told I cringe
and swallow a lump of bitterness
and will my tear duct to stay intact
because I will never break 
in the presence of anyone
I'd rather shut my eyelids 
and start counting backwards 
from 10
She loves me, I know that
but tough love can only stretch
this far and sometimes
when u least want
your heart will melt
its walls will wilt releasing
molten warmth that will wash over
your tear stains and feed the demons
in your stomach
Love knows not only fear
but weakness, charisma and a wicked
sense of humor
and strength that will envelope
you further down the rabbit hole
that may possibly swallow 
and spit you to a shore
where the sand is shiny and glassy
it cuts your heels until you bleed
and come to a stop
where death will find you
or you could just hand over 
your life to Satan 
just to not feel anymore pain
for a second, to silence
the screaming voices in your head
that tells you hell isn't quite 
done burning you
and to quiet down the cries
of your tongue as it dries and 
stick to your throat until you suffocate
this life isn't yours to take
or trade or give away
its for you to give, to know and 
not even understand because if you did
then you would never feel pain
and you will always smile
even when the storms rips you off
of all you have
so right now this is me reaching out
hold on to my hand and be granted
one more good reason to stay
a bit of warmth and a glance of love
one day we will both stand before God
and recite this story


Details | Narrative | |

My Birthday Wish

I sit on the floor and wait from dusk to dawn, for a new day will soon be reborn. I count all 
the blooming flowers, and count down the long hours, while mum takes her shower. 
Today's the day, for it's my birthday. I hope I get A car, or A guitar or maybe even become 
A movie star, but that's asking A bit too much of me. I walk around singing out A loud, 
acting proud feeling as if my heads in A cloud. To my surprise I start stumbling over my 
words and begin mumbling. Maybe mum just forgot about me, or are they just hiding the 
presents from me? I walk through the hall, with my head dragging looking at the floor, 
and go to bed with my heart feeling torn. It's getting late and I can no longer wait. I turn 
off my light, and close my eyes and cry having so much things go through my mind. I 
drift to sleep but then I see, mum walking in my room in the middle of the night with A 
light. It's so bright. She raises my heart like A kite, taking of it flight and she says, good 
night, and turns of the lights. She raised my hopes high and then shot them out of the 
sky. I break down and cry, it feels as if I've just died. No one remembered why today was 
A special day for it was my birthday. I look at the sky and wonder why? I light my candle 
and close my eyes, tears dripping down onto my thighs, and I start to whisper in my 
mind. "I don't want A car, or even A guitar. I don't even want to become A movie star. I 
just want to be free of this disease called poverty, I just want people to stop running away 
from me. Free me of aids so I can stop feeling afraid. Stop me from being poor, so I can 
afford to stop sleeping on the floor. Make me smile for there is no reason to smile, but 
please make my life worth while. Take me away from Africa, for all I see is people being 
raped and all the kids hearts filled with hate, I'm loosing my faith for I am living each day 
even though there is nothing to live for". A Tear drops on my candle, And puts out the 
flame I whisper in pain,This is "My Birthday Wish"
 
We wish for luxuries that only money can afford. They wish for water for they are poor. 
People need to learn to smile, for kids living in poverty have A legitimate reason not too. 
Be happy for what we have, and never complain for what we don't have.
 
- Wiko Te Maru


Details | Narrative | |

My Biography - Narrative

My spiritual journey is very different from other peoples because 
my life has been very different from most people’s lives. The story
I relate to the most in the Bible is Job, because Job lost everything 
but his faith ultimately grew stronger. As I grew up, my father was 
an abuser which reminds me of Jobs abusers. Today, even my father
is dead and I have forgiven him. But I will never forget what he did.
Abuse leaves real scars and they don’t just magically go away, no matter
how blessed or spiritual you are. You may heal but there are still scars.

When I could barely put a sentence together my mother took to Max 
Hickerson’s Congregational Church and I was Baptized, full emersion.
That would be the last time I went to Church, until I was an adult. To 
sum it up my childhood my mother wasn’t all there, psychologically, 
and my father was a dry drunk who abused my brothers and I. but mostly, 
my mother. This was my first path toward righteousness.

My first religious path led me to being furious with God because when 
I asked and prayed diligently for God’s for help there wasn’t any. But 
later, When I felt the hollow and emptiness feeling I would go back to God.
Trough Faith and Righteousness and Eastern theology.  I went back and
forth with God until I realized that I had to make a final commitment. I 
chose Christianity, so I decided I go to the Theology School in Claremont 
a very liberal community where all are welcome. I decided to become a 
minister. In my denomination outside of STC they welcomed women 
ministers. From Graduate school I decided I had to make a full commitment,
Wo I enrolled to get Masters of Divinity(mean you are a minister) and a 
Doctor of Ministry(which means your qualified to teach Ministry to pastors). 
I was the pastor of Metropolitan Community Church that was inter-
denominational, which meant what ever kind of religious and Christian 
background you had, was respected and you were welcomed at our church. 
After 4 years as a minister at the Los Angeles church, in the year 2001
I was diagnosed with a brain tumor in the left central lobe. This has made
me succumb to my handicapped and I had to give up ministry at least
church ministry. I think that all of us have our ministries. The term
“minister” just means “service” and you can serve God whether you’re
 in a church or not.


Details | Narrative | |

Faked

I stumble upon a river
the way it flows and feels
I take my shoes off and run threw it
laughing looking up towards the sun
I wake up and it was all just a dream
my sister runs up the stairs
she slams her door
i asked her what was wrong
she looked at me 
She says "mom told me you were adopted"
at first i laughed as i thought it was a joke
I run downstairs to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch
"mom?" i say
she replies "its true we adopted you!" 
she got up and walked into the kitchen
"after all this time i thought i was yours" i say
My father gets up and walks out the door
My mom lays her hand on her forhead
Just dont worry about it  everything will be okay
"No it wont i say"
i felt fake like i wasnt who i was suppose to be
i just sat on my bed thinking about the whole thing
my whole life and who i should have been
I packed my bags that light and i ran away
leaving the less important things behind
i set out on a journey to find my real parents
I had my sister get there info. from my dads office
I took a bus to indiana and looked up there address
As soon as i found it i knocked on the door
A man opened the door
he said "who are you?"
i say "apparently i am your son?!"
"you put me up for adoption?" i repeat

He yells "ANNA!?, Some kid is here for you!"
i repeat the story to her as she denied it
She looked bruised and beaten up
I wanted to help her but the man hut the door on my face

I had no where to go now
So i started on a journey back home
But i never made it there 
I found that old river i use to go too
i stayed there for a few weeks until
i remembered the way back.
I found myself that day
I realized that i was fake but now im not because i know that i am just me not any of them





Details | Narrative | |

Creature

Observing. 
Frozen in time,
captivated by this enormous being,
the size of a small car.

Pondering, 
his every move.
The way he used his hands;
so child-like.
With all the consciousness of the world, 
and graceless coordination.

Aware.
of the visitors,
as they briefly called out for his attention.
Only for a moment,
then they were gone.

Untamed,
in an orderly sham. 
He sat there,
in his dark cave.
As if he was waiting for the light to find him.

Perched,
on a boulder, 
squatting, and primitive.
Drawing in the dirt with one hand. 
Swatting a fly with the other.

Surreal,
His nature,
as he rushed to consume his food.
The females hovered behind him,
watching intently, 
like me.
His movement mechanic.
His presence powerful.
He was the king of his domain.

Studying, 
his magnificence, I watched.
How smart was he?
Could he feel my presence? 
Engulfed in the very essence of all that was him, 
I watched. 

Wondering, 
how he felt, I watched.
Did he think he was still in the womb of Mother Nature?
Or, did he know the iron bars which embrace him now?

Then 
it happened;
our eyes met.
He noticed my presence.
His gaze intimidated me, 
But I did not look away.
He approached me.
I felt his eyes inspecting my soul.
A chill ran down my back,
I turned behind me,
only to find no other presence there.
When I turned back, 
we were face to face.
Separated by the sham,
And a two inch piece of glass.
Just me and him,
the two of us,
and the females hovering behind him.

Wise,
His old eyes spoke to me,
They said 
“I am like you. 
I love, I feel, I hurt.
I am, like you.”

Sympathetic,
I put my hand on the glass
and with all the 
consciousness of the world,
he did the same.
With tears in my eyes,
I smiled.

Then, he pooped in his other hand
and wiped it on the glass.
This was a sign of endearment.
I laughed out loud.
And I swear,
He smiled back.


Details | Narrative | |

A letter to God

Dear God, 

Your imagination...they created...
Your thoughts into life...they translated....
You gave me life and sent me into this world...
They honored your wish and gave me birth.


They nurtured the seed that you sowed...
Treated me as a blessing and not a load...
The right path in life, to me they showed...
Love and affection on me they showered.


To make my happy, very hard they worked....
From fulfilling my wishes, they never shirked....
Education, food and a lovely family, to me they gave....
With a sweet smile, all my mistakes they forgave....


Their protective hand saved me from troubles....
With them around, I never stumbled....
With your creation they never fumbled....
Giving you no chance to grumble....


Hence dear god, I say to you....
For me ,my parents rank  before  you....
In total gratitude, let us together...
Say “Thank you” to my mother and father.



© Rima.Anil.Naik 



Details | Narrative | |

promising rhetoric

if i am not elected:
you will be able to sleep that night
if i am not elected:
the very next day, you will hunger
if i am not elected:
young children will cry - for their mothers
if i am not elected:
some grandmother will fall - and break her hip
if i am not elected:
crimes will be committed, 
and dogs and the derelict will wander the streets
if i am not elected:
people worldwide will cry, and laugh
if i am not elected:
some will, and some will not care, about you
if i am not elected:
you - yes you, will look into the distance
 and wonder perhaps 
 if it would have made a difference
if i am not elected:
our momentary democratic lives will
continue to their inevitable democratic end

i ask for your vote in the upcoming election,
not for me, as i intend to think - and perhaps nap,
but for yourself, yourselves, you who might
hold dear to the promises of tomorrow
i promise you will find some fulfillment there

© Goode Guy 2012-08-27


Details | Narrative | |

Against Mother Marian Devotion

O Sweet Father Christ, do these people have Your spirit?
Do they please You in acting like this?
Does it please You, when for fear of displeasing You,
We neglect doing the greatest to please Your Mother? Who’s our mother as well

Does devotion to Your mother, delay devotion to Yourself?
Does she attribute to herself honor we pay her?
Is she a stranger has no connection to You?
Does it displease You when we try to please her?

Do we alienate ourselves from Your love by giving ourselves to honoring her?
Yet my Sweet Master, 
Greater learned not discourage to Your holy mother 
Even all that I have said were true

Therefore, they’ve been punished for their pride!
Keep me Lord, form their sentiments and practices
Please give me share sentiments of gratitude
Esteem, Respect and Love
You has in regard to Your Holy Mother
The more I imitate her, follow her
The more I may Love and Glorify You

As if up to this point
Still I said nothing in honor of Your holy Mother
 'Give me grace to praise You worthily,' 
In spite of all her enemies, who are Yours as well
Grant me say loudly with the saints 
'Let not that man believe to look for the mercy of Eternal God 
Who offends His holy Mother 


Details | Narrative | |

Lily Flower

How could I forget those days when the Lily Flowers blossom
in mother's garden 
when it sprouted its enlarge bundle of flowers around the zinc fence
moments when strangers gazed
moments when bugs feast to joy
How could I forget this all
the days when its leaves struggled in the long rainfall
How could I forget the days when children crowded themselves just to touch the softness
of the flower
the days when mother sweat for an hour
How could I even forget that special day when mother and I went outside
only to see our neighbor whom we did not knew trespasses in mother's garden
we laughed with our mouth shut
he then say goodbye
How could I forget mother's garden
the days she planted flowers
How could I forget the days when she whipped my younger siblings
for damaging her only planted flowers.

Demeter Edwards


Details | Narrative | |

Small Town In California

In that far northern part was where I was born,

Over forty years ago my journey started in my home.

My Mom and Dad worked so hard to feed us eight kids,

If one can learn to love anyone in this world it was them.

My mom told me one day her mom was born on a wagon train,

Of how Great Grandma traveled over Donner Pass in winter,

Just two weeks after the Donner Party passed away.

Great Grandpa never got over it she would say.

Still, 16 children her mom would birth way back then,

It gave me enough aunts and uncles and cousins for life.

In fact it was almost enough to start our own small town,

Of course that's also another story left for the pondering.

My Dad's real father died when Dad was only 4 months old.

His name was Charles Epps and was kin to the Wilkinsons,

Dad has told me stories of the famous English iron masters,

And of how George Washington by marriage was my relative.

Isn't it funny how that fact now makes no difference to me?

Because I feel akin to all my brothers and sisters of earth.

We all started somewhere on this world and no matter where,

And I didn't have a damned thing to do with what George did.

So isn't that much more relative to the point we all make?

All I know is I watched my Mother and Father sacrifice for us,

That is all that truly matters and is all that truly counts.

To love all the billions is what flies my current mortality.

Famous or unknown we all end up just exactly the same,

Spirits with no mortal baggage holding us down for take-off.

Free at last to roam a universe forever untied from greed, 

And beyond a place that once was called a human's paradise.


Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn


Details | Narrative | |

The Contest

Of course, as soon as a new poetry contest was posted I had to immediately enter.  In this 
contest, you had to email the sponsor to get your own, unique theme.  

Off went my email; back came her reply: “Write a poem about what inspired you to write 
poetry.”

She even included one of her poems as a sample of what she was looking for.  A beautiful 
poem indeed; relaying the story about how her Grandmother inspired her to write.  

So, I tried to emulate her with my story.

I wrote a poem about my football coach who taught me real men can write poetry without 
feeling emasculated.  A nice poem, albeit, total fiction.

I penned a verse about my first love encouraging me to write about our romance and how 
the subsequnt breakup inspired me to write about the sorrow of love lost.  A passionate and 
beautiful poem, although pure BS.

I rhymed the touching story about how my mother, on her deathbed, confessed that she 
knew I was writing poetry by reading my secret journal for years.  Her last words to me 
were to follow my passion and write poems for her in heaven.  Problem is, my mother is 
alive and well and has never shown any interest in reading my poems.

The fact of the matter is, I cannot pinpoint a moment in time; a person; or, an experience 
that inspired me to write.

Just as I need no inspiration to breathe in order to stay alive; I write poetry as a reflexive, 
survival instinct.

Just as I need no inspiration to eat in order to satisfy my hunger; I write poems to placate 
my yearning inside.

Just as I need no inspiration to dream when I close my eyes at night; words, rhymes and 
stories fill my mind whenever I find a moment of peace in my hectic day.

Whereas, I envy those who know where their inspiration came from, I am less blessed with a 
birth of inspiration and am more cursed with an innate need to write.

In my email to the sponsor, I bragged how I was up to the challenge, but, alas, she 
presented me with a theme I cannot relate to.

I will continue to breathe words of poetry through my keyboard.
I will continue to nourish my hunger through prose.
And, I will continue to dream in rhyme and meter.

But, I have no story to wow you with about what motivated me to do so in the first place.

The irony in all of this?  After admitting this truth about myself to a complete stranger in an 
otherwise meaningless contest, I am inspired to continue to feed my curse and write poetry 
forever more.

Thanks…damn you.


Details | Narrative | |

There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part IV- (Most Awesome Paranormal Experience)

stammered, “Because, if Brian ran away, I saw him earlier today, downtown!  And  
he bought me an ice cream cone! And we talked and were even laughing at a joke 
I’d just told!  He was all dressed up and I asked him where he was going all 
dressed up on a Saturday. He just laughed and said that, he was on an errand and 
he was going back home. He said that he would see me later.  Then I said that I 
would come by to tell him about the trip. We said good bye and he walked away!

Papa’s face turned to stone as he starred in silence, and poor Thomas just stood in 
that spot like a statute.  My oldest sister or someone asked him what kind of 
clothing Brian was wearing.  He answered that Brian was wearing a grey suit, white 
shirt and a burgundy bow tie! He described the outfit down to the shoes Brian 
wore. With that said, Papa, wide-eyed called was rising out of his chair in slow 
motion as he called out to Mama to come and hear this.  Slowly, his tall frame stood 
in silence. Those were the exact clothes that Brian was buried in. There is no way 
Thomas could have known what kind of clothing Brian had been buried in because; 
his parents weren’t at home when he returned from camp.  He had returned much 
earlier than was expected. He didn’t unpack his bags, being in a hurry to get to the 
store downtown as they closed early on Saturdays. After, he would go and visit 
Brian to share about the trip.  Brian’s burial clothes were all new and made by the 
local tailor!  Thomas ran out of the house and my Father ran after him. The grieving 
had begun all over again. We never did see our dog, Blackie again.  The following 
year we moved away.  I am grateful for memories because even though my brother 
Brian died long ago, I still remember his handsome face, even his voice, the way he 
walked, his beautiful smile, and the many times he would carry me up on his 
shoulders to safety in escaping from an abusive uncle.

Next time I see my brother Brian, we will be together again, this time forever.


Details | Narrative | |

Today Is September 1 2007

On this day 16 years ago a beautiful baby girl was born.
As I cried they took her away.
My grandmother watching as if nothing were wrong.
Photos came for a brief moment then stopped
She was gone never to be herd from or seen.
It seemed as if she just vanished.
The agencies said her new family had moved.
No forwarding address to be found.
They apologize for the inconvenience.
Trying to convince me not to give up hope.
Hope what is this, something I find hard to have.
Years have come and gone and not a word.
The last photo I reserved she must have been 3 or 4 years old.
My search it still continues today, 
but not a trace of her or her family do I see.
On this the anniversary of her birth
 I still cry for the loss of my baby girl I bore so long ago.


Details | Narrative | |

Dead in winter contest

As I sit here waiting for the last bus run of the night
Memories of what just happened play in my brain filled with fright

I can barely feel my little toes
There was no time for socks I had to just go

The sirens still echo in my frostbitten ears
Frozen drops attempt to become my tragic tears

Last I recall we were doing just fine
A Pillow fight and a glass of red wine

His mother called us down for dessert
Suddenly my throat began to hurt

He squeezed until I could no longer scream
This night of joy became a horrible dream

His brown eyes transformed to a devilish deep red
I’ll never forget the words he quietly said

“I could kill you and no one would know”
In my mind I begged for him to let go

What possessed him I will always wonder
Thank God his mother came up and banged on the door like thunder

I had no idea he had moved his dresser in front of the exit of the room
I was convinced I had met my eternal doom

While he was yelling for his mother to go the hell away
I jumped up fast and she heard me say

"Help he’s mad get me out of here"
She broke down the door and I ran out in fear

Last I heard him throw her down the stairs
I was long gone and extremely unprepared

I heard him behind me screaming my name
I kept on running in utter shame

He ran so fast and knocked me down
I fell flat on the icy ground

“Your mine forever don’t you leave”
I slipped out of my jacket sleeve

Down the hill I went rolling
As if my body was being used for bowling

The cops went racing up the mound
I heard him scream, so I know he was found

I have no phone no car or coat
Just three dollars and a crumpled up note

In my jeans from earlier that day
I should have listened to what it had to say

“Stay away from my son; you have no idea what he has done”
“Charming you may think but just like all the others you too will sink”

Now it all makes sense
He told me his mother was mentally ill and dense

He is the one who is severely deranged
I must get home this night has been exceedingly strange

As I rehearse this the bus finally pulls up to me
My stomach is in knots and I can barely see

Blood is streaming down my face
I just want to get out of this crazy place

Why is the man driving wearing a big black hood
I am so cold and devastated; thinking is doing me absolutely no good

The doors slam shut as I quickly sit down
I am the only one that seems to be around

I look in the rear view mirror and what do I see
Those chilling red eyes once again devouring me.

BY: Sabina Nicole


Details | Narrative | |

Testament Of Have Not

God gave me a life to visit the earth
To see the beautiful heaven
Full of fruits and awesome sky
Sets me free with joy and peace

God gave me a mother with full of love
instinctual, unconditional, and forever
persuaded me the greatness of motherhood.
I learnt how dearer was the mother for me
I enjoyed life with liberty and peace.

God gave me a dad with full of care
Affection and great regards
As everything was going grand
I start searching more pleasure and joy
Thus, I have been selfish being all my life.

I punished my parents for my own choices
For the pursuit of happiness.
All charming people, I fancy, are spoiled
And I forgot to wipe other’s tear.

I got sick and found that life is short
I know now how beautiful a day can be
When love and kindness touches the heart
with motherly love.
Be care and cared is only the route 
to our common good, then
Return to the God rest in peace.


Details | Narrative | |

Her Personal Curse (Part Two) *warning, graphic in nature*

I felt his fingers bruising my flesh, tearing me till I bled onto him.
He made me taste it for him, I thought this would be the night I died.
Panic seized me anew when he settled between my thighs and pressed in.
A pain like none of his blows seized me, as he pinned me where I lye



I began to fight him again, digging my own nails into his shoulders.
It didn’t seem to anger him anymore as he pushed sending fire through me.
He let me scream now, and the bed banged the wall, but nobody heard.  
All I could think about was my mother in the next room, oblivious to my screams.

 He pound his member deep inside me as I gasped and begged him to stop
I called him by his name, and still, his hands grabbed hard as he continued to thrust.
Some of the pain subsided as he took me, I must have slowly slipped into shock.
I felt his hot release inside of me, as I lye under this man I once thought I could trust.

Spent and dripping sweat, he fell down against me, crushing the breath from my lungs.
I felt his lips suckle my neck, as he leaned off to knead my breast.
I lay limp as he kissed me, I could still taste vodka on his tongue.
I lay there being fondled by my mother’s 28 year old house guest.

He hardened again against my thigh, while he continued exploring my body
He murmured empty words to me before flipping me over onto my stomach.
I tried to get up and crawl away but he pushed my head down from behind me.
I screamed against the mattress while he took me, preying for it to go by quick.

It was dawn before he left me, aching and soiled down to my bones.
I curled up onto the mattress after he told me no one would ever believe me.
I was stunned that this could happen to me in my own home.
I thought of my mother sleeping in such close vicinity.

She must have left and I didn’t hear her, I thought. I didn’t want to face the fact
That she had been there, steps away while I begged and pleaded for rescue.
But as I painfully left my bed to prove to myself that she wasn’t there to stop the attack,
I stepped out into the hallway and heard her snoring, the door left open to her room.

Passed out on her own bed, left as vulnerable as I had been left, she was untouched.
While I was riddled with bruises and blood, scars inside that would never heal.
I ran to her shaking her awake to tell her, wanting to be consoled so much.
She looked at me, still drunk, as if wondering how she should feel.


Details | Narrative | |

SO HATED AND UNDESIDERABLE

He came from humble folks,
an adoptive father
and a virgin mother;
many didn't believe He was the Christ,
and still the parables, written in the Gospels,
amaze us to this day with their might!

Preaching with a fearless voice,
and speaking to them of hope,
of fraternity and unselfish love...
the prodigal son and the tears
of an indecent woman
are the  perfect reminders
how forgiveness can change someone's life;
are we on the same path to destruction,
and do we ever look back:
to reflect and avoid falling into the Devil's trap?

So hated and undesiderable,
 in the sinner's thoughts,
is the One who gave up His life,
so that we could enter the forbidden Paradise;
and didn't His blood, spilled on Calvary's cross,
save everyone...living in sin and pride?

Pope Benedict condemns immorality,
and warns those violating celibacy...
while wicked priests molest innocent children;
what will it take to make this an obedient race?
If Jesus returned today, wouldn't he grab the whip
and start lashing them like a whirl-wind,
so that they would be punished for their sin
 and  their mocking faith?           

Religion has a deceptive look,
it changes and adapts itself 
to the ideology of modern times...
leading many down a dark road;
its light is a flickering candle:
making true faith so hated and undesiderable! 


Details | Narrative | |

The Penny Jar

At almost every wedding you could count on my father telling the newly wed couple:

“You know, if you put a penny in a jar every time you make love during the first year of marriage and then removed a penny from the jar every time you make love thereafter …you will never empty the jar.”

One of my cousins didn’t quite understand the jest of the challenge and, for years, every time she saw my father she would say, “Uncle John, we’re still putting pennies in our jar.”

He tried to explain it to her a couple times before just giving up and responding, “That’s great, Becky.”

When my father passed away earlier this year, while helping my mother pack up some of his things from their room, I found an old glass jar with a few pennies in it under the night table on his side of the bed.

I chuckled, and, after showing it to his wife of fifty-nine years, my mother, I said, “Looks like you guys were just a few pennies short of emptying your jar.”

My mother shook her head and responded, “That old fool just kept putting his change in that jar and telling me; ‘We still got some work to do to empty this thing.’”

I dumped the few pennies into my hand and noticed two of them with wheat stems on the back, indicating they were old pennies.  I handed them to my mom and told her to look at the date on them.

1952 – the year they were married.

A tear came to her eyes again, as had happened often over the past few weeks, and she just said again, “That old fool.”

I dumped the pennies back into the jar and placed it over on her side of the bed.

We continued packing up his stuff in silence.


Details | Narrative | |

The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part ll)

The whispering begins  Maybe our Fairy God Mother came Sunday night and changed  Ma’am
Oh Dot we can only wish so , I’m a little apprehensive, Al  what does  aperentcive mean I 
asked
It means unsure , unreal piped Joe and Jim  Bobby why aren’t you eating? Is there any rat 
poison
Ma’am probably put it in the eggs Bobby don’t talk like that Billy’s woofing his breakfast down
Of course he’s Ma’am’s  Pet, alright, alright  let’s take advantage of the Fairy God Mother 
Ma’am
Becky tell Millie you and her will dry  George and Harry will put away Dot put everything away
The rest of you guys wipe the table and mop the floor I call wiping the table said Joe (always 
easy)
Hey Pet go upstairs and ask  Ma’am if she needs a fresh towel or anything tell her we’re 
almost done
When Billy came down we were all sitting at the clean table with our hands folded She’s 
coming now
Ma’am walked into the kitchen, wearing  a muti-colored flower dress that matched  to a tee 
her  parasol
Tucked in the bow of her dress  was the black rider’s crop which she always carried with her, 
just in case
Ma’am, you look beautiful, She playfully grabbed George’s ear I’m not going to tell all of you 
again Call
Me “MOM” I don’t want to use this today (touching the Ebony Crop) in fearful uncertain unison 
yes MOM
William go to the living room closet and bring the bag out here “hey guys look brand new 
beach pails”
“Jesus Christ” Did you say something  Robert  we all swallow our breath “ I-i said ”Mom your 
so nice”
Her hand never even moved toward the Crop Maybe Dotty was right, maybe we had a Fairy 
God Mother


Details | Narrative | |

Most Beloved

You are my friend most beloved.
Today, I share with you my love
To let you know how much I care
For you my mother, 
My answered prayer.



Details | Narrative | |

A chance to say goodbye

There once was a woman
that was a wife and a mother
who one day got sick
then called and cried to her brother

She was alone at the docters
when she found out about the cancer
she called her family right away 
but nobody would answer

The woman was so scared
she was only 25 
when she found out that she had
not much time to be alive

The woman wasnt happy 
about living her last days
she did not know how to react
she just sat there in a gaze

as day by day went by
she was more then fun and flirty
till she died on Christmas Eve 
at excatly 11:30

As the family cried and cried
the oldest son scremed "why
why did she have to leave us 
without even saying bye"

as he cried himself to sleep that night 
she talked to him through dreams
she said
"son im very sorry that I had to go and leave"

she said she really loved him
and that she really cared
about how he went through life
without seeing his mother there

He said he loved her so
with his great big giant heart
and that nothing will ever keep 
him and his mother apart

When he awoke the next morning
he told his dad about his dream
about seeing his mother happy
as happy as can be

The father said "thats good son
that you got rid of all this pain
in just one night of sleep 
now look how much you've gained"

The son just flashed a smile
he new his dad did not understand 
that he got his chance to say goodbye
and let go of his mothers hand


Details | Narrative | |

Cookies of Love

Long time ago, in the little market of Venice, Allen and his mother had a little bakery.
Allen was only seventeen years old, his father was a baker and he had died because of illness.
Allen was only a reason for his mother to live life happily.

Both Allen and his mother were work hard and together so, they were famous as compare to
other bakeries in all over the market. Allen was always use to make heart shape on a
cookie, as he want to present his love daily to his mother.

One day, a young girl came at their doorsteps, she was looking very sick and poor, she
said that, my name is Olive, I have no one in the world, i am alone and very poor girl, i
want to work, please ma'am give me a job, i will do the best to serve your bakery. Allen's
mother was a kind lady, she agrees on her request, after that, Olive had very happy as she
found some open treasure. From the day, Olive started to work in their bakery as an assistant.

As same as Allen, Olive was also love to make heart shape on a cookie. By working
together, they were loving to each others. Allen's mother had known everything as she is a
mother and she was very happy because she observed that Allen have a family now.

Finally, Allan and Olive got married. After five years, Allen's mother had also died.
Allen had three children, two boys and one baby.

Now they are famous cookie bakers in all around the Venice city as, Allen & Olive cookies.


Details | Narrative | |

It Was Your Love

You watched me as a child
Grow stronger every day;
It was your love that fed me
And sped me on my way. 
Each night I slept securely 
Beneath a blanket warm and snug,
Though, often you sat beside me 
And taught me of God’s love.

As I grew older you never from me left, 
Your strengths became mine;
Your kindness, your stubbornness,
Your peace of mind.
You helped me when I faltered; 
Without question you bore my griefs;
You gave to me true happiness
When there was no peace.

I hope you heard me mother;
Here, I sit beside you now
Upon this bed you lay unable
To see me smile or frown.  
I have to leave, yet this I pray, 
That Jesus would come
For you today.

You watched me as a child
Grow stronger every day;
It was your love that fed me
And sped me on my way. 


 



Details | Narrative | |

My Road to Peace- part one

I had no way to ask for this, for you.
I was unable to take any precautions.
I was innocent in this decision
That you found yourself lost in.

Yet I was blamed anyway,
The prosecuted victim.
Those white jackets called you wrong
But you didn’t want to listen.

Remorse filled you, in you was me.
When you gave in to it at last.
Certain I’d be the end to your life,
Forcing me to play the role I was cast.

Growing strong against all odds
As you pumped into me your many escapes.
I learned exactly how good a mother
A selfish drug addict makes.

Through clouds of sweet smelling smoke
High as I learned to crawl and walk.
Through unfed affection and neglect, 
I learned how to talk.

Only to learn that screaming real words
Didn’t make one bit of a difference.
Between us, a thousand miles or beside you
Was emotionally the same distance.

I loved you with every breath I took
For so many years, you were all I had.
But you shattered me with you so many times.
As a baby I was already tired of being sad.

Not even finished with being a child,
You paraded me as your little adult.
You never believed me when I told you they hurt me
So I never knew that it wasn’t my fault.

You let me pay your debts for you
Never a thought to what I lost.
You fed me to things you should have protected me from.
Carelessly out the door, my innocence was tossed.




Details | Narrative | |

Harisson

One day when you are big and strong 
I will explain to you the confusion
the reasons behind the way it is
and why you are the one thing that has kept me going 

On that warm day in June 
when the angels took Liliana 
it was you that helped me rebuild my life
you were the focus in my life

Two years old and my saviour
the person I have to thank for life
your smile stopped the tears 
and your laughter raised me up

To my boy, Harisson
In your little two years of life
you have brought me through the dark 
and are my light at the end of this dark tunnel 


Details | Narrative | |

My Mother

Dolly was an auburn haired porcelain
bisque, matt finished doll from a
discriminating collections
of dolls...
her father's dolls...

She was not a witty woman but
silent, afraid and alone. She gave
birth to three children who grew up
like weeds while Dolly made Betty
Crocker weekends and otherwise
TV dinners until she grew tired...
very tired…

One day the kids were playing with Dolly
throwing her back and forth like a big
red ball… one to another until they 
dropped her... 
Fragile, she shattered
into pieces on the
hard wood
floor…

Her husband was determined to put
the pieces back together but 
clumsy, he repeatedly stepped
on her crushing the refined
fragments into
powdered
dust.


Details | Narrative | |

A Shot In The Dark { Narrative}

helplessly he stumbled 
through the door
holding his bloody chest 
Mother gazed into 
her fourteen year old eyes 
and just knew that he was up 
to his old antics of gang banging 
Yelling and cursing did nothing 
to wake this kid up 
Mother's tears flooded 
like an open gate 
she wondered 
where she went wrong 
raising him 
for he had the best 
of everything 
a home a job an education 
anything he wanted 
or needed 
was right at his fingertips 
maybe having only one parent 
in the household 
or just not enough discipline 
now she stands helplessly 
over her young sons 
lifeless body 
lying on the kitchen floor
in a pool of blood 
all that she could do now
was to pick up the phone 
and call the police 
and the morgue 



Tribute To Children


Details | Narrative | |

The Road To Peace- part two

When I preyed to you to save me, you laughed
When I prayed to god, I was ignored as well.
So I learned that I would always be alone in this world.
Every day filled with secrets I could never tell.

At ten I could drink your friends under the table.
I was barely afraid of what would happen in the dark.
I knew you were too drunk to hear me scream
And afterwards you refused to acknowledge my marks.

So I stopped trying to fight, I didn’t make a noise.
Because they would hit me less if I was quiet.
Soon I was filled with your same need to escape.
Every day I was on a search to find it.

If it promised oblivion, that was all I asked.
I immediately consumed it and waited for release.
But every time it wore off, I’d find myself there again
Always exhausted by my daily search for peace.

At first I misconstrued it for trying to get away from myself
Until one day I realized I was really running from you.
The spread of your fourth stage cancer of hatred and malice
And your unrelenting cycle of cruelty and abuse.

Your perpetual blame laid on me for your own mistakes
Finally had succeeded in taking its toll.
Years of fending for myself, succumbing to weakness
Had blackened my once pure soul.

For you I could harbor nothing but contempt, disgust.
The same lack of empathy you showed your own child.
I saw that you were at fault for my years of torment.
I made your rage, hatred, disregard appear mild.

I could never give you a strong enough taste.
All I wanted was for you to feel my Rapture.
You tried to silence me once again, tried to lock me up
But I wasn’t weak anymore and I refused to be captured.

I left you to your misery, I relished the fact
That leaving you with no one to catch you next time you fell
Was the most pain I could ever wish to conflict you with
Because then you would finally have to face your self.



Details | Narrative | |

A Sad Day

A sad day today for one whom 
has lost their mother…

She is now in God’s house with 
no pains…

She is with those who have 
gone before…

Just think of the reunion 
that she is having…

With those who’ve gone before…

Know that one day we 
will all join them again?

To be young, happy and frolic 
through the meadows picking 
wild flowers and wading 
in the streams…

Thoughts and prayers go out 
to you during this time 
of sorrow…

By Sandra L. Hoban
©2006


Details | Narrative | |

Lost Memories

Slowly fading away

Are your memories of me

Forgotten moments

Glimpses of recollection

Then disappearing

In confusion

Knowing without knowing

Familiar of the unfamiliar

Living in another world

Not remembering anything

Slipping away before my eyes

In silence my heart cries

Watching you slowly fade away

Loving you now like yesterday

Here I stay

Embracing hearts in reach.


Details | Narrative | |

Her Personal Curse (Part One) *warning, graphic in nature*

In a drunken stupor, I fall down on my comforter
Baby blue sky covered in fluffy clouds of cotton.
I kick off my shoes, faded pink chuck Taylors
And make clumsy work of my shirt buttons.

I slip an oversized shirt over my head, Bart Simpson,
And pull it straight passed over my bra and panties, past my knees.
Now in the dark, on my bed, I hear the door creak open.
I turn to see your silhouette, and I hear the door behind you locking.

I sat up, before you lunged on top of me, and smacked me in the face.
I tried to push you off, but a little girl is nothing against a man.
Fear pinned me down with your arms, the look in your eye was crazed.
I yelled out as you punched me again, before stifling my breath with your hand.

I felt your fingers probe underneath my shirt, rough and groping.
The straps tore at my flesh as you ripped my bra apart.
I tried to push your hand off my face, I was having trouble breathing
But when you took your hand off and I gasped for air, it fell back against my cheek hard

I stopped trying to push you away, tears streaming, afraid you’d hit me again.
I bucked when your course fingers pinched, it only seemed to excite you more.
I cringed as you raked your nails deep down my stomach digging in.
You stopped at the top of my panties before yanking them till they tore.

Panic sliced through me as I felt you unclasping your jeans, understanding swept me.
I knew then what you intended to do and my blood ran cold at the thought.
You took your hand off of my mouth and threatened to kill me if I screamed
But I yelled anyway begging for help, preying that you would be caught.

I was silenced by a stinging blow that sent me hard against the head board.
Too disoriented by it to yell again before you were done taking off my t shirt.
Through blurry eyes and mind I felt your eager hands pillage and explore.
I was smacked again for screaming at how badly your fingers inside me hurt.

You showed no mercy as I screamed in pain against the palm of your hand.
You only continued to probe and play, talking dirty to me, making me talk back.
Through bloodied lips and wrenching pain I was abused by this man
He made me say unmentionable things about him, while he cruelly laughed.


Details | Narrative | |

GRANDMA'S MORALITY

After forty years, Grandma's morality echoes louder than a summer's thunder,
wasn't her strict up-bringing or sense of defined dignity too improper?
" Daughter, bring up your kids with morality and honor...
fearing God and obeying the household rules;
never mind the nasty looks on those kids who booze...
who do what they please and wind up in the slammer!"
Her white hair had thought her much wisdom in errors
and she wanted to leave a great legacy behind...
" You may dislike what I say and feel upset or offended,
but bad behavior is stopped before it occurs. "  
" Sweet, mother " she rebelled with a loving tone,
" This is a new generation and it needs change! "
But grandma lashed back with aggressiveness,"
"My days weren't like theirs...I had to obey my parents,
read the Bible and go to church on Sunday! "
" Under this roof, nothing changes...I demand obedience! "
" Sweet, mother " she repeated with understanding,
" You have to give them freedom to choose, and if they make mistakes...
let them learn and seek parental advice if they are wise. "
And tenderly turning to grandma she pleaded, " Let's work out our differences
and come up with a solution! " Grandma's eyes were filled with resentment,
but she understood and agreed to accept the advice.
And before more words were said, she apologized for her matriarchal demands,
 "Much more I would like to say, but if you feel you are right...I'll stop talking." 












 


Details | Narrative | |

One December Night (Continuation 1)

One December Night (Continuation 1)

     Before they could get to the front door to see, their dad shouted down, “Don't go there.  
Let me!”  “Wait children.” he said from the top of the stairs.  You girls go and sit at the table 
in your chairs.”  “Why are you up and playing about?”  Those are the words Father asked in a 
shout., Quickly, he walked down those stairs on that night to see what was there outside in 
the moonlight.
     The girls in their chairs looked away from Dad's glares. And in the next moment, Mother 
bounced downstairs, too.  She had heard all of the ruckus and scampering around.  But 
she had not yet heard the loud kazoo sound.  She saw the girls sitting at the table with the 
kitten.
     “Come to the kitchen.” Their mother said.  Let's have some cookies and gingerbread. 
After making hot chocolate, she continued to say, “We can look at the stars.  Honey, come 
show 
us mars!”  They sat at the table underneath a skylight.  Hot chocolate and cookies were 
already in sight.
     But before they could take their very first bite, the door flew open.  Oh, what a fright!  
There silhouetted in the light of the bright glowing moon, the bumpy old toad stood, humming 
a tune.  And right beside him close to his feet was a bright brown sack with a blinking red 
bow.  “Merry Christmas.” he said, as he walked right on in.  He sounded like Santa and he 
had a big grin.  
     But they did not know him.  He wasn't their friend.  What should they do?  For whom 
should they send?  He wanted to stay.  They thought he should go.  What would they do?  
They did not know.
     In the very next moment, he took out his kazoo!   “A Kazoo!  A Kazoo!  I knew.” shouted 
Sue.  He pulled up a chair.  They started to stare.  He sat down at the table, the best he was 
able.  A frog at the table!  Whoever heard of such?  And Dad did not like it.  Oh, no, not 
very much!  The frog there beside them at the table where they munch.  Picked up a cookie 
and ate it with a crunch.  It should not be so.  Let everyone know.  That bumpy old frog 
simply must go!
     Dad started to tell him to get out of their house.  But about that time across the floor ran 
a mouse.  So, Dad grabbed the broom and chased the mouse about.  While the frog at the 
table calmed the children's frantic shouts.  
                          (To be continued...)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)


Details | Narrative | |

Ravenous Wind

Resurrected tomb inspected but all that was left was a purple covenant torn and tattered
Next to this covenant of wet tears and blood was a letter evidently from his Mother Mary
This letter read:  I am sorry, I could not die with you and I know you will see me when the time is right
in the dark when it is neither day nor night.  I wrote this letter when you were a little boy to prepare for the worst because I love you so.
I hope when you rise you will realize my intentions were kind and true unto you and even the world to come, please see me before Revelations unveils your true majesty's will
On Easter Sunday a time between day and both night he rose out of sleep and read these words aloud that was laid on top of his heart.
 As you know his mother gave him strength more miraculous than any superhero or muscular man,
and when he read his Mother's Will to him a breath of
ravenous wind blew into him from every direction, it was a wind so heavenly like all the angels were calling upon him in a naturist way.
After the wind filled him with everlasting life he sighed and said to God
I died for all sins on earth; men will fear me now more than back then.
He took his tattered robe and clenched onto the dice thrown at his cross.
He rolled them before exiting the tomb and both of them landed as 1 and 3 next to each other.
13 spiritual healing prayers thereafter Mary was visited by his son Jesus.
A ravenous wind stirred up again on New Year's Eve 11:47 13 minutes before 2013.
Who is Praying Now? Then the whole world looked up at the stars in awe and said "Holy Cow!"


Details | Narrative | |

Mysterious Disease

I never mentioned it to her, don’t know
if anybody did; the fact that she didn’t look the same
after she finally recovered..
I don’t know how old I was when Mama 
turned very sick with  such a strange disease 
and  even stranger name.

“Arasyplis” was what I thought they said.
I couldn’t find it  there under “A” when
 I searched the doctor book.
I knew I probably had the spelling wrong;
maybe it started with the letter “E”.
I found it there and started reading..

“Erysipelas, a dangerous skin 
disease.”  I almost closed the book, not sure
I wanted to read about it,  
afraid it would say my mama would die.
“ Caused by Streptococcus bacterium.”
I quickly closed the door.

“Inflammation and swelling of the skin”.
I’d be in trouble if they found me there,
not wanting me to know.
“Sometimes spreads rapidly, ending in death.“
My mama was going to die and I
wondered what would happen to us.

Could Papa take care of us without Mama?
My  sister and my baby brother were
both still so very small.
I wished that I had never learned to read
and didn’t know how sick my mama was,
from her dreadful disease.

Mama’s face swelled beyond recognition
and every night I prayed to God she’d live.
I didn’t tell anyone what I had discovered.
Our little town had no hospital then.
The doctor came each day and 
a nurse stayed to take care of her.

My Mama did get better and the 
swelling went away,
but she  never looked the same.
I wonder if she knew.



Details | Narrative | |

There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part II

missing dog, Blackie. Besides the sound of our voices, the hymns playing softly in the 
background, the noise made by the porcelain plates as Mama wiped and put them 
away, the humming of the refrigerator’s motor, the house was quiet.  No body knew 
what had happened to Blackie.  We were really concerned about the whereabouts 
of the dog, even though Papa had assured us that he would return at some point.  
Since the funeral, he had vanished.  Even the old man who lived across the street 
from us and who loved Blackie, had not seen him, nor had any of the other 
neighbors. We had searched in all the usual places.  He had never run away from 
home before.  As far as I remember, Blackie never did come back home.

As Papa sat in his usual chair, quietly playing with the food on his plate, the kitchen 
door opened, and in walked Thomas, Brian’s best friend. They were the same age, 
and were very close even though they did not attend the same school, or the same 
church. The two had become friends since they met at a Junior Boys Scouts meeting 
at the age of seven. Thomas lived some distance away but they maintained a 
special friendship.  Out of school, wherever Brian was, so Thomas would be. They’d 
both turned fourteen last September. Throughout those years they still were active 
members of the Boys Scout, and had risen together in rank. Thomas had been away 
on the recent Scouting trip. They had traveled to a neighboring country for a Scouts’ 
Jamboree. Brian should have gone too but something to do with school exams came 
up so he couldn’t go.  Thomas had just returned from the Jamboree that Saturday 
afternoon, the second week after Brian’s burial. Lena, Reggie and I got out of 
our chairs and ran to greet him. It was like welcoming him and Brian home as the 
two were always together. He picked Lena up as he greeted our parents.  Mama 
standing at the sink, turned around, took one look at him and walked briskly, almost 
running out of the kitchen, with my other sister in tow.

Papa greeted Thomas, his voice almost inaudible.  Thomas looked puzzled. I guess 
he thought he had walked in during a family argument. He was about to turn back 
and walk out because he felt a little intrusive, I guess.  It was extremely quiet in the 
room; very unusual when everyone was in Mama’s kitchen at the same time.  And 
Mama, walking


Details | Narrative | |

There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part III

away like she did, made him ask what was going on. That yielded no response. The 
silence hung heavily in the kitchen. Finally, he asked, “Is Brian in his room?”  He 
looked at my oldest sister, Winnie who sat next to Papa. She didn’t respond. 
Instead, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.  Thomas was as tall as Brian.  
At 14years old, they were 6’ tall. Winnie bowed her head to hide her tears.  She 
looked down at her plate before her. Thomas turned halfway around and was about 
to head towards the door leading towards Brian’s room, when Papa let out a deep, 
long sigh and motioned to Thomas to come sit next to him. Winnie got up to give 
Thomas her chair and Papa, with his voice low and cracked, told Thomas that his 
best friend had passed away. The humming of the fridge seemed much louder 
then.   Looking back now, seeing Thomas’s face, I knew he wanted to laugh but he 
stopped just short of that, and his countenance changed in an instant! A painful 
grimace appeared on his face.  His voice became shaky as he tried to mumble 
something.  He looked at each of us as if checking each face to see if someone 
would soon break into laughter, at this absurd joke. After a while, he took a deep 
breath, convinced now, that he was reading everyone’s face correctly. Brian’s Dad 
wouldn’t joke about something like this. He thought to himself. Then all the reactions 
he had seen as he entered the kitchen, finally registered, confirming that this was 
not a joke.  He nearly fell out of the chair, as it toppled over to the floor.  He began 
retreating slowly towards the kitchen door; his whole body still visibly shaking, he 
said loudly, shaking his head in disagreement, that it wasn’t possible.  “It is just not 
possible!” He shouted. Yet, there was no response.  Winnie was sobbing, tears 
rolling down her face.  He then asked if Brian had run away or something. Still the 
room was as quiet as a tomb. Not a sound from anyone, only the constant humming 
and the hymns being played on the local Christian radio station softly wafted across 
the room. He then blurted out, “Because,” he


Details | Narrative | |

take me from this misery

* this poem has been inspired by Breaking Benjamin's Dear Agony....*
* and was written in memory of my grandmother Jeanne Gula *

My name is Jeanne Gula, today i found out that i have cancer.
Its in a tumor, that's very painful, its very rare, its 3 cancers into 1
they already took it out once... and it came back.
The doctor said it was to late to take it out again.
Its not the perfect end to my life, but its all i can have..
I don't really know how much more time i have.
I used to be able to walk by myself, with out help.
I can't believe this happened to me... of all people.
It's be coming torture, they called in hospices.
This cant be good...
I'm in my own home, slowly dieing...
I really don't want to leave, I will leave so many loved ones behind..
So I think i will stay a little longer...
Its January, i now can't do anything by myself, i have to rely on family to help with
everything, my organs are starting to slowly shut down, its very painful to go through.
but my daughters birthday is coming soon... I'm not going to leave now... i don't want her
to be sad, on such a happy day.
I can't hold on much longer.
I'm now out of this misery, its feb. 2nd, and I'm finally free.
Free, of all this pain, and I'm healthy again, I can walk, with out hanging on to anything
or anyone, I can finally be independent again...
now no one cry for me, because i lived a full long life, and no longer in pain..
I love you all.
Love Grammy


Details | Narrative | |

Against Those Who Discourage mOTHER Marian Devotion

O Sweet Father Christ, do these people have Your spirit?
Do they please You in acting like this?
Does it please You, when for fear of displeasing You,
We neglect doing the greatest to please Your Mother? Who’s our mother as well

Does devotion to Your mother, delay devotion to Yourself?
Does she attribute to herself honor we pay her?
Is she a stranger has no connection to You?
Does it displease You when we try to please her?

Do we alienate ourselves from Your love by giving ourselves to honoring her?
Yet my Sweet Master, 
Greater learned not discourage to Your holy mother 
Even all that I have said were true

Therefore, they’ve been punished for their pride!
Keep me Lord, form their sentiments and practices
Please give me share sentiments of gratitude
Esteem, Respect and Love
You has in regard to Your Holy Mother
The more I imitate her, follow her
The more I may Love and Glorify You

As if up to this point
Still I said nothing in honor of Your holy Mother
 'Give me grace to praise You worthily,' 
In spite of all her enemies, who are Yours as well
Grant me say loudly with the saints 
'Let not that man believe to look for the mercy of Eternal God 
Who offends His holy Mother 


Details | Narrative | |

Mother to Son

You live in another world
spiritual realm your heaven
a powerful entity in itself.

The watching of your loved ones
from the angels sky
sprinkling your wishes
of joy to them all.

Never missing anything
from the highest plane
where you can move on
to another journey.

The past, present and future
are all multi-dimensional
in the hall of records
where past judgments lie.

Spread your angel wings
fly down to me upon the earth
so I can feel you once more.


Details | Narrative | |

I Wish

I wish I were a child again - I would
tell my mother how important things are,
Things like hot chocolate on a cold night,
mud pies in the sun, learning how to skate,
I wish I could wish - as a child should,
and blow out a candle on a cake, have a cookie jar 
in the kitchen filled with good things" bright
curtains letting the sun in, a white fence, a gate.

I wish I were little again - and I would
tell my father to smoke a pipe, sit in a big chair
and hold me on his lap, tell me a story,
and throw me up in the air, play games with me.
I would go back - if only I could,
and wish I had a father and mother to care
about the important things - the glory
of childhood is
Being a Child.

Patricia Langston-Moran


Details | Narrative | |

A Little Crazy

I went a little crazy tonight,
a little over the edge.
Reading the natal
chart prepared for me 
by an astrologist in Poetry
class and it all rang too true,
the good
and the bad
was hard to take
sitting there so alone
without you
without anyone
I began to cry
but not for your return
or theirs,
another path draws me now
and good
or bad
I'll have to see
it through until the bitter end
or until it no longer matters,
until my mother's
creeping, bulging, bursting 
tumors take over the body
the breast I nursed
the cancer I imbibed
my own breast barely saved.
What is our goal? the surgeon
said, and I said 
Save the breast
and we did.

Now I'm in college,
at my age can you imagine
and I surely have some reading 
to do and this higher
education is almost too much
sometimes but I love
it and hate that 
I failed to pay attention
for several months and now
no one moves around in my
space except me and 
I must have driven away
everyone and thing 
has left me now but
I do enjoy my solitude
though not quite enough sometimes.


Details | Narrative | |

Ekphrasis-DESCENT FROM THE CROSS

Jesus' dead body is taken down from the cross slowly,
Nicodemus' hands support it while His mother Mary,
not contorted by grief, is consoled by a glorious vision,
which will be revealed in the majestic morning of resurrection;
Mary Magdalene, not a virgin or chaste woman...once a part of the sinful world,
shares in that undying hope when Christ will be awaken by the trumpets sound.


Carved in precious marble by Michelangelo's masterful hands and ingenuity,
this awesome depiction is more intense than his own undisputed religiosity,
Christ still bleeds for Mankind's salvation, but death will not prevail;  three long
days He will lay down in the darkest and coldest tomb, and towards dawn
He will be resurrected by the voice of the Father whom He invoked before He died...
yes, sorrow is deeply expressed by these three figures, but their tears will be exiled!  
  

And Michelangelo abandoned the unfinished sculpture due to a marble's imperfection,
not realizing that he had captured the excruciating expression of the sacrificial Lamb,
and before these wailing faces, he must have knelt and fervently prayed,
humbly staring at Christ's lifeless head drooping and believing in Man's redemption;
and Nicodemus' face has indeed Michelangelo's resemblance, exuding much revelation... 
come closer, unbeliever and stare at this magnificent sculpture with profound admiration. 


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Narrative | |

Honor To Mother Mary is Honor To Father Christ

“The honor of the Mother reflects on Father Christ”
“Whatever honor and praise are given to the Mother bounces to the Son”
“The honor given to the Queen bestowed on the King”
The Honor we give to the Mother of the Lord was referred to Him Who was made incarnate (personified) of her”

The Mother is honored for her Son’s sake”
“Indeed in loving Mother Mary, we honor Eternal God”
“We will never love her as He loved her”
Father Christ was the first to honor her as His mother
“We will never be able to equal with which Father Christ loved her”

4202013


Details | Narrative | |

Beautiful WinterDay

My body shutters as the chiily winter wind blows in my face. Snow flurries dancing  there 
way to the earth from the heavenly skies. Watching the angels cover up mother earth in a 
beautiful glittery blanket. My eyes light up like a little child as i tip my head back and feel the 
cold snowflakes land on my tongue. I close my eyes and hear the sweet sound of the ground 
crunched beneath my feet. Jack frost has arrived and greeted the earth snowball wars and 
building silly snowmen. The tree branches are covered in snow and the snow sickles are 
hanging from the porch. Shining like chrystals in the sunlight it is a wondrous sight my 
mother yells from the house "Okay children it is time to come in for some hot chocolate."
Before I go to sleep I watch the snowflakes light up the night sky I hear my mother whisper
"Okay my snow angels goodnight and good dreams."
By Julie Rene leek:)
Smile God love's You:)


Details | Narrative | |

The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part lll)

Now Children the pink and purple pails are for the girls, blue and green for the boys
We are going berry picking down by the stone wall Mr. Bethel said we could pick his berries 
too
The stone wall off limits to the Webb household, Bobby, Joe and Jim had the scars to prove it
Oh, “MOM“, (coil in fear, no crop) Thank-you What did Millie say; Are we going to make pies?
Ma’am didn’t know sign language, of course we will tell her she can wear the number 2 apron
Dotty, George, and I started running to the end of our property Slow down They’re 
excited “Mom”
I know Alice listen you older kids will be paired up with the younger ones: Alice, George and 
Harry
Virginia, William and Dorothy; Joe Jim and Robert; Rebecca you’re the best signer, You and 
Mildred
Alice, yes Harry why did Ma’am say we could call her “MOM” my voice shakes when I say 
Mom
 I think all of us feel that way; but make hay while the sun shines, What?  Just let her be 
MOM today
Pick them ,don’t eat them Wow, Al ,that’s what Becky just said to Millie look Millie said they’re 
so sweet
You can read that from over here Yep Millie and Becky have been teaching me. You know 
what this means
Easy: I Love you too Where is George? Over there George your not suppose to be on that 
side of the wall
It’s sprinkling , my pails almost full come on George let’s go back to “Mom” Alice go get the 
other children
This is the first time since I’ve been here that we were all together, laughing and talking 
while Mom smiled
As we got to the steps of the porch the sky opened sheets of rain a bolt of lighting , a sonic 
boom of thunder


Details | Narrative | |

Bottomless Love

“I will give thanks to you, O Lord, with all my heart
Will declare all your wondrous deeds

RECALL OUR LADY
Was   present at many of [the mysteries of the Holy Rosary]
Not only in the events surrounding Father Christ’ birth
Also at the wedding feast of Cana while Father Christ carried His cross

Was crucified
She was with the apostles in the upper room at Pentecost
We can safely assume
She saw the risen Lord, Father Christ and His ascension

Of course
She experienced her own assumption and crowning in heaven.
By repeating the Hail Mother Mary
We address her with those greetings of St. Gabriel and St. Elizabeth then we ask prayers as we consider the mysteries

This process
As if we were trying to look at each mystery of salvation
Her maternal perspective
Seeking to love Father Christ

The center of each mystery
As much as we may love Father Christ
The Virgin Mother Mary can always lead us to a bottomless love
More uplifting perspective of faith in Him

4202013


Details | Narrative | |

A Girl I Once Knew

She was quiet
Almost shy
And kind.
I was crude
Rough
In a hurry
I only thought of me
She thought of us.

When we dated
We frequented local places
Never venturing beyond
Our quiet town
We had some good times
But I grew tired of the sameness
I wanted to see the world
Meet the smart money
Feel the hustle
And take in the give.

Eventually things faded
Our calls were infrequent
Her voice became cold and formal
A tiny crack seeped between us
Growing into a fracture
That couldn’t be healed
When it ended
We went on our own
But it hurt me more 
Than I admitted
Walking home that night I bit my lip
To keep from crying.

One day my mother said
She thought she saw her
In town
Holding a young child by the hand
She looked happy.
“I thought you didn’t like her” I said
Stopping, my mother searched my face
“I was used to seeing you as a couple that’s all.”


We met by chance years later
We changed
The world changed
Things happened
We stared at each other
Not speaking
Just staring
Standing
At arm’s length 
In awkward silence
I was going to ask about children
But I didn’t
The anguish 
And bitterness of rejection
Was still buried somewhere inside.

We parted the same way we met
Awkwardly
Memories came back
And I realized 
She was comfortable where she was
A place where time moved 
In its own peculiar way
A world of
Small shops
Familiar strangers
Clean streets
A place where mothers 
Kept an eye on their children.
All in all
Not a bad place to live
And certainly not a bad life.

A voice inside my head
Whispered “Who was she?”
I pretended not to hear
When I look back
I remember the time
A girl walked into my life
For a brief moment.
Maybe it was love
Or infatuation
But whatever it was
She was the girl I once knew.








Details | Narrative | |

There is Life Beyond Death's Door

Mama stood at the kitchen sink, quietly drying the dishes and putting them away.  I 
knew 
she was crying because every now and then she would wipe her eyes with the hem 
of her 
apron.  She hadn’t been eating much, lately. She looked so tired and drained.  She 
was a 
tall, beautiful woman.  At 40 years old she looked as if she had just turned 30.  She 
was on a 
leave of absence and had been keeping busy around the house, constantly 
cleaning, 
scrubbing and washing.  In hindsight, now I know she was only trying to keep busy 
so she 
wouldn’t think about her first born son. Mama had slept so much the week before. I 
remember wondering, back then, asking myself, was she also sick?  I was too afraid 
to ask 
out loud.  I would lie next to her in her bed and watch her sleep.  Her stirring 
reinsured me 
that she was fine-only sleeping.  You see, my oldest sister, Winnie, after Brian died, 
had 
explained to me what dying was.  So then I knew that dying was like sleeping, only 
you 
never wake up. I was not going to let my Mama die also. I would bring into her bed, 
my 
coloring books and pencils and would sit on that bed until she woke up. Sometimes, 
I would 
fall asleep, then awake to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, saying her rosary 
and I 
would join her. In some ways I was like Mama.  We were both of quiet spirits but 
she was 
strong and also an extrovert.  She made friends easily.  I on the other hand, was 
shy, 
stubborn and introverted. Later on as I got older, our personality would clash on 
many 
occasions.

It was a Saturday afternoon in May.  We were all sitting at the kitchen table.  We, 
kids were 
eating all the sweets because Mama and Papa were distracted. There was still 
plenty of food 
left over from the week before. Mama’s many friends had really showered her with 
love.  
They had cooked and cleaned and comforted her as much as they could. Mama and 
Papa 
very seldom ate any food, which seemed to last forever. My older siblings were lost 
in their 
own thoughts and grief, my younger sister, Lena, my cousin Reggie and I ate 
heartily of 
anything we liked. Being the youngest of the group, we did not fully understand 
what was 
going on.  We were talking amongst ourselves about our


Details | Narrative | |

Mother Our Lighthouse

Your love surronds us like a lighthouse on the shore
God had a purpose this is what He made mothers for
always a beacon that shines so bright
always giving hope in the deep of night
He made you our mother with so much love
a light of hope and always a hug
He gave you wisdom so you would know
just how to guide us back to the shore
safe from harm and  lost no more
He made you so beautiful like a garden in spring
God has a reason for everything
He gave you a heart and filled it with love
a special gift from God above
a mother is special in so many ways
a lighthouse for her children everyday
we will miss you our mother when you are with us no more
but a lighthouse you will be on God's golden shore


Details | Narrative | |

Gratitude

Birthdays come but once a year
A day we celebrate, a day to cheer
We all know the day we're born and our age
For birthdays bring us joy or change of stage

The day I celebrated my fourty-ninth year
On the other side of the world fear
Horror for a young girl named Heather
Who was swimming in ocean waters from boat tethered

Swimming around the ocean deep 
Working up an appetitate for something to eat
Was a great white shark fourteen feet, whopper
Jaws powerful enough to bite through copper

At home I thought I had turned fifty
I figured this year would be very nifty
My father who was in his nineties
Reminded me that I was only fourty-ninty

In a land way down yonder
A girl named Heather was pulled under
Great white figured she was good meat
Nice and tender a very tasty treat

A girl named Heather was saved
That very day lived to be one to praise
People who worked to keep her alive
She praised God who lives in hearts and on high

Sara lived many years
Saw her grandsons through tears
She was the strength and glue
Who saw her family's problems through

Just in recent years in a land down under
A fourteen foot great white shark did blunder
Caught in a fisherman's net
He'll probably live this mistake regret

No, the fisherman cuts the lines
Frees his catch and shark from bind
Now the shark he named Cindy
Follows him around even when windy

Follows him everywhere he goes
Let's him pet her on her nose
Rub her belly and dorsal fin
She even grunts and tries to grin

Which of these do you think is the most grateful
Heather who is now disable
The shark who was spared his life
Or Sara the mother, grandmother, and wife


(The story about Heather is true. The shark circled and bit her right leg.  Then circled and 
grabbed her left leg.  The people on the boat were hitting the shark and try to pull her into 
the boat and the shark took her whole left leg off.  She was only attended by a nurse who 
was on the boat and radioed a doctor on shore as to what to do.  She was 20 hours away 
from the nearest doctor.  She was lifeflighted to a hospital in California where she had to 
have multiple surgeries and now has an artificial leg.     The story about the shark caught in 
a fisherman's net was really not true.  The grandmother here was a true story.)


Details | Narrative | |

THE MISSING -- FATHER'S SON

Joseph-----born in October 1994—to your Mother and her family.
When I collided with your Mother—in 1993—all she was-
absence for------was you!
All she would declare is---She needed a child to complete her- 
A Son or Daughter ----that did not matter to her!

If this echo is all too familiar--- I assure you--- it is NOT!
You see --my dearest Joseph --you are THE MISSING -- FATHER’S SON.
You have only known one view of this great epic —But--- today—you 
will hear of THE MISSING -- FATHER’S SON.
Forced by your Mother and her family to NEVER--- have communion 
with you!

Given your Mother’s madden name at birth--- you lived in her- 
universe.
Unable to communicate with the out-side world--- forced to never-
have communion ---with me--- MY ONLY SON!!
You see my dearest Joseph--- you are THE MISSING -- FATHER’S SON.
Only one BEING would know my PAIN--- without you-- MY ONLY 
SON!!

It would seem some evil force be-hide the whole perplexity.
You force by your mother and family---- into--- a fatherless child’s-- world
Me forced to live with-out----- my only Son—which cause YOU to be-
THE MISSING -- FATHER’S SON.
I am sure reality has been restrained from YOU-----your entire life.

 Only one BEING would know my PAIN--- without you-- MY ONLY 
SON!!
But---- HE sent HIS-- only SON to the CROSS--- To die for you and me.
Beaten, bruised, tormented and Crucified----beyond recognition---for OUR SINS!!
ALL THANKS be to HIS Heavenly Father----because with-out HIM---
you would not have a Padre.

You see --my dearest Joseph --you are THE MISSING -- FATHER’S SON.
If some evil force is present—he would know that the HEAVENLY—
Father is your father ------after all.
Because HE -----and HE alone ----can only be a Father to the 
Fatherless.
I leave with you my final plea—you would KNOW HIM as your- 
DADDY!!

By: WEM/MEW/EWM/EMW















 



Details | Narrative | |

Scarred Hands

One day a Mother saved her new born daughter from a raging flame.
Holding her to her bosom,calling out Jesus name.
A Mother love is something only God understands.
The Mother wore gloves to cover her Scarred Hands.

One day when the little girl was older,
She asked her Mother why she always wore  gloves?
She said her hands were scarred and ugly she didn't want her to see
Ths gloves was just another way of showing her love.

One day the little girl pulled the gloves off her Mother Scarred Hands.
She said Mom these hands are not ugly, they are beautiful to me.
These hands are full of a Mother love.
These hands are Scarred Hands of love.

One day the little girl was at Sunday School.
The teacher ask her why her Mother always wore gloves?
Then the little girl told the story how her Mother saved her from the fire
The gloves were a symbol of her love.

Then the teacher told her story about a man who had Scarred Hands
Jesus hands became scarred when He was hung on the cross to save us.
With Jesus on the cross and His Father sharing His love from above.
Jesus also had the Scarred Hands of love


Details | Narrative | |

Being Women

Guys may think being a woman is easy,
But put yourself in our shoes, see if its pleasing.
You'll notice guys talk only to your breast,
Don't bother yelling about it, you'll just waste your breathe.
They'll also try anything to touch your butt just once,
And when they're caught, they only respond “What?”
They think that they are slick,
But us women know all their tricks!
After work you'll come straight home,
To find your man resting on his throne.
But you can't sit! You don't get to rest!
You have to clean up what other people messed!
Then you cook a healthy dinner,
Everything's delicious, you feel like a winner.
But receive no compliment from him on how it taste,
Waiting for that moment to come would be a waste.
After dinner, you have to wash all the dishes,
While scrubbing your hoping a genie would appear to grant you 3 wishes:
First, to have conversations face to FACE.
Second, would be for your life to be happy and seem not a waste.
And third, to be respected and not pushed around.
But, unfortunately your genie is never found.
Dishes are finally done and put away,
Everything is wiped clean except the hallway.
You sweep and mop away all the marks,
Then get startled from the dog's bark.
The baby wakens with a scream!
There goes your rest and peacefully dreams.
Maybe tomorrow you'll finally get to sleep,
Hoping that your sanity is what you'll keep.


Details | Narrative | |

She Has A Big Heart

Her heart is so big, her love is so strong
Most of her life, she has been treated wrong
She has so much love, so much to give
Sometimes it took all she had just to live
What in the world did she do to deserve
All the pain that's been forced upon her
She's worked so hard to do everything right
But, when she'd least expect it, there would be another fight
For days she would hurt and walk around crying
If she told anyone, they'd think she was lying
How could this life of hers be so unfair?
Is it too much to ask just for someone to care?
It caused me such heartache to see all of her pain
All the times she was hurt, it was done in vain
Such a wonderful person with all of this love
Deserves more than anyone that I can think of
I'll always be thankful for all that she’s done
I love her unconditionally, unlike anyone
Who is this woman with such a big heart?
She's the beautiful woman who gave me my start
She's very special; she's one of a kind
She's like a rare diamond that most never find
She's my best friend, she's my Mother
I hope she knows how much I love her

Copyright © 2000   Shari E Davis


Details | Narrative | |

Birthing

on the edge of a bed
with feet resting
on a chair,
she lies.
strange faces set
on her writhing pain.

down hotel stairs
two men in white
carry
birth labor
into the light of day glare.

gulping in cold air,
her back arches
knees push open to
the ambulance door
wide as
arms flay into other hands.

calm now
a siren enters her hearing
flying, groaning, moving
into hospitalo smells
past staring eyes,
she crying, calling,
laughing,
rapping,
"the baby ... the baby ...
the baby is coming!"


Details | Narrative | |

SCARCE HARVEST

War World II was raging over this
southern Italian town* spared by a miracle...
a deluge that suddenly occurred: 
a night of blasting sounds, of rising flames 
as American planes bombarded its buildings;
the Nazis fled to occupied Naples.
In the North, the Fascits were executed,
as the Dictator Mussolini himself was. 


The farms could not be furrowed deep and neat,
fear hung over the farmers' shoulders;
and wheat couldn't grow abundantly to make bread,
and brazen women to a distant granary they went, 
risking their lives to grind the wheat kernels;
they were no young men in town, or the older ones
who had gone to war for a concept so deceptive.
Many youngsters and soldiers were kidnapped by the Nazis, 
to be taken to Germany as prisoners of war...who would have 
challenged the Third Reich, or disobeyed?


Old women with handkerchiefs on their heads, weeping loudly
and mourning the tranquil town it once was...so lovely and happy, 
and their cry was too bitter and inconsolable to be hushed;
now, even bread was taken away from them,
damning the cruel Duce, who had betrayed them for vanity...
why did he bring prosperity to Africa, not to Italy?
Why was his ego so manipulated by Hitler's cleverness...
that he could have conquered peoples and lands?


Ruins and dead kindred...a scenery of dread and abomination,
and the lively memory of begonias on their sunny balconies 
brought a sweet nostalgia in an hour of horror and death;
and gathered among the crumbled walls, their rosaries  
recited with graceful whispers, gave them 
the strength and the courage to desperately grieve:
"Peace, o beloved peace, have you overlooked
the kindness of such humble and honorable spirits?
 

Darkness brought the silence they had sought under the glittering skies,
to hide the ugliness of the war in their gloomy shadows,
never to reveal the devastation of their town;
and with the new sun rising, hope would have been 
renewed in the sunrise's lasting glow.
They would have seen those wheat golden kernels 
bend under their heavy weight and bow.... 
and heard themselves saying," Mercy, o mercy
of our righteous God, let prosperity abound...
as the misty rain slowly comes down!"   

Southern Italian Town:  Baiano

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Narrative | |

Freedom before my lost brother

Freedom before my lost brother

They march before the rising sun with guns at six
We stand before sun down with signs of freedom

Who really marches to the same drum? 
When my hand have been blown off for beat
The beat, the beat, the beat

As he races from the explosion of freedom in his chest
For freedom
To escape this tide of hate
That swept us slaves of red, white and blue

And he is nothing like before when hate took him away
He is a man at six and we are still children as adult
War took my hands and feet I am no solider
I fight for freedom not money
You fight so this tide will not cross-oceans and sands

We fight here for food and light
And light, to breathe, to die for family
Across the ocean hand my son an ak-47
And he will march and kneel before God for forgiveness

Hand my brother a ruger and he will stand in the shadows for American greed
Greed in the land of freedom and hope, black in the shadows
And mother can mend wounds here across the oceans she can only dial 
Extensions..... 
Of relief
Mother over there must know how to be doctor and surgeon, and warrior for the 
Next 
Generation to survive, to live

We cannot procreate; we are the ends of mankind
With bombs in the hands of babies
To extend our left hand of hate across the ocean, across towers of hope

We must all be the same here a million mile from each other
My skin dictates that I hate, be hated, I rape, be raped
I bleed red, white and blue
Watching in shock, disbelief as red, white and blue goes up in flames in the 
Ashes of the wind just like you

Freedom can never come to me here before her with that torch 
My mother across  the ocean must be sending me a package of death to kill my 
four father
Your four father because my complexion means that no one can see me
 I am a lost brother, forgotten sister 
 Hated child with no hands, no hands in freedom

March me before television cameras, signs of peace, and words of love
I am still a lost brother............ before truth
But you knoe me so well..
From the the same box that caused my cousins in your land to be hung
Money means nothing here, Money means every thing beside her with the torch
Pass it to me so I may freedom---the truth


Details | Narrative | |

The last Yearn of the deadman walking

My hands cup my face,
My head hangs oh so low ,
How did I get here ?,
Why I don't know,
My mother said she loved me, My father left a day,
           Shackles On,
I walk the mile,
The chains clink on , I hear no sounds,
I see no faces just a blur,
I walk the longest steps of my end,
When I was free ,I would run to never more,
                      Shackles off,
The final click,
I lay down against my will,
My body trembles with the fear, 
Oh, Dear mother do not sob,
I am cold as I lay near death, I long to feel warmth once more,
My eyes now close, As I pray ,
All is gone,  
May God have mercy on me.


Details | Narrative | |

A Christmas Child

A face presses up to a store window display
of an angel in ermine
with arms bangled and boots thigh high.
Mannikin thighs harder than the fake tree
in the corner festooned with popcorn ...
stale now in the airless window.

The eyes of the child glow looking in
as mannikin eyes look out at the
turtle-necked tourists stopping to smile
at the child watching a toy train wind
past the feet of the angel in ermine
and her glistening red boots.
The train is filled with jeweled brooches,
earrings, and a necklace of diamonds.

Growing tired now,  the child walks
to a cardboard box at the corner of this store
where her mother sits on an old pillow
holding a flute to be played as its
red carrying case fills with coins.
Coins that will never buy diamonds.

Hauntingly beautiful Christmas carols her mother plays
while the child sits on the sidewalk
watching feet pass and coins drop.
Soon, they will walk across the street to a cafe
where she will drink hot chocolate
before they return to this box
to sleep in the silent night.


Details | Narrative | |

Introspection

She may be gone into this world
but her memories linger
her inner soul transcends
like a wind blowing elsewhere
with its sound and touch to leafy land.

She weathered many trials,
challenges, difficulties throughout her life.
her faith and her good heart,
made her cope with life.

A constant niggle in the back of my mind,
stillness and peace at this time.
even in the silence of my heart
reigns that confidence 
about God’s indwelling in my life.

It gives light to what I feel
now that you’re gone, o dear mother!
your message of hope and endurance
remains a compelling force
to keep me going and be thine
O Lord of life, my refuge throughout my life.


Details | Narrative | |

The Curse of Unlimited Time

“Don’t forget to take your dose.”
My stomach in knots, as I shakily spoke.
“Baby, you know my death is coming close.”
“But mommy, I don’t want you to go.”

Doctors walked past,
Blurs of white stepping in and out fast,
As my mother and I tried to make the night last,
Pulling out memories and revisiting the past.

All of our ‘remember when’s’,
Made me wish I was there again,
Back when I thought there was time to spend,
With my mom, on who I could always depend.

“Why’d this have to happen now?”
My lips trembled as thoughts were spoken aloud.
“How can we change it, baby? Please, tell me how.”
“Cancer can’t take you! It’s not allowed!”

I crawled up beside her,
Beside my hero, my mother,
I heard the slow heart of my source of will-power,
And cursed the sickness that absorbed and devoured.

My mind rushed with things I needed to say,
Secrets that I kept so they’d stay out of the way.
But I was cut short as time ticked away,
And only one memory in my mind began to play.

“Remember when I started to cry,
That one day you never told me goodbye?
I always knew it was a silly reason why,
But you came back anyways and this was your reply.”

“My pretty little princess, I love you!
And I will always know you love me too.
So if I forget to say bye, please don’t be blue,
Because our bond is strong and will always stay true.”

The memory made up for things I couldn’t tell her,
And in this moment it made me feel the slightest bit better.
But yet all these emotions were flooding like water,
As I knew I was going to lose my mommy forever.

“I promise I love you baby, that’s all you need to know,”
And this time it was her voice that shakily spoke.
“I’m not scared of death, I’m just scared of letting you go.”
She winced in pain, death was too close.

“Mommy!” I screamed, scared out of my mind.
She smiled, then it faded as she laid there and died.
It’s indescribable what loss and longing I felt inside,
My mind went numb as I couldn’t bring myself to cry.

I need you,
I want you,
I miss you…

I love you mommy.


Dedicated to all who have lost their moms.
In sickness or old age,
Whatever it may have been,
This is for you.



Details | Narrative | |

Stranger

There is a man that no one likes
He's been standing out in front of my house for several days now
I wish that he would go away
My grandmother has become very sick
My nerves are shot and the man outside does not help
One night i woke up to a shrilling breeze that left me the chills
When I went back to bed I noticed a bottle of pills on my night stand
With night covering me with its silk blanket I paid them no mind
The next morning the mysterious man was gone
Grandma! Grandma!


Details | Narrative | |

Homemade Dumplings

Homemade Dumplings


Now watch this she would say my mother taught me this
And her mother taught her you might not get another chance
Everythings in the book I did change the pallbearers for you
Recently made it easier for you thanks mom that’s really kind
Of you was it 2 to 1 or 3 to 1 mom? Flour to eggs I gotta keep it
Simple in my head you know I gotta look at that book one day
Where did you say you kept it again?




04.03.10  11:30pm


Details | Narrative | |

The Road To Peace- part three

Still only a baby in others eyes, it made it so much harder.
The thought of your torment chased away the chill
And soon I was able to fine fulfillment in a choice few things,
For once none of them were liquid, needles or pills.

It didn’t take me long after being away to see
That my world filled with light now that you weren’t in it.
I could finally think of myself without feeling disgust
And take joy in my life, knowing my time was finite.

How could you ask me to forgive you without admittance?
How could you expect me to ever be your friend?
How can you accuse me of leaving you when you needed me?
When you left me behind years before I ever left?

I came back to you when I was safe, mostly healed,
Against my better judgments, to see if you had changed
But over those years, all you did was simmer in hatred
Showing me that maturity and responsibility have nothing to do with age.

I can never feel sorry for anything you go through
Because you made me carry both of our pasts.
I learned to face my problems and let them go.
You always look for someone to blame, that’s why your happiness never lasts.

Now I am at the end of this journey.
You’re the last piece of trash I have left to put out.
And I am happy to say I don’t feel one ounce of remorse
Because pain and heartache isn’t what life is about.

My mind still occasionally thinks of you 
On those hot, endless summer days.
When everyone’s lips are painted with smiles
And I’m spending hours watching my children play.

I feel one small pang inside me of pity
That you, like so many others, will never know love
Because I know just how empty my soul would be
If I didn’t know how to love them so much.

Then I feel more than thankful to the gods
For dusting off my soul and showing me the sun.
For giving me the strength to face my life
Despite the fact that you always taught me to run.



Details | Narrative | |

The Power of Love

The power of love holds the battleground. 
Nuclear blasts from sea to sea. 
Wait and you will see!
Begging, kicking, and screaming:
Pleading, “Give it to me”!
Standing on God’s ground, defended by the armor and shield melting.

The power of love holds the mystery.
Things are never as they seem.
Do the means meet the extremes?
Where, how, when was I?
Wondering if it was only a dream? 
Standing on God’s ground, defeated by the lock that obtains that key.

The power of love carries the only prayer.
Time to come and be done.
Soon you will be the one.
Dead, black, despair:
Hoping, will someone hear?
Standing on God’s ground, lost in the dream in which you begun.


®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich


Details | Narrative | |

The scars of losing my parents

Since childhood I’ve dreamed of having a happy family,
I’ve dreamed of seeing my other siblings in harmony;
Like seasons of the year where changes can be seen,
Similar to our human experience dubbed with ups and downs.

As a child I experienced the pain of losing my loved ones,
especially my own father who I never saw when he passed away;
He’s far away, confined in the hospital with my older brother.
I cried so hard, went to my parents’ room and blamed God.

It was one of the great storms that knocked us down,
my own mother had all the responsibilities to shoulder;
She brought us up with all the sufferings and pains
She bore with them like a humble servant of all.

My mother’s mother continued to support us in many ways,
She became part of our disciplined Christian formation;
Her love for us was like a gauge of a mother’s love,
with interiority of faith and mission to think about the poor.

Her role model in our family became a challenge for me.
She impressed in my mind how to live as a responsible man;
given the chance to explore my life in the world of today,
undaunted by fear; encouraged by those who really dream.

The painful spike in our journey as fatherless in the family,
was the tragedy of envy and hatred that truly ruined us;
Yet with an attitude of love and forgiveness deep inside,
I would say that God never sleeps - to be of help to us.

Along with my family relations who came into the picture,
their soaring irritation and impatience to assist us heretofore,
Just a lesson, a part of history that makes me recall in prayer,
a gateway to reconciliation, a ministry to those in trouble.

As themes on faith, knowledge, love and oneness with God
continue to be the revelations of Christ in our journey as persons;
I feel that he’s never written in straight lines but rather in crooked ones,
some of them are our own lines and living witnesses in this world.

I really miss my own mother, my own father: my parents,
in spite of their weaknesses and shortcomings as human beings,
Their love and sacrifices for their children never failed,
because they’re sibling souls who knew about God’s love for all.


Details | Narrative | |

The Kings Three Sons Part 1

One day I went strolling on the lane that cut through the woods. My mother had warned me; as mothers often do to, “Stay away from the Thorn Woods, cut through the fields instead.” But like all children do, the mystery of the Woods, and her warning, did nothing but encourage me to venture on. It was light and airy in that woods, not how the fear in my mind made it seem at all. As I ventured on, each step brought pride and courage into my chest. I came upon a strange fellow sitting upon a log. He wore a dress, so to speak, And his feet were bare. And as children often do, I stopped to ask, “Who are you?” With a start, he jumped to his feet and bent down to look me closely in the eyes. So close that the beard that hides his face tickled my nose. “Who am I?” he shouted, sounding shocked by such a question. “Who are YOU?” He leaned back, pointing a bony finger into my chest. Stuttering, I said, “I asked you first.” With a laugh he stood up, “I am the Enchanting Wizard of Raven.” “Why are you here?” “I've come here to tell you a story. Now sit.” Eagerly, I sat upon the forest floor. “This story,” the wizard said, “Was told to me by my mother, as her mother told it to her, and her mother's mother told it to her mother, and her mother’s mother mother told it to her mother’s mother. As so one till the first line of wizard mothers.” He began. “This story is not a happy one, if I remember correctly. As most stories are not.” He sat back on to the log, pulling a pipe from out his sleeve. With a puff, it started smoking, and the trundle of heavy smoke flowed down to the dirt of the floor. “There was once a King who lay dying. I do not know if he was a King of north and south or east and west, but he was a King who reigned far from here. As he lay dying in his bed, he asked to see his sons.” He paused only to take a drag from the smoldering pipe, The smoke smelling sweet like apple pie.


Details | Narrative | |

The Road To Peace- part four

I like to think that I learned how to be a good mother
By never doing it the way that you did.
I know that no matter how hard it gets
I never will take one second with them for granted.

I will love them every moment I have with them
And succeed in making sure they know it.
So that they can grow up surrounded in trust and love
And never be too afraid to show it.

I would never allow their fears to go un-noticed.
I would die trying to protect them from that world.
I will never rush them, or fail to protect them.
They will be free to enjoy being little boys and girls.

Pride will fill me where jealousy filled you,
As I nurture them and watch them grow
Though I cherish their childhoods more than anything,
I look forward to watching their lives unfold.

Of them taking on the world, enjoying its beauty.
Becoming strapping young men and lovely young ladies.
I dream of them finding a love like I found with their Daddy
And of holding my perfect Grandbabies.

I used to want you to pay for my pain.
I used to dream of ways to make you feel like I did.
I still wish you had had more compassion than to lean on me.
You were my mother, I was just a kid.

But I no longer wish you any more pain or revenge
Because I have risen so high above that, I can’t even see you.
Because you’re still in that world I ran so far away from,
Surrounded in that pain I once was so used to

And knowing that I will have everything you denied yourself
Because of your hideous and unforgettable actions,
I am finally free to find more worth while adventures,
Other uses for my emotions, and my passions.

This finality is like cutting through the last bar of the cage
And finally freeing that dark and abused beast.
into the sunlight where she is free and beautiful
Because unlike you, in my children’s eyes, I found my peace.



Details | Narrative | |

A Fathers Smile

How great it is to see a smile of grace,
upon your face,
our daughters you do embrace.

Your smile goes so many miles,
I treasure it in all my memory files.

No words you need to say, that smile so sweet,
that smile so long ago, that swept me off my feet,
how neat it is now, a smile for our daughters so sweet....

                                  This Poem is dedicated to Rick Salmen and
                                   his beautiful daughters Kalyn, Ashley, and Harley 
                                   Kensington, Ohio


Details | Narrative | |

The Hurricane

The hurricane, so viscous, so violent!
Yes, it must rain.
This force is behind, 
This force beyond!
Yet, finally it came.
The winds, clever and dangerously rough,
Please measure this poll.
Dark clouds consume the heavenly skies, capturing ones soul.
With a love so hard, yet, a love much too cold!
Our world now spins, hopeless and out of control!
You are you and I am me,
Together, our climates capture and debate this Sea.
These winds are too strong, our sky so dark and dim.
Stricken with fear, too afraid to release what is deep within.
The storm is here, so grab onto your soul! 
Yet, beware! This one is fearless and this one we share.
Scream its name and it shall cry its love,
For it be you, far beyond the heavens above!
Hold your strength with a grip so tight,
That storm will surely break, so where’s your fight?
This hurricane can surely hold its own.
Our little world can and will be shown.
Our damage is as our damage does,
Surely this tiny world isn’t our just and only cause!
You hold that thought and forever we shall be,
True love bound and forbidden to set itself free,
Held within you and deep within me,
This love was meant forever, 
One day this you shall see!
This hurricane loves, yet, 
It wills to hate,
The forbidden fruit conquered by its very own fate.
Give your seeds, but stand your ground. 
Forever in this world!
For once we shall not be lost, but found.            

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997                                           


Details | Narrative | |

My Memories of Fried Chicken

Memories of my mother and grandmother
 and there fried chicken…

First was my grandmother killing 
the chicken, with a broom stick and bare 
hands (won’t go into details, to gross)…?

As the chicken flopped around the ground
 for awhile bleeding out my grandmother 
would get out the gas burner and prepare 
the boiling water, then the chicken would
 take a nice hot bath, so the feathers
would come out easier…

I watched my grandmother plucking 
its feathers then searing of the pen feathers…

One thing I didn’t like was the smell
 of the wet feathers and the seared pen 
feathers, awful…

After all the prep came out the cast
 iron skillet, Cisco, the floured, salt
 and peppered chicken…

Time seemed so slow when you
 could smell the chicken cooking, but you 
knew dinner wasn’t far off, for by the
 time dad came home from work, washed
 up dinner was on the table…

The deliciously fried chicken, side
 of vegetables and the mashed potatoes 
with pan drippings gravy, 
Oh, soooooooo goooooood.

I am sure making myself hungry…

©2012


Details | Narrative | |

Day of all mothers

It’s a very special moment to dedicate this day to our mothers,
It’s filled with meaning to give prominence to their roles;
their significance has shaped the future of men and women –
whose experiences speak a language of gratitude and joy.

Like in the bible when Yahweh formed Adam from soil,
and breathe on him and he came then into life – humanity;
Today’s event leads us to recall when mothers of all cultures
brought us to life and provided us with their love and patience.

Our identity began with that gift of life from God through them.
How good things in life are attributed to their maternal love;
How society honors them in their unique roles as mothers
They’re precious gifts from God and the world can tell us.

To be a disciple of Christ means to be recreated as a new person,
To be a son or daughter of our mothers means to belong to her;
To share gifts with them means to unite ourselves in their hearts,
with an act of transformation and reconciliation to all forms.

They’re paradigms of human sacrifice, love and perseverance,
Their lives have increasing movements of guidance and truth,
In many ways they show us to live in a zone of God’s presence;
with their prayers and wishes that their children will follow Christ.

We make known to them that we love them in a special way,
Their lives of witnessing capture the meaning of today’s event –
that unity they share with us, along with that great love for us,
are echoes of God’s kingdom that celebrates with the power beyond.

There is nothing more important to a child than to say ‘Mom’,
which signifies a colossal thing in regard to historic origin;
a mother to her children, a source of love in conversation,
along with her husband, there’s a covenant to remember.

Recounted as a significant moment to honor our dear mothers,
Both living and dead as they’re indispensable, bringer of love;
Pillars of joy, and a wellspring of family values to all,
Dear mothers across cultures - this is your day that we hail
We remember you with gratitude in our hearts that speak:  happy mother’s day!


Details | Narrative | |

The Examples We Set!

The Examples We Set!

“Grandma”, the young boy spoke.
His face was serious.
He was telling no joke.
Grandma was curious.
“What is it, my grandson?”
He points to one finger.
“See that finger Grandma.”
Yes.” She replied looking.
“That’s a bad finger…bad!”
He exclaimed pointing to
His little middle finger,
Continuing he said,
“When I grow up I am
Going to use that finger.
“That wouldn’t be very nice.”
His grandmother remarked.
“You are too nice to use
That finger…”
“Well, he continued,
“My dad uses it and
I’m going use it too,
When I grow up.”

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 19, 2010
Poetic form:  Free Verse


Details | Narrative | |

Mother Mary's Motherhood

The Church cannot forget her mission
Was made possible by the Motherhood of Mother Mary
Who conceived and bore a Son
Who is God from Eternal God
True Eternal God from True Eternal God

Mother Mary is truly the Mother of God
Whose motherhood as the vocation to motherhood
Bestowed by Eternal God on every man raised to its highest level
Thus, Mother Mary becomes the mother of the Church and to be New Mama Eve
The mother of believers, the mother of the living

4202013


Details | Narrative | |

Morning Star

Across her village far deep in to the forrest Morning Star found peace and 
contentment. Here away from her village, the young girl enjoyed the daylight 
hours with the sounds and beauty of nature and it's animals. Beyond the forrest 
the mountains held a mystery all their own. Their beauty touched her soul and 
spirit yet they seems so far off to her.Her thoughts wondered what lay over them 
and what new world lay beyond those haunting peaks reaching to the sky.
    Suddenly the early morning was shattered by the sounds of gunfire. With all 
the men gone hunting no one was there to protect the village. Morning Star's 
thoughts were of not only the others in the village but of her mother and baby 
sister, she had to get back to them. Screams of women and children cut through 
the forrest as the scent  of smoke and the sounds of horses grew closer.  
Suddenly the sounds began to fade and only the smell of smoke remained. As 
she stood at the clearing, Morning Star saw what was left of her village. Unable to 
move as her eyes looked across the bodies of women and children laying all 
around. Tears filled her eyes as she walked by so many searching for her 
mother and baby sister, hoping that they had fled to safety. There in the dirt lay 
her mother clutching her baby sister, both dead. How could this have happened? 
How could the soldiers have done this to them?
  Morning Star placed a blanket over her their lifeless bodies and slowly walked 
away. Her life as she knew it was gone, dead along with her mother and baby 
sister. She was the only survivor.  Slowly she walked back into the forrest. Dusk 
was beginning and the forrest would keep her safe for the night. Tomorrow she 
would search for a way up to the mountains, there she would find a path to her 
destiny and what the spirits have chosen for her. She would be the only one to 
tell the story of all who had been lost this day. She would be the only one to keep 
their story alive for generations after this.


Details | Narrative | |

Guilty, Guilty, Guilty

 

As the doors to my prison door slammed shut.
   It was then I realized just how deeply my life had sunk into this rut.
And why, what was the reason that put me here?
   Second degree manslaughter and they said it quite clear.
It seems I plowed into a van full of kids coming from a high school game.
   One mother cryingly said, don’t you have any pity do you feel any shame?
For she lost two sons that night, that night of the game.
    I was there executioner, I was to blame.
I was just out for a good time making all of the bars.
    I didn’t know I was that drunk but I still pack those scars
The jury found me guilty that very first day.
    And the old judge handed me my sentence he said son you must pay.
Well locked in those handcuffs they carried me back to my cell.
     I heard one mother holler, I hope you rot, you rot in hell.
Thirty years was the sentence but not near enough.
     For it was three young men’s lives that I did snuff.
The death penalty would have been more fitting for this deed that I’ve done.
     Letting a drunk person drive is like giving a crazy person a gun.
And I think the people that sell the stuff need to be accountable as well.
     Let them get a little taste of sitting in a cell.
Folks this is just a made up story but it could have been true.
    For there were many nights I was out there driving drunk uncaring of what I 
could do.
I’m the lucky one, for God took my desire to drink and I don’t anymore.
   Alcohol is an addicting drug with a swinging door.
It weakens all your defenses and it makes you a bum.
    And like the man in this story his life will never be worth nothing he turned it to 
scum.
So friend if you’re an alcoholic, admit it to yourself then seek help, and right away.
    But please do it before something like this happens, that’s all I have to say.


Details | Narrative | |

For my children

I remember my pregnancy with you 
I fell in love with your every move, and with the sound of your beating heart. 
I held your precious body in my arms for the first time and took in your sweet, angelic presence. 
Nothing could prepare me for what would lie ahead. 
Nothing could prevent my heart from breaking, but it had to be done. 
I tried to be strong, but my strength failed me. 
I never knew it would be so difficult to write my own name. 
I cried, and was grateful for all the precious memories you've given me. 
It was a new beginning for you. 
The healing was beginning for me. 
Time went forward, I learned and grew as I slowly let go of you. 
My heart was healed, my life was blessed and my prayers were answered. 
Still, there's days when I cry. 
I will never stop thinking about you. 
Still I wonder about the person you are now, and the person you've yet to become. 
I pray that you will always know of the love I have for you. 
It's only through the grace of God that you were mine for a time. 
He gave you to me, I lovingly obeyed his plans for you. 


Details | Narrative | |

MOTHER,OH WONDERFUL MOTHER!

I lived my youth without many friends,
yearning for a departed father so selfless,
renouncing his children for another woman over-sea,
while my mom resigned to her fate;
lamenting and denouncing his terrible mistake:
and she worked hard and prepared delicious meals,
even her outlook on life was fantastic,
but something was missing from that lovely face...


Mother, oh wonderful mother, I sympathized
with your pain and wish it would have disappeared,
so you would have enjoyed, once again, life in its splendor;
mother, oh wonderful mother, even love dies
when one is deceived by a false affection,
and father broke his promise and faced retribution...   

 
Mom loved dad from the day she married him,
and remained faithful 'till she died whispering his name;
I stood by her bed-side and couldn't console her sadness,
or fill that space with my insignificant presence:
by that remote glance, I could see her retracing, with joyous eyes,
her happy past with daddy delighting her with his funny words
while strolling down the quietest road scented by daisies,
as blue-jays flew over their delirious heads... 


Mother,oh wonderful mother, you gave me the enduring will
to withstand any storm:  to survive and cope in this hell, 
while living honestly and godly among thieves and sinners;
to despise prejudice with its ugly ways and be cautious
not to give in their demands when luck could have ran out on me!
I live with little, and though I desire finer things,
nothing stains my clean hand and be judged by man,
because life complements me with the trust of any friend...

Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Narrative | |

Manuelito & Poseidon

Even as thunder boomed mighty overhead
and power lines on San Domingo Avenue outside
faltered and succumbed to the tempest
the Ortegas stood breathless in the family room, gaze transfixed 
upon the television screen like so many deer in the headlights of a truck.
Finally a flash from without, and a snap 
extinguished all light within the household. Ten seconds passed 
without a sound. Then the father uttered something and
the family members scattered, each returning a moment later
bearing possessions of infinite value. Within a minute, 
all had crammed into the station wagon, evacuation route ingrained
within their minds like a seed of hope.
All but one. Manuelito had been lost.
The mother howled and flied back into the house,
tears streaming down her face hard as the rain.
She reached the back porch, and to her eternal shock
found Manuelito standing alone on the beach like a mannequin
eyes locked upon the Cyclops-eye of the storm.
The mother cried out through anguished sobs
in vain, for the howling drone of the wind overpowered all
and when Manuelito turned around to face all that he loved
he did so with all the finality of a grown man
resolved upon his course of action.
The mother abruptly ceased her crying, and
her countenance briefly matched that of her son
as she, too, turned her gaze upon the jewel center of the storm
and was hypnotized by the awesome power of the divine.
At length she regained self-consciousness, and her eyes
darted back to that segment of the beach where her son had been standing
but his figure, like a stream of sand on the dunes of time,
had been replaced by nothingness,
the allure of the unknown and
Poseidon’s call of wild fury
too strong to resist.


Details | Narrative | |

for lexi

quick witted 
like the child her mother was
i miss that child 
but adore the butterfly she has become
she will be more 
than we all imagine
if we let her be
just as her mother 
and her grandmother and great grandmother were and are
but we come from a line of struggle
of will and wellness
of dreams and wants
of can be and will be
she smiles
and my heart is as full as it can be
she treats me like a playmate
and i wouldn't have it any other way
i love her and her mother
as much as my heart will allow
as much as there is room for
as if they were my own


Details | Narrative | |

Faith in Monsters

after my mother said good night
she closed the door and turned out the light.
perhaps by chance she didn't know the fright
that awaited me as she closed the door.
as it is this night and every night
i need light more. 
to scare away monsters behind my closet door.
what that monster is i have yet to see.
but from movies snd scary stories i guess what it
could be.
Wolfman, Frankinstien, or Vampire all 
or Wicked Witch, ghostly ghoul to call.
the undead Zombie scratching the walls.
all i need is a little light, thats all!
i cannot crack the curtans,
i'm afraid of what i'll see.
and in my mind i wonder why, oh why 
my mother won't believe me.
when i say that there are monsters 
and one day that they will get me?


Details | Narrative | |

Was It An Act of God?

Catastrophes,natural disasters and torrential rains
what causes these thing to happen, on whom do you place the blame?
mankind has misused and abused this planet on which we live
Mother Nature must make adjustments, the forces of nature then give
we have built too many buildings, taken over too much land
an earthquake may be a realignment to the acts and plans of man

aerosol cans, rain forest diminishing, the erosion of the soil and ground
when the rain eventually falls the lack of trees causes the mud to slide down
God gave us some power, many have called it free-will
mankind can use it for good or he can use it for ill-will
yet when many lives are lost and so many souls depart
why does anyone think to ask, was it an act of God?

air pollution, water pollution, the whole industrial age
has ravaged our planet and brought about Mother Nature's rage
we act before we think, we destroyed things that can't be replaced
maybe Mother Nature is trying to tell us to do an about face
tsunamis, monsoons and all types of major tidal waves
may be a wake-up call to how we have behaved

we need to come together and start making some major plans
stop raping our natural resources and start preserving God's land
so if anyone ever asks you, was it an act of God the Lord Christ?
just ask them for this planet, what has mankind sacrificed?
we are selfish in our deeds, self-absorbed in our needs
eventually we must bear the blame and we all will pay the price
just don't be so quick to place the burden of guilt on God the Lord Christ


Details | Narrative | |

In Her Mansion Above........repost

The day momma died.
   I held her to my bosom, and then I cried.
Silenced by death this mother I love.
   She’s there in her mansion with our Savior above.
She left just a short five months after I had accepted the Lord.
   Father she deserves peace for this life down here was terribly hard.
Her and our pastor baptized me in the sunny month of May.
   Scared to death of deep water, she climbed into that pool anyway.
And when my head came up from the water, I saw that look in her eye.
   She said I’m ready now for my Savior, I knew she was saying good-bye!
All those years that she prayed this was her day.
    The joy in that beautiful face what else can I say.
I love her so much and I miss her even more.
   As my mind takes me back to that day I found her lying on her kitchen floor.
Without the Lord on my side I don’t think I could have bore that sight.
   Momma I can still feel your arms around me, holding me tight.
My wife loved her so their love had tremendously grown.
   Like a mother loves a daughter their love truly shown.
You were more than a mom, and a friend, you were also our pal.
   The Lord got Himself a mighty good gal.
                 Love you Mom!


Details | Narrative | |

Hush, Baby Girl

Hush, baby girl, dont you cry 
Mama's gonna make everything alright 
Wiping all your tears away 
Holding you when you have a bad day 
You're my sweet lil' Angel-baby 
You're the only thing that kept me from going crazy

I Love you, girly, with all my heart 
Losing you would tear me apart 
So, while I have you, let me hold you 
And when you leave, never forget your home 
Come on vacation, come on weekends 
Come when you're lonely, come when you're heart broken 
My door's always open to you and so is my heart 
And as long as you think of me and I of you, we're never apart

Hush, baby girl, dont you cry 
Mama's gonna make everything alright 
Wiping all your tears away 
Holding you when you have a bad day 
Because you're my lil' Angel-baby


Details | Narrative | |

In Her Mansion Above........repost

The day momma died.
   I held her to my bosom, and then I cried.
Silenced by death this mother I love.
   She’s there in her mansion with our Savior above.
She left just a short five months after I had accepted the Lord.
   Father she deserves peace for this life down here was terribly hard.
Her and our pastor baptized me in the sunny month of May.
   Scared to death of deep water, she climbed into that pool anyway.
And when my head came up from the water, I saw that look in her eye.
   She said I’m ready now for my Savior, I knew she was saying good-bye!
All those years that she prayed this was her day.
    The joy in that beautiful face what else can I say.
I love her so much and I miss her even more.
   As my mind takes me back to that day I found her lying on her kitchen floor.
Without the Lord on my side I don’t think I could have bore that sight.
   Momma I can still feel your arms around me, holding me tight.
My wife loved her so their love had tremendously grown.
   Like a mother loves a daughter their love truly shown.
You were more than a mom, and a friend, you were also our pal.
   The Lord got Himself a mighty good gal.
                 Love you Mom!


Details | Narrative | |

The Hospital

Five months in the hospital.
They don't know what is wrong.
I.C.U. and feeding tubes.
What the hell is going on?

They've run every test known to man.
Still can't say why she's sick again.
Amputate the leg. Shave the head.
Dialysis on stand-by.
Shots here. Procedures there.
And specialists of all kind.

You get to know the hospital staff.
Patients come and go.
Visitors cry and patients die.
People you get to know.

He stays in the hotel right next door.
What's it all for?
He's been here for every meal.
Late night calls and four bare walls.
Talk on the phone, at least twice a week.
Keep her on the prayer list at church.
And try not to cry.

"Hold on strong. It won't be long.
And home you soon will go."
Then, "Where do I begin?
There's an infection again."
Two more weeks to stay.

She looks at her husband
and she cries again.
"If I'm gonna die
I'd rather die at home.
Not here all alone."


Details | Narrative | |

NO Deposit, NO RETURN, only little throw aways

    Ladies I would like to stand with you and pray.
   For that little unborn life you just threw away.
And the only thing that comes to mind is how or maybe why.
   Could any mother in their right mind want their unborn child to suffer and die?
It was a gift from God is what you had.
   You turned such a joyous occasion into something morbid and sad.
I don’t pretend to know what goes on in most of these young girls mind.
   Are they really that ignorant or just totally blind?
And to the devil doctors that perform such hideous acts.
   Do you realize what you’ve done and to whom you’ve made your pacts.
They were part of the branch, they were your vine.
   Intended to be something heavenly, a gift so devine.
But you threw it away before it could bear fruit or see the light of day.
   And one day you’ll stand before your Maker and that little Throw Away.
I just pray someone reaches you before it’s too late.
   And stops you from what you know is wrong and leads you to a better fate.
They’re not THROW AWAYS, they’re KEEPERS, and so are YOU.
   SO PLEASE, PLEASE FOR HEAVENS SAKE THINK BEFORE YOU DO!!!


Details | Narrative | |

Dear Mother,

I use to wonder if you cared or loved me because we’ve been
through a lot and I’ve always asked God to show you I needed you more than
ever in that special spot

I use to ask God what it felt like to feel your kiss
on my cheek and I prayed to god that you and I would created a bond that way 
you could have finally seen why you should’ve been loved me

I use to always want to feel what it was to be in and out 
with you and now the time has come and I don’t want to live without
you

We go to dinner here and now, party and do whatever
but why did it take so long from the ages 10-20 I always felt 
alone

And honestly I believe if I would have never got sick when I 
was 21 you still probably wouldn’t of  been there but I’m thanking 
god for that lighting bolt he gave you with that broken crystal stair

Things are great now, I can’t get you away, have to call you everyday
and if I don’t you’ll have a fit I truly believed god planned 
this 

Thanks for now being there and showing me your love
nevertheless, God knows what to do in order to get people to see
what’s their best 






Details | Narrative | |

Flos Florum

Seeing how Christians venerate
the Blessed Mother, with the title of Theotokos 
her signficance, role to play in history
reminds everyone of her faith and humility.

She’s destined to be blessed among women
free from original sin, pure in her totality.
to be the Mother of God, the Mother of Christ;
she’s indeed God’s revelation to whole creation.

In those times where faith was being questioned,
doctrines of the church and other Catholic traditions;
divisions and heresies were brought to the fore
like a battle of reasons, faith convictions, and devotions.

Men and women of faith walked through difficult times,
they remained convinced that the Blessed Mother
interceded for them in many ways and times;
thus, their song of joy and trust to her intercession
to God whose love for all can be beyond measure.

She’s Sancta Dei genitrix, Mater divina gratiae         
whose sanctity and faith made a colossal difference,
In God’s plan, the one who’s to come on earth,
will be born by a certain Jewish woman, Mary.     
 
She listened most of the time no matter what,
her faithfulness to God’s covenant revealed
that Mary, her name, became  a global inspiration
through her obedience to God’s will and her culture.

She’s mostly depicted in statues and pictures
as a humble servant, a beautiful mother with a heart
compassionate, faithful, and open to afflictions
with her Son Jesus who suffered and died on the cross.

She’s a paragon of being obedient to God’s words
her basic words uttered in reliance upon his divine will;
that it’s his will, not hers, that matters the whole action
called to take part in the mystery of human salvation.

Oh Mary! Mother of all mankind, seat of wisdom,
you’re the promise foretold by the prophets of old
through your participation in this plan of redemption,
a gift of eternity championed the cause of her Son’s return 
as the Risen Lord gives hope and mercy to whole humanity.


Note:
1)  Flos Florum meaning “flower of flowers,” refers to the lily.  This symbol of purity, associated with the Blessed Virgin Mary and her most chaste spouse St Joseph, is highly appropriate for Paul VI, whose pontificate is best remembered for the promulgation of that widely contested encyclical on marital chastity.
2)  Theotokos  ( “God bearer “ or “Mother of God”) for the Mother of Jesus
3)  Sancta Dei Genitrix means Holy Mother of God
4)  Mater Divina Gratia means Mother of divine grace

                                                   


Details | Narrative | |

In These Eyes of Mine

In the glow of the day, rise the shadows of a dark night where I come free.
Walking slow yet running with hot flames drenched by my body soiled, I am here.
My walk, my life, I stand with this seed.
Taking me down, all the way because I am the only one who care’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Sun make glow of my hair!
In the depths of the Oceans may the Mountains peak, I am free.
Stroking slowly, yet rock climbing with the pain of broken rocks, I go there.
My depth and my height I stand with this need.
Rolling me around, all the way because I am the only one who share’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Mountain make depth of my care.
In the brightness of the Stars lingers a magical gleam, all scattered and free.
Breathing slowly, yet desperate for the air to give my last and final breath, I am there.
My deepest, my highest, I stand with this greed.
Pulling me down to the ground all of the way because I am here!
In these eyes of mine, let the Stars make bright of my fear.
These eyes of mine give to you this planted seed with all of my prayers.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1999


Details | Narrative | |

Remembering

As the fragrance fades,
of love once so deep,
into the unknown,
where she now weeps.
Silent she stares,
at what once was there,
pictures, a reminder,
remembering, 
when her children were there.
Silver is her hair,
her body frail, and weak,
she calls their names,
as the tears roll down her cheeks.
Where have they gone,
why don't they call,
forgotten in time,
trying to recall.
Miles are between them,
their busy days, and nights,
just trying to survive,
and a mother cries.
Lonely she is,
and lonely she will be,
as she hangs their pictures,
on her Christmas Tree.


Details | Narrative | |

Her Memories

Looking through pictures,
of her memories stored,
put up in boxes,
ragged, and worn.
Some people in the pictures,
I don't even know,
but all had a place,
in her life long ago.
Her long brown hair,
always had curls,
such a tiny frame,
on my mother as a girl.
Most black, and white,
and fading with age,
picture, after picture,
my mother saved.
Sky blue eyes,
and skin so pale,
laughter rings out,
in the story they tell.
Now I wish,
I had taken the time,
to write names on these treasures,
that are now mine.


Details | Narrative | |

Untitled #21 / Buscuits, gravy, sausage, eggs

Biscuits, gravy
sausage, eggs
salt & pepper
In mama’s kitchen I find
comfort food for my weary soul
a pleasant dinner surprise.


Details | Narrative | |

R.I.P Mrs. Beyeres....

I woke up today
never knowing this would come
for I'd just seen you not a day ago
and there had only been smiles
we had been making plans
and your mother she just smiled and watched
how can we get back to that moment?
I never thought this then
but those would be the last
the last of the happy words between us.
I wish i could take this from you
i wish i could take it from myself
what where do we go now?
there is this gaping chasm between us
filled with this darkness
that drowns us in pain
your mother, they will say
no one can replace her
no one saw the street racers
as you two were getting off the freeway
no one could stop fates hands 
as the street racers hit you both
and the car rolled away
as if mere dust in the wind...
you were fine and i was glad
but my second mother?
she, she lay in her own blood
where do we go now?
i wish i could take this pain from you
i wish i could take this pain from myself
what do i say now
what words can be said..
nothing more than
may she rest in peace
may she go with god
know that we are here
to hold you up.
Remember those who love you
and know that your mother doesn't suffer here.
one day may we return to sanity.

RIP mrs. beyers who was killed in a car accident and passed away this morning after they
pulled her off life support, she was like my second mother and we mourn her loss, may she
be in pain no more though, and may we remember all the love she taught us.


Details | Narrative | |

The Depression

I have heard stories,
passed down through the years,
of the depression,
the hardships, and fears.
My grandmother lived it,
and she never forgot,
those days of hunger,
and the pitiful sights.
She told of the rations,
and how they had to last,
with her five little children,
things went mighty fast.
Winters were cold,
the clothes froze on the line,
no dryers back then,
for drying them in.
Coal for the heater,
in a bucket nearby,
and way before daylight,
she would start feeding the fire.
I really can't imagine,
how hard things were,
but I may get the chance real soon,
it is looking more like a depression, for sure.








Details | Narrative | |

Sonnetina-REKINDLING THAT MATERNAL MEMORY

The affectionate mother, whom I loved has long left
her earthly dwelling to flee
to a Paradise extrasensory peaceful;
and surrounded by angels,
she tenderly flashes an effulgent smile and looks upon  
me and whispers many prayers
for a son whose face is her total resemblance!
And in me her noble soul lives with a sweetness,
which has made me forgotten that there's death...
by rekindling that maternal memory! 

 

Before I go to sleep, I reflect on my day that has passed without dire...  
by staring at a portrait, which makes her facial expressions
seem so real like when she eloquently spoke, glimpsing into tomorrow;
I'm wishing for tears to fall, but none do...too numerous tears
have her child's eyes shed to empty themselves of their sorrow!
Why cry and induce more mourning...when glory has awarded her a halo?
She endured much, and said little, to strengthen me with her example,
and will harsh winters lash me with their furious winds, no fright...
no discouragement can overwhelm me and make me shiver and tremble;
violent storms extirpate trees, fears won't uproot what I extol!
 


Extraordinary was her motherly love: intense and insuperable, 
to build me up when my confidence was down and I refused to have fun; 
and if I felt miserable, she mollified my misery, grief and sadness,
to never let me lose my momentum, to miss out on a great, indelible moment!
Showing my mistrust intensified the tone of her vocal chords...
low esteem wasn't another kind of modesty, just a lost milestone!   
Secular and firm...and yet divine, was her faith emboldening me;
emerging in the form of a lovely rainbow to brigthen my obscurity!
I longed for affection, hoping it would have been long lived...as that love so tangible,
which still guides my footsteps to rekindle that maternal memory!


Details | Narrative | |

A Mothers Love

 

Her lullaby she sang so sweet,
    While kissing her babies toes and feet.
Momma loves you she would coo as she rocked,
    This tiny gift from God she still was amazed and shocked.
Such a perfect creation and it came from her,
     She prayed to be the best mother that there ever were.
It was so tiny and fragile and she felt so alone,
     But it was also the greatest thing she had ever known.
She had created life the most amazing gift of all,
     As she caressed it to her bosom all rolled up in such a small and tiny little ball.
The child was asleep and she hated to lay it down,
     As she released its little fingers that were clinging to her gown.
Goodnight my precious child as she gently laid it in its bed,
     Momma loves you and she gently caressed the baby’s head.
Sleep tight and she asked God to watch over her precious child with all his 
might.    
      What she didn’t see were the guardian angels God had already sent that very 
night.


Details | Narrative | |

Match made in Heaven

My voice
Alive with tone
Yet sharply censored
By a mind's take on years
Of historical notes

Tongue no longer sweetened 
By optomism
Or spiced with
Mischievous humor
Suddenly all I taste is
So dry
So predictably dull

Night steps forward quickly
Like a woman whose
High heels carry her too loudly
Over hardwood floors
I hear her sharp 
And definite approach

Darkness surrounds me
Like mink
Soft to the touch 
But cruel in creation
I lay my head down
And begin to dream

My lonely place in the
Darkness opens
Like a curtain
To reveal a carnival scene
Where pale pink cotton candy
Weaves itself gracefully
Around paper cones

I taste the 
Incredible sweetness
Its pure reminiscent aroma
So filling with the 
Portrayal of childhood innocence
A time lost and
So light in texture
I draw the moment in deep
To remember it well

My grandmother is with me now
Baking her rhubarb pie
Picked fresh from the garden
I'm sitting at her table
A bright-yellow vinyl tablecloth
Neatly drapes itself around
Oval-shaped wood

Loud carnival music 
Compliments my meal
I open my mouth wide
Grandmother, serving the perfect balance
Of sweet and spice,
Says softly
"Eat child...Eat"
And then walks away

Alone now 
I see the faint outline
Of a crowd in the distance
Lining up to take their turn
On the Ferris Wheel
I'm driven to the
Perfectly straight horizon
Vividly painted beyond
And to them

A wise-cracking clown
Accompanies me
Telling off-color jokes
And showing me "the ropes"
On how to effectively
Cut in line

I see my lover
Jeans torn and hair
Perfectly backlit by
The midday sun
He is at the front of the line
He is waiting
For me

All those behind him now
Have grown impatient
After all
It's been 
A very 
Very 
Long time

The clown presses my hand
Firmly to my lover's
Like a rose forever saved
Between brittle pages
And with a wink
Waves goodbye

The crowd is cheering now
As brightly-colored balloons
Lift up
Released
They have found 
Their rightful place
In the sky


Details | Narrative | |

Baby Boy

Open my eyes Lord let me keep living
For I know that you kept me here for a reason
A chosen one, something my father once said
Honorable while my mother is in this bed
Keep me in your hands Lord 
Put your breath in me
Fill me with your life Lord 
Safe as I can be
Growing and Growing Lord
So my mother and father can see
That you have answered there plea
Let me keep living Lord 
In your walk I will be
Let me keep living Lord 
To show the world
What I will come to be...


                                                                  

Dedicated to Josh and Nilsa


Details | Narrative | |

Shh

Shh…
Shuttered the stifling air
Confining her innocence
Clinging to a teddy bear

Shh…
Ruffled the blanket of lies
Concealing her trembling
The lids to her cries

Shh…
Echoed the corners of the room
Beneath the glowing ceiling
Of a neon moon

Shh…
Creaked the rays of flight
Unlocking morning
Pardoning night

Jesus, she whispered
Lowering her weary head
Do you know why my father
Comes to my bed


Details | Narrative | |

Dreamer's Lot

Could emptiness be the reason I spend my nights
Wide awake, in a quiet restless daze?

I have now become confined by my unconscious thoughts,
Never felt more liberated,
I walk a path that leads me to those memories,
Now nearly faded,
I stroll through that path in the field,
Walking along the river where the low water sits still
A step towards fulfillment, a step towards happiness,
I step and catch up with an old friend
Four years come and passed, now here we stand, at last
Just as I remembered him, age hasn’t done a thing
Time is timeless? A beginning, but no end?
We stroll through that path in the grassy field
Walking along the river where the modest current moves a little 
A step towards fulfillment, a step towards happiness,
We step and catch up with an old friend
Eleven years come and passed, and now here we stand, at last
Your son’s journey has come to an end
Time is on our side, its time we didn’t spend
This is my destination, 
Rebuilding an old friendship through my recollections
 Building a mother-son relation
Previously missing, now an easy connection
Standing at the end of that path
Where the river passes graciously and its high tide shimmers
Paradise, by the dreamer’s lot

Never thought it could come to such a tragic halt…
I have now become confined by the conscious facts


Details | Narrative | |

VOLCANOES AND TWISTERS

Once in a while, Mother Nature goes mad,
When this happens, all living things get sad,
For when she is angry, things start to get bad,
Volcanoes, and twisters, and earthquakes are glad.

Mother says to her children, "You're free to run wild,
For at this point, I refuse to be mild, 
These humans are ruining my beautiful gardens,
And I refuse to give them all pardons."

So we have weather that really gets tough,
Volcanoes and twisters really show their stuff,
And it's sad but the weather, men cannot control,
No matter how much he has made this his goal.

So poets and people all over this world,
Try to be nice or you may get twirled-then swirled,
For Mother Nature may decide to start fighting back,
So she can hold together and mend all those cracks.


Details | Narrative | |

Holy cow


Life in the house is pretty easy these days,
what with washers, vacuams, fridges, and microwaves.
My poor old mum had none of those,
just the old fashoined copper, and scrubbing board, to wash our clothes.
No mains water, or power, 
so of course, there was no shower.
Meat safe hanging in the tree outside,
giant blowflies, committing suicide.
Baking a cake was quite a feat,
for the wood stove had to be kept at a constant heat.
At night the kerosine lamp was lit,
for a nighttime visit to the bog outside, one required a candle for a sit.
Hot water cylinder rumbling away,
meant the wood stove had been going all day.
The old flat iron, for ironing clothes,
permanent press, there were none of those.
I know exactly what my old mum would say,
if she saw the gadgets we have in our homes today.
Holy Cow.


Details | Narrative | |

Momma's Love

    
The wisdom that I learned from her.
    Were like pure diamonds, oh yes they were.
The one true thing I can truly say.
    Is her faith in God and how she loved to pray.
And all the years that I created much pain.
    And I figured somehow I’d cause her faith to strain.
But to my surprise it only grew and it got so strong.
    Still determined as she was to help me along.
She prayed for me with a never ending and a faithful heart.
    She prayed to God that I’d straighten up, and somehow maybe I’d get smart.
Before she died her wish came true.
    I found redemption I was made anew.
 There was a song called “ I Was The Only Hell My Momma Ever Raised.”
     That was my song it fit me in so many ways.
Mrs. Christy wrote a poem called ‘That Mother Of Mine.”
     That got me to thinking on how my mother would shine.
A very kind hearted woman that always to her, her family came first.
    When grandkids came around you’d think she would burst.
I know in my heart she did her very best.
    And if she were given a score she'd get an A+ on this test.
I know I was a lucky man to have a mother that cared.
    And so her memories that come to mind is what I love to share.
The day the Lord took her He took a chunk of me.
     And I love her so and I just thank God for sharing you see.
 


Details | Narrative | |

She Taught Me How

A long time ago, I think I was ten,
my grandmother Jessie, was my best friend.

Cooking, and cleaning, she showed me how,
the chores were many, I remember them now.

We would walk three miles to the blackberry patch,
and pick so many, we both had two sacks.

When the wild plums got ripe, we were off again,
so we could make jelly, and her good ole jam.

Homemade bisquits were her speciality,
but she had patience, these were not easy for me.

The clothes were hung on an old wire line,
this was our only way of drying.

She would sprinkle the jeans, and roll them up tight,
then I would iron way into the night.

Drying apples for her homemade pies,
I was the one that swatted the flies.

People would talk, and say she is so smart,
but I wanted to help, I loved her with my whole heart.

Now, I thank her, for taking the time,
I will always remember, that grandmother of mine.


Details | Narrative | |

Marketplace Massacre

Flowers lie upon a grave, innocence dead in a foreign land
The peace shattered like ice when bombs burst in burning sand
Children taken in the prime of life, gone with just a passing glance
As planes fly overhead, circling their targets in a macabre dance
Bombs drop and explode, tearing through a market and a child
The mother drops to her knees, and the crowd becomes wild
As the child shudders, frozen with fear and anguish as he lies
His mother shouts for help, through broken sobs and cries
Cries heard in the hearts of millions, but disregarded by most
As thousands of miles away sits this war’s malevolent host
He speaks of happier times ahead, freedom is on the march
Tell it to the children, whose parents he killed, or is that too harsh?
A criminal speaks to the nation, of dire threats and genocide
Invoking the names of the dead to bring the living to his side
To take up arms against one’s fellow man, to commit atrocities in his name
And with thousands buried in simple graves, with him lies the blame			
As good men and women fall in his name for his bloody endeavor
People at home and around the world raise their voices and shout “Freedom! Forever!”


Details | Narrative | |

Mother My Angel

I took this job, that has no pay;
to care for her during her earthly stay.

Her body is weak, and her memory drifts off, 
and fonder times she loves to speak.

The days are long, and the nights unrest,
I know my patience, my Lord test.

She talks to me, and tells me things, about all
the days when she was young.

So many things I did not know, I watch her face,
and see it glow.

Her memories are now mine, something money 
can't buy, and I will cherish them always,
until the day I die.


Details | Narrative | |

Son Do You See

 Momma I see, I really do!
   The words you spoke were all so true.
Trust in the Lord, she’d often say.
   But I’d waited so long, but still she would pray,
Son, please open your eyes and listen to me.
   I love you son, I just want you to see.
Upon the Bible one day she stood.
   Telling the Lord, that I wasn’t all bad I had some good.
My mother and wife, oh what a pair.
   Believing in me, who did not care.
Then one day not long ago.
   I gave it all to Jesus, I just had to let go.
My life it changed, it was turned all around.
   I was so far lost, but now I’m found.
I thank my dear mother, and my darling wife.
   For standing by me, and guiding my life.
If there is anyone in your life that you really love.
   Pray with all your might, to the Man up above.
For salvation for them, and a blessing for you.
   And pray for your pastor, he can use one too.
Yes momma I see, yeah I really do.
    Do you know I love you, and I miss you too?

       Footnote: I took my mom shopping about three days before she passed 
away, and if she asked me once she asked me ten times that day. She was 
wanting reassurance that I had found Christ. Yes Momma I did, I really did. She 
went to be with the Lord in October of 2006! I sure miss having her around, I was 
truly blessed. Thanks for hearing my story .


Details | Narrative | |

I Told You So

   Of course you can come back home dear you know you don't even have to ask.
Yes ,I'm sorry it didn't work out,but it was in his eyes ,you can always tell by their 
eyes you know. wierd and shifty or something,yes.
   It will be nice to have you home again.We can get back into our old routine.
we'll watch all our soaps and then play scrabble.I'll give you a fifty point 
lead,how's that?Then after that we can watch our exercise show.
I haven't been doing it without you.
   I know it's difficult now but just go with the flow,this too shall pass,
remember?It's so true .Just like last time.You felt better in two weeks
didn't you? well okay then,same thing.
  Just get a grip now and don't cry.I'm always here for you,you know that.
No I promise not to say it but you know it's true .
Tonight we'll go for a walk and get ice cream just like always
Just don't give him my new phone number.He hates me you know
Someone told me he wants to actually kill me .Says it's my fault.
It's not my fault that he's a big loser!
when was the last time he actually had a job?
His mother makes his car payment and he does have two
children that he never sees
Is that my fault?
Okay,okay I'm sorry but a mother knows what's best for her own child
just wait until you have children,
then you will understand.
you can always tell by there eyes and that young man has weird eyes!
can't you see that?


Details | Narrative | |

How Do They Sleep

Not a day goes by , my thoughts are not with you,
thinking maybe, someone will have the guts, and 
courage to say, "OK, I was wrong."
Daily our troops are killed, and  wounded so bad,
trying to start their life over, but it will never be what they had.
Is this a war for peace, or a war for oil, all I know for sure,
our tempers are ready to boil.  
Our leaders are backing up, when it comes to our troops,
but they don't have a problem sleeping, for what they do.
How many now have been killed in this war,
How many now will never walk,
How many now can't see their children,
How many now have been abandoned,
How many now have been burned,
How many now can't hold their wife,
How many now can't get help,
I think our country has done enough,
If they can't handle their problem,
well that's just tough.
Our troops, our money, our sacrifice,
something here is not right.
Their land, their oil, and they keep it all.
Somebody better open their eyes, and
then maybe explain to a mother, why her child had to die.




Details | Narrative | |

Visions Of Home

I stand in the doorway of my mother's bedroom.
I know the angels will be coming soon.

I listen as she speaks to the ones I can't see,
my heart is breaking, this is killing me.

I watch as she stretches her arms up high, my eyes 
are misty, then she begins to cry.

All of her family that have gone before, are now
waiting as she crosses, God's Golden Shore.

What a day this will be, they are together again,
no more pain or suffering in God's Promised Land.


Details | Narrative | |

Every Part

As one sits quietly, and wipes her tears,
another is facing her silent fear.

Listening to the words of spoken pain,
another is giving her baby a name.

A mother will love, with every inch of her heart,
that child will always, fill, every part.


Details | Narrative | |

Somewhere Around Five

    
       It will just be another normal day I thought as I closed my eyes. 
I realized I was oh so wrong as I abruptly awoke to my Grams piercing cries. 
Could her Problem Change My day too? 
Wow! Let's just say I didnt have a clue.
   Eager to find out what was wrong I stumbled out of bed. 
So many horrible scenarios ran through my frantic head. 
I hoped my Gram wasn't in any severe pain. All of my emotions were becoming 
too hard to restrain.
   I finally reached my Gram then remembered a loud boom.
She just looked at me and pointed into my dads room. 
I now knew my Grandmother was okay,
but what about my dad? 
From this point on my day got really bad.
   I walked into his room finding something I never wanted to see. 
I remember thinking "How can this be?".
I found out my father was no longer willingly alive. 
The coroner said he shot himself somewhere around five.


Details | Narrative | |

Nothing

Nothing can replace your mother's smile,
no matter your journey, no matter the miles.

As life goes on, and time takes its toll,
the importance of your mother begins to unfold.

She is your lifeline that makes you whole,
and when she leaves you, this is when you will know.

Give your mother as much time as you can,
even if it means, changing your plans.

When she is gone and she smiles no more,
nothing can replace the one she wore.

Nothing.


Details | Narrative | |

Sometimes Mothers Don't Know Best

She took his hand, and said," I Do",
wondering all the while, will he be true?
Her mother warned her, before the big day,
honey, I don't believe he has had time to play.
Oh mom, I know this is real,  please don't ruin
my wedding day.
Her daddy walked his daughter down the isle with pride,
while mother was uneasy, and only cried.
It will be alright, mom, just you wait and see,
I know you will love him, as you love me.
They had a great life, he had a great job,
a big fine house, and a little boy named Rob.
Mother finally realized, he was the one,
and her worries were over, all but one.
Mom found out, he had enlisted today,
and planned on leaving on Christmas Day.
Crying and praying, she got down on her knees,
God please protect him, he means the world to me.
Rob was growing, and his questions were quite a few,
"I miss my daddy, and mommy does too."
Promotion, after promotion, he was good at his job,
as the war raged on, he grew closer to God.
Then one day, came some exciting news,
he knew his calling, he knew what he had to do.
 As he was studying to be a minister, his mother-in-law
finally faced the truth.
One God, one nation, one wife, one job, the best life she
could ever dream of, and a mother-in-law, full of love.




Details | Narrative | |

Dear Mom

Dear mom,

I see I made the headlines today;  they said, "I was
killed in action, in a land so far away."
  "They wrote about the accomplishments of my life,
and then it read, another Hero has lost his life."
  " I looked real good in my uniform, but mom, I have my 
wings, they were waiting for me, as I walked through Heavens Door."
    Jesus was waiting, as I entered in, and He told me
"I have been forgiven of all my sins."
     Some of my friends, were already here, and they are free of
the pain, and the scars that never healed..
     Mom, I know you miss me, and you want me to come home,
but, you knew this could happen, and I'm sorry I left you alone.
     Heaven is so beautiful, it glistens, and shines, and 
the people here mom, they are happy all the time.
      So please don't cry, and be real sad, you were the best
mom, any boy could ever have.
      When your time is near, and the angels come to call,
you will be flying so high, but don't worry, you will not fall.
      I have to go, I have things to do, but mom please
remember, I always loved you.
I see I made the headlines today, they said, I was killed in
action in a land so far away.
Mom,  this place is so beautiful, and I can't wait to see you again.    


Details | Narrative | |

Missing Mama Today

 

                     

Lord, I miss seeing mama today.
   But, she's in heaven and I know that she’ s okay.
But Father, if You would, can I ask You this.
   Upon her forehead please place this kiss.
She was here for me so many years
   She would pick me up, and dry those tears.
Lord, You know that I still love her so, 
  And that goes without saying, but this You know.
Lord, I was the burden that she packed.
  I was that monkey upon her back. 
She saw something in me, that I just couldn't see.
   She prayed to You, she prayed for me.
She wanted me to step out of the night.
   She prayed to God I'd see the light.
Then it happened not long ago, I accepted Christ forever more.
   And it set her free, I opened the door.
But she couldn't leave until she knew.
   That I'd been born again , made anew.
So Lord, if You would, please hold her tight .
   And whisper in her ear she did it right.
Cause I sure miss mama today


Details | Narrative | |

Back Then

I remember my mother talking about
working in the fields, digging, planting, 
and harvesting, this was the only way
they could make sure, they all had 
good meals.
I remember, she also talked about
her walk to school, about 2 miles
one way, this was common back then,
it was all anyone knew.
Their finest possesion was a real
strong mule, her daddy loaned him
out, to just a few.
If they wanted candy, or a similar treat,
they had to catch a chicken, and trade
him for these.
I compare her times with now, and
those people had it rough, I can just see
some people today doing this, we're not
that tough.
These great people that came before,
opened so many doors, and we owe
them so much, we could never fill the
shoes they wore.



Details | Narrative | |

Just a Fling

It started off as just a fling 
Nothing serious a simple thing 
Then my love for her grew deep 
It became hard for me to sleep 
People said we were too young 
Though we were she was the one 
Even still with feelings strong 
I was forced to do her wrong 
Cause I was just a scared young boy 
I played with her like a toy 
Then one day first period came 
I heard that girl shout my name 
I looked at her and walked away 
Not knowing her changes every day 
From the secrets that she had 
I learned that I would be a dad 
My time with her I did deny 
Now I wish I didn't lie 
She looked at me with such disgust 
In my words she once did trust 
How could I put her through such pain 
So I could be arrogant and vain 
Now the day is drawing near 
Would she still love me was my fear 
Or was my timing way too late 
To regain her trust and change our fate 
When I approached with teary eyes 
Her love for me she did not deny 
She told me that she loved my so 
And she never wanted me to go
She formed me to a whole new man
One who could love and understand
So with the largest stomach at graduation
I was her rock her foundation
And as those 9 months they quickly passed
I thought our love would forever last
One night she called and I awoke
When she yelled "MY WATER BROKE"
Just as fast as my happiness came
All my sunshine turned to rain
The doctors made me leave the room
At once there were screams that made my ears boom
I tried to suck it up and hold in my pride
But when I said I was okay it was all a lie
The doctor came out all teary eyed
"the girl u loved, she instantly died"
"but your baby sir she's healthy and safe
6 pounds 9 ounces that is her weight"
When I looked at you all I could do was smile
My pain left me for a little while
Now in you your mother she lives
In the sparks in your eyes and the warmth in your kiss
And though it started off as just a fling
To me your mother was everything


Details | Narrative | |

Visions Of Home

I stand in the doorway of my mother's bedroom
and I know the angels will be coming soon.
I listen as she speaks to the ones I can't see
my heart is breaking...this is killing me.
I watch as she stretches her arms up high
my eyes are misty, as I listen to her cries.
All of her family that have gone before, are
now waiting on God's golden shore.
What a day that will be, when they are together
again...no pain or suffering in God's promised land.


Details | Narrative | |

Stories

She told me stories about when I was young,
silly stories of all the things I had done.

If ever there was an angel, in waiting to be,
she was the woman that gave birth to me.

I learned so much by just taking the time,
listening to this mother of mine.

Always pay attention to the stories she tells,
because one day without warning, her health may fail.

Tuck them away somewhere deep inside,
her stories one day, will be left behind.


Details | Narrative | |

That Mother Of Mine

My mother had a saying that I remember so well,
"don't be mean, and don't pass judgement,"  
"sometimes God will test you, and you don't want to fail."
"You may be entertained, by an angel of the Lord,
remember this child, for that was what those nails were for."
Thoughtful, and kind, she never was one, to belittle or ridicule,
my mother was so kind.
Her motto of life, was as clear as could be,
 "always treat a stranger, as you would treat me."
Yes, she was my teacher, and a mother of love,
now she has left me, her body was tired,
but all those sayings, I heard so many times,
made me appreciate, that mother of mine.


Details | Narrative | |

Mother

She was always a rainbow afer a storm...
She was always a flower in a field of thorns...
She was always a lantern on a dark pathway...
She was love in every way...
She was an island when the waters were high...
She was the one that dried the tears from my eyes...
She was the one that always told me to try...
She was an angel on this earth as a mother should be...
She was so very loved by me...
She was such comfort on my sad and lonely days...
She was so precious in  many ways...
She was a child of God and she walked in her faith...
My mother is an angel, and in Heaven she waits...


Details | Narrative | |

The Call

So many times, I have looked at you,
seeing myself in the things you do.

A mother and daughter, so close in our hearts,
and nothing on earth can keep us apart.

I know, if I needed your help today,
as soon as you knew, you would be on your way.

Your kindness, and love that everyone sees,
I pray to God, instill this in me.

So mother if you need me, any time, any place,
I will drop everything, when that call is made.


Details | Narrative | |

My Comfort

A heart that is hurting, is natures way to grieve,
the pain we feel so deep inside, really makes us see.
We are human, and we share love, but also we can lose,
special people in our life, and no one, can fill their shoes.
Sometimes I still cry for the mother I can't hold,
but those memories she left me, are more precious than gold.
Oh yes, I still see her face, and smell her sweet perfume,
unexpectedly it happens, when I walk past her room.
This is my assurance, that she is always near,
and still sometimes, she calls my name, but no one else can hear.
Now all I have is her memory,  and those, I cherish so,
they are in my heart, my treasures, and I'll never let them go.
She left them for me, my comfort.



 


Details | Narrative | |

The Big Day

Finally that big day is here,
you know, the one most fathers fear.
Walking down the isle, is all he has to do,
I have been busy for six months, if he only knew
Flowers, cake, the dress, and tuxs,
not to mention, invitations, and such.
Bridesmaids , how many, and what do they wear,
daughter in a tizzy, she hates her hair.
Plates of pink, and white, crystal glasses with bows,
now she is complaining, the shoes cramp her toes.
Candles that float, staggered in the pool,
finally I found that stash of brew.
One little nip, ahh, what could it hurt,
I sure hope that release on the balloons will work.
Little bows, big bows, and all in between,
so many were made, and put on everything.
Chairs on the lawn, placed just right,
now she tells me, they don't look right.
Tuff, this is it, let's get this on the road,
your mother has had it, I'm just about to fold.
This is your day, the most special of all,
hold on to your mother, I think I drank it all.