She used to wake me up in the middle of the night
"come out here and talk to me" ... I'd sigh and say "alright"
I'd sit beside her, on the couch, my legs tucked under me
she'd light her cigarette and then she'd start in with a story.
She'd tell me of her childhood, all the stories of her past
I'd listen, so enraptured, she tried to make them last
sometimes just an hour, sometimes till the sun came up
but I never tired of listening, I could never get enough.
Turn the pages Gramma, in your book of hopes and dreams
Take me with you Gramma, on your trip of memories
Turn the pages Gramma, I feel so close to you now
Turn the pages Gramma, take me back with you somehow.
Then came the day my sister called, said Gramma passed away
I held the phone up to my ear I didn't know what to say
I didn't want to believe her, I didn't want it to be true
I didn't get to say goodbye, I didn't say I love you.
But for a chance to say those things, Gramma came to me that night
One last time she woke me up, hair black and gown so white
She stood there in my doorway and waved a last goodbye
Though I knew she was alright I couldn't help but cry
I knew I would always love her and I'd miss having her around
and I knew I'd miss her stories, I wish I'd have written them down
No more will I hear her laughter, no more will I see her tears
I'm glad she gave me my own stories to pass down through the years.
Twenty sets of footprints
scattered in the snow.
Twenty wings that flutter
as the breeze begins to blow.
Twenty peals of laughter,
Twenty toothless grins,
Twenty eyes that twinkle
as their journey begins.
Twenty desks left empty.
Million hearts that mourn.
Six will join to guide them,
unsung heroes born.
Twenty little angels
playing in the snow
dropping tiny snowflakes
on those who stayed below.
In my cradle,
My tiny body was cradled
In my mothers arms.
My gem among gems,
I remember when I cried
You comforted me with
your soothing words.
Your re-assuring hands
Secured me till Death's
Cold hands snatched you
From me,a sucker I was
That needed you most.
Adieu! Sweet mum till
We cross paths again!
Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu
High-backed chair facing the corner,
Window over books so cherished
Like the greatest of scholars, but still humble
He was a trove of stories
Air of silence on a place once full
Of stories from a time past,
A time of honor and courage and duty
Of country and spirit; fighting an enemy
Made from indescribable evil.
Tales of valor, sand, and bullets
Lions and machine guns, young men in battle
Fighting for their lives.
Knowing the enemy was like a jackal
Cruel and twisted, an army of evil
He witnessed it all
First hand, in the heat of the day
And cold of night. Tales passed on, spoken
In a way that conveyed such knowledge
That one was to sit in amazement, and hear it
Firsthand from the chair facing the corner.
Like a throne of deep thought.
The day he left this world, I wept.
Seeing him not but a day before,
It was harder than I could have imagined.
The pain is real, but so were the memories
And so the legacy of the veteran lives on.
The chair sat vacant, but I felt him there.
The books on the shelf, the other treasures
Left behind held him here on earth
While the memories anchored him in our hearts.
The man in the chair shall never be forgotten
And the stories shall pass far into the generations.
Reminisce of Southern streets honey suckle vines, Magnolia air
strolling my Pepe down old streets , flowers wild growing everywhere ~
What was in that carriage as I walked proudly down a sidewalk ?
My poodle Pepe, a blue bonnet tied, Pepe sat up faithfully, bonnet on his head .
spectators driving by with smiles , the girl with a baby poodle was the talk ~
On a old plantation porch calling Pepe ? Pepe come home ? I patiently await .
Where was my furry lamb with silk black curls ? My puppy needed his walk .
Told by my parents after several cries many weeks straight ~
~ For they knew of my Poodles Fate ~
"Come inside , Pepe will come back ." He would not come home , Winter cold.
Parents hearing tireless cries , the truth was reveled , In a shed Pepe died.
My Mother told me what no Parent wants to share with a child of five years old ~
My Poodle had been in a shed with my brother and Dad , curiosity he always had.
A ladder had fallen on him , taking him away . Calling for Pepe the same day ...
We buried my Pepe , wrapped in blanket with his bonnet, in the back yard.
~ A cross made of branches , brick inscribed " here lies Pepe " bouquet by side. ~
I can not explain this love that left my heart broken , tireless nights I cried.
I wish they taught more about
Heartbreak in English class;
That I would see your face
In stormclouds, when
Bronze from the sunset scribbles
Our names in the sky.
It is happening every day.
I am no prize
In my Rossington-Collins band teeshirt
And deliberately torn jeans,
Sitting on the end of the street-
The place where horizon brush strokes
I remember you fading in a playground frenzy,
Like the love and hate
Scribbled in the washroom stalls.
You wore a purple velvet hat
In September's warm glow,
And the same jacket as me;
Black with coloured flowers,
A zipper that always seemed to stick.
Young eyes squinting in the orange light of the sun;
You became one with the fresh air
While we only breathed it.
Your smile was wise and knowing.
You began to dance with one foot in heaven.
I remember a train of us running,
Our wild laughter the whistle.
I reached for your doll-like hand,
But this world had tired you too much to keep up.
Your mother's door remained boarded up
The day you were gone.
In my innocence I could not fathom
The empty running shoes in the hall,
The scent of the crayons
Once warmed by your hands.
But the longer I've roamed this place of uncertainty,
The better the pieces fit.
You may have been the catalyst
For my fear of death,
But you may too be
A disarming sting
In my empathetic heart.
He’s living in a game
Of heart’s hide-and-seek
No he got no shelters
And yes he is very weak.
He’s living in a world
Where laughter is a fantasy
Where tears can never be hidden
Oh loneliness he felt.
Oh mother, oh father!
His heart is in need
Oh mother, oh father!
Why did you leave?
He was never in a sight
Of any mankind eyes
The ones who’s in rich
Never knew he exists.
He’d been seeking for his heart
For a love that he missed
He’d been searching for his soul
For a life he had wished
People cast their eyes on him in disgust
Oh friendship he’d got none
Their laughter shakes upon him
While his tears starts to fall.
He wanted to be where his parents are.
He wanted to know what life means
Happiness, his friend, would never come
Oh his patient disappears.
The day had sadly ended
Another day will start
But when his life had ended
Will another one start?
Oh poor little orphan
You’re the darkness in the light
Never had you got in sight
Of any mankind eyes.
There is a glare of stray sunlight
daring to reverberate
through spiderwebbed glass I haven't
found energy to fix
in the span of four years.
It is too much of a mirror,
too tangible a thought,
to make new.
It's lithe fingers, thin and bony,
and mockingly bright,
steal over embossed cardstock that arrives, like clockwork,
in deepest sympathy.
And a thornless bouquet of pastels laden with
only draws on blood long lost;
nobody seems to comprehend such an allegory,
or lack there of,
so it can't be carried
over the steps.
"Bloodless On Mother's Day"
My great-grandmother is sitting
outside in the winter sun,
with a double-felted deel,
snow white hair,
and a hat,
just taking it in.
I play at her feet, and I
make a racket,
running fast about,
I raise dust in front of Great Mother,
whom even the birds ignore.
The quiet fire in her gentle soul
was once very fierce they say
but all I see when I look at her,
is the calm warmth in her eyes,
while I play at her feet
with the clouds, rocks
the desert spirits, and the sky.
She moves with effort, no complaints,
she takes upon all the worldly cares
feeds, clothes, and shelters me,
fetching and tending,
to food, water, and fire--
Ah, fire, they say, she broke hearts
of men who rode over mountains
who crossed icy rivers;
and they say, she knew,
Knew, and her hair grew more gray,
when five of her seven children--
the exact moments they each died.
As I play with the clouds,
the rocks, the desert spirits, and the sky,
I know my Great Mother--
she lives in them all now,
somehow in that cold winter sun, she's still
sitting there with a double-felted deel, and a hat.
As I play at her feet, running fast about
sometimes I glimpse her snow white hair, and,
she takes upon herself
all of my worldly cares.