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The Heart of Poverty

Once upon a time, mother was gifted new life. Reformed, reborn the second child to poverty, through the coldness of a Maine winter came beauty. A fair Eve to her brothers Adam construction her bloom was destined for a fresh spring being and her eventual undoing awaits at death. And, so she was born from the stark darkness of death and raised on the undone leavings of old life. Grandma brought bright sunlight with all of her being. Granddad culled the forest deer to dress their poverty. A thin walled lake cabin, a homes base construction housed a family full of fine children’s beauty. Field and forest with flower and tree were her beauty. The doe, the buck, the rabbit bought life from their death. The harshness of this life brought forth angry constructions, razor strap beatings on small white behinds laced their lives. Fishing, gardening canning and sewing relieved poverty In time love came for her dancing into being The Big One WWII brought my Dad to being Auburn hair and chocolate eyed was Mom’s beauty Her handmade clothes sewn with the art poverty The war had brought them all too close to death Lovers grasp at the gift they’re given, gifted life and a new family of country and city was constructed. Fifty years more , she was given, in this soul construction tearful years of longing for a different being with little joy at home, the family of this life denying the world outside the walls the beauty not even accepting the end of pain her death Her gift to me, knowledge, I live not in poverty. Mom died on a cold wet January day in poverty. Her poverty was of money and not of love’s construction at her tidy bed sitting with her hand in mine she died. “Oh, I wish it were so, and then not, with all my being” Not all of her treasures gone, for her children’s beauty remains, their love had not left her throughout her life. Though in reality Mom lived a short time in poverty being but the construction of even that poorest plight was always beautiful. And what is death really once through the pain but rich new life.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




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Date: 6/1/2010 2:50:00 PM
AH! the poet comes to terms with self ... as the message of a human condition ... despite intent, it is the interpretation that poets make that makes the reader sing hossanah
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Date: 5/21/2010 5:07:00 AM
Congratulations on your win Deb in the contest "Mother" sponsored by A Rambling Poet. Love, Carol
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Date: 5/9/2010 4:42:00 PM
Congratulations Debbie on your place in the contest. Agape, Moses
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Date: 5/8/2010 10:23:00 PM
Congratulations Debbie. Loe, joyce
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Date: 5/8/2010 8:45:00 PM
Congrats Debbie on your winning poem in the Mother contest with this "beauty" .. a great win to enjoy and Happy Mother's Day..luv.. Linda-Marie..
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Date: 5/8/2010 7:13:00 PM
Congratualtions, Deborah, with second place , in my contest, Mother, with this beautiful poem, in a very difficult form. Well Done.
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Date: 5/5/2010 2:51:00 PM
"with her hand in mine she died" you have captured Sestina, and I love your long writes. I actually really like this form now, and I am also, thinking of doing more poems. But truly, this was beautifully done, be proud, dear heart...
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Date: 5/5/2010 6:30:00 AM
All due respect 'wise one', know your place. Karen O'Leary said that line was her favorite. Just because you don't like something doesn't mean it sucks. I happen to love the line as well and I'm keeping it.
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Date: 5/4/2010 2:07:00 PM
Thanks for telling me about this poem, Deborah. I admire the way both of our sets of parents had to struggle. While we did not live in dire poverty when I was born, I heard many stories such as this one that made me appreciate everything we did have. And I admire the way your mother kept a positive outlook in the face of adversity. Very moving poem.
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Date: 5/4/2010 2:04:00 PM
Awesome! what a beautiful tribute:) Hugs, Robin
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