No mother would fill up her eyes with tears of woman...
if it weren't for God performing a miracle at dawn,
as she cried out in joy and held her baby in trembling arms
but shed many sweet tears hearing his laughter so loud;
oh, he couldn't see her mommy's face through his tiny eyes,
and it will be long before he'll will utter the first word, " Mom."
Now that baby sleeps under the attentive look of his mom,
who's too young to become a mature woman;
many visions of this birth crossed her gleeful eyes
she dreamed of the very same words whispered at each dawn,
repeating them in her silly head as if they sounded too loud...
while cradling a pretty doll in her folded arms.
Will she be welcomed home by her parents opening their arms?
Will they reprimand her and not consider her a legal mom?
Perhaps they will not be angry and speak not so loud:
girls are supposed to be girls, not suddenly turn into woman...
So this innocent girl, deceived by a bad boy, must wake up at dawn
when her baby cries and feed him with scary, childish eyes?
Nights seem longer for her, trying to stay awake rubbing her eyes,
what she beheld in those exciting eyes, now it's a burden in her weary arms;
she remembers that pain was too unbearable, but joy more sublime at dawn...
how will she learn how to care for the infant by watching her mom?
She must have seen a nursery or read a book how to think like a real woman,
and can anyone imagine how she keeps that secret instead of revealing it loud?
She must gather enough courage inside to feed her baby who can't cry loud,
but for now she must carry that baby without sighs of distress into her bright eyes;
and her parents can see the changes making her a loving person already woman;
they may ask questions to why she has gained weight and holds dolls in her arms...
no, they aren't anticipating great news and in doubt, they await a splendid dawn.
Mother and daughter closely together amazed by the coming dawn,
any concealed secret can be easily spoken...somewhat joyful and loud;
they imagine the infant's futures will be part of grandma and mom!
Their reunited hearts come together to show love in their delighted eyes,
and they'll take turns feeding the new-born, tenderly lulling him in their arms;
what if forgiveness hadn't been there to deny her all of the joys of woman?
Would a mother deny her daughter compassion as a good woman?
Even God hurried dawn to offer that gift into her gracious, tender arms...
and those arms accepted it with the gentleness and kindness of mom.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
Day has sunk and the old fisherman, like a well-trained athlete, rows his rugged boat.
Defying starry night's turbulent waves,
It cruises seaward, smooth and swift, like an agile proud fish.
Then, into his net a shooting star drops; hauls he a thousand delicate, bright starfish.
Guided by remaining stars, he comes home with a boatful
Of glimmering soft, fleshy crystals of hope to his daughter's eager waving
At the murky, starless bay. Her voice rushes out in tidal sound-waves.
She puts a finger in, fishing
One live hope, stellar and warm, out of what used to be a champion's sailboat.
Rocking the boat and making waves, their laughter splashes like a floundering fat fish.
(Form: loose tritina)
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
I spend my time changing diapers
Wiping tiny faces and drying little tears
My days are filled with giggles and wails
Nights are symphonies of snuggles and hugs
Never do I get time off or a needed vacation
Even sick days are not granted to my position
But I would never leave my position
Not even if it meant no more diapers
Or a three week long tropical vacation
I don't mind quieting the tears
I love getting paid in kisses and hugs
Though I could still do without the wails
I would love peace but I take the wails
Because they come as part of the position
They are often at least paired with the hugs
Yes, I get tired of wet, stinky diapers
But I get to be there to ease the tears
And a toothless grin is better than a vacation
Time at the park is like an all day vacation
Sometimes those days pass with no wails
And unless we skin a knee even no tears
Then we get to cuddle in a sleepy position
With sand and gravel still stuck to the diapers
Holding each other tight in hour long hugs
I love when they wake up and bring me hugs
Naps are my own little mommy vacation
Then off come grimy shirts and wet diapers
Of course taking off tops always bring wails
Until they see the bath toys all in position
Then immediately giggles replace the tears
We scrub away dirt and wash away tears
Wrap up in soft cotton towels and hugs
These are the moments I love my position
And cannot image why I would need a vacation
Then clothes being put on bring still more wails
As they wiggle and turn while I fasten diapers
Soon they won't need me for tears and I'll be able to take a vacation
But I'll miss all the hugs and I'll even miss the I need you wails
So I'll cherish every moment of my position until the next stinky diapers
Copyright © Christi Kopp | Year Posted 2010
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 © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
In the company of a mouthful of silence,
I resort to chattering with the wind;
Whose carefree fingers grace the freezing leaves,
That once were green, now dry and white,
Falling to the ground where gravity holds
Souls; awaiting births, day and night
I remember a soul I once knew, tonight;
While with open eyes I lie in silence;
Restlessly seeking for something to hold--
Something more solid than a blowing wind--
A pillar, perhaps, or steel bones of white,
That couldn't decay like departed leaves
My pillar now lies under the white leaves--
I wonder if he hears my prayers each night?
Does his hair still grow, are his teeth still white?
Was he there with me in my lonesome silence?
Has he stood beside me or upon the wind?
These-- and many more-- my weary mind holds
Sadness from childhood that my heart still holds--
I'm not sure when, but one day it will leave;
My heart be lighter than the wind,
I'll dream of hopeful days all night;
My tears won't fill my peaceful silence,
My mind, lit up like neon white
For I have with me, a pillar of white
Who's been there for me, to help and to hold;
Though more than once we kept our silence,
I knew her love would never leave;
Her prayers kept me safe through the night;
Her embrace, encircled me like the wind
My father's voice I'll restore in the wind;
Along with his smile, so happy, so white;
No longer will I cry for my loss, night after night;
Instead, what I have, I'll cherish and hold--
Nobody knows whose going to leave;
Who will be sent first into the silence..
Tonight, silence's been broken by the wind,
That comes and leaves in flashes of white;
Heartfull of memories, to hold on through the night.
Copyright © Green Leaf | Year Posted 2010