Best Motherchristmas Poems
There were no premonitions, no feelings of sadness- no dreams
I picked up the phone in the kitchen; my brother-in-law’s voice greeted me
I could tell that he was stalling; thought my younger sibling had misbehaved, again
‘Alright, what’s she done now, and did you guys tell Mama?” I asked. ..(silence)
“Mama’s gone”. He said, almost inaudibly. Not sure I’d heard correctly,
“What’d you say?” I asked, feeling the rising fire…”Mama’s gone, Audrey”.
In shock I dropped the phone as I tried to stifle my wailing
Quite useless was my effort, as the family awoke from sleep
For hours I laid sprawled on the floor, no one could console me
The grief so overwhelmed me, left the deepest hole in my heart
When he called again, his voice breaking, he began to explain
Mama spent days, making the Christmas pudding, a tradition in our family;
Personally, she’d wrapped the ones to give as gifts - usually left for the children do
Mama’s house throughout the years was the meeting place
Where children, everyone congregated, practically every day
Christmas Day was joyful; friends too had dropped by to share the joy
She had danced with all her grandchildren; she was feeling very well
When I spoke with her early Christmas morning, she gave no sign of being ill
Cont'd
~*~
Note: By Audrey Carey
Submitted To: “The Saddest Christmas, Ever” Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France, ~A Rambling Poet ~
We shuffled towards the open grave;
Our hearts were wrenched; we were not brave;
She would not speak from new-dug loam
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
With memories of Christmas past
We prayed for grace; we prayed she’d last;
But now she will not call - please come,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
She had to go; she could not stay
And now we’ll never hear her say,
The words were hers and hers alone,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
We think of all the happy years;
Our cheeks are wet with bitter tears;
Her Christmas cheer will not be sung;
'Welcome to my holiday home'.
We look upon the opened earth;
We think of death, we think of birth;
Now one of us must sing her poem
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.
The generations fall away
But love and joy will always stay
And heaven calls her - come, now come,
‘Welcome to my holiday home’.