Long Maternal Poems
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This tribute memorial poem Is collaboration between myself and Silent One - a kind, gracious man and poet.
Today 11th November 2020 would have been my mother’s 100th birthday.
Mother
1920 - 2008
Wherever I go you go with me too,
always bedside me whatever I do.
And I wouldn't have it any other way
I love you, need you every single day.
You took care of me, with your heart and hands,
till the tables turned and I took command.
I did all I could, hope it was enough,
for the mother, I loved so very much.
I held your hand at our last sad goodbye,
afore handing you to angels stood by.
You're here in spirit till the day I die,
and we meet up in heaven above sky.
~~~
I see you gazing as white clouds go by,
you struggle to smile, but you must try.
Oh my love, please don't worry about me,
I dwell in a place of divine beauty.
It's never easy when loved ones must go,
but maternal bonds live forever though.
We have that place somewhere only we know,
where in times of sorrow, we would lay low.
Live your life until your heart is content,
fulfil your dreams with determined intent.
I hope we do not meet again too soon,
my child, keep humming a sweet robin’s tune.
*+*+*
“When robins appear, an angel stands near.”
*+*+*
11th November 2020
Thank you Silent One for the collaboration and making this tribute so special, Belle
T i me
I’m a mistress to your fleeting cycles,
constantly constricting,
russet-deep pupils
that see the maroon rain~
veiled in honey and turmeric flames…
Today I lift my hands
in s i l e n c e
to spin pearls of prayers
from
strings of patience...
for I am my Sun’s~
your maternal daffodil
singing songs of solace
as you rise~
facing the unknown
nestled on the cusp of summer storms,
while the sky wears dazzling dreams
and answers you seek,
tensed amidst the tourmaline
twinkling along
the trail of thought…
Yet I hope
you'll trace seraphic streaks,
oblivious to the material mists.
Life goes beyond ink on paper~
calculating missteps,
evaluating errors.
We are more than specks of
sand and stardust,
sailing through streams
of lessons learned,
awaiting the return of winged comets~
for we are sleep-waltzing
through this sphere,
and to the angels,
we shall
r e s u me
So let the frost of fears
and icy embers of terrors
thaw and melt,
rippling in waves of wisdom.
For you are more than a
prisoner to pages
of unresolved equations.
You are the constant, the sum,
the ultimate key to the paradox.
Remember~
my love for you
weighs heavier than
trinkets and treasures…
You are~
the rhyme to my sonnet,
the reason to my rhythm,
the muse that prompts me,
and I breathe,
and I live
to be your
twilight
when the world
forgets that
you
are
an ethereal star,
brighter than the rosiest dawns.
Dedicated to Kyle, my son ... my smile
I recall many unique meals of special appeal
but one dinner replays on a fav memory reel
that I shall never forfeit or agree to forget.
This meal was years ago yet still remains clear.
I will not err as I share about this meal so dear:
1. One box of complete HELPER contents
2. Two six-ounce cans of tuna that to item one are lent
3. One can of lima beans as chosen by ingredient number four
4. One eight-year-old son excited for cooking fun
Once ingredients were gathered and patience near battered
from repeatedly explaining all preparations while choking
frustrations at ingredient four's refusal to voice them over
and over for maternal perusal, it was time to pretend with
a bent peace of mind that cooking could begin. I know,
because this is when four said with nervy ease, 'Out the
door until I'm ready to serve. Please.'
While waiting, cardiacs were avoided so dinner wasn't aborted
before four, smiling grand, served the tray held in his hands.
All dismay was forced to abate while viewing the plate.
Four's enthusiasm should not be parent zapped
just because he served unknown brown and red crap.
A smile was forced as he explained that he spiced it up
by adding his own creatively thought up stuff,
Chocolate Sheen Beans and Cinnamon Bazooka Tuna.
... CayCay
July 31, 2019
"What must I do now?" Grandma said while rocking in her chair
or lying in her comfy bed. She had the best of care.
"What must I do now"?" she would ask of those who brought each meal,
of all who came to do a task or say, "How do you feel?"
"Oh, not a thing," the answer came. "Just leave it all to us.
Each day for you is now the same--no worries, muss, or fuss."
"What must I do?" she queried still. "The kids will be home soon.
Their many needs I must fulfill, and now it's way past noon."
Her children said, "Don't worry, Dear. We're HERE, and we're all grown.
The work's all done. What's that--a tear? Don't cry. You're not alone."
*********************************
What will we do without her here? We'll reminisce and smile.
"Farewell" on Earth is not the end. We'll see her in a while.
This poem is about my maternal Grandmother.
Date: October 10, 2020
Contest Title: From the Heart Placed 3rd (of ten)
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
July 27, 2021
entered in "A Brian Strand Couplet Contest"
150 words
June 29, 2022
entered in the Rhyming Poetry Contest--topic "Farewell"
Sponsor: Lisa YY
Each day an extension of my time
so each morning a risk and opportunity
to avoid greedy egocentrism
to step into harmonious eco-centered consciousness.
Each still-wombed entity extends Mother's incarnating time
so each maternal risk and opportunity,
each free will act of paternity,
aborts competitive egocentrism
by extending bipartisan consciousness,
wisdom's good faith fertility
for our co-operating future.
Each life extends time's enculturing memory
of secularizing risks
and sacred opportunities
avoiding evolution's monopolistic dead ends
by embracing revolution's polyculturing awareness.
Each moment incarnates maternity's wombed memory
of monoculturing risk and polypathic opportunity
to avoid deductive domination's severance
by mutually embracing
multi-paradigmatic synergy.
Time is a unitarian womb
and its omnipotence is universal!
Fathomlessly ubiquitous.
Like the double-binding revolutionary progenitor of all things.
Its smooth-structured boundaries resonating
prime relationship not-not tangles informing,
untying,
Its Earth tempered balance of enlightenment,
Its turmoil decomposing dissonant understories
Yet
like dark deep ecological flow
it sustains Earth's green/blue Commons.
I do not know whose holonic embryo
EarthTime fractally unfolds,
a 4-dimensional echo
of seasonal reincarnation
within bicameral communion.
While sidestepping impediments,
Achilles heel stricken with paralyzing zap
chronically inducing captain klutz
to bemoan and yap,
i.e. (think) booby trap
strategically laid down by the missus -
necessitating yours truly
to patschke with marauder map
in an to circumvent and handicap
becoming lame and crippled for life
essentially rendering me totally tubular
pathetic non-ambulatory chap.
Aforesaid dangerous tripping hazard,
the spouse I do calmly berate
causing me being waylaid
for very important date
and/or additionally hurrying
to forestall bowel movement,
viz urgent incommodious fate
mine impromptu tanglefoot (feet) dance step
doth ineluctably foment hate.
Ready to lash out courtesy sanity claws
meanwhile thee wife burst out with guffaws
me cursing Sir Isaac Newton's gravitational laws
one infuriated husband
our marital covenant, he swiftly redraws
subsequently divorce sputters
thru clenched jaws
underscoring how feigned wedded bliss
(actually shotgun marriage)
replete with many flaws
e'er since chance encounter
regarding future maternal cause
deux daughters we begat
packed their bags at tender age,
and left home without pause.
All these approximate
two score plus oddly even years
avoiding precarious hazardous risks wears
heavily reinforced steel tipped
crampon tricked out boots,
which rugged footwear eventually tears,
though they outlasted lifetime
predicted on advertisements and follow up
customer satisfaction questionnaires
as satisfied survivor traversing
harrowing riddled landscapes,
I feel adequately trained to join
most hardy (doubting thomas) mountaineers,
especially those with surname Reznick
livingsocial, snapchatting, and twittering in Switzerland
possibly linkedin with Harris heirs
this wordsmith conclusively blares.
I non-jokingly attest -
above recounted spectacle no humorous avail,
thereby true love moost prevail
when wife leaves mayhem and bedlam
nothing boot trail of destruction without fail
excellent preparation if/when
purblind poetic papa needs to learn Braille.
Das papa anathema & furor he hiss toward patriarchal hierarchy
Courtesy mine eldest sister Amelie
Beth (thirteen plus months my senior),
whose maternal love equals heart as emoji,
she nsync with other kith and kin
painstakingly fleshed out family tree,
formerly severely uprooted, me
knowledge of ancestry
truncated, denuded..., bereft
any extended offshoots you see,
thus without doubt earned a priori
gene nee us award for peopling bee
silly decorative swallowtail and
wild asparagus coat of arms motif,
but particularly her artistry
paternal branch Harris and
maternal Russian limb named Kuritsky,
yet now unwittingly feel stumped
I ruminate, speculate, tabulate..., re:
garding one or more descendent did trumpet
objectionable bent with bias, decadent,
flagrant... haughty jarring averse trait
invariably patriarchal heir arch key
impossible impossible to hold figurative tongue
and rebuke stereotypical tendency
resigning, excluding, kraaling..., privileges
to any persons except Caucasian wealth thee
males, who fathered established, commandeered...
western civilization paradigm, I smart
with displeasure at gross injustice curtailed free
choice to acquire unshackled life, liberty,
and pursuit amidst avast booming population,
whose supposed inalienable rights blithely
usurped and denigrated creed, ethnicity,
and indisputably those with frizzy
hair still evident this late date two thousand
nineteen, I decry, grieve, lament,... particular lee
how women haint got no choice - chattel
to grand poobahs - to terminate pregnant sea
really irksome, when predicted on incest, rape
non viable offspring...violation this
garden variety poetaster recoils with knee
jerk loathsome, how young females jailed
if they undergo abortion
(with unwanted, unloved, unborn..., bay bee
thru no fault in their own stars),
punishment nasty, brutal and abhorrent
essentially enslaving the gentler sex lee
ving terror and horror, when peering into mirror
ogre looming ready to strangle gal lest she
obey mandate else...
MAMMA
My mother is sadly now just a faint memory
As her passing was a number of decades ago
But always caring, maternal, and good to me
Of course, classed as a baby boomer, I know
I was to be her only child, born just over term
Brought me up well, as she watched me grow
Not dominant, but always fair and yet firm
She played piano, which in turn, was inspiring
Long brown hair, yet rarely received a perm
It was plain that later life became quite tiring
Taken with cancer while I was working away
Her life had been modest but worth admiring
In the end, survived by her father and mother
A proud woman of substance, unlike no other
God showed Himself to me through my parents firstly
Appearing with their sweet smile, welcoming me warmly
Manifesting fatherly kindness wondrously
Highlighting maternal love-care abundantly.
Growing, I was acquainted with God midst home’s bliss
Where teaching of charity is a sure practice
In family bonding with hugs, embrace and kiss
Propped by prayer for all --- of Dad, Mom, Brods and Sis.
God did expose me well to His active presence
Displaying His great creation’s magnificence
Controlling the universe in its existence
Acquainting me His with gracious omnipotence.
When I was invited for a Bible study
God revealed His nature against claims’ parody
Expressing Scriptures’ truth, immutably sturdy
Offering me redemption from sins’ malady.
In my quest to know Him more through genuine worship
The Lord granted me faith for right relationship
Of vibrant fellowship and fruitful stewardship
Around Christ’s friendship by His perfect leadership.
God through the Holy Spirit* shows me His goodness
Mercy and forgiveness for confessed guiltiness
Mighty deliverance assuring peacefulness
Miracles that uphold against trials’ hardness.
Praise-filled, I yield myself to God with gratitude
Since He owns me, bracing up my faith’s fortitude
Cognizant that He is my life’s infinitude
I show Him to all midst triumphant attitude.
*John 16:13 Howbeit when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will shew you things to come.
January 23, 2022
Narrative in rhyme form
Edited on June 15, 2022
I Don't Want to Live This Life
(Change of pace equals review of book
long out of circulation,
but eyes experience immediate hook
so perhaps...take a look
and best locate a cozy nook).
Authored by Debbie
Spungen early 1980's,
yours truly doth recommend
perhaps Facebook
message I will send
whose person I would
be eager to befriend
cuz, title of poem by me,
and book written, sans arduous
motherhood to contend
by above (now octogenarian) gal,
a pitched battle blend
of brute confessional honesty,
and maternal love,
yet heaven forfend,
such sacrifice after gleaning
(of... course add in mix amidst end
of post World War II establishment,
viz hippie revolution number 9)
now only praise, aye absolutely commend
dubble "NOT FAKE" grueling
tale of emotional survival
during anti war
counter cultural trend
insert flaps did bend
immediate curiosity as
spurious hours to expend
choice of reading material,
thus found this bookworm
trying to comprehend
analogous taming wild animal
hence, engrossed many hours on end
today sunday February 17th, 2019
since birth Nancy Spungen the
firstborn and utter archfiend,
whose decade long trajectory,
yet to complete reading
harrowing story til the bloody end,
where near total
mortal kombat doth descend
how young mom stayed sane
one can only applaud and defend,
the monster birthed
from doting parents,
as both key figures
appeared to extend
more patience than Job,
mebbe wounds will never mend
unfortunate unbearable task
since day one did portend
a downward spiral, each day and night
for twenty orbits of Earth round sun
surviving family members
punishing trial may forever
garner kudos to legend
deary selflessness still
cost steep psychological stipend.