The sturdy single lady,
who triumphantly raised her 3 kids;
Though her path was dark and shady,
her aim was so profound and lucid.
If not her
then who
deserves the mother's day?
The jovial teacher and mentor,
who edified her lovable students,
in a stalwart way & so that emotional rapport
and so no haters and no truants.
If not her
then who
deserves the teacher's day?
The exemplary independent woman,
who toiled all alone amidst the chaos,
whose life a pristine path, one should zoom in,
yet she never boasted of and never grouched.
The self made woman, I revere,
who stood on her own feet,
until she drew her last breathe,
both literally and figuratively
If not her
then who
deserves the women's day?
A tribute to my grandmother who died last Sunday. She worked as a teacher and got retired before 27 years. Still, the school she worked was declared as a holiday as a mark of respect on the day she died.
(5) Ode For Me
Don’t be down
Don’t be sad
It was not meant to be
He’s got you
You’ve got him
And I have still got me
(6) Mark of Respect
Oh, I know all about respect:
After all, father,
Didn’t you leave its mark
Many times on my defenceless body
With you ham-fists and leather belt?
Didn’t you sear it into my brain
With your whiplash tongue?
Didn’t I learn respect the hard way
Whilst your were losing yours?
(7) Process
Oh, how I’d love a word processor!
I’d be over the moon; delighted.
Al my s lly spolling misstaks
Would be electronically righted!
(8) Leap of Faith
“Faith can move mountains”
the preacher said.
“I can and will fly”
said the man on the ledge.
The mountain didn’t budge.
Neither did the pavement.
He never did see a face though only a board width away,
yet remembers feeling privileged, spending those last few moments
while trying so hard to find the softer soil to lessen the impact
upon the brass plated permanent encasement; in this final resting place.
beneath the old oak
neither sun nor moon perceived
a veil of shadow
He’s mindful of the susceptible sensation within when the last
shovelful that completely covered the coffin tenderly placed,
then the license to use the coarse fill of heavy clay and stoney soil.
to become apart
at one within holy ground
the grass grows each spring
A phenomenal pride when to barrow away the surplus soil,
leaving the mound trim and tidy, a monument for the deceased;
also a monument for him, his very first dig, all with his own hand.
a mark of respect
for three score years and nineteen
entity forgone.
© Harry J Horsman 2015
His brother the gunman
warned the overseer
as a mark of respect
he wouldn't kill him
but turn a blind eye
while he stole
a barrel of olive oil
for his children were hungry
and the oil was worth more
than his brother's life.
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