Thursday, June 22, 2006

Poetry from Mom

Going through my mom's things, Mrs. Zeke found a collection of poetry that my mom wrote when her divorce from my dad was becoming final. Some of it is quite witty, some of it insightful, some of it raw and painful. I share it all with pride in what my mom accomplished and who she was as a woman, all 360 degrees of her.

On living:

Life’s Path

I walk toward the hill to do God’s will. If the steps, they falter - it will not alter, the path I need to do God’s deeds.

I may Stumble and grumble, pout and shout, but follow his word I will.

Path Continues

The path may vary, I shall not tarry,
Toward the light I go, not very slow,
to the light with the warming glow.
To the spirit above, with all it’s love, is the direction I shall go.

Daily

I pray for a future I may not see. I can’t look back it’s to painful for me. So, I go through the motions of life. Waiting for the future that ought to be.

Guilty Imperfections

Excuse me please, sorry, thank you, the list goes on.
Sorry it rained and ruined your game.
You’re late for your date, sorry I somehow caused this fate.
The children of the world are hungry indeed, why didn’t I arrange to feed?
I’m too fat - I’m too old. Sorry it’s hot or it’s too cold.
Why aren’t I perfect and free of guilt?
Why am I always slightly off tilt?
Excuse me please for being me, cause that’s the best that I can be!

To See

The flowers are blooming and birds are singing. the sky is blue and the sun so bright, sending out warmth and endless light.
What a blessed place to be, here on earth with so much to see!

And on her divorce and my dad:

Abuse

Teeny little dig doesn’t seem so big, What’s all the fuss about?
The stupid - not rational - dumb - bum -not a big deal you feel.
A slap leaves a spot but you did not, at least visible to the eye.
But, it’s worse you see, what you did to me, those wounds only heal when I die.

Wife

The sky’s now blue, the trees are green. Spring’s hit the earth - creating life.
Yet, here I am, left behind, this tired and worn discarded wife.
I’m winter without the snow, when everything looks so dead.
This is my day, my life, my bed.
this tired and worn lonely wife - this is my life.

Separate

We spoke as to shadows on the wall, the ears they did not hear.
A husband and wife, in two separate lives, the paths were never clear.
The road to the center, we could not enter. You could not be the same as me.
So now it’s gone - Pieces of a family that will never be.
We’re no longer joined in life. You’re not husband, I’m not wife.
We’re officially separate, as we’ve always been, to go through the motions over again.

Me

Where is the “me” in me?
What does it think, do or see?
Thirty plus years, the mother, the wife.
Stretched too far in the quest of life.

Lost in the journey of time gone by,
the me too shredded, worn and torn.
Given away, part by part, the pieces of the puzzle that used to be.
Where are the scattered parts of me?
Where is the me that used to be?

Your Hands

I put my heart upon your hand, the day I became your wife. My soul and dreams they followed suit and landed in your hands.
The years went by and love deceased and tore my heart apart. the dreams died down as time went on and the soul went with the heart.

The divorce was a difficult time for all of us in the family, and it ultimately led to an estrangement between my mom and my two brothers that ended only in her last days on earth. On her very last day in the case of my older brother, whose last two children she saw only in photographs as she lay dying and barely able to speak. When I read these poems I remember the depths of her depression at the time and how hurt and isolated she felt.

But my mom also displayed a wry humor in some of her poems:

Brain Cells

I really, really, hate to dwell, on my tired and worn brain cells.
Parts I used in daily life, are filled with to much daily strife.
Lotus, Word processing, and Data base, lost in my brain without a trace.
Computer technology becomes mythology!

Windows

Windows used to be for looking in or out.
Or, to open wide and let air flow about.
Now they’re on computers that come with a mouse.
(Definitely not a structure in your house)

A mouse wasn’t wanted and was trapped with cheese.
Language is changing with too much ease.

Instead of practical, we must be technical.
The computer age - is all the rage.

And this is my favorite, deserving of a place in quotation books everywhere:

Growth

I’m growing and expanding day by day.
In mind and body and how much I weigh.

That one cracked me and Mrs. Zeke up. I'm sure proud of my mom for penning such a verse.

Finally, on death:

Death

Death does come to each and all, we then lay down to answer the call.
We bow to pray at the rugged cross, to cry and grieve our tragic loss.
But the lord knows best when he puts us to rest.
We go to a place that’s filled with grace.
The angels come to pave our way and lead us to our judgment day.

Goodbye, Mom. We love you still.



3 Comments:

At 6:47 PM, Blogger dorsey said...

Man, that's awesome. Was your mom, by any chance, a fan of the poet Ogden Nash? She reminds me of him a little, except she has a more substantial voice.

Good stuff. Your mom's the same age as mine and Jeff's. That hits me in the gut a little.

 
At 7:34 PM, Blogger ninjanun said...

Wow, these are fantastic. Really. The first few have a whimsical lilting quality, and could easily be put to music. The ones on her divorce and suffering are so poignant and transparent.


Good stuff. Thanks so much for sharing.

 
At 5:06 AM, Blogger More Juice said...

I did a very similar thing
over here

 

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