OctPoWriMo 15 - Unbowed

Prompt: Mother May I
Form: Ballad

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Unbowed

My mother taught me how to sing
Even if you can’t,
How to do what you enjoy
With or without talent.

She taught me how to craft, create
Food and woolen things;
She gave me strength and daring to
Learn to use my wings.

And now, although she is long gone,
I know she would be proud
Of what I do and who I am:
Because of her, unbowed.

Remember You

Five years ago today, my mother died. Every year, I write a poem for her to keep her memory alive.



Remember You

Who will remember me when I am gone?
Who will keep the flame alive?
As I remember you today,
My mother, my friend.

OctPoWriMo 27 - A Wild Rose

A Wild Rose

Petals of satin

Shades of white through magenta

I remember Mom

The fragrance of spring

Delicate blooms and sharp thorns

I remember Mom

Ev’ry year I’d bring

Her a wild rose from our yard

I remember Mom

Thank You, Mom

I lost my mom four years ago;
I miss her still today.
When I think of her this time of year,
I remember…


The smell of fresh-baked bread;
Of apple pies and cookies;
An overdose of colour on the tree;
Mario, Bing, and Elvis sing carols on LP;
Soft and buttery shortbread,
Rolling out and cutting;
Stockings pinned along the couch for we had no fireplace
Filled with oranges, candies, toys, and chocolate,
A tiny house filled up with love;
Eight children crowding ‘round the tree,
Then turkey, mashed potatoes, and homemade apple pie.
We never had much money,
But Mom made Christmas special;
She showed me why she loved this time of year.
And, though I miss her sharply
And wish that she was here,
I am deeply grateful
For every memory.

OctPoWriMo 31 - We'll Dance Together

In October of 2012, I first participated in OctPoWriMo. I wrote a few poems that year about how sick my mom was with cancer and how scared I was. In November of 2012, cancer took my mom away from me. I miss her. But I know that some day we will be together again, and nothing will ever part us. Today's prompt is eternity, and we are encouraged to choose a form we tried for the first time this year and really liked, so I wrote a decuain about my mom.

We'll Dance Together

My mother loved Jesus with all her heart;
She taught me how to love by loving me
And, though I wish we never had to part,
I know someday I once again will see
Her in that land where she is fully free.
We’ll dance together on the golden streets,
Singing praise for all eternity.
Although it seemed cancer was a defeat,
To open Heaven’s door she had the key
And now, forever joy and jubilee.

June 12, 2016

Today she would be sixty-three.
On June 12th, 1953,
A baby girl was born, and she
Grew up, and she gave birth to me.

Today she would be sixty-three:
The one human who always loved me
From the very moment she
Learned my birth was to be.

I learned to love, I learned to be
The woman I was meant to be,
And she was very proud of me.
Today she would be sixty-three.

Some Days

Has it really been three years?
Some days, it seems much longer.
Am I forgetting you?
My life continues on without you:
I love, I laugh, I cry, I smile.
And yet, some days, it feels as if
Just yesterday I saw your face,
I felt your arms around me.

I Miss You

For Patricia Reid-Spurrill.

I miss your baking and your smile.

I miss you sitting in your chair.

I miss the way you’d sing offkey.

I miss the angels you would wear.

Two years today since you were here;

Two years, and still it feels so new.

Two years without your guiding hand.

Two years. Mom, I miss you.

Memories of Mother

Today, I am driving up north to where my mom lived. Tomorrow is a Celebration of Life memorial for her at the church she attended. I have been trying to write something to say about her, and this haiku was born.

Trying to write my
Memories of my mother
Tears blur my vision

It Isn't Real

This morning I laughed at something my husband said. And I immediately felt guilty. Over the past two days, I've often forgotten that she's gone; but then I remember and it's fresh again.

So many things remind me: every time I see or hear the words 'mom' and 'mother'; listening to Christmas music; making dinner. I remember baking cookies with her, rolling out the dough and cutting it into weird and wonderful shapes. I remember doing the dishes: she would wash and I would dry while we listened to music and sang along--usually off key. She was always so proud of my accomplishments; she loved to read my poetry and stories. She was my first and greatest fan.

I used to be a cryer. I would burst into tears at the slightest provocation. I can't tell you how many buckets I wept when my cat died. But right now I'm numb, and I cannot cry. I feel the tears prick my eyes, but they stop short of spilling over. My stomach is in knots and my hands are shaking, but I do not cry.

People ask me how I'm doing and I really don't know. People say they understand how I'm feeling and I want to laugh. And then I feel guilty again.

It isn't real. It can't be. I just talked to her last week. I just saw her last month.

RIP Patricia Reid-Spurrill, Beloved Mother (June 12, 1953 - November 27, 2012)

OctPoWriMo 28 - Mom is Sick

So nice to see my brothers
So nice to see my nephews
So nice to see my sister
So nice to see my mom

But mom is sick
So sick
It’s hard to look at her
It’s hard to be with her
It’s hard to leave her

Why don’t we spend more time together?
Why did we wait ‘til now to see each other?

OctPoWriMo 17 - I Am Lost

My mother is dying
I am lost and helpless and so alone
I don’t know what to do

OctPoWriMo 15 - You've Always Been My Biggest Fan

You’ve always been my biggest fan,
Though sometimes we didn’t get along.
You've always been there for me;
You tried to teach me right from wrong.

I hate that you are now so weak;
You always seemed so strong to me.
And I cannot be there for you;
I'm terrified of what might be.

The cancer stole your energy,
And now your heart is failing too.
How can a heart so big just fail?
It cannot fail--I can't lose you!

OctPoWriMo 2 - Dreams

The Sonnet is probably my favourite poetry form. I love the musicality of it. Yesterday’s poem was an English (or Shakespearean) sonnet. Today, I’m going to try an Italian (or Petrarchan). The Italian sonnet is much more difficult, as every line rhymes with at least one other line.

Dreams

I’ve always dreamed I’d one day be a mom.

Yes, I’d like to be successful too:

To see my name in print would be so cool,

To reach the world with words, and to become

Alive and free, no longer cold and numb.

I love to dream up worlds: make something new,

To ask the questions “Where?” and “Why?” and “Who?”

Yet, times I’d rather change a baby’s bum.

I believe I’ll realise my dreams,

Although they seem so far away right now.

“Nothing is impossible!” I scream;

My barbaric yawp drowns out the “How?”

And all I see is distant joyful gleams.

It Will Happen

Sometimes babies make me sad. Now, don't get me wrong; I love babies and children. I want to have at least 4 or 5 of my own someday. And there's the rub: I have none of my own. Seeing those adorable little faces and hands and feet...it just makes me so happy and yet a little bit sad: happy that someone was blessed with a child, but sad that I was not.
I believe that someday I will have at least one baby of my own. I feel that God told me that it will happen; those were the words I heard: "It will happen. Maybe not right away; but it will happen." I'm holding onto that, through each month of disappointment, through each negative pregnancy test. It will happen.
Someday, a baby will make me so happy.

Never Look Back

I also write fanfiction. Here's an example of something set in the Harry Potter universe:

Never Look Back



Molly Weasley was on her knees scrubbing at the carpet in the living room. In the kitchen, on the stove, a pot of soup was bubbling madly. As it began to boil over, she sat up and pointed her wand at it, lowering the heat enough to stop the imminent mess. Impatiently pushing her hair out of her face, she bent over the spot once more.


"Molly?" a voice behind her said quietly.


She jumped, and put her hand over her heart. "Oh, Arthur, you scared me!"


He knelt beside her and put a hand on her arm. "What are you doing, dear?"


She leaned forward and began scrubbing again. "It's so hard to get blood out of a carpet! I never should have let it dry." Her voice broke.


"Molly." Arthur caught her hand, and turned her to face him. Tears were streaming down her face.


"Oh, Arthur, I'm so scared for them! Why did I let George go like that? And he's probably not the only one that will be hurt, and what will I do if – if –" She broke off with a choked sob. "What if –"


"Sshhh." Arthur pulled her into his arms, and gently rubbed her back as she wept into his shoulder. "George was proud to help Harry, Molly."


"I know, I know. And I would never want Harry hurt, either!" Molly pulled back slightly, and looked up into her husband's eyes. "I wish this stupid war would end! I want all my babies safe."


Arthur wiped the tears from her face with his fingertips. "We all have to do what we can to stop him, dear. For Harry and our boys, that means they'll be in danger, and there's nothing we can do about it."


"I just wish –" Molly cut herself off and straightened her shoulders. "No. No point in wishing. You're right, of course, Arthur. We must do what we can do, and stop worrying at what we can't do anything about." She smiled tremulously at him. "Never look back," she whispered.


Arthur took her hand, and helped her to her feet, and they stood for a moment, wrapped in each others' arms.