A Mother's Day Poem (True Love Is A Blessing, A Blessing Words Can Not Possibly Give Thanks Enough)

You are my mother

I owe you all

My hair, my eyes

My chin, my brow

I can never repay the debt I owe

A debt you never thought about before

A debt you would most adamantly refuse to spell

For, good or bad,

For right or wrong,

I am that glimmer that can’t be drowned

To you, I am that perfection you’ll always dote upon

              I am the ideal within each your songs

              The only place to feel home when I feel drowned

              The one true space when I feel less than strong

And in you, I see the good in me

You are the mirror, ever showing the best sides of my reality

             And in you, I am told I am the best that’s ever been

You instill belief, which still breeds a possibility,  

That deep beneath my every sin, you’ll only ever see the good within

          

         You are my mother, the only one there could have been

         And I’ve been blessed to be your son

         You are my mother, the best any could ever choose as home

         You’ve given all, all for me

         From the right to breathe, to this flesh and bone

         I can never repay for the life you’ve given,

Nor can I give thanks enough, for teaching me to bet,

The man to which I’ve grown into

And what you’ve given is all you could

My accomplishments, my feats

Owe homage to you deeply,

Yet my maladies are not a burden you can own

Those are on fate and me alone,

And despite the powerlessness in your stare

You still always find a way to push the boundaries in your own flair

Love’s the light that guides the blind

And love’s the thing I think of when I dream

A spotlight on all in life, the power, the gift of mind

A sacred verse never out of sight

A passage and direction, always caring, ever here

You are my mother, a fact I’m blessed to own

The one thing I wouldn’t change if I even could,

A reality so profound, it makes even the darkest of days

A reality clearly understood and entirely well pronounced.

And each night before I close my eyes,

I say an extra prayer, for all the unborn

Children yet to come, to be so lucky

To have a mother who loves them even half as much

As you’ve always showered your love on me.

On Our Walk

Stop on over to the New World Creative Union for their Wednesday Wake Up Call.  It's great creative fun that you'll look forward to each week.  This week we're prompted to return to our comfort zones.  They're also discussing fairy tales, nursery rhymes and the lot.  All in celebration of Pat's newest Book.

I wrote this a while back, but I think it fits in with this week's Wake-Up theme.  Well, anyhow...


Please listen to the recording, to get the full flavor of the piece.

listen to ‘On our Walk’ on Audioboo

I went for a walk with my nieces two…

Down the street and by the school…

The three of us watching all there was to see

‘twas when appeared the first so free

little birdie spoke to we

tweet, tweet, tweet

and so our little walk grew to four

the girls said they hoped for more

until we glanced a monkey in a tree

tossing banana peels with glee

…..ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

The bird returned and spoke its mind

Tweet, tweet, tweet

And now our little walk had climbed to five

The girls loved how the group thrived

And on we went a little more

‘twas when we met a little cat

who thought he was so mighty fat

Meow he called to us

To which the monkey and the bird replied

And now our little walk grew to six

The girls loved the mix

Until there came a cow so tame,

It chimed its bell and spoke it’s name

Moo, moo, moo

And the bird replied in kind

The monkey chose to speak its mind

The cat went meow

And so our little walk turned to seven

The girls thought this was animal heaven

Until we saw duck

Quack, quack, quack

The cow said hello

The monkey then did bellow

While the bird went tweet

And the cat meowed with intent

As our little walk became eight

The girls thought this was so great

Until we saw a frog,

ribbit

Playing games on his log

They said hello, but the monkey yawned

The cat meowed and the bird went tweet

The cow was quiet, but soon he did greet

While the duck simply quacked by its feet

what began as three was now nine

The girls thought this walk was mighty fine

Until we came to a little dog

Chained up still barking a song

And the Cat went Meow

The Bird did tweet

The monkey spoke

And the frog took a poke

Then the cow went moo

While the duck always kept his cool

As our little walk became ten

the girls have always loved our walks since then 

For those of you that enjoy children's stories, I highly recommend you stopping by Pat Hatt's Site, where he has links, or simply going to Amazon and searching for his name.  You'll find a series of kiddie books, which are all very good, enjoyable for kids and adults alike.

Words Repeated By Children

There are certain things one restates

When in the company of children

And then there are those,

That lose all potency, when a softened

Stance is struck

There are certain things

That kids these days

unexpectedly repeat

They’ll spin back those nasty verbs

The ones you didn’t think

 they could’ve overheard

And oftentimes, they’ll use such terms

When an argument ensues

But instead of admonish them

You cannot hold back the red

And demand they repeat back what they just said

For there’s something inherently funny

when vulgarity is spoken by

innocent girls and boys

oftentimes, such a riot

you cannot remain quiet

and your laughter quickly turns to tears

which of course

is something children hold so dear,

that is, the sound of elation in you they’ve caused

so, unfortunately they’ll surely use such words again, if only to regain your delightful applause.

And so, to compensate

you create made-up languages to replace such words

Or simply become that parent that always and forever spells

An Enforcer ( The Affectionate Ends of Sullied Cloth)

His children,

pronouncedly exploding

amidst a carnival

of joviality—

         He spars—daily—

In the pugilistic

cage

of ends-meet grind

At a time much past the dinner hour

he waits, for moments—assembling

what cheer’s left standing

outside his front-door—

Punch-drunk

                                             from corruption,

                                    and it’s bare-knuckled ends

but bruises alone—

         could not damper

         the atmosphere

         within

And to his howling innocents,

         he needn’t pretend—

grinning, as pride returned—

and with each an arm to clasp quite close

         remember, he did,

the many reasons why

                           so hard he tried