Postscript and Flowers

I held her hand.

And, kissed her faded, freckled, brow.

This undulating figure…

Had been my mother, somehow.

Beyond caring and back…

What a heavy load!

Beyond the walls of sleep…

A figure, growing tired, getting old.

Ancient birthday cards fall to my bedroom floor.

Could it be?

We both, deserved a little bit more!

Sepia memories, like a spot of grass.

Forever worn…

Forever brown.

In her listless, cool, hand, rings of emerald and amethyst.

Looking between the lifelines.

A road-map always…soft and delicate.

How strange they beg to fight…now!

Peculiar, someone can be prepared.

 B ut not ready for their final bow.

Beyond caring.

Beyond the walls of sleep.

A reunion left out in the rain.

PostScript and flowers…

all that remains.

a Mother’s promise

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It is sand soft and golden warm

much to my delight.

Soft as forever…

green grass with blue highlights.

The more Mother changes

the more she stays the same.

Just as a Falcon flies for dignity’s sake.

Sure as the northern winds promise of more

promise of less take.

Mother let’s her hair down and luminous lavender

combs through the earth.

Jasmine, the old soul,

enters the stage…

And, soon, sages…

Mages…

beautiful bouquets of the ages…

She has shed the pain of thankless cold

Whispering…

may your journey bring you home.

Home to the

dog-eared corn-stalk.

Home to ominous Osprey…

a nurturing spirit and her flock.

Nature has brought her to this vibrant expanse today.

Home to where her off spring lay.

Mother…

your poignant airs sweep me off my feet.

Settling me down

’til we’ve chance to meet.

To meet…

again…

again…

and

again, like old friends.

With or Without…my love

With or Without Love

Shamelessly happy are the yearnings for that have…

for they are feverishly aware of having not.

alone to the lonely…

relishing in the unmasking few of…I have you and you only!

Prose we have

Or, else, some have forgot.

A mixed bag of nuts…all favorites

these trinkets prop the screen door open.

Varied fruitless attempts at vanity…

keep the back door shut.

with or without...my loveThus, to give love one more chance.

Twice shy, bowing out of the dance.

God and fools only…

know which road to choose.

What is a chance…if you stand to lose.

The dust upon an open haze.

Crazy beautiful.

With or without...my loveOr, just games we play.

Excuse the bad manner…sweetheart

one is a commoner’s wording…the other…

deaths do us part.

Fool that I am...You took my heart, Then played the part of little coquette.
Fool that I am…You took my heart,
Then played the part of little coquette.

Mean People Suck

No doubt in my mind where you belong.
No doubt in my mind where you belong.

I ask, who really cares?
Is it the young adult who throws love around like a tit full of cellulite?
Is it the middle aged lesbian who is only aware of the plight brought on by ignorance and therefore, abides by no rules?
Are people basically good?
And, what is love?
Some of the most important questions we will seek answers to our whole life through and in the end, come up empty handed.
Driving amongst the pouring rain tonight, the moon hidden by the sick sense of humor Mother Nature bestows upon us from time to time. In the sweep of the truck tires and the sounds of Adele, a distant and somewhat comical memory came up to me and shook my hand.
My mother, bless her soul, years before the anti-smoking fashion became all the craze; had been accompanying me for a quick toke off a Marlboro Red in a vacant parking lot…one awful, over stuffed Thanksgiving.
As we coughed and spat and enjoyed our cancer stick. A car of unknown not made in America origin strolled by…on the back were these words stamped out in red, white and blue.

English: Marlboro cigarette in pack.
English: Marlboro cigarette in pack. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

MEAN PEOPLE SUCK, NICE PEOPLE SWALLOW.
Being a devout catholic who insists in finding the good in all of us, my mother stated, ‘how nice that is!’
I choked and hammered and hawed, ‘what do you mean, Ma? You mean that bumper sticker?’
She smiles from the inside out and states, ‘yes, isn’t it nice for people to promote such a thing? To get over your differences and swallow your words…I’ve always believed in that!’
At the time, back in the good old not so far from today…days, good ole Ma had an answering machine. And, I knew without posing the question what the next remark would be from my saintly mother.
‘I think I’ll use that saying for a new message on my machine!’
It was then and there that the roles reversed themselves and got twisted up in the game of life and sex and right and wrong.
Gently and with a newly lit cigarette in hand, I explained the facts of life to my mother. A situation I have been able to avoid ever since. To this day I wonder, what would Father John have said, if he called upon my mother at home to possibly come in next Sunday to hand out the sacrament and only got the answering machine? What if Sister Pat phoned and inquired about the new Bingo machine that had been on back order for months?  What would her habit have thought of such a message?
Fun as it would have been in my own catholic girl’s do not start much too late, mentality. I had to burst my mother’s virginal bubble.
Tonight, though, while heading north of north. I smiled and thought, wouldn’t it be nice to feel that naivety again? To believe in the good that resides in all of us. To enjoy the love I have waiting at home with me. A partner who rises early and beds down at the crack of sundown. A lover who awaits me with open arms and a caring and comforting charm.
Thank Christ for memory it prompts the jaded edges of my composure to tread lightly when it is graced by the beautiful women in my life.

 

When the rain is blowing in your face,
And the whole world is on your case,
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear,
And there is no one there to dry your tears,
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.

I know you haven’t made your mind up yet,
But I would never do you wrong.
I’ve known it from the moment that we met,
No doubt in my mind where you belong.

I’d go hungry; I’d go black and blue,
I’d go crawling down the avenue.
No, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do
To make you feel my love.

The storms are raging on the rolling sea
And on the highway of regret.
The winds of change are blowing wild and free,
You ain’t seen nothing like me yet.

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true.
Nothing that I wouldn’t do.
Go to the ends of the Earth for you,
To make you feel my love

into our life a little levity must fall
into our life a little levity must fall

Mother and Daughter Reunion

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty...
Reach out your hand if your cup be empty…if it is full may it be again.

On rare occasions we see someone for the first time, again!  Like a love lost that walks back into your life after life has settled.

A stranger who has brought about every emotion known to woman-kind.  Love, hate, wonder, awe, anger, pain.  A symphony of bad times lightly riddled with lyrics of the moments when times were good.

As a child my mother was as vast as the ocean and as deep as the sky so alluring and blue.

As an adult, wandering through life, we all forget where the magic happened.  If we are lucky and graceful enough we allow a slight opening in the walls we have built up over the years of living.

As an adult, I saw my mother today.  Beautifully strong.  Slightly composed in her spirituality and slightly erect in her character of being.  It took a brief moment.  A flash by the passenger side window.  The rain splashed up and created a drift.  Catching all encased in driving to sit quietly for the smallest moment in time.

A time where we all, all women, all carrying the weight of should have been done and should have been.

I saw my mother, again.  My tiny dancer.  My heart skipped a beat.  Weathered into a wonderful combination of style, humor and second chances lady of grace.

And, for just a that blink of an eye, I remember what she had placed me here for.  To follow her guide.  To be what is right.

To only be half the woman she has been for me would be an injustice to the questions she encouraged me to find answers to

There is a road, no simple highway  Between the dawn and the dark of night  And if you go, no one may follow  That path is for your steps alone
There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go, no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone

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