by Diana J Legun
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Rated "G" by the Author.
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I have been limited in opportunity to read and write in the Den. This poem addresses an all-consuming state of being, for individual and family.
The gamble game is on
see you ten
raise you twenty
hit me again
The cards are not stacked against you, Mother,
your hand just grew too cold.
A full-length, sharpened pencil
is not expected of you now
you have been writing with
the very last smidge of lead
now writing with the eraser end --
so it is okay you let us
write for you the only way we know how.
6/7/13 - 7:35 a.m. by djl
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|Reviewed by Annabel Sheila
|Very heartfelt write, Diana. We went through this a few years ago...bless your Mom and bless you.
|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|A moving and meaningful sharing, Diana. Love and best wishes to you,
|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|You struck a chord. My own mother, nearly deaf, and with aphasia so that she can no longer form words and speak and write well, as well as other infirmities and inability to walk without a walker, is reaching the point of total care––and I'm not there. Less than five years ago, she deftly handled a network of friends and relatives over five hundred addresses long, sending out countless e-mails and remembering everyone's birthday and what was going on in their lives.
She still is sharp as a tack, but frustrated and trapped in her physical condition. We still enjoy telephone chats because she can read what I say and still can get her point across with slightly garbled speech. My sister is taking the brunt of “raising her” until such time as other shall take over, very soon.
I wish you and her well because I know how difficult it is during this trying time.
|Reviewed by Vivian Dawson
|The power in Love to win..
|Reviewed by Odin Roark
|Heartfelt and poignant. I often think, if card strategy was all that we needed to go the distance, Bingo would bring up a distant second, giving our loved ones a lot of free table stakes, eh? Beautifully rendered piece of metaphoric reverie.|
|Reviewed by Dayvid Graybill
|I feel the sadness. Powerful metaphor.
|Reviewed by Budd Nelson
|this is very heartfelt in your well written style and filled with the love for your mother
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton
|Yes. I surmised what the content, or at least the reason of the poem would be when I read the title. It is sad and hopefully they will find a way to ward off such an attack of old age, but for your mother, and many it will be too late.|