Thoughts of my dear deceased mother on mother's day.
a dozen years ago council was free
I could collate with a learned woman
scanning her eyes revealed the register
of a seers cache, wisdom flowed
unmeasured she knew no peer
her love for me sincere, mother
now beyond the boundaries of time
unable to reach her pool of wisdom
my calls, mother, mother, unanswered
questions that baffle me no longer
return with reason to my ears
she sleeps in eternity’s misty congregation
from conception she bore the burden of me
in the last years with arms cast about me
her countenance rendered spiritual support
her smile enriched me like a pemmican boost
everyone savored conversation with her
for you were the center of her attention
my soul longs to be within the reach of her
countenance where a mother’s love filled
the room where she held sway
was sought by me to answer life’s myriad questions presented in living a life in challenging times
my access to her erudite ways, forever revoked
only the artful pictures of her remain
captives in my memories my imagination
thankfulness and immense gratitude
remain as I call upon the credo she instilled
God’s love is free drink often from his well
share it with each wayward soul you meet
Such a wonderful tribute to your mother so beautifully expressed. It reminded me of my mother and what she did by allowing me the freedom to leave the comfort of her total care of me at 18 for an independent life in college, but a warm place to return to whenever I wanted.
Although thousands of miles away most of the time, her letters and mine kept us in touch until we could communicate by email, and finally by, TTY. Occasionally I miss her, but her whole purpose was to make me my own person free from the need for her motherly comfort. And for that I'm grateful.
Your poem is so real and soulful, Jon Michael. I wish I could have known your precious mother who is so much a part of you. She raised a wonderful son and I love her, though I never had the privilege of meeting Miss Gladys.
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
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Although thousands of miles away most of the time, her letters and mine kept us in touch until we could communicate by email, and finally by, TTY. Occasionally I miss her, but her whole purpose was to make me my own person free from the need for her motherly comfort. And for that I'm grateful.
Ron