For my mother’s eyes

[creativesoul]

The sun came up
Thankful that my life is here-.now -

As a child she used to come in and open the shutters and sing about bluebirds
I more than likely had found a flashlight
And read a book

These days of wine and roses
How I wished I would be beautiful
Like my mother

But I knew her secrets
And I was large and strong in a society where anorexia is a nice look
And colliding with Barbie doll babes for 15 minutes of fame
I took to puzzles of life in library style
I hitch hiked I married a Cajun drummer
Mama did not like Clyde
She wore orange and green to the wedding
Her husband my 1st husband said” ate about ten apples “
My friends from the stereoscope bakery of Tahoe city@ “that time I just did not understand “
Nectar madness was accross the highway

People sang like there was no tommorow in al the bars
It’s cold people drank like fish
I traded ceramic flutes for Rolfing massages
I lost that husband( I took off running)
But I went to New York City
It was that song.. “if I could make it there I could make it anywhere”
New York City was not pretty for me-
Dancing during doing drugs
My mama did not like me like that
I never could explain it to her
What I saw
Recently she told me I told her friend her elbows did not match her arms- I was 4

- I’m sixty one and my mother is fragility - what she tells herself I don’t know- but I have never felt I reached her..
those high emotions sometimes tweak me out
Like those moments have come on where someday she may not know me—

[saw]

sadness, chagrin and wanting
all can be felt as we analyze the past
forgiveness is a key player, especially the self
we make our moves on the board
trying to win a good day
thanx for the glimpses that got you here

[creativesoul]

a my mother’s eyes are aqua marine- like the ocean in Hawaii
There is a spot a long that 12 mile hike- before hanakoa
I call it the mother place

I don’t care anymore
I’m sad - I’m tired
The insanity of trying to live what seems endless
Words that bounce of the walls
It’s as if ever once of me
Can feel those eyes
The mother unit is from another tribe
I never understood her
Now I just don’t care
Those things that hurt bring tears
Cannot even to begin to share my fear
I thought I had enough
Got to
Trust that this will be over soon

Aunt Nancy
Whatever
Your sister that never made any attempt to know me
Now? You want me to sleep with a stranger in a hotel room?
Mother dearest ; show is over

[saw]

it's incredibly complicated for many
to relate to a parent that almost seems unrelated
alien
I've always wondered why I was so different than them
certainly not a cookie cut from the same mold
nor an apple that fell close to the tree
I think it may be proof that we come into to this world
pre-wired

[creativesoul]

I love stories of people remembering past lives
Going into a tunnel of light after death experience s
Quite sure that death is a promotion
But you cannot go until whatever is done
They never tell us what to do or how or when

Thegreat mystery is to love and laugh like it’s the last time ya might get to...
feel
Free
Away from them
After all these years I see her vulnerability
As she becomes the child
I become the mother
Then the earth cracked in its axis moments
-3 degrees to the south at the North Pole
There - the northern lights.. can you see it!?

[silent woman]

I still remember the look in my mother's eyes on November 22, 1963, the day I held her throat between my hands, and my thumbs could feet the pulse in her carotids. I saw no fear there only sorrow, that is what stopped me from suicide by matricide.

we are fortunate sons
what ever hell my mother put me thhrough it was nothing compared to what my little sister had to endure. lord lord, sylvia plath and the serpent arms that reached out to her acrosss the atlantic ocean

pardon the ramble, that was bloody good poetry you wrote there sister poet

[silent woman]

Jana wrote:

high emotions sometimes tweak me out

that bit is what gives me your poetry'
thanks for the poetry
it is spooky stuff for me, some sort brain malfunction, like Aspergers maybe
just say'n please never be a martyr for your art
her poem for her son

I do not will him to be exceptional.
It is the exception that interests the devil.
It is the exception that climbs the sorrowful hill
Or sits in the desert and hurts his mother’s heart.
I will him to be common,
To love me as I love him,
And to marry what he wants and where he will.

Three Women
Freud said and plath believed that poets and artists were blessed in that they could deal with mourning in their creative efforts.
the kindness of Strangers in dementia
I visit diamond Lil,
who does not know who I am anymore
I come in gratitude for her kindness to my mother
when she lie on her deathbed

we don't say much just sit and remember
what we can
then I leave kissing her hand before I go
ramble

[creativesoul]

My mother so wishes I spoke her language

I think even whispering, she cannot imagine
What I have seen in the color of her eyes

Here . If ever there was a time when I knew
That blinding penetrating color-
I liked her paintings
I still do
Textures and shades of blue

[creativesoul]

Thank you my Frenz