Thus I Wrote

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Posts Tagged ‘mother

My Mother’s Country

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Titian b&w

You reach out through clumsy words,
Through shared things and scenes
You want me to like them too,
And for a while I miss what you mean…

Your music is alien to me,
I see what their faces lack,
I listen to their stories,
And it brings me all the way back.
This was the country I left behind,
A country of catholic sin,
A country alien to me,
But that they felt at home in.
Once I thought I was better,
But now I just feel alone,
I have no real country,
And I have no real home.
I ripped all that tried to cling to me,
Because I needed to be free,
To travel on my quest,
To find out who I must be.
To become the butterfly,
I shed my caterpillar skin,
And on a wheel of stone,
The start has now come again…

Then I hold your hand,
I listen and watch you smile,
Now love drowns our differences
After a little while.

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Written by thus.i.wrote

December 9, 2015 at 1:36 pm

I See Ghosts of Late – Lyrics

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Ghosts

I see ghosts of late
From the scenes I’ve played
The haunting of familiar faces
In familiar places

I see ghosts of late
In the well of my emotional state
The pricking of past emotion
The memories of past devotion

I see ghosts of late
From the loving relationships I’ve made
From mother and father
From sons and daughters
From wives and lovers
From sisters and brothers
And from the friends who stayed
I see ghosts of late

I see ghosts of late
Whispering of changes, they portray
The waves that rise and fall
The victories big and small
The turning of the earth
The renewal of life and death
And all that shaped my fate
I see ghosts of late

I see ghosts of late
Part of the man I’ve made
They don’t go they wait
They’re with me till that silent gate….

 

Written by thus.i.wrote

September 10, 2014 at 7:45 pm

Give Yourself To The World

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Parent and Son

I remember my father as he lay there waiting
In his bed of white and gold
He held my hand and he looked in my eyes
He said ” Now, it’s my time to go”
He said “I’ve worked all of my life to give to you
And now I can’t give any more
So take your place and make your own space
Remember my love while you’re in the race
And give yourself… Give yourself to the world”

I watched my mother as she laughed through a story
Of her childhood long ago
She held my hand and she looked in my eyes
She said “I want you to know”
She said “I’ve spent all of my life in loving you
And I could not have loved any more
So take your place and make your own space
Remember my love while you’re in the race
And give yourself… Give yourself to the world”

I sat with my family for a Christmas or birthday
That mark the passing of our days
We joke and we laugh and we enjoy the moment
And later I reflect but don’t say
That we don’t know tomorrow, but we’re on the same journey
And this is how we hold hands on the way
So we take our place and we make our own space
We love each other while we’re in the race
And we give ourselves….We give ourselves to the world.

Written by thus.i.wrote

November 5, 2013 at 5:35 pm

Posted in Poems, Poetry

Tagged with , , , , ,

Ghosts 2

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Ghosts

I see ghosts of late
From scenes I’ve played
The haunting of familiar faces
In familiar places

I see ghosts of late
In the well of my emotional state
The pricking of past emotion
The lessons of past devotion

I see ghosts of late
From loving relationships I’ve made
From mother and father
From sons and daughters
From wives and lovers
From sisters and brothers
From the friends who stayed
Among the ghosts I see of late

I see ghosts of late
Whispering of changes to date
The waves that rise and fall
The victories big and small
The turning of the earth
The renewal of life and death
All that shapes my fate
In the ghosts I see of late

I see ghosts of late
Part of the man I’ve made
They don’t go they wait
With me till that silent gate….

Written by thus.i.wrote

August 13, 2013 at 10:42 am

Ghosts

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Ghosts

I see ghosts of late
Judging my fate
The haunting of familiar faces
In familiar places
The pricking of past emotion
The memories of past devotion

I see ghosts of late
(As I contemplate)
Of son and daughters
Of mother and father
Of sister and brothers
Of wives and lovers

I see ghosts of late
(In my emotional state)
Of wishes and regret
Of victories others forget
Of the turning of the earth
Of life and of death

Written by thus.i.wrote

August 7, 2013 at 4:01 pm

Mother V2

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Titian b&w

In that stone floored kitchen
I remember the friction
She stood with hand on hips
Her tongue through pursed lips
Behind my grandmother’s back
In impotent fury at her lack
Of kindnesss or empathy
Of understanding or sympathy

She was but twenty three,
A young bride recently free
With two children born
With another being formed
With difficult in-laws in-between
An old farmhouse to clean
And animals to harness
And produce to harvest
She had no indoor toilet
Or central heating or carpets
Or running water or electric light
Or friends or family nearby.

She was scared when the storms came round
And my father tied the thatched roof down
When the pig was killed she cried tears
As it was used to feed us for the year.
She cooked on the open turf fire
And milked the cows when tired
While my father sold milk to the creamery
To buy clothes, sugar and tea

A blow-in, it was said of her
And they were scornful of her
Of her lack of land and education
How she was now above her station
They could not see that the love
She brought in bucket-loads was enough
How she lit up that cold house
Meant she was more than a worthy spouse.

She was a Christian in deed
All the week it was soon agreed
She was a well of strength
With an addictive laugh freely spent
She attracted people to her
And over time won them all over.

Save my grandmother alone
Who had a hurt never shown
But which stifled her love
And her only son had never enough
My mother’s married life was tuned
To repairing that wound,
And at the end of his life of need
It seemed she finally did succeed.
He loved her so and learned
That he was loved by her in return
With such love his fear did cease
And he died, as much as we know, in peace.

Written by thus.i.wrote

December 9, 2012 at 12:36 am

Mother

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I remember her
Standing with hands on hips
In that stone floored kitchen
With her tongue stuck out
In defiance and impotent fury
Behind my grandmother’s back

She was but twenty three, a young bride
With two children already
And another on the way
With two elderly parents to tend to
With an old farmhouse to clean
With hens, pigs, cattle and geese to feed
With produce to collect and harvest

She had no indoor toilet
Or carpets
Or central heating
Or running water
Or electric light
Or friends
Or family nearby.

When the storms came
My father tied the thatched roof down.
He brought turf for the open fire
And sold milk to buy clothes, tea and sugar

My mother cried when the pig was killed
Every year to feed us for the year.
She despaired of the dirt
And the wayward animals
And her wayward children
And her needy parents-in-law

She was a blow-in
And they were scornful
Of her lack of land and of her education.
He was too good for her.

They could not see the love
She brought in bucket-loads
And armfuls,
And how she lit up that cold house.

But then as she always said
An empty vessel makes most sound.

She was Christian indeed
and not just on Sunday
She has a well of strength
And her laugh is infectious
And addictive.
She attracted people to her
And over time won them all over.

Save my grandmother
Who had a secret hurt
That she never shared
But which stifled her love
For her one and only son.

My mother spent her life
Trying to repair that wound,
And at the end of his life
It seemed she finally succeeded.

He loved her and was loved
By her and knew it to be so.
With such love there is no fear
And he died, as much as we can know,
in peace.

Written by thus.i.wrote

November 25, 2012 at 8:42 pm