Spirits raise their eyebrows
and on high horizon, angels appear;
ones with real names, with histories,
with memories of who I was, once
upon a lost lullaby.
Angels raise their voices
and on the line, a foregone conclusion,
you were always there; the crone of caution
I had cried for long after tears stopped
for a million other reasons.
God’s ground out a certain mold
and fills it with differences.
in spite of it all, we are so similar:
Look at these poems...they could be mine.
They speak of how you survived over and over,
never forgiving yourself
until what was lost or found
crawls back on your lap again.
These are second chances:
New beginnings back on old paths.
Sing it to me, again, mother.
Hold me until my heart remembers.
Author notes
Before meeting my birth mother, my youngest sister sent me a package. In that package were poems mother had written at some point in her life. That is where my language has come from, that is where much of who I am evolved from; those things I could not figure out, the Idiosyncrasies,the things I am and do without preconceived thought.
In a list
- On Self • next in list
- Beautiful Words by Beautiful People I Know • next in list
- Honorable Mention • next in list
A contest entry
- 350th contest group one /finalists only by poet2angels.
475 points, ended August 26, 2008, 11 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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The look on her face says so much and your words are so touching that I am in tears., I was drawn in to your experience with this first and my favorite part:
"Spirits raise their eyebrows
and on high horizon, angels appear;
ones with real names, with histories,
with memories of who I was, once
upon a lost lullaby."
Sigh, such magic
Lynda
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We are but the heralds of heritage. We trumpet not just our own trail but the pathwork of all that came before us. You capture well the truth of family and the power of blood.
Love, Tom B.
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-sigh-
what a moment that must have been when you read the first pom from her
all the best Caarol
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The picture and the poem walk hand in hand into a dawn forest where special prayers are kept for the sensitive few to read . . . thank you Carol,this is heart lifting . . .
Marc
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Magnifique...
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I cannot chose
which is more beautiful than the other - the photo or the poem or the author's notes. All struck my heart with an iron, both hot and cold, and awoke a memory not often felt, but when it comes, you feel it there. Thank you for creating this wonderful moment for me! Frans
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Picture says more than I ever could Love, C
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