Her Book…

I viewed the world from her lap as a child..

She would often say if not for her non-existent talent

she would write a book..

Little did she realize…she had written a breathing book..

I was her paper..her voice the pen..her words the ink..



Let Me Fly…

When I die spare Mothers ground

I’ll choose no box to lay me down

The clothes I’ve worn since came my birth

Leave blow to winds above the earth

So long encased by worldly things

When I succumb…I crave my wings…


…has been…

Can it really be

the “days of old”

are those from my prime

and now all are called  “back in time”

How is it today

tell me how can it be

that the face in my mirror

is my mother not me

Has it been quite so long

or perhaps I just blinked

and I think I’ve stopped growing

cause I feel like I’ve “shrinked”

And what will become

of the young one within

or is she now fated

to become a has been??


…on pause…

Tomorrow will be better

I’ll see a brighter day

Tomorrow I will do the things

All standing in my way

Tomorrow when I’ve rested

And have a clearer mind

Tomorrow I will do the tasks

Of which I’m so behind

Tomorrow will be better

I’m sure to get more done

Tomorrow I will stand up straight

…That’s if Tomorrow comes…


My Mothers Dress…

Silky soft the dress you wore

You loved it oh so much

I still recall..my hands were small

You’d smile and say “don’t touch”..

And on my hand your band of gold

The one my father gave

You wore it over fifty years

Well past his resting grave..

How can it be that all these things

Still shine and look as new

When all the worth they ever held

Is gone since I lost you…



Who but me

may set the bar

for the striving of my life…?

Who but me

will wear the scars

for the way I wield times knife…?

What opined views

or lips un-stained

 of one upon this ground

could throw a stone

to sear my Soul

and hold my Spirit bound..