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Array ( [sid] => 161349 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Mother Memory. [time] => 2010-07-24 08:16:28 [hometext] => this is about my mother. how do you feel about your mother? [bodytext] => I do think of you. But very rarely now.
For your memory evokes a vision of childhood,
That poor deluded creature
Best left out to the ravages of time.
And when I do think of you it is not with the spite
And the hatered with with you so readily condemmed,
But with a sadness that, to this day,
Still tinges the deepest recesses of my mind.
And yes, my mind's eyes still can see you there
In that darkened room, the dying fire burning miserably,
Your eyes chasing headlights across the ceiling,
Your hands balled into angry fists shaking a sorrow
At your own reflection.
And always that frustration you wore so well
Curled around your lips like a serpent,
That willing conspirator in your misery. And lord,
How you wore that misery with such pride,
A polished gleaming badge for all the world to see.
And sometimes I long for a light to flood the recesses
Of my mind where your memory dwells, to flood that room
Where you sit,
For the fire to spurt and hiss and dance with life
And your shadow that crosses the ceiling with the headlights,
To hear just one soft murmur, a slow comming together
Of love and understanding.
But for now, forgive me if I rarely think about you. [comments] => 5 [counter] => 106 [topic] => 21 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )

Mother Memory.

Contributed by cashfan1 on Saturday, 24th July 2010 @ 08:16:28 AM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

I do think of you. But very rarely now.
For your memory evokes a vision of childhood,
That poor deluded creature
Best left out to the ravages of time.
And when I do think of you it is not with the spite
And the hatered with with you so readily condemmed,
But with a sadness that, to this day,
Still tinges the deepest recesses of my mind.
And yes, my mind's eyes still can see you there
In that darkened room, the dying fire burning miserably,
Your eyes chasing headlights across the ceiling,
Your hands balled into angry fists shaking a sorrow
At your own reflection.
And always that frustration you wore so well
Curled around your lips like a serpent,
That willing conspirator in your misery. And lord,
How you wore that misery with such pride,
A polished gleaming badge for all the world to see.
And sometimes I long for a light to flood the recesses
Of my mind where your memory dwells, to flood that room
Where you sit,
For the fire to spurt and hiss and dance with life
And your shadow that crosses the ceiling with the headlights,
To hear just one soft murmur, a slow comming together
Of love and understanding.
But for now, forgive me if I rarely think about you.

Copyright © cashfan1 ... [ 2010-07-24 08:16:28]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Mother Memory. (User Rating: 1 )
by thebadguy9999 on Saturday, 24th July 2010 @ 08:33:51 AM AEST
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nice poem

Re: Mother Memory. (User Rating: 1 )
by LovingWhispers on Saturday, 24th July 2010 @ 10:09:44 PM AEST
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I imagined this to be,as a letter and your Mother reading it...*goosebumps*
No matter what you set your pen to,you always seem to inspire my mind.
This was haunting...sad and deep.
Expressed so very well!!

Blessings and (((hugs)))
LW

Re: Mother Memory. (User Rating: 1 )
by hauntedscorp on Sunday, 25th July 2010 @ 07:04:01 AM AEST
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Your descriptive wording is so powerful here it is almost untamed, raw. Yet it is clearly well thought out, full of emotion, and the haunting memory leaps off the page. Very well done.

Re: Mother Memory. (User Rating: 1 )
by northernlights on Sunday, 25th July 2010 @ 07:25:39 AM AEST
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A stark piece of reality painful to write and sadly painful to read but real and maybe in accepting that its real then light is too much to ask for but a dulling of the pain hopefully x

Re: Mother Memory. (User Rating: 1 )
by lovingcritters on Sunday, 25th July 2010 @ 12:51:15 PM AEST
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My mother too was the very same, Dennis, and when she no longer existed, I'm just as you...............I rarely remember her, per se, she was like the Wicked Old Witch of Wyoming, and I try very hard not to think of her. I was glad when she closed her eyes and went to sleep. It's the only peace she would have ever known. Poor Soul
This poem reached the depths of my sout!
Where you cry silently, so no one will know!
Warm love
consue

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