An appeal to your Bitter, Blustery Highness, As your Icicled fingers of Frigid coldness, Begins to drift in and it gets drafty, Could we appeal to your Foggy, Frostbitten senses? Could your Frozen Flurries and Freezing Rain be few? We spend tons on Flus, Flannels and the Fireplace too! Heating our Hearths to halt Hypothermia! Expensive jackets, gloves, leggings, woolly mittens, caps, scarves and socks, Long-Johns, Overcoats, Parkas and the entire shindig, cost a huge packet too! White Christmas, Snowman and Ice skating is nice we know, But Ma’am, we could do without your, Foggy Overcast which forebodes Ice-storms and Hails! We could survive without your Slippery Black Ice too! We Turn Blue from the Huge Heaps of Knee-deep Snow on our doorsteps, Where we are forced to Seek Cozy Comfort, to Bundle, to Hibernate and indulge in, Copious cups of hot chocolate and Warm Soup, Until your Dreary Frozen Highness, Thaws from the Fingers of the Warming Sun! Please, Your Frostbitten Excellency, Do not get gusty and nip at my Chimney in annoyance, I simply utter a shivery request! Thank you, Your Chilliness.
There I was thinking I had a holiday from Writing 201 this weekend, alas! Mr Ben Huberman says it ain’t so.
I guess Ann Taylor’s poem stuck in my mind because it was one of those poems that I learnt and recited as a child and coincidentally, as my young son was having a bit of allergic sniffles this weekend and being a bit irritable, the poem came back to me, since I sought ways to make him comfortable and ease his distress.
The line that stuck in my head is: ”When pain and sickness made me cry, who gazed upon my heavy eye?”
It is practically a self-explanatory poem. Enjoy remembering it with me. Kind regards
My Mother – Poem by Ann Taylor
Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping on my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My Mother.
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
My Mother.
Who taught my infant lips to pray
And love God’s holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom’s pleasant way?
My Mother.
And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,
My Mother?
Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall reward they care,
My Mother.
When thou art feeble, old and grey,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My Mother.
In fulfillment of Writing 201 Poetry potluck for the weekend.
Oh! There was an old map that the lady loved;
We used to be together, You and I;
Clutched every step of the way;
From East to West
From North to South
You and I; Map
Were inseparable!
Carefully plotted and stamped with anticipated goals;
Decorated with achievements and all the golden laurels;
At every mile and every inch of the way;
Map boasted of selfish individuality;
And screamed, Me, Me, Me!
The Map and Lady;
Grew very selfish in ambitions;
In a hasty bid to cover every milestone;
Lady forgot to tie her laces;
A trip, a fall and over the brimstone!
Scraped knees and a bleeding thumb;
Map got torn and was no longer perfect;
Lady sat in the puddle;
Wondering at the puzzle;
Then helping hand came to lift lady out of the muddle!
Bruised but not beaten;
Battered but not finished;
Lady said goodbye to old map;
Obtained a nicer map;
And sets-off on a happier journey!
Dare we take a peek? I shudder;
I shudder, should we dare seek to see;
Beneath our pantomime parades;
What turbulence lies under the facades;
Can the glare of the twisted mess found beneath;
Can the parts all broken, cracked, jumbled, mangled and messed up beyond measure;
Ever fit, not to cause so much displeasure?
Facades that shimmers and glimmers like timeless diamonds;
Yet within their confined cupboards they fight and grapple with their demons;
Painful warts underneath, score my soul like those of a soiled dove;
dirty, filthy, unbecoming, unwholesome tiny cracks everywhere;
The freckles of imperfection marks me brutally;
I am covered in sinful spots and dots;
A sore sight to the sinless eyes;
But who are these sinless eyes? Where are they be to be found? I ask;
Shall we dare to take a peek to see;
There are no sinless between you and I;
All broken bits of imperfections we are;
But yet he says;
Come! I beseech you;
Come to me with all your freckles and all your warts!
Come to me with all your spots and all your dots!
Disgraced, Broken, Discarded, Cracked, Twisted, Warped,Mangled,
Hopeless, Desperate, Ashamed, Naked;
However spotty it might be!
Come!
For my perfection makes your imperfection whole!
Come!
For I came to set the captives free!
Y our tender gift of love to me makes my heart combust into heated waves; O ver the years you unfurl and surprise me some more; U ndaunted you give generously of yourself; R egardless of how grumpy my own ways might be;
L et’s tie the knot my love, you said to me; O ur love will endure till oceans dry out like deserts you assured; V alidating your vows and promises to me; E specially through the endless ebbs and tides of life;
T ender with tough tenacity, you have stood so strong; Obinna! M y one and only; E nigmatic and excellent example of a gentlemanly husband!
a cooking pot and twisted tales 