Chances are you want to write because you are a haunted individual, or a bothered individual, because the world does not sit right with you, or you in it. -Betsy Lerner
Before I wrote blogs, I wrote poetry as an outlet. Very few people read them or knew they even existed. I’m wondering now, Mom I always felt you were omnipotent, did you know I had books and books of poetry floating around in my room as a teenager (not that any were particularly good)?
Anyways I found a stack of them while we were switching the girls’ and our room. One brought back the memory associated with it. It was in September 2003, a couple of months before Steven was leaving to Iraq. In front of Sarah S’s house and Steven gave me an apple he picked out of the tree. I didn’t know how I was going to make it a year without him and I wanted to remember that instant forever (no symbolism in this poem). Yes I do realize now I was a little melodramatic, but I was only 19 and the love of my life was leaving me for what felt like an eternity. Now however, Iraq is a fading memory.
These are the days that will be remembered
The walks in the changing leaves of September.
The cool wind blows as your arms protect
An apple you pick, in my hand you set
The sweet juices roll down my chin as I bite
Your mouth burns for some at the sight.
Your arms move, my lips they brush
The changing leaves of September are hushed.
Our enduring love is expressed in that moment
We become each other’s compliment,
And when we remember days gone by
These will be the ones with just you and I.
Another WOW! I knew you liked poetry but not that you were so accomplished. I would definintely encourage you to publish them and share your poems with others. You never know, you might become the next Stephanie Meyers.
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Sugar is Sweet
And so are You.
I am afraid that is the extent of my poetic prose so you must have gotten it from your mother…
Love You Bunches, Dad
I do remember you sharing just a bit of your poems with me… of course those weren’t the ones where you were too blue, but I knew there were many of those, I could read it on your forehead “everybody hates me, nobody likes me, think I’ll eat some worms…” but in your case, I was fairly sure you wrote about it; was I right there? Never did read any of the really blue ones, just suspected you had some.
Just wait until your two beautiful daughters are 15; it will be another opportunity for poems for you…and for them. Maybe they will share some of theirs with you…
Love you so much,
Mom