Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day and I hope if your mom is still around, you have honored her. My mom is seated in front of my family in this photo taken almost three years ago on her 85th birthday. She will be 88 this June and is still doing well. The others in the picture are my wife, daughters, and son-in-law. Mom has always been a big part of our lives. My dad died when he was forty six years old, and my mom, then a full time house wife, had to take the reins of a suddenly run away wagon. She retrained, got a job, sold and bought two houses and got things under control. Later, after she was fifty, she returned to school and finished her Bachelor and Masters degrees and taught school. I wrote a poem about her some years ago because she really is a Steel Magnolia.

THE MYSTERY OF THE FLOWER

She was the Belle of Jeff Davis County.
Stunning to the beholder.
Long haired brunette
with more curves than a mountain highway.

She was raised in the traditions of the South.
Never leave the house without your make-up.
Always dress to the nines.
Her wide brimmed hats shadowed her face
to add to the mystery.

She learned to be strong and silent in adversity.
A player in a man’s world.
Influential, but not obtrusive.
Beautiful, but powerful.

She remains the same today.
Never making an appearance until her face is fixed.
Her hair shows no gray.
Graceful and fragrant like the Magnolia’s blossom.

But make no mistake,
her resolve is steel.

Purple Sea

My posts over the last few days have tended toward subjects generally less appreciated by the ladies. I agreed to show a little of my feminine side on occasion for balance. I lived out of a suitcase, in a manner of speaking, for much of my career. Sleeping away from home never was very comfortable, in spite of the valiant efforts of many of our nations finest inn keepers. I have been married now for almost forty years to the same beautiful woman. She has tolerated my manly pursuits far above and beyond the call of duty. When my job and its ugliness had me spinning in space, she was my grounding post. I wrote the following poem in a motel room one night. The monochomatic world of dreams is a state of mind necessary for good mental health, and physical well being. I invisioned a good dream filled sleep like a refreshing swim in a purple sea. As we near mother's day, I say thank you to my wife for all the years she put in being both mother and dad while I was away.


FINDING PURPLE SEA

On the road I do not sleep,
but rather nap in fitful blocks of time.

I stare through darkness at some plastic box
with glowing luminescence red, or green.
11:47, 1:29, 2:33, 3:08.
Times I would not see if you were here,
or I was home.

I miss my nightly kiss.
Your whispered, “I love you.”
My signal day is done and all is well.

I’m free to sail upon night’s purple sea.
Outward turn my inward mind,
shed reality.
Wake refreshed at break of day.

But on the road,
night goes on and on.
Till groggily I rise,
stumble into day,
yawn, and rub my puffy eyes.
Find the nearest vendor of a caffeinated brew.
Stimulate my fog filled mind,
to imitate the energy
that seems to come so naturally
when I wake next to you.