Sunday, January 30, 2011

My Mom

My Mom

I love my mother, oh so much.
Her gentle touch,
Did take me high,
To brush the sky.

Her thoughtful articles, there were,
So much a blur,
Too many stacks,
Written by quacks.

Her many large and tasty meals
Her heart appeals,
To friendly word,
Her laughter heard.

Ken Goree

This poem is written for my mother. It is written in the “Minute Poetry” form. You can find the explanation of the minute poem at the following link:

I wish it were better, she deserves better. I’m sure I will write more poems to her, and about her through the next year.

The whole thing seems to lack depth in describing my mother. I apologize. The form, though not easy seemed to keep steering me toward cliché phrases. The first stanza could be something almost anyone wrote about their mom.

The second stanza refers to a very sweet habit that my mom has. Whenever she sees an article in the paper that deals with nutrition, or medical maladies, she cuts it out and saves it for someone to whom she thinks it will apply. It feels nice to know that she is so often thinking of others.

The third stanza refers to the homey friendly atmosphere that surrounds her. She is an incredible cook. Like any good "Southern Lady," she will keep you at her table with her siren song and gentle laughter, sweetly urging more delectables upon you until you cannot hope to move away with any degree of abdominal comfort. Well, that Japanese guy that keeps winning all of those hot dog eating contests might be able to.

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