20 Lines A Day

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Tag Archives: motherhood


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Ode to the children of Connecticut

The children

The little ones

Who won’t be cuddled Christmas Day

the innocent

the life yet lead

so cruelly taken away

The parents and the grief

the children that they lost

I can’t imagine

the pain within their hearts

at what this slaying cost

Hold tight your little ones

even though you can’t hold them

take a moment of your day

to think of the useless mayhem

So sparkling eyes of child now gone

R.I.P and we can only say

how sorry that this happened to you

shame, unbelief, upon this senseless day

Today whilst Christmas shopping. A little girl with Down Syndrome came up to Mr S and I in the aisle.

She tapped us both on the stomach and said “I’m going camping”.

We asked where.

“Near a river” was her reply with a grin that beamed across her face.

We melted.

She will see the river …but those lost in this massacre will never run their hands through the water….

 

 

Reposted from ramblingsfromamum


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Christmas – To be a child again

Written whilst listening to the gentle lull of a piano

Oh how I wish I was a child again

waking in the night full of hope and then

wishing for the gifts that I have put on my list

wanting to run and laugh and be kissed

 

My face would reveal my awe

my face would say thank you and so much more

the joy that is for Christmas Day

the innocence of a child, the smile that I portray

~~~~~~~

The tip toe of a child in the morn

gazing upon the tree decorations that adorn

the twinkle that crosses upon their face

the excitement..the  anticipation of… I cannot wait

 

Christmas is for children to see the happiness it brings

the pleasure and the eagerness ..makes our grown hearts sing

for Christmas is a special time that adults hold in their heart

the love that hugs us from within that can’t be torn apart

 

Grasp the bauble from the tree my little one

do you see the colours as it spins?

scrunch the wrapping paper and watch me melt at your grin

this is the day for you my child… I wish to be young again

 

To have these happy memories though I have  some of my own

I take a backward glance… see me as a child and feel the way you do now

bring your laughter to the house on Christmas Day

so that I can relive this joy… so that I too may feel this way

 

Any child at Christmas, though they may not be your own

have a smile a simplicity that’s a wonder to behold

so share with any child if you can the day that holds this delight

clutch at the happiness that they share…embrace and hold them tight

 

I wish I was a child again

 

Reposted from ramblingsfromamum

Google and 123rf photos


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Woman

So, this month, I have decided to try something totally different.  A style that I have never  attempted to try, but said what the heck, let me try Acrostic Poetry. So the first word is W etc. and continues to spell woman along the sentences. Let me know if this one makes sense or means something to you, took me ages, sorry to say, it is called WOMAN

World of wonders, complicated to one that tries to look within.

Obtains the beauty, creativity, strength, that can never be torn from the mind.

Manipulating the path, the route

Achieving the highest, the mightiest, it is amazing, the power that lurks inside

Neglecting the fears, opposition, disappointments in one´s life.


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Disappointment

I wait every day for you to call,

just to know that you have thought of me,

have remembered I am still here,

in spite of the pain, the sorrow, the past.

I feel so relieved when you include me,

so special when we go somewhere, just us.

I guess, it seems selfish, but often, I dream

that its only me that was invited, included.

And my heart fills with disappointment

when I find out I was one of many.

Once, you were part of me-

I was the person you adored.

Letting go is hard, but moms have to.

Remember, as you move on,,

I am still here, waiting.

 


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A Mother’s Child

When a mother’s child is hurting, or somehow is done wrong

The pain she feels for her dear child is wide and deep and strong

It matters not how old the child, if three or thirty-five

A mother’s child is still her child as long as she’s alive

~~~

A mother’s pain will come and go for hurts that she may feel

But a mother’s pain for her dear child cuts like a knife of steel

If you’re a mother with a child, you understand me well

There is no need to speak a word,  you know of what I tell

~~~

Be cautious of the mother whose dear child you may have hurt

I say this as a warning, please take heed to this alert

A mother’s like a lioness…with care she guards her young

Or maybe like a hornet’s nest…be careful, lest you’re stung.


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On killing a baby copperhead

There is a measure of ownership
in turning over the things in the yard
that haven’t been turned over in years

And an amount of I-told-you-so
in finding, underneath one of those
somethings, a baby copperhead,
more venomous, I’m told, than her mother.

And loads of not-on-my-watch
when the shovel hacks the creature
to pieces as it tries to make
silent escape, through the grass.


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If you could be …..Maggie’s challenge….?

   First of all …Maggie wow what a great Idea…! What light would I be , thought about this for some time . The light I want to be is the shine of the young girls eye the minute she receives that first kiss , The glimmer when she finds out she’s pregnant . The glow when that little boy gets what he wants for Christmas . The sparkle when dad watches his kids in their first soccer game . It’s the small things in life we all need to get back in touch with . That light is the finest thing I know !!


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The man in the window…

It’s no secret , while I’m going through rehab and recovery I’m staying at my mom and dads . Growing up here was rather unsettling at times , and grand at others . An old story my dad would tell us was “Peg leg Wilson ” a made up tail about an old guy with a wooden leg . I wont lie , it scare the crap out of me and I think the other kids as well . We grew up in an old two-story house with plenty of noises on its own , without the manufacture of them . My younger brother and I shared a bedroom , it was the biggest bedroom in the house . It had a small closet in one of the corners that I was always scared of . When the lights went off the noises always began .

I have visited my mom and dad over the years many times and always felt a presence around me . This time visiting I am feeling this a little more , but i put it off due to my body healing . The other day I was wandering around the yard , Taking pictures of some flowers . I actually posted them on 20 lines under the heading of Sights of summer . Anyway , I walked into the garage and heard something , I listened a little closer , It was my name . Someone was calling my name in a weak whisper two or three times . I looked over towards the window of the garage and quickly took a picture . I couldn’t see anything so I blew it off to my imagination and returned inside . Today I looked at the picture , to my amazement there is someone in the window . Now I showed this to my mom ( it’s no one I know ) And she tells me it looks identical to a man who lived here before them . Here’s the thing that has my skin crawling …He died in this house the day I was born….

This is the presence following me….I know now I’m not crazy…..

 

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Ode to my Mother

She wore an old and tattered dress

She’d had for many years

Her face was worn, the lines revealed

The traces of her tears.

Her hair was pulled back in a scarf

To guard it from the wind

For 20 years I think she’d had

The coat she bundled in.

And with each step, she firmly held

The hand of her small girl.

Before they left the house that day,

She saw to every curl

She’d neatly pressed the clothes they wore

And shoes were polished bright

No scuff marks had remained on them

And they were fastened tight.

Though it was many years ago

The picture’s in my mind

A better or more loving mother

I could never find.


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The Elephant

What is it about the elephant
that reaches us, takes us into
a grey and grave intimacy
Is it her sad gaze,
we look at her and feel the
tremendous pain, a mother’s grief
Could it be her extended reach
that clutching, still cannot quite grasp
what she seeks. It may be her ears
flapping like flags
hearing things she shouldn’t
far away, and distant
Her beautiful age in those wrinkles around her eyes
and the heavy sadness in each step
why we love her so
is because she is just like us.

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