Motherly Designs

This book is a light humorous account of five years in a tiny New England town where I was guided by my mother as well as allowed the freedom of self expression especially in my clothing. My mother was a quiet woman, but sometimes too quiet. Her actions were my insight as to who she really was, a creative, loving woman. I believe parents can learn an approach to parenting from this book that will benefit their children.

Lily-Livered-Loving

I should never have landed
On this planet where love reigns
Like a wicked witch bent on
Chaos, upheaval, and destruction.

Constantly shivering in my shoes
I think of loved ones at all hours,
Especially when I should be sleeping.
But do they ever think of me?

As a child you do not know
That loving your aunts, uncles, friends
Will one day leave you holding
A heavy, stinking bag of grief.

If I had known how love would be
Then, as a child, I would have
Trusted less, loved tenuously
Or, probably, not at all.

Better to save oneself, I think
Love's too scary, pain overwhelms,
I am afraid to see another day
ANd fearful of being left behind.

Again Last Night

As I lay awake again last night
A question inserted itself
In the fabric of my sleep.
"How do you know someone loves you
If they never call?"

Tears insisted on falling.
My spouse eventually awoke,
He explained it all away
In his own mind not mine.
I finally went back to sleep.

When I woke again it was
After a dream in vivid color
My artistic side had taken
Me to my safer universe.
Black is gone and color rules.

So many disappointments
Life stifles my will to live on
Love is all to me yet painful.
I had hoped to share my whole life
With those I've always loved.

My arms feel emptied, withered.
Fear makes me shiver as I wait
For that last loved one to leave.
Worry pervades my world while I sit
Wondering if you'll arrive for lunch.

Jennifer Taught Me

Jennifer taught me to be her mom.
I was young - no experience or training.
And they just placed her in my arms!
So, I took her home, and she taught me
To feed her at her own timing.
She taught me to use clean, soft
Clothing head to toe whenever
She blurped, or had a messy feed,
Or when I got her ready for a
Good night's sleep in her crib.
She told me never to walk away from
Her while she sat in her carrier
Because she did not wish to fall!
When I tried to bathe her one sunny day
Outside having read about a sunbath being
Good for one's babe, she was patient
And did not ridicule me. My mother did, tho.

And when she was forty-one years old
She taught me not to try to urge her
To come back into my life, not to tell
Me what was angering her and causing her
To stay estranged. She asked the sheriff
To put me in jail if he could because
I emailed her, that being my only way to
communicate with her. She taught me
How frightening jail would be. She even
Taught me to dislike police. She taught
Me to trust no one not even myself. She
Accused me of endless abuse and I could
Not remember doing abuse! She taught me
That my little sweet baby no longer
Wanted to teach me. I was on my own
In a lonely world of someone else's design.

Nana Moon Baby

When she was a baby
She was drawn to the
Moon showing at quarter
Size and yellow in the
Dark sky high above her.
She would point
Her baby index up
And yell "Nana Moon!"

And I would praise her
For her sheer joy
And connectivity to the sky.
My lovely baby girl.

This baby grew up
Became her own girl
And pushed me away
Like yesterday's old
Banana peel brown, rotting
Stinky and no longer
Useful to her at all.
I could not understand.

Because It was I who praised her
For her sheer joy
And connectivity to the sky.
My lovely baby girl.

My arms held her high!
My mouth said, "Yes! Nana Moon!"
Her experience her joy was mine!
I thought I was giving her
That magnificent moon!
Was she not grateful?
Did she not credit me
For sharing life's treasure?

Now, I sit and rock her
In the rocking chair of my heart.
I press my lips upon
Her curly red hair
and let her rest her
Warm face on my breast.
Lest she feel cold or
Sadness all alone, I am
Always here, waiting, always rocking ...

How Long Grief?

My body has been signally me
It is tired it keeps saying.
That is understandable
Due to physical age and
An amount of stress
I find debilitating.
So in these days or
Months or years
That I have left
Will I ever be free of grief?

The answers are in the hands of
My daughters whose names
I run through Google
Peoplefinders, Intellius
For any word or pictures
Of their lives now.
They hate me for a reason
Or reasons they will not
Share with me except to
Say... endless abuse ...
And I do not know this
Abuse, known as endless.

I do not know my transgression.
Like the man convicted
To spend his life in prison
Who claims - and is determined
To be - innocent,
I now spend my days thus.

Broken Pieces of My Heart

I walk along a patched old sidewalk and
Pick up small pieces I find along the way
Pieces of my broken heart, tiny, cracked, old
Worn out beyond the counting of years.
And I wonder how to fix these pieces
They seem beyond repair or hope, they
Lack the energy they once held for loving.
Now, I hold my hand upon that center of my
Chest where the remains of my heart reside.
I try to keep what is left there intact
Though, if I looked my hand would come away
Stained with red called grief, pain, agony.
I do not comprehend any way to mend this
Sad, old, broken heart exeplified by these
Broken pieces along the sidewalk and what is left
Inside my lonely chest. One step at a time
I make, trying to miss the broken black places
Of a sidewalk with too many hard memories
Of its own to deal with in the hard light.
I cannot find a way to heal.
I cannot find a way through the memories.
The very memories I once screamed that
They could not take away from me...
Keep me lying awake, wet-faced in the night.
A mother should not have babies who
Are victims of thieves in the night.
And the babies were of ages where they
Were fully able to be cognizant
Aware of being ripped away from me!

Oh Brother! Thou Art A Bother!

You I have loved and watched over
Since about the time I turned three years of age
Are a worry to me know as we both age.

I worry about your health
While you worry about losing your hair,
And your youth, and your money.

I worry about your ability to keep working
To pay your singular way in the world
As you try to keep it all "juggled and afloat".

I know that I cannot take your troubles from you
And place them on my own full plate,
And you would never allow this to take place.

Why could you not stay a sweet, happy, little boy
And why could I not retain my great energy of old?
Then, I could just shake my head and laugh at you!

You art a bother, yes you certainly are.
But, at the end of these days I am glad for this:
You art my brother, dear and beloved all these years.

The Room at the House of Pies


This morning as I sat across from my spouse breakfasting
In the front room at the House of Pies where oft we eat,
Two tables behind my love caught my eyes and ears.
So I sat there and shamelessly - eavesdropped.

At one booth, sat two diners seated on just one side,
A caring mother and her grown daughter.
First one would caress then the other
Would lovingly touch back.

Daughter chortled on happily about her girl-roomies,
And a boy-roomie who had irritated all of them.
He had summarily been advised of his terrible
Transgressions against the whole gender, and moved out.

Then mother spoke of her next visit to daughter.
And when they left, mother was embraced as they walked.
Cherished, was what came to my mind.
Their feelings were mutually alive and well.

At the other table a young mother and her toddler
Sat across the booth from the young mother's - parents possibly.
These parents, both stiff, seeming to express disdain,
Held themselves awkwardly taut and distant. No love shown here.

The parents possibly grandparents seemed to say,
"We are fragile, uncomfortable, and scared of life."
Their hearts seemed to lack warmth, their tongues chimed a sad mimicry.
They really could not love a young mother and child.

Oh Rosebud we call Chloe

Oh Rosebud sweet for sure
You are prescious in our care.
Your mother is not mean my dear
Her job just never ends you see.
She protects the sweetness
Of your breath
The eyes that make you smile
The legs that make you dance.
Her care never ceases
It just grows older
As do you. You see?
As you bloom, she fades.
And she does it all - for you.
So tho you doth complain m'dear
Your mother you need not fear.
She will keep you safe until
One day you just might
Need to care for her!

Alex Step Outside

When the sky turns cloudy
And folks are irritating
Step outside, dear Alex
And look again at the world.

When you look at me
Who do you see?
Sometimes I step outside, too
And you might just not see - me.

The "me" you see may look gloomy
My face may look - oh, so sad
But, look again, dear
I stepped right outside that self!

It is quite a trick
But easy as can be
You simply shed your skin
And leave it be awhile.

Look at me standing here
As I feel upset at something.
Now, look again, I've left
My gloomy self behind.

And all it took was ....
To SMILE.

Zeus with Emily

One large, one small
One old, one young
These two grand dogs of mine.
One is wiry and gray black silver
The other a rosy shade of tan
And white and silken.
Missing all those who went
Before these grand pets.
Missing my own beloved
Furry loved ones.
Two nephew dogs I have
As well. So sleek their coats.
One grey one black
Both funny and frisky boys.
Now, Zeus who yips
And Emily who growls
As if she doth protest
Tho we know she is
A Sweetie Pie,
Are my comic relief.
They are my gentle
Warm, pettable porters
Of full acceptance.
I can enter a worn out
Depleted old woman
Ready for the manure
Pile I'm certain awaits me,
And one moment with these
Two funny loving pooches
Fills me with such hope
That I will make it
Through one more day.

would I were a camel

Feels as if
I've been to
- - - -
and back again.
I feel I have
more miles
on my heart
than all the cars
I have owned
combined.

Why I went
to all those
sad, dryed up
places, who knows?
Not me, for sure.

When a human
Being gets dumped
And tries to be
reclaimed, as it were,
Only to be rejected
over and over, and over again
it 's like
visiting dry holes,
old spent wells
of former sustenance.

One human being
all alone
could expire
from such a drought
as I sometimes
find myself in.
would I were a camel
or dromedary,
not needing a drink.

Sweet Billy Brother

He annoyed me with his jokes

I avoided him and his ways

And, then one day I listened

To what he actually had to say.

He was, much to my amazement,

A sweet fellow who loved his mother,

Loved his wife, loved his brothers.

He was not quick to anger

But very quick to laugh

To eat, to talk, to share,

He got me through some sad

Moments of despair when his mother

My cute, little mother-in-law, died

And I was guilt-ridden for not

Having saved her from abuse

By her caregivers.

Then it was a matter of saving

Him and my husband from

Those same evildoers,

One of whom abused them

When they were little boys.

He showed how sweet and

Peaceable he was, Billy did.

He forgave so easily, after he was used

So badly, so often, still he forgave,

Now he is gone, too soon

Since he was younger than I

Afterall, though much sicker.

He leaves behind a wife who

Will suffer losing him.

He leaves behind a brother

A sister-in-law and a stepsister

All three evil, all three hurt him

Each in a different way. Then,

As if they had a right, they

Ejected him from the family,

Which cut him like a knife wound.

Today he stopped bleeding

And lay asleep in peace

No longer suffering, just asleep.

He leaves my husband, his brother,

And he leaves me, his newly

Adopted sister behind as well.

We will always remember Billy

A sweet fellow with a good heart.

Weather

When I was a girl of ten or so
A wise lady told me to appreciate
Seasons and the weather each brought.
She was a professional teacher of
Immatures, such as I was then but am not now.
She knew how and taught me,
Those wise notions of hers.
To this day I remember what she taught me
To this day I miss four seasons.
To this day I miss small town life
To this day sameness bores me.

Would I have learned to be a little
More like her, a teacher
To my own immatures.
Grace, I have never forgotten you.

Anita

You were a cute little Betty Boop

And loyal to your children, all of them

Regardless of their worth, and,

Regardless of their loyalty to you.

I always felt that you and I were

Alike as mothers, in one way,

We loved our children always

No matter what - no changing our minds

Even when we cried over what they did

Even though we cried when they no longer

Loved us - their own mothers.

You were so kind to me, so sweet and kind.

I felt as if you were the best mother-in-law

Ever a daughter-in-law could have.

And you were.

Would I have caught on sooner to your plight!

We thought that your second son was watching

And honoring you and we were so wrong.

By the time I realized your danger, it was too late.

Sorry is not enough, I know this now.

Would have, could have, wanted to's

Are not enough to make things right in any

Small way. So I keep on trying, seeking some

Justice for Anita, telling anyone who listens,

About you, dear cute little Betty Boop.

Ugly Heart

I had a heart cath done last month.
I was scared, but it was not a big deal.
I thought someone told me in the surgery
That I had - a nice little heart.
I know my heart is old, sad, chipped, torn up, raggedy.

I eat too much, I exercise too little.
I cry over losing 2 lovely daughters
And I worry that I will lose a 3rd.
I don't feel that I deserved to lose any daughter.
I always tried to be a good mother tho I was too young.

I feel anger toward too many people
The ones who harmed my cute, little
Mother-in-law, she who was good to me and them.
And I am disappointed that the people paid to protect
Did not hear me and bring the abusers to justice.

So many painful wrongs for me to live with, think about,
They do not go away, they feel like mistakes,
Mistakes, mistakes, that I must correct somehow.
But I have not figured out how. How? How? How?
I fear I will die knowing that I failed to make things right.

I cannot let go of my daughters, my mother-in-law,
My mother who died too young, the boy I once gave
My heart to. And he took my heart, and, yet, he did not
Love me back, What is that? What is it called?
If someone takes your love like that is he a thief?

My heart seems to break at some moments,
And it is not my cholesterol, soft plaque and all.
What pains my heart is the sadness, the misery, the
Longing for those I have loved so much.
Anita, you would understand, Mumma, you could not,
Jennifer, you refuse, Amanda, you are silent.

First Day of Whatever This Is

Oh, what am I about to do
I know better than opening up to
Criticism, complaints, abuse.

I am too old to make many mistakes
It takes so long to try to correct
Whatever I have done wrong.

I am about to share my life

my heart

my pain.