As Poetry Month Ends

The written word can tell a story.  That story can be played out in a lengthy novel, a shorter novella, or a more rhythmic poem.  I was recently going through my late mother’s items I came across a poem that I believe she had written.  It was with all of her writings, some I hope to gather and share throughout the year.  She married very young and began her family but had always wanted to be a writer.  It was very exciting to come across all of these papers that she had worked on.  It was also somewhat sad to see her hidden dreams tucked inside of a folder packed away, inside a box.

I didn’t know that she had taken a class shortly after marrying my father.  Reading some of the instructor’s notes on her writings, he seemed to be impressed with a lot of her work.  I am happy to know that at some point she had been given some positive feedback and recognition for a talent that she never was able to see bloom to its beauty and fullness.

So, in honor of poetry month and in honor of my late mother, Janice Margaret Holsinger-Tomaszewski, an untitled poem from the folder of undiscovered treasures…at least they are to me.

I am safe, mama

I am fin

We are deep, mama

at the line

Sounds of war, mama

rifles crack

Cannon’s roar, mama

At my back

I have fear, mama

I’m afraid

Not of bombs, mama

Nor grenade

There’s a voice, mama

I can’t still

And it says, mama

Can you kill?

And it says, mama

Can you kill?

It is cold, mama

It is black

With the dawn, mama

We attack

There’s a hill, mama

We must take

Can you tell, mama

That I shake

I may die, mama

I may die

This may be, mama

My goodbye

It is time, mama

There’s the sun

Will I fight, mama?

Will I run

He is young, mama

He is smart

I was trapped, mama

At the start

Then he lunged, mama

And I spun

Face to face, mama

Gun to gun

Then he fell, mama

I could see

He was me, mama

He was me

Just a boy, mama

Not a man

Can I kill, mama

Yes, I can

Can I kill, mama

Yes, I can

I hope that through the month of April you all were able to take the time to explore and appreciate the story a poem can tell.  I know that there have been times in my life when a poem has been of comfort and strength, wisdom and advice.


Cici ♥

material copyrighted by Colleen Cook all rights reserved

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