poem for my mother
She shone, at times, like a searing light
For those who had the eyes to see
What it was that she had gained
From her long-drawn inner fight.
She had her own sins and flaws
And the courage to make her own Huge mistakes.
Yet she shone like a heat-giving lantern. BRIGHT.
Intense. Christian. Incandescent.
Foresight and insight I learned from her.
The things of the prophet and the seer
In me came from her inner fire.
But her real gift to me was poetry.
If I write badly, it’s because emotions may steal
From what she passed on intuitively
About literature, language, painting, sculpture &
Instinctively, about the dance of words
That goes to make the fine dust of poesy.
But I was schooled well. I will not fail.
In making, this poem speaks beauty.
The most precious gift she passed on to us,
Her four children, was her faith amidst pain,
Suffering and varied grief;
As, alone, a frail bark far out at sea
She battled our wars; slew our enemy sea-dragons
And brought back the plunder and spoil for us.
Our true legacy.
Spiritual, the treasure we four inherit.
The blessing remains. No weapon’s been forged
That against us can now ever prevail.
May your spirit as it Shines, in rest, in heaven
Still aid and oversee, mother of mine
Our small kingdoms. Thanks for it all
And most, for the gift you gave to us
Of entire, unknown Logo-aesthetic Worlds.
