“Mail Call”

Although under the weather for almost three weeks, I tried my hand at writing lyrics. Surprisingly, the words flowed. I believe “Mail Call” is the essence of my novel, Dearest Mother and Dad.

*

“Mail Call”

*

Giddy anticipation from family so far away,

Mama’s note reverting man to boy of yesterday,

Perfumed letters like the sweet taste of my gals’ necks,

Help us forget we’re heading for a god awful wreck.

*

Our letters home have tough drawbacks.

But ya gotta write something for a tall stack.

To tell the truth or make up lies, which one do we voice?

More stress upon us at the complicated choice.

*

Protecting my mother unknowing of what I see,

Gives me courage to be what I need for adversity.

Hiding my anxiety is what helps my ability.

Why should more worry besides me?

*

Our letters home have tough drawbacks.

But ya gotta write something for a tall stack.

To tell the truth or make up lies, which one do we voice?

More stress upon us at the complicated choice.

*

The mundane lies believed more humane.

But we’re not at a resort with caviar and champagne.

My sister demands to know my bitterness

Therapy is confessing my sins for forgiveness.

*

Some say they’re afraid of how we’ll return.

Violent or depressed and ending in an urn.

Others will pretend the war never happened,

Pick up where we left off as though abandoned.

We’re far from home it doesn’t matter now.

We just want to survive this hell somehow.

*

Our letters home have tough drawbacks.

But ya gotta write something for a tall stack.

To tell the truth or make up lies, which one do we voice?

More stress upon us at the complicated choice.

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Photographs by Margaret Dugan #poetry #poem

My fifteen-year-old niece wrote this poem and agreed to let me share it with you. I’m proud of her creativity.

Photographs by Margaret Dugan

We hang up happy pictures.

Those are the only ones you see.

All the sad and ugly ones are hidden from you and me.

If you want to find them, dig up the past.

Here’s a list of things to do to help you find them fast.

Lift up the carpet, making sure there is nothing in you view.

Move the floor boards one by one, making sure each nail is removed.

Now you have to dig, deep beneath the earth.

Making tons of piles made from dirt.

All your hard work is coming to an end.

You hold in your hands, a box so dear.

You open it to find nothing in its keep.

Then you realize those photos have been burned years ago because…

We only hang the good ones.

The Butterfly

The Butterfly emerges

from its silken shell-

Reborn, it arises,

no longer bound to earth.

Free at last, the butterfly glides

to heights unknown before.

So do our loved ones find

a beautiful release

as, earthbound no more,

they leave our sight and joyfully rise

to a garden of matchless beauty,

a place of light and peace.

by Evelyn Phillips

 

I miss you, Kimberly Ann.

His Poem isn’t Perfect; His Sentiment is.

Sorting through a stack of papers on my desk, I came across a poem I had intended to read at my father’s funeral back in March.  I didn’t. No regrets though because my niece Maggie had shared an essay she wrote about her grandpa that fit perfectly with the eulogy.

I sat at my desk and read the poem again.  I cried. I didn’t really know the man. I mean I knew the facts. He served as a Marine during the Korean War. He worked for the State of Michigan. He wasn’t a fan of fishing but loved football. What I didn’t know was how he felt about his life, his children, his parents, his past, his career… Sharing wasn’t his strong suit unless he was angry then we all knew it.

Reading that poem brought to mind his deep love for his wife. My dad was a romantic at heart. The poem proved it.

It came about a few years ago. He wanted to write a poem recounting their fifty years together, and he wanted me to help him. “You’re the writer after all,” he said.

I hesitated. I’ve never written poetry. How do we even start? Well, the usual couple fighting came to mind but that’s not the part he wanted her to remember. I kept putting off this assignment, but Dad’s health worsened along with his memory.

Finally, when he was in a reminiscing mood, I asked him if it was love at first sight for him and Mom.

His sarcastic reply, “Well, yeah, I met Linda in September, proposed to her in October, then married her in November of the same year.” Okay then. I agreed there was an instant chemistry.

In the nick of time, we came up with this poem for their anniversary. It’s not perfect, but his sentiment is.

 

Dad’s 50th Anniversary Poem

 

Many years have gone by since the day we met.

I may not remember them all.

Important are the ones that define our life,

Not the ones too ordinary to recall.

 

I may not remember the glasses on my head

Or the passwords to all our accounts

But I remember meeting you for the very first time

And thinking I’ve finally lucked out.

 

Our children have rolled their eyes many times

of the story of my proposal to you.

However, my life became complete when you answered so sweet

And replied to my vow with “I do”.

 

I may not remember to eat properly or to locate the remote right next to my knee

Yet I remember our first night as man and wife

The popcorn we shared a tasty delight

As the full moon through the cabin window shined bright.

 

The books I’ve misplaced and the pills I must take

You’ve helped me to sort them all out.

Not a moment I regret, our life course had been set

You’re my beam of light with no doubt.

 

Many years have gone by since the day we met.

I may not remember them all.

Important are the ones that define our life,

Not the ones too ordinary to recall.

~ Hershall Bennett