Tag Mum

The Man Who… dVerse Poetics – Character Study

freyathewriter 15 Comments

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The man who took me on
as part of the deal
The man who never once
made me feel –

in the way,
unwanted, not cared for

The man who carved lanterns
for Halloween fun
The man who made theatres
and allowed me to run –

matters off-stage,
free reign, made miniature

The man who was there, quiet
in my background
The man who loved me
as if he had found –

my small heart
and held it, so gently

A man who I love
admire and respect
A man who I hope
will only reflect –

that he fashioned a good life
for a daughter, pre-made

From the bottom of my heart
For the man who…

Today over on dVerse, our guest host Walter Wojtanik asks us to write about the character or characters who have influenced our lives – the good, the bad, and maybe the ugly. Whoever and however they may be, he invites us to write about them. Why not pop over and see what Walter has to say, and take part?

I first posted the poem above back in November 2013, and I am unashamedly recycling it, because this particular man, my step-dad, has been a rock for our entire family, never making me, his only step-child, feel anything other than his. He never treated me differently to my brother and sister, has never done anything other than be my parent, and a wonderful one at that. When I wrote this poem, I was 5 months down the line from losing my dad. it was a horrible, horrible time. Little did I know that whilst all that was going on, my step-dad was going through some really tough health problems, which were very hard for my mum as well. She and he have pulled through it – they are a strong and tough act. I admire them both greatly, love them dearly and count myself lucky to have them both in my life.

By the way, the photo above is a small part of my parents’ garden… 🙂

Gloria! – dVerse Poetics

freyathewriter 32 Comments

Something strange is happening in the ether. This week’s dVerse Poetics prompt yet again seems to have a certain connection with the unravelling of my own family history. I must confess, it’s like removing layer after layer of a very large onion!

This week’s prompt is all things Italian. Luckily for me (since I haven’t visited Italy), we don’t need to be obvious in how we interpret this prompt. As a bit of background, my mum used to take me to Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery every time we went into town, and I loved it. I now know that this place holds very strong and extremely fond memories for her, which adds to the joy of my own memories of our visits, which I adored.

I hope you enjoy my small snippet from my childhood – and take a look at all the other offerings on dVerse as well!

– Gloria! –

I spent my childhood here, or so it seems
A small girl, grasping her mother’s hand
Gazing open-mouthed at the glories above
Light reflecting on oil,
Paintings as lustrous as if they were finished only yesterday
And the brushes still resting, waiting to be cleaned.
If only I could reach up and touch
I just knew that my fingertips would pull away slick –
Sticky with vermillion, regal blue and baby-blush rose
A tiny remnant of Madonna and Child

 

 

Mum’s the Word

freyathewriter 9 Comments

Does the big bloke give her a nudge with his huge elbow? The picture is too grainy. I try zooming in again, squinting at the frozen image, but it makes no difference. I fast-forward through the bit where the other patients rush to her aid, whilst the bloke just sits, not moving a muscle. I see the light change to the left of all the action, then another man appears, but his back is turned. Dammit, I just can’t tell.

I pick up the second DVD and poke it into the machine.  This one is too sharp, too close up – I can see the hairs on her old-lady chin, the weave of her tweed suit. I sit back, frustrated, twisting my head one way, and then the other – I’m stiff from hunching over this damned computer for too long. Come on, come on! I need to call in soon…

The last DVD is much better, the angle is just right. This time, I can see the other patients in the waiting room unbutton the woman’s coat, loosen her scarf and lift up her feet, propping them up on a pile of old magazines. She comes round slowly, and they help her to a corner seat and give her some water. They huddle around her, patting her hand, fanning her with a magazine. The big bloke remains statue-still, glued to his seat.

The consulting room door opens a crack – I pause the recording, scan the rest of scene, holding my breath. No, everything is OK – all eyes are on her. I hit the ‘Play’ button again and watch as the doctor approaches the bloke in the chair. They each nod, reach out as if to shake hands. I hit ‘Pause’, zoom in, then hit ‘Play’ again. The big bloke does one of those double-handed shakes, the kind that says ‘I’m the boss’. Yep – the deal is being done. Money passes one way, a tightly wrapped package passes the other.

I hit ‘Redial’ on my phone. He answers right away.

‘Hey, Rico – it’s Marcus. Yep, just watched it. No problem, my man, no problem. All good.”

I hang up, pop open a bottle, take a deep swig. The DVD runs its course. The little old lady, now left to her own devices stares straight up at the camera. I zoom in. She winks, and smiles.

Nice one, Mum.