Our Mother, Cloaked in Silence
Although she was our portal to the world,
with little pageantry we laid her down.
No trumpets blared, the flags full mast unfurled,
for it was small, the realm of her renown.
And yet the limbs were bare, the whole world brown
as though the trees she planted all were lief
to shed their full green finery in their grief.
The prompt today was cloaked. Also for the dVerse poets prompt, Rhyme Royal.The rhyme royal stanza consists of seven lines, (usually) in iambic pentameter. The rhyme scheme is a-b-a-b, b-c-c. It was the standard narrative meter in the late Middle Ages.
Very nice sound and meter. A good example of rhyme royal and a beautiful memorial to your mother.
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Actually, we later had a memorial for her in our home town that was very well attended at our town reunion. She died in a city where she had gone to be near my sister and she knew very few people in that place. I had just had surgery and couldn’t travel so it made no sense to have a funeral then. The poem simplifies the situation. Every house my parents ever lived in was bare when they moved in and surrounded by trees when they moved. They loved trees and left them behind them like fruitless Johnny Appleseeds.
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That is a wonderful sign of respect and love for their homes and communities to plant trees where they could. The last two lines of your poem stand out even know knowing that.
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Good.. I was hoping they would.
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Wonderful words!
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you know by now, that I am huge fan of your blog-especially the poetry. The content of this one was very touching. When my grandmother died a few years back at the age of 93, I couldnt comprehend that the world did not know what a treasure had been lost-everything went on as if nothing had happened significant-Such a simple service . . .for such a noble gift to the planet!! Enough!-thank you
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Oh.. so sweet, Rabbitpatch. Thanks so much for letting me know you enjoy my blog and that this poem struck a chord.
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“For it was small, the realm of her renown,” really got me. A nice flow to this poem!
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Thanks, No Saint.
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The end coming at this time of year make me thinking of death more as a fading than the rage of night Dylan Thomas thought of. A wonderful tribute.
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This really captures the feeling of grief. (K)
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This is such a beautiful poem for your mother. I feel your love for her in your words.
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Thanks, Lillian.
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Wonderful.
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I am in heartbroken by this poem, tears in my eyes. On first reading, I thought of mother earth sometime in the future after she had had enough. After the third reading and reading the comments, I realized the back story, which is beautiful. “Although she was our portal to the world,
with little pageantry we laid her down.” Of course, your mother. Like you, wrote, there was no fanfare for my mother either, just me with a broken heart and a life of memories and a few friends. But moving as we all did, that is expected. No one knows. Her entire life is hidden except from God, who knows her intimately from the beginning until now. Thanks for sharing both of these for WQWWC.
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