For Mum

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It’s been 26 years since I saw you last
The time has slipped away so fast
Since I held your hand, kissed your head
Nursed you while you lay in bed.

Those are the days I try to forget
Instead focus on the time we had left
The memories we’d created in time
In the 16 short years that you were mine.

The beautiful lady who was my Mum
Who taught me what was right from wrong
Giving me all the tools I’d need
To live my life the best it could be.

Part of you continues to grow
In my gorgeous boys that you will never know
Who you will never get to touch or hold
Instead they hear my stories told –

“Your beautiful Grandma she loved to shine
She made me laugh so hard at times
That cheeky grin, those twinkling eyes
She was the light in darkest times”.

I never thought I would make this day
The age you were when you were taken away
But I don’t fear death, as when my time comes 
We’ll be together again, me and my Mum.

Copyright © 2015 Tracey Huaut

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
I am originally from NZ, born in 1973 and grew up there until I left in 2004 to do my “Big O.E.” in the UK.  I lived there for 10 years before settling in Australia on the Gold Coast.  As you will read from my poem, I lost my mum (to cancer) when I was only 16.  I have battled with depression throughout life for obvious reasons, and also after I had both my babies.  I find I only write poetry at times when I am sad or feeling down, as it lets me express myself better and get those thoughts out of my head and onto paper.  Every year I write a poem for mum on the anniversary of her death and above is this year’s poem.  This will be the first time I have applied to have my poetry published. I have written hundreds of poems over the years…

Life Dancing in a Rear View Mirror

I’m a double-edged samurai sword in a pregnant tsunami,
a conundrum, an atheist, a monotheist.

I apply a three blade razor to a two-year stubble,
the mirror coated in more blood than an erupting aorta,

Touching the pain of passing, I eat daisy chains
constructed from barbed wire fencing and knitting needles,

when a reality check finds me eating dried apricots
to cure the cancer I caught from just being alive.

I bite back fear, obliterate mind numbing memories,
and place carefully on a rough round dining table, souls

that have been hung out to dry on a windless day,
the irony, cooling on a line where clothes haven’t been for months.

I suck Lollipops with bad teeth, bad vibes and a very bad breath.
The dustman empties my outtake weekly, the rest I keep,

and so the Sword of Damocles cuts deep,
my face bleeding with the pain of despondency.

The dark annals of my writing echo my living thoughts,
and those reading my dying thoughts will cringe.

They didn’t help me – families, the depth of my ache,
several children who don’t ring, siblings who squabble.

I pass my memory to the volumes of poetry I have written,
my knuckles bare from years of chagrined living.

Succinctly, I approach the sunset of life, the sword gone,
just painted visions of a life lost in a missing rear view mirror.

Copyright © 2010 Thane W. Zander

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Thane Zander has lived all over New Zealand, either as an itinerant child (Father moving to jobs from deepest south to farthest north) or as a 27 year veteran in the Royal New Zealand Navy. He was struck down with Bipolar Disorder in 2000 and has since moved “back” to Palmerston North and environs. The onset of Bipolar Disorder also heralded his entry into the poetry world, and from 2000 to 2005 he had written around 250 poems. This accelerated from 2006 to well over 1000 poems, and counting.