A few notes of explanation .
Blogging is new to me, and it is taking a while to get it right. e.g.my daughter’s comment last week, which was read as if that poem, Gratitude, was written by my mother and not by me!
Inviting you to follow took a lot of courage.
I am posting a variety of things I have written over the years, taken from my memoirs, travel journals, attempts at fiction, poetry, written usually in response to musings about life and faith, and collections that I have assembled to hand on. But it occurred to me recently that, like artists and photographers, writers need an audience, so you are mine.
Here is today’s item, a poem I wrote about my two beautiful sons a good while ago.
SONS. by Meg
What is this thing
Between a woman
And her sons?
“When I grow up
I want to marry you,”
They say.
How easy when they’re small
Fat little arms
Cuddles in bed.
The biggest problem
Gone,
As soon as Mummy comes.
Those little hands that creep into her own
As danger
Or a teacher, or a wave draws near.
The meeting of the eyes
Across a crowded room
To reassure
And comfort
When stage-struck, he nearly dies.
Emerging
Big boys now
A shift in focus.
“Where’s my shirt?”
“I need a lift.”
“Can Geoff come over?”
“Do I have to?”
“Why?”
The testing of the waters.
Old bull, young bull.
The father
Teaching how to love their mother
By example.
Much too hard.
The mother
Yearning now
Accepting change as change
Relinquishing.
The thread of love
Stronger than silk
Her certainty and hope.
It’s later now.
She watches footy games
Half-men.
They checked to see she saw that goal
But shy
Their friends’ approval
Makes them gruff.
Be there,
But be invisible
Is what they ask.
A girl arrives
And sees him as her own.
Embrace her too
And bring her with him
Into the circle
Of their home.
The fear comes next
Streets full of threat,
The pull of peers,
Their values not her own.
These sons must make their mark,
Must test and try
And challenge all they know.
She waits and prays
And listens for their sound
Assured by faith
They’ll make it through
To pathways of their own.
And now they’re men
With children of their own.
What memories are theirs?
They watch her standing by
And see her as their child.
The circle surely turned.
Her gaze speaks now
Of gratitude and joy,
Of love that has been proved
And now becomes again
That early wondrous thing,
A woman and a man.
The mother sees
Her sons.
what a lovely tribute to your sons, meg. and you are doing just fine –
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So good of you to leave a comment. Thanks.
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This post left me a little breathless with how much I can relate to it now that I have decided to let go of my son, your grandson, Ming. The wisdom here is timeless, Mama, and this is beautiful.
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Reblogged this on jmgoyder.
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Dear Meg- what universal beauty there is in your words. I love this poem and will print and keep and show to my own son!
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Thank you so much. How special.
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Hi Meg
You’re doing well with your blog. Keep the writings coming.
I’ll be off on my celebratory 75th birthday on Wednesday but I’ll have access to the internet, even on the Queen Mary. Have I sent you my holiday spreadsheet? Here it is ?again! Please pray with me for safety of self, luggage and a seamless trip with planes and trains! Thank you. Gek
Sent from my iPad
>
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You say so much in so few words, Meg.
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What a wonderful post so moving and powerful
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I got confisued when Julie reposted your blog, then I got yours in my email. I think you have captured the push-pull in a relationship between Mother and son, and am enjoying your posts. also I am happy that you decided to share your work. It is good work, Meg.
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This touched my heart Meg. Thanks.
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