Wednesday, October 28, 2009


A colorful cardboard picture
in a modest wooden frame
of the classic stunning sunset
at a beach without a name
is all that I could salvage
from an unforgiving flame—
the only proper symbol
the inferno didn’t claim.

It shows a tree that’s leaning
toward a distant setting sun
as though in need of comfort
from a world it sought to shun
a lonely, brooding being
that had wearily begun
to humbly reach for heaven
before the day was done.

Our purpose is unfathomed
as is much of what we see
which makes belief an exercise
in forging your own key;
I know she’s out there somewhere
with the angels being free
and hope she’s found the solace
that this image brings to me.

***Well, it's been a year since my Mother's tragic and senseless death. I don't know why it happened and am still not over it, but have been slapped in the face with reality enough to know when it's time to just accept and move on (which is most of the time).

I've thought about everything, especially why I write, and have come to realize part of it was a secret inner dream that I could write something good enough to snap Mom out of her addictive spiral into oblivion, or maybe score big and have enough to send her to Betty Ford or someplace where she could truly heal. She loved books and always had her nose buried in one.

Alas, such just wasn't meant to be, and now it is quite pointless to dream thusly. Where ever you are, I love you Mom, RIP. ***


Shirley said...

Hi Bob,

I feel your pain but I also sense that you are at the point of acceptance. This is so beautiful – and possibly she's more aware of your efforts now than ever before. What a treasure she left behind for you. Not just a picture but the gift of words that you have been blessed with.

Whether or not you use your gift is a very personal choice but not using it won't make it any less real.

Bless you, Shirley

rch said...

Hey Shirley, I'm not sure about anything, especially how often I will be creative, but hopefully it will be more regular than it has been this year. Thanks,


Dimple said...


I can understand the pain. And, I just hope that all your writings and creations are read by her. May lord bless rest her soul in peace.

God bless you too.

Crunchy Weta said...

"I've thought about everything, especially why I write, and have come to realize part of it was a secret inner dream that I could write " stop

And you do.

All things come to pass.

Miao fur now

oldrhymer said...

I didn't start trying to write poetry until I retired and most of my poems are very simple. "Keepsake" ,to me, will become a template of the kind of poem I would like to write. Your mother would surely be proud of you.


rch said...

Hi Glenn, I know life goes on, take care my friend :)

Hello Don, thank you for such a kind comment, I appreciate it more than you know. Take care


Carrie Van Horn said...

Bob this is such a sad and moving poem. I am so sorry that you lost your Mother in such a sudden way. It helps to write about our loss it can be healing. I also lost my mom at a young age suddenly. I feel your loss and pain. Thank you for sharing this lovely poem.
May God bless you.

Marie said...

Hi Bob,

Thanks for your comment on my blog. I was really moved by your poem and I feel your pain.

Keep writing. It's better than keeping all your pain locked away. I know I only lost my dad last week and it'll probably take ages to accept it and move on, but writing about it does help. I'm currently writing a poem for him.

Take care,