- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The chicken with the golden comb
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Click hereMy mother ninety years of age
Sits two feet away
Beyond my reach
Her eyes still shining deep
But from them jumping
No more golden threads of dreams.
Her stories crushed and crumbled
Won’t be woken to my prying words
If I could just remember now
The magic words she hid
At bed time in my room
The chicken with the golden comb
Was flying seven nights and days above my bed
Teasing: “You’ll never guess the end
You’ll never guess the end “
I sit with my mother
Trying to remember
How to tell a happy end.
- COMMENTS
Stirring piece! Two feet may as well be two miles or two hundred miles...she is out of reach, beyond the eyes somewhere. Lost to age and/or illness, 'mother' is far away from the boy she read magic to and held golden dreams aloft for, during those precious childhood years. 'Her stories crushed and crumbled' wrenches at the heart. A piece that makes me shed more than a single tear. Thank you for the experience!
Two feet away, but unreachable. A week of story-telling. Eyes shining, but no more golden thread. Very, very impressive literature here. Well done.
You tell a story which would make her proud, I suspect. This is tender and touching, thanks for sharing.
Getting blind-sided by such a pleasantly told tale of such sad and tragic sounding circumstances; gives it greater impact.