No matter the mood, there always seems to be a poem that envelopes my moment and enhances my dreams and thoughts. Escaping into the world of words is magical in itself. Poetry decorates the days and lights the evenings. Every poem has a story to tell and a memory to resurrect just for that special moment when magical moments are needed.
This poem is a bit magical to me and revives life as it was years ago as I was growing up. It brings back “family” as the center of life, and life growing brighter and stronger. Hope it does the same for you.
I had a wonderful phone conversation,
with my cousin.
We laughed like we were kids again,
and we talked about the days back then.
We remembered all the fun things in life,
the aunts, uncles and others we liked.
We lived in the best of times,
and cried through the saddest times.
Respected our parents,
and their decisions,
although we often disagreed,
with some of their reasoning.
Believed in love forever,
and family dinners were to be remembered;
but our love for our country, jazz, and God,
would never waiver, our family life was always favored.
Today is different,
respect is gone,
but we hang tight to our past,
in the hopes of it coming back.
We remember our youth,
and remind each other,
of those days gone by,
in the hopes of another try.
Times were simpler,
less stressful, less fearful,
but it was important to remember
dinner was at seven.
We had our chores and responsibilities,
and we did them all without too much gawp.
If we didn’t, we’d hear about it at dinner,
and the results were inevitable without a squawk.
The bantering between siblings,
was intense at times,
but no one else,
was allowed to criticize.
It is terribly sad in today’s busy world,
that no one sits down to dinner with the folks.
Everyone’s personal world is too busy to communicate,
that lost art so often left to disintegrate.
How can they hold on tight to each other,
if all they offer is a glimpse of one another.
We contact our grown children as often as we can,
without invading their personal plans.
If we don’t contact them weekly,
they start questioning our mentality,
and start thinking we're out of touch,
We try to be aloof,
when it comes to our activities,
as grown children,
can’t believe our agility.
As years pass by we can only hope
we've left our mark to help others,
in remembering the importance
of family first.
[A poem taken from a conversation my cousin, Raymond Torres, and I had, written as a poem October 17, 2013]
©2014 by Lee Christine Brownlee. All rights reserved.
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