Dear George,
I don’t know how I got started on it, but recently I’ve been working on a poem titled “My Mother”. It’s been a very engrossing task, and it’s brought back many happy memories. Here’s my current version.
Love,
Dave
MY MOTHER
My mother grew up in the flapper age
The Roaring Twenties, the Charleston the rage
Her life path was shaped by that stage
My mother met my father in school
She found him charming and cool
And he felt that she was a jewel
My mother could have been a Hollywood star
Her beauty cream was kept in a porcelain jar
The fairest of the P.T.A. mothers by far
My mother birthed a girl and three boys
The boys made commotion and noise
But she taught the girl style and poise
My mother was enamored of flowers
Cultivating her garden for hours
Her green thumb had wondersome powers
My mother liked riding a horse
Which gave her a sense of brute force
When the stable shut down, much remorse
My mother was an actress on stage
Played a tiger who escaped from its cage
“That’s my mom!” I yelled, three years of age
My mother was an avid jazz fan
For her, Louis Armstrong was the man
Play some Louis, she’d dance the can-can
My mother took me to my first movie
“Meet Me in St. Louis,” so groovy
My most exciting outing as a juvie
My mother taught us all the birds’ names
Bird-watching was one of our games
Wild turkeys and pheasants, our aims
My mother was a razzmatazz cook
She mastered Irma’s joyous cookbook
Broiled whitefish, fresh off the hook
My mother did La Parlor de Beauty
The homies, great gossip, never snooty
Enter frazzled, walk out as a cutie
My mother enjoyed a big party
Hanging out with Jackie and Marty
Costumes, poetry, oil paintings, so arty
My mother would boat on Green Bay
Mike and Jean, the whole gang for the day
Fish Creek and Egg Harbor on the way
My mother planned a Christmas Eve soiree
All our cousins came over to play
Uncle Karl’s fancy gifts made the day
My mother saved our Irish Setter Mike
Who fell through the ice on a hike
She risked her own life for that tyke
My mother and dad loved their Farm
She decorated the cabin with charm
A family escape, safe from harm
My mother adored Lovey, her cat
hite Angora and just a smidge fat
Lovey’d jump on her lap for a chat
My mother expired in Eighty-Six
Of afflictions the docs couldn’t fix
My plan: Meet for lunch near the Styx
