Thread: Mother, Strong in Faith

Storm, stomp your squeaky foot,
then the other;
the twins which rattle the floor
and headache the mother.

Nike sneakers she bought you,
when you smiled like the starved
before a spread of fancy foodstuff,
then threw in a sniffle and sigh
to seal the deal.

She’d buy you anything, you know.
A colossal purple marble,
a stripy hen, pecking a song,
A chocolate castle with a mote.

But mamma
can only buy you sneakers today.
She saves her dirty pennies
for the big day
when it will feel like
Christmas and Chinese New Year’s
in a matter of minutes.

Hearing him thrashing in the night,
fumbling and mumbling in his room,
causes her to dream of giant babies
smothering her with dragon breaths
in some peopleness lagoon.

Mamma’s dirty pennies turn into dollars,
a meanly green,
but the kindest dollars she’s ever seen.

It’s time he walks tall. It's now.
The hooker walks through the door
and up the staircase, the stepping stones
to bring big baby to manhood.

Mamma sits in the kitchen downstairs
drinking oolong tea
from blue toile china cup,
something fragile and pure like she.

She turns up the radio,
her knobby hands twisting
to station after station,
hearing the static in between.

On Christmas morn,
he gets a kaleidoscope,
a new blue suit,
a Medal of Honor to wrap around his neck.

He storms, stomps his squeaky foot,
then the other;
the twins which rattle the floor
that headache the mother.

He wants it, now!
That largest toy,
that lady, who made it feel like
Christmas and Chinese New Year’s
in a matter of minutes.

No small thunder in his eyes
fists, white knuckled cement,
body quaking like the earth.
“Now!”

Beneath the Christmas tree,
Medal of Honor dug into her neck,
holiday red spilling to Bing Crosby.

He walks into the kitchen,
washes his hands
and goes out to play in the snow.
　


　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

[QUOTE=SilverMoon;1369942]

He storms, stomps his squeaky foot,
then the other;
the twins which rattle the floor
that headache the mother.

He wants it, now!
That largest toy,
that lady, who made it feel like
Christmas and Chinese New Year
in a matter of minutes.

No small thunder in his eyes (is a comma needed here?)
fists, white knuckled cement,
body quaking like the earth.
Now!

Beneath the Christmas tree,
Medal of Honor dug into her neck,
holiday red spilling to Bing Crosby.

He walks into the kitchen,
washes his hands
and goes out to play in the snow.
[QUOTE]

　
OMG!! On Christmas Day this maniac, fool or whatever, strangles his mother?! And then goes out to play in the snow? This one sends chills down my spine, Laurie. I'll have to read it again.
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

He's kind of like Boo Bradley, from "To Kill a Mockingbird" but without the heart. He claims her life with the Medal of Honor which is significant in that she was the one to be truly honored and metaphorically she got it. But at what cost? Cindy if this gave you chills, I succeeded somewhere! Thanks for the read. Laurie

My take on this is that the son isn't right in the head and mama has spoiled him and pandered to his moods. Only to wind up falling victim to his unbalanced nature. Certainly very shocking, but I don't think you portrayed the violence in a too graphic manner. My favorite stanza was this.

Nike sneakers she brought you,
when you smiled like the starved
before a spread of fancy foodstuff,
then threw in a sniffle and sigh
to close the deal.

Thank you, Cindy. This was an experimental piece. We hear the maxim "Write what you know". While there's truth in this, I also believe a creative writer must also stretch what they hear, read about. Yes. There is murder in families. Yes. There are mentally challenged men with pent up anger (women too) who can turn into blind rage. I just put myself in that place and let the images come. The mother certainly did dote on the son, he spoiled and spoiled to spoil her. In the end the Medal of Honor served as a metaphor for the poem as I explained to Cindy. Then, I thought I'd throw Bing in the background to make it all even more haunting. Certainly, the Christmas from hell. Thanks again, Laurie

I love this piece, Laurie, it's right up my alley big time. You did double dirty duty with finesse. Once one realizes Mama's procuring a whore, you think okay there's the bad, but to top that with a Christmas Day murder had me shrieking with glee. This is the darkest dark at it's very best, I envy you this one, love. Wonderful use of alliteration and subtle rhyme.

Things I loved: "squeaky foot", nothing more annoying to me than sneakers squeaks. "Smothering her with dragon breaths", fantastic image. "Meanly green", just gotta love that. "the stepping stones to bring big baby to manhood", sheer genius to describe her ascent of the staircase. The comparison of Mom and the cup works very well, as does her stint with radio fishing while whatever is going on upstairs. "Largest toy" is splendid, and "spilling holiday red to Bing Crosby" is sensational, original way to show a very gruesome image.

Now a question, why Chinese New Year and not just New Year's? I'm suspecting it's because Chinese New Year's brings about an even bigger celebration. Normally, I would have complained about headache being used as a verb, but in this instance I think it works. Two typos, mote should be moat and peopleness should be peopleless. One suggestion, instead of close the deal please consider seal the deal, it lends to the alliteration.

Can't say enough about this piece, it's practically perfect in my eyes and most certainly my favorite of yours. Welcome to my world, love.

Lisa, reviews are an art in themselves. Yours, poetry to my ears, nits and all. Always, always, I'm saying I write about The Nature of the Human Condition. Here, I explored uncharted territory. How the idea or images came to mind I really can't tell you? I tapped into "something" and am so pleased it pleased you and your taste for the morbid! However, I did not write this just to shock people but bring them into a world beyond their knowing, hoping that they really reach in and consider the relationship to mother and son. How she thought her sacrifices would benifit him. She gave him a taste of manhood which he knew was under her control that Christmas morning. Thus, the rage at not getting the largest gift of all. That toy woman. I projected the image of Chinese New Year's simply because I thought New Year's would be too trite. I wanted to add some flavor to the eye. And you are right on spot "seal" the deal- a perfect alliteration. You always get into the nooks and crannies. Such an an artist's eye. Thank you so for your generous review. Laurie

I feel I should have elaborated further. It's not the shock value that pleased me, that was more of an added bonus, it was the story beneath that makes this a very successful endeavor. Mom's undying love in the face of imperfection knows no bounds, so much so, she's willing to provide that which he can't procure on his own. That the gift of the Medal should result in her passing is ironic and so tragic, yet I find it difficult to hate the young man as he is challenged and most likely doesn't realize what his actions will incur. Another tragedy, indeed. It's all the stuff going on beneath the surface and so brilliantly intertwined that makes this piece a true winner. Gore is great, but it's the story that steals the show. They should be around to arrest you for felony theft any moment now.

Lisa, by no means did I think you thought this piece was for shock value only. But I suspect that some people not familiar with the generosity of space free verse affords might think it a piece of less value. I didn't mean to place you in the masses who stick strictly to classical structure. I know your work! Not so disimiliar than my own. Getting the "real" out there!

Sympatico!

Oh goodness, love, I know you weren't implying that, but I came across as a bit of a gore whore in my own eyes. Many don't dig to find the gold hidden beneath, I gave a little nudge, and saved a little face in the process. If I would have done it properly the first time, we wouldn't be playing tag, what a naughty and irresponsible crit giver I am.

I love it! Gore whore. I am going to steal that from you! You are naughty! But by far not an irresponsible crit giver!

Just real and cool.