I wrote this poem in lament about the snowless winter of
2011 through 2012. I was inspired when thinking about the memories of when it
would start snowing for the first time. The rest of the kids and I would get such
joy out of running around in the wet snow, freezing our fingers off until it
got to dark to properly see. You would call us inside, welcoming us with fresh
socks and a cup of cocoa. Granted, we didn’t have a fireplace, but that just
seemed to fit into the poem… so you can pretend we did.
It’s vivid memories like these that I’ll always hold
dear, and I hope you will too. I know your children argue and squabble like territorial
squirrels sometimes, but we have rare moments of peace and harmony, too. I know
we’re all going to grow up and have families of our own, but we’ll all remember
our childhood that included things like this.
Every time I read this poem, I can’t help but smile. It’s
simple, relying on the images created to paint a picture of the memory. I’m
dedicating this to you because I want you to recall these special moments, too.
I hope you enjoyed it.
She digs her fingers through soil, underneath her nails dirt
shifts
Breathing in the scent of the earth, moist air washes over
her soul like the ocean tide
She lifts her head to take in the scene, and the whispery
air tosses her tresses
She glances around at the life springing up, the green
shoots peeking through brown musty earth
They reach for the sun, like a sleepy child stretching her
arms when she wakes
The life that’s been sleeping blinks its eyes
The observer stands and steps along gingerly, gently
She takes care not to disturb the wakeful blooms that slowly
turn their head towards the sun
They’re readying themselves to face the day
Dear Mama,
For some reason, I really love writing poems about spring
and the new life that comes with it. I always feel like the world around me is
waking up after a long slumber, and I find that really inspiring. In this poem,
that’s what I focus on. Something you often tell me is “Tomorrow is a new day,
and things will look better.” I think there’s something very hopeful about the
prospect of waking up to a new day and better tomorrow.
The reason I chose to dedicate this poem to you is because I
think it’s one of my best pieces. With this poem, I really worked hard to put
to use everything I was learning throughout my Creative Writing course to make
it great. I paid special attention to the metaphors and personification, trying
carefully to make it unique. I tried my best to employ as much imagery as I
could to make it sound beautiful, but not use so much that it was overkill. Out
of all the poetry I've written throughout the semester, I think this is the piece
that I’m proudest of.
It seems like a fantastic one to dedicate to you, the woman
who pours everything into her family and considers us her highest achievement.
Thank you for always being proud of me.
When I decided to dedicate this project to you, I knew I
wanted to include a poem about the sea. I know how you love the ocean, even
though we rarely get to visit it. After witnessing the joy our trip to the
eastern shore last summer brought you, I now know that if there’s anywhere in
the world you could be, it would be somewhere by the sea.
John Masefield had a similar longing. When he was very
young, his mother died in childbirth and his father followed soon after. He
went to live with his aunt, and ended up going to boarding school. Overall, he
had a pretty unhappy childhood. Eventually he left boarding school and went off
to train for a life as a sailor. Here, he seemed to finally find his happiness.
He grew to love to hear stories and songs about the ocean which fostered his
love of reading and writing. He abandoned being a sailor to become a writer,
but many of his poems speak fondly about the sea.
“Sea Fever” is probably Masefield’s most popular poem on the
subject, but “Roadways” appealed to me more and reminded me more of you. There
isn’t a consistent rhyme scheme throughout, but I think its layout is more
appealing overall. The speaker talks about how the sea is constantly calling to
him, and luring him back. It reminded me of you, because you grew up on the
shore. I know that whenever you’re there, you feel a sense of coming home
again.
Painting by John Stobart
The imagery used throughout reminds you of actually being at
the ocean, which I thought you would enjoy. The speaker says he is called to
the “green tossing sea” and “a road without earth’s road-dust”. He talks about
returning to where the “white dipping sails” and “bronzed sailors” are, remembering
his days aboard ship. He envisions the “mad salt sea-wind” blowing over him
again.
The speaker acknowledges different roads, noting that “One
road leads to London, one road leads to Wales”, but believes his road is ever
seaward. That reminded me of you, because of all the places you’ve been. Out of
all of them, the ocean has the highest regard in your mind.
I know your real home is wherever your family is, but I
believe we all have that special place that we feel ourselves in. For you, I
think that’s the good old seashore. I hope you really enjoy this poem, and it
brings lovely memories back to you.
Roadways by John Masefield
One road leads to London,
One road leads to Wales,
My road leads me seawards
To the white dipping sails.
One road leads to the river,
And it goes singing slow;
My road leads to shipping,
Where the bronzed sailors go.
Leads me, lures me, calls me
To salt green tossing sea;
A road without earth’s road-dust
Is the right road for me.
A wet road heaving, shining,
And wild with seagull’s cries,
A mad salt sea-wind blowing
The salt spray in my eyes.
My road calls me, lures me
West, east, south, and north;
Most roads lead men homewards,
My road leads me forth.
To add more miles to the tally
Of grey miles left behind,
In quest of that one beauty
God put me here to find.
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead tonight,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows
sweep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood’s years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to
weep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!
In “Rock Me to Sleep” by Elizabeth Akers Allen, the speaker
expresses her desire to go back in time and be in her mother’s loving arms
again. My dear Mama, I chose to include this poem for you because of how
perfectly it exemplifies the love you show me. As soon as I read the lines
“None like a mother can charm away pain” “From the sick soul and the
world-weary brain”, I knew I had to include it. You are truly the only person
who can comfort me when I feel at my worst, and those words explain exactly how
I feel. As the speakers mother, your love is “faithful, unselfish, and
patient”; it builds me up and catches me when I fall. I want you to know that I
cherish your love, more than I think you know.
The speaker calls upon time as if it was a person, asking it
to turn backwards in its flight and return to her childhood. She longs for her
mother to kiss away the “furrows of care” on her brow and smooth a few “silver
threads” of hair, which suggest to us that she’s been alive long enough to
experience considerable pain. Looking at Allen’s biography, she definitely went
through some tough situations. She went through a divorce, remarried, and then
lost her husband. This poem was published around the time that the Civil War
started, so she was probably witnessing the strife that came along with it. She
says she has grown tired of all the trials of life and wishes to return to a
simpler time.
Remembering how her mother would rock her to sleep, the
speaker paints us a picture of her childhood. She recalls her mother’s “brown
hair, just lighted with gold” falling about her shoulders and dropping over her
forehead, shading her eyes from the light. I remember being little enough for
you to rock me to sleep, holding me close and singing to me. The lullaby I
remember most vividly is “The Riddle Song”, which I still remember all the
words to. “I gave my love a cherry that had no stone…”
The lines “Mother, come back from the echoless shore” and
“Long I tonight for your presence again” tells us that the speakers mother has
passed away. She makes it clear how much she misses her mother, wishing for her
with “strong yearning and passionate pain”. At the end of every stanza, “Rock
me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!” is repeated. This reiterates her
desire to be in her mother’s arms again.
Who knows what the purpose of this poem was? An outlet of
her pain, of course, but maybe Allen wanted readers to realize we shouldn’t take
our mothers love for granted. One day, she won’t be there anymore, and all we'll have is memories.
As I read this poem, I was brought to tears a few times,
imagining the pain of one day being without you. I know that I will long for
you often. I just wanted you to know now how much you mean to me. You will
always have a very special place in my heart, no matter where we go or how old
I grow. I love you so very much.
I hope you know I hold you responsible for my love of
reading! You were the one who encouraged me to read, took me to the library all
the time, and suggested titles to me. It’s through your old copies of Little
House on the Prairie, Charlotte’s Web, and Anne of Green Gables that I became
someone who enjoyed reading. Thank you for fostering my creativity and influencing
my life!
This is a little poem I wrote about taking a break, sitting
down with a good book and a cup of tea, and losing yourself for a while. I
titled it “Afternoon Adventures” because reading a great book can feel like an
adventure. It’s one of my favorite past times, getting to escape from reality
for a while and immerse myself in a world that’s so far removed from my own. I
know this is something you love to do as well, which is why I’m dedicating it
to you. As you often say, “Reality is overrated! Give me fiction any day.” I
hope that you enjoy it and it makes you smile, and I hope it brings to mind
your own favorite stories that you love to escape to.
In 1893, Christina Rossetti’s published a book of nursery rhymes called
Sing-Song, which included the short poem Who Has Seen the Wind. Its rhyme
scheme and repetition makes for easy memorization and therefore a good
candidate for a children’s poem. I read it and see something deeper than just a
nursery rhyme about the weather, and that’s what I want to show you.
The speaker asks the question “Who has seen the wind?”. Of
course, nobody can see the wind, but the speaker describes how we can see
evidence of it. She describes seeing the presence of the wind, noting that when
the wind is blowing, “the leaves hang trembling” and “the trees bow down their
heads”.
The beauty of poetry is that readers draw on their own
experiences and uncover layers that other people may not see. Most people will
get some sort of underlying message from this poem, but what I want you to see
is the spiritual message. Christina Rossetti was a devout Evangelical, and
often infused spirituality into her poetry. I believe that she used this idea
of the wind as a metaphor for God. We can’t see God, but we can feel his
presence and see the impact he has in our lives and the lives of those around
us. He is our grand artist, and we can look at the beauty in our world and see
his handiwork.
Sometimes, we cry out to God again and again until it doesn’t
seem like he’s listening. It doesn’t seem like he answers our prayers or really
cares. In those moments, look around you. As you’ve always told me, just
because he doesn’t answer the way we want doesn't mean he isn’t listening.
Maybe he’s telling us to wait on him. I included this poem because it’s one of
my favorites and I thought you would like it too. It’s always good to be
reminded that seeing doesn't mean believing, believing is seeing. Keep this
poem in mind when it feels like you’re alone.
I chose to include this Emily Dickinson poem because it
really spoke to me, and I hope it will speak to you too. In this life, it’s so
easy to feel hopeless. But if we don’t have hope and faith, what do we have? We
need to be reminded that there is always hope. I decided to explain the
metaphors and symbolism of this poem for you, hoping that it would be inspiring
to you.
The speaker describes hope as being like a bird that
“perches in the soul” as if it is always with you, which immediately provides
an image of hope being attached within oneself. The bird “sings the
tune—without the words, and never stops at all” suggesting that hope doesn’t
dwell in words, but it’s more of an expectation or a feeling, and it never
ceases. The birds song is described as being heard “sweetest in the gale”,
meaning that when times are toughest, that’s when hope is at its sweetest; it’s
most appreciated. The speaker goes on to define hope as being persistent by
saying “sore must be the storm” that deters the bird.
The words chosen are impactful, like in the lines “Yet,
never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me.” Extremity is considered the
limit of a situation, and crumb is being referred to as a small payment, which
stresses the reality of how little the bird asks of the speaker, even when it
is working it’s hardest. The words that really get me are “I’ve heard it in the
chillest land and on the strangest sea”. Even in that cold, bleak environment,
the bird followed her there and was still singing.
This brings me to a piece of scripture that I’m reminded of
whenever I read this poem. Psalm 71:14 says that “I will hope continually, and
will yet praise thee more and more.” (KJV) Through the hard times, we always
have a reason to hope. Like we’re reminded in the song “Praise You in This
Storm” by Casting Crowns, God is still God and He loves us more dearly than we
can imagine.
Dear mother, I know how often you are pushed to your limits
and struck with worry. I know it often feels like we are stranded somewhere on
the strangest sea there is, waiting for a line. I just want you to remember
that there is always hope; in fact we are called to hope and continue to praise. Don’t
forget that through every trial and storm, the little bird is clinging to your
shoulder, still singing its tune. I hope that this poem reminds you of the beauty and persistence of hope.
Mother calling.
