Write Your Mother A Poem
Within this Thread you can write a Poem to your Mother...
LINGERING JUVENILITY
Reading about the death of the father of poet Les Murray and how that death freed Murray from juvenility made me ponder my own freeing and not-so-freeing in relation to my father and my mother. It made me ponder the very nature of adulthood and my success and lack of it thusfar. I dedicate this little piece of reflection to my dear mother who died some 30 years ago -Ron Price with thanks to Les Murray: A Life in Progress, Oxford UP, 2000, p.265.
I think his death1 freed me
from any lingering juvenility,
although I think I went on
hankering after it for years.2
I always seemed to need
a mother or was that just
my wife's perception?
I hope I never find out---
for sure.
Adulthood rushed at me
or was it just my hormones,
or civilization's tornados?
Perhaps the rush was from
that evening when I first
felt firm warm breasts
under a star-studded sky
and bra beside a lake
in northern Ontario
just after I turned 18.
Whatever------I've been
the serious one just about
as far back as I remember,
even when the Kingdom of God
on earth began in 1953. I was nine
and I played third base that summer
in the Burlington softball league for
pre-peewees and my dad's voice
boomed through the house in the
evening, filling me with fear.
And now my son has little fear
of me and I have tried to make
it so---down in the Antipodes after
fifty years of trying to catch the ball.
1 My father's: 1895 to 1965
2 Even went to dances by myself as late as the age of forty in Katherine, after I had been married for fifteen years.
Ron Price
16 March 2002
(updated for International Discussions
21/10/07)
Edited: RonPrice on 21st Oct, 2007 - 2:54am