Most Mother’s Days in the recent past have consisted of meeting my Mom and Dad for a picnic lunch of Kentucky Fried Chicken at various venues from sculpture mazes to cemetery arboretums. With a lack of KFC’s in the Gbarnga vicinity, I’ve decided to enjoy some fried chicken at the Passion Hotel in honor of the day. It won’t come in a bucket but a basket is close enough.
And for some mental diversion from the budgets and building and bugs, I’m trying my hand at a bit of poetry for my mother. For family, you’ll get some of the inside references. For the rest of you, use your imagination. Mom, I hope you enjoy it.
Barbara Jane | A Mother’s Day Story
By Jon Rossman
No need to gawk, past roads shall we walk, to learn about one Barbara Jane.
Born as a Beach
Look back we will reach
Join in a son’s memory lane.
First wedded no chef, perhaps Dick bereft, yet endless skills would teem.
In time stews a’cooking
Quilt stitching rug hooking
Taught big as a child I could dream.
An after school mother, that did not smother, though common the trend today.
With words of few
No gossip from you
For with do comes less need of say.
Workforce positions, that of traditions, making a home from house.
Explore woods she would say
Return by end of day
Independence and trust would not douse.
In support of this Scout, appearing no doubt, willingly helping earn Eagle.
From den mother duty
To stitching badge beauty
At honor court nearly looked regal.
Your sixtieth birth behest, my brother’s email request, a trip to Egypt in May.
Of pyramids and Nile
Learned much of his beguile
Where’s proof of our shared DNA?
Basking in sun, just for fun, in search of clover leaves four.
Taking some time
Cup of tea sublime
Finding joy having less or with more.
Working the soil, not such a toil, making a garden grow green.
Straight furrows utmost
Sharing harvest with neighbors between.
Without slicers or dicers, seen-on-TV devices, rare the baking disaster.
Snow day to putter
Break out cookie cutter
Always new flavors to master.
In search of a bargain, knowing right jargon, morning flea marketing deal.
Eyeing hog scrapers
Old scythes with sharp tapers
All patrons depart with a steal.
Smile and warmth in her eye, slices of chocolate cream pie, ready for family to gather.
Always willing to host
Often laughing the most
No place for grab bag would we rather.
String up “White Christmas” lights, search Easter egg delights, revel each holiday’s own.
Fall apples will bob
Avoid the mall mob
Preparing to honor Lucy Stone.
Of friends and an ear, one can naught be too near, always for both will avail.
By nature quite meek
Turn the other cheek
Most endeavors seem never to fail.
Secret to marriage so long, n’er depicted in song, combine whole milk and “Honey”.
He Friday races
She quiet spaces
From their lips can be heard, “It’s just money!”
Combine your good traits, life lessons now faith, to make this boy into man.
If times got tough
You’d encourage enough
Long process to form who I am.
West Brookfield, West Africa all mothers have character needed for family success.
Hopes, dreams and great daring
Dedication beyond comparing
Our Mother’s Day thanks could be endless.
To give this brief tribute, with love I attribute, a life blessed by one special mother.
Needlepoint we did share
Patience, creativity, great care
There compares no Barbara Jane other.
Happy Mother’s Day!