babyblueeyes8004's blog: "Poems!!!"

Before I was myself you made me, me With love and patience, discipline and tears, Then bit by bit stepped back to set me free, Allowing me to sail upon my sea, Though well within the headlands of your fears. Before I was myself you made me, me With dreams enough of what I was to be And hopes that would be sculpted by the years, Then bit by bit stepped back to set me free, Relinquishing your powers gradually To let me shape myself among my peers. Before I was myself you made me, me, And being good and wise, you gracefully As dancers when the last sweet cadence nears Bit by bit stepped back to set me free. For love inspires learning naturally: The mind assents to what the heart reveres. And so it was through love you made me, me By slowly stepping back to set me free. By Dimitri Shostakovich

Although consumed by fury, you still loved us. At least that is the knowledge of my heart. Screaming like a child, you would beat us Until you snapped, and then the tears would start. "You know I love you," you would cry, demanding More of us through tears than with your fist. And we, through tears, would nod our understanding, Too bullied in our pain to dare resist. Yet now that you've been dead for many years, And I have wandered through my own vast hell, I see the desperate anguish in your tears And hope at last that I can love you well. For only in my love can your love be The love that once, I think, you had for me. By Dimitri Shostakovich WOW is all i got to say about this one!!!

Although a daughter, I write this as a mother. We're both mothers now, of child-daughters: You, a grandmother forced to be a mother, And I, a widow, alone with my fatherless daughter. Death has thus shaped both our lives in ways We would not have chosen. Yet life is still the bright, Painfully lovely thing it was always: Our children like dancers on a dark, splendid night, Needing our loves as I needed yours; your love The same song as ever, a lullaby I remember So well from my time in your arms. We move In slow spirals towards the stars. September Has weeks like June, yet is closer to the fall. Love has no answers, yet its beauty answers all By J. S. Bach

A vase of flowers in a window frame. A house of gentle light amid dark leaves. An ecstasy so sharp it feels like anguish, The pull that makes our beeline an ellipse. No transcendental morning's inspiration So ravishes the things we never see. We hear for all our lives a silent music To which we dance unknowing through our time. And even when we die, there is a beauty Older than the cold December stars, A part of us that waits behind the darkness To take us once again into its arms. Sequenced by Barry Taylor

A mother's love determines how We love ourselves and others. There is no sky we'll ever see Not lit by that first love. Stripped of love, the universe Would drive us mad with pain; But we are born into a world That greets our cries with joy. How much I owe you for the kiss That told me who I was! The greatest gift--a love of life-- Lay laughing in your eyes. Because of you my world still has The soft grace of your smile; And every wind of fortune bears The scent of your caress. By Turlough O'Carolan

A mother casts her dreams into the sea; We, the words sent bobbing towards the sun, The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy. Because she must conclude her melody And fall back to the sweet dark hush of One, A mother casts her dreams into the sea, Hoping to cross that wild infinity And on some infant shore again to run, The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy Outside the fiery circle of memory, The howling surf, the incessant years undone … A mother casts her dreams into the sea And then dissolves into a tapestry, Her rolling, helpless drift again begun, The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy Afloat once more upon eternity, Once more the alien fury, never done … Again, again, her dreams into the sea, The eggs of stone, the shards of prophesy! By Robert Schumann