Visiting Martha

Visiting Martha

A Poem by Beccy

There was an old, rather cracked flower pot in the back garden,
I noticed it as we settled down for a nice cup of tea;
(served in fine bone china naturally.)
"That's a bit like me," she said, catching my glance,
then she smiled and the sun came out.
"but the forget-me nots still come up every year,
they have no fear of tomorrows."

We talked for a while and time skipped
as we sipped our tea, her motions delicate, fragile,
and she mentioned Gordon occasionally.
I'd met him only briefly, 
at a summer picnic organised by the church;
there was still spirit, though a little dimmed
by the years. but I thought, that like the
forget-me-nots, he had no fear of tomorrows.

She hugged me when I left and I felt the life force flowing,
an encapsulation of all that is good in this world;
and the decades fell away, she became a bride again,
Gordon by her side; rapturous, untouched by time
and memory shone a light as luminous 
as the love held in her unfaded eyes.

© 2017 Beccy



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We would all like to have a love like that. Timeless, forgiving of old age. I never get use to your style and compassion. Oh and you write pretty damn too. CD

Posted 3 Weeks Ago


Profoundly perceptive and really quite lovely.
With the speed of a mere photograph, you smartly, touchingly present a meaningful profile of Martha.
Exceptional work!

Posted 2 Months Ago


This is brilliant & beautiful! I could visualize the entire thing, so rich with details & flowing affection. I'm intensely jealous of this, it's such an amazing piece of work! I hope I can summon the sincerity to write such a thing someday! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 2 Months Ago


You do indeed write beautifully Beccy & these words are no exception. 'Visiting Martha' is filled to overflowing with respect, compassion & love. We have our own Edna down ere in Zummerzet whom we visit often. A very real and very moving write. Seasons Best, N

Posted 2 Months Ago


"to bed with ugly death
in that cold filthy place
to sleep there without you
without that easy breath"

I remembered this poem from high school. It's that human loss is the videography of gardening. the practice of recording images for some later pictorial representation. Vedelicet to say that
for any true inspiration, gardening is permitted.
My mother hums while she does mundane things:
getting the bags of food off the back seat of my car, rearranging the clothes for the rinse cycle in her old washing machine....but always humming. I think gospel songs......I feel some "humming" in this poem. A surcease of sorrow perhaps but a natural getting on with life utterance that widows do with their hands......
You write so beautifully/ dana

Posted 2 Months Ago


Beccy

2 Months Ago

Her words show how disparity of age is no barrier to love.

You are very kind. Beccy.. read more
Down here in the rurals, (and elsewhere i quickly add), we have Neighbour Watch which inspires those who can to keep an eye on those who can't quite .. any more. Tis my absolute pleasure to keep two eyes on six local ancients.. but especially two ladies who must surely have once been empire builders! Have learned more from them that a hundred history books.. have laughed with them more than dozens of books, movies and tv. programmes. Plus, just now and again have walked home with such an aching heart. See.. a ;ong time agao realised that the darling ancients wrapped in all their moods are walking, tottering, zimmer supported history worthy of a daily hour's natter or more importantly, LISTEN.

Forgive me.. just wanted to vaguely echo your glorious and beautiful post. The sight of Martha, a woman who's lived... who still has memories and many so needs to be shared. Beccy, dear you, you write superbly. You can make the heart sing or the eyes mist over and fly the reader to a better, more real place.. Now, calming, stopping my blather, simply: I love and admire your writing so very much. .

If Martha is real, she's more than lucky to have you as a friend.. if she's a ga luckyu#'sa lucky woman, fact or fiction.. she is figment of your wonderful imagination, she's as real as can be. i don't need to know which... I believe such people exist.

Posted 2 Months Ago


This one touched me... seems many have memories locked deep that only empathy can bring forth. And the breath REALLY catches.

Posted 2 Months Ago


When I was a kid, we lived above this old lady. Mrs Ramsay. She was right old battle axe, who hated everybody. But she had this fantastic garden which was her pride and joy. You certainly never entered it
As the years passed, and I became braver. I would help her around the garden. It was then she told me about her husband who died in the war. It was quite exciting for a kid to hear. Your poem brought it all back. Thanks.


Posted 2 Months Ago


I don't I'll be able to explain it, but this poem makes me feel good. Old things--cracked and forgotten--flash newness, if just for a moment. Such notions are important at my age.

Posted 2 Months Ago


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Gee
It is a good thing you do Beccy as many old folk where my mum live get few or no visitors, it's as if they are dumped by their families for the social to care for until they pop their clogs as they have become nowt but an inconvenience. Sad thing is all they want is company, a chat, cuppa, then they are quite happy for you to sling your hook.
I have the same conversations with mum twice weekly without fail. I get updates on her latest ailments, those of her fellow " inmates", a death count and then any other news, including that of the grey squirrel in the garden that has gone from being an anorexic on the verge of death, to a glutton that will explode if one more morsel scoffed.
Mum her self, due to her sedentary lifestyle and constant feeding, is fast becoming a king Louie lookalike, and I have asked that she lose a few pounds as I don't wish to put my back out when " heaving" her down the aisle. Her response..." you cheeky sod "
If you get a mo " Half way to heaven" is a mum based poem you may, or may not like.
Lastly, cannot for the life of me understand why more folk do not visit and read your work, it's to good to not be read.
Hope you are both well and prepared for the festive.
Apologies for waffling.

Posted 2 Months Ago



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Added on December 9, 2017
Last Updated on December 14, 2017

Author

Beccy
Beccy

Northampton, Northamptonshire, United Kingdom



About
I'm forty one, single and have a lovely eleven year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I had never really been inclined to share my writing until .. more..

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