Time Encapsulated - Sweet Somethings
(Poetry of the Soul)
Copyright 2009
by Dorothy Paula Freda
Domenick J. Freda
Thomas M. Freda
All rights reserved
Smashwords Edition
September, 2009
TIME ENCAPSULATED
Sweet Somethings
(Poetry of the Soul)
Inspirational and Nostalgic
Romantic
Sci/Fi and Fantasy
Poetry from the Soul - Precious Moments - Sweet Somethings - Inspirational, Nostalgia, Religious, Romance, Sci/Fi and Fantasy. A Book of Poetry that has something for everyone, from precious moments in our lives to inspirational verse. Humor, tears and peace of mind and spirit. Time Encapsulated.
Nostalgic
For the Twenty-Fifth Time Today
My Mother called to me
to buy napkins and tissues and paper cups
for her coffee and tea;
while from behind her
grandmother emphatically complained
that her feet hurt unbearably
and she must have shoes quadruple E.
Outside in the backyard
my two boys decided
their Dad's bag of cement was
the very best thing with which
to fill their sandbox.
The trouble began when they
added water and played
hide-and-go-seek in it.
And if that was not
enough!
Our pooch dug his way under
the garden fence
And blessed each and every one
of the vegetable plants.
But now it is night;
supper has been served.
My husband is in his favorite
chair and asleep
with our pooch (man's best friend)
curled up on his lap.
My mother is busy crocheting;
grandmother is deep in prayer.
In their room my boys slumber
in their beds like cherubs on
white percale
heather.
The living room is vacuumed;
the dishes are washed; the
kitchen floor is clean.
Now is my time to think back,
to laugh, to cry, to dream.
© Paula Freda 1981
This Mother of Ours
Hair that glints white and
silver in the sunlight.
Cheeks the color of pale wrinkled peach,
Nose pink-spotted and hooked with age,
Eyes shrunken and rheumy and delicate,
Lips dry and trembling,
Voice wizened, frail and whimpering,
Forgive us, mother, all those tantrums.
Breath light and labored,
Flesh thinned and skin
that sags,
Shoulders curved and back bent,
Fingers gnarled and aching joints,
Feet tired, Soles calloused,
Thank you, mother, for holding
our hands, and walking all
those years beside us.
To the shade of the old
maple
tree she dodders,
This mother of ours,
In her chair she sits,
And her head lolling
forward,
She sleeps,
And dreams of when we were babes.