Today commemorates the second anniversary of Emma’s death and transition. My friend Robert wrote and presented me this poignant poem today. I could not but publish it here. Thank you, Robert. I have named my mother Emma for the purposes of this blog and publishing my two books on dementia. But to maintain the integrity of the rhythm and flow of Robert’s poem, I have kept her real name.
Roberta
On a bright green and chartreuse day
My Friend Roberta has flown away;
Released into the light,
How, I know she enjoys the flight.
Lips of red
Attire too
Out of bed
To party do.
It makes me smile
To have, Roberta, known;
She has made the while
Not spent alone.
Her humor doth make me laugh
A privilege, an honor
To spy her path.
A woodpecker with a red top notch
Pecks on this house
Where I write and watch.
I smile again
To remember when
Roberta pinned
Her grace to them.
–- Robert Pennington Price
For some reason the images no longer show here, but when you click on the question mark, it links to my books on Amazon.
Ah, Robert, what a wonderful poem! What a sweetie you are! And thanks so much for sharing it with us, “Samantha.”
Hugs from Ecuador,
Kathy
I could not but share dear Robert’s poem about my dear mother.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Kathy. I have forwarded your message to Robert. I know it means a lot to him.
Hugs from Delaware,
Samantha
My Dear Samantha,
Time goes by quickly and yet the love and memories we have for those that have planted so much in our lives never fade. This is a beautiful tribute to your mother. In many ways she still accompanies you on your journey; you cannot see her, but she’s there watching you grow and learn as you master your own life.
Shalom,
Patricia
Thank you for this beautiful message, Patricia. –And I can literally feel my mother accompanying me on my journey, instructing and correcting me, as usual, and hoping I’ll get this life thing down eventually. 🙂
On another note, I have been reading and learning a lot about Italy recently — inadvertently (?) stumbled into this; always liked the Italians, though; so have been thinking about you and will email you about it when we’re not so occupied with the A-Zs.
Shalom,
Samantha
It’s me again Samantha. May that ship shift from the silt – I WILL meet you and Robert in person, one of these seasons.
Sending love from Johannesburg on this chilly Sunday morning.
Thank you, Susan, and thank you for believing we WILL meet. We both look forward to it.
Love to you from another gorgeous spring day here in Delaware. Supposed to be 80 F, 27 C today with leaves and blossoms budding on trees and tulips about to bloom.
Two years … have just lit a candle in my study for your mother, you and Robert for the anniversary of her death. This is a most moving poem and tribute. How lovely that Robert and Roberta are so ‘connected’ – this is very special indeed.
I wish I was there (were there?) to have a glass of chartreuse with you both.
How kind and thoughtful of you to light the candle, Susan. It IS interesting that Robert and Roberta are connected. She really enjoyed him; he made her laugh. He is an artist as was my stepfather, and so was Roberta, so she and Robert connected that way, too.
Ah, sharing the glass of chartreuse with us — that’s worth another trip to the U.S., Susan; or our flying to you (when our ship gets unstuck from the silt and comes in).
Thank you.
Robert’s poetry IS lovely and very touching. I’m sure your mother is applauding Samantha! It is hard to believe that she has been gone two years already.
Yes, time flies, Gwynn, as it were.
My mother is applauding Robert, at least with a big smile, for sure.
Thanks.
Dearest Writer,
An honor to have my words displayed here, on another day budding chartreuse.
The Red-headed Woodpecker still visits me daily…
Very happily and fondly remembering Roberta,
R.
Thank you for your kind thoughtfulness, R., and for your touching and beautiful poem.
S.