Prayer beads grasped in hands
tears falling, fingers trembling,
she prays for her sons.
As of Nov. 14: Dedicated to Paris
Photo Credit: Nico van Diem
family
Florence Frazier – revised and revisited on the occasion of Veterans’ Day
Red and white stripes unfurled
Old Glory flaps in the wind,
her grommets clank
straining against steel pole.
You loved the flag, its simple beauty.
You lived the flag, patriotism in your soul.
The greatest generation, and you a woman,
a Naval Commander among them all.
People should know your name.
Short in stature, you stood tall
turned boys back into men
healed so many, traveled so far.
Directed nurses, ran the floor,
turned painful rehab into hope.
War time compassion
in the midst of blood and missing limbs.
So many times we sat at your table
ate lemon meringue pie
and rolled the Yahtze dice,
treasured photo above our heads.
You and Admiral Nimitz, side by side.
One hero, honored, known by many.
The other, slipped through time
a silver haired, kind old woman.
Behind one door in a hall of many,
skill and will still intact
you urged your aging friends
Use it or lose it! You’re not dead yet.
You gave again, feet matched spirit
oxford shoes on dirt floors
eighty years old, cross and caring
African clinic, ignored by many.
You can do it, lean on me.
One foot at a time. Move!
And you did
and they did too.
The wind stops, clanking hushed.
Flag quiet. I stand still, missing you.
Commander Frazier, our Aunt Flo.
I remember that faded photo,
just one moment in your glory days.
Photo: U.S. Naval Commander Florence M. Frazier, 1915–2010. On the occasion of her 90th birthday, touring a ship in Charlestown Navy Yard wearing military cap. She was saluted by many that day.
Admiral Chester W. Nimitz was Commander in Chief of the U.S. Naval Fleet in World War II.
This World or the Next
Memories shimmer
stretched taut
like a spider’s web.
Tubes, wires,
stainless steel
monitors with beating blips.
You lay there in that present space
but somewhere far away.
Then, like a marionette
whose master dropped a string,
your eyes jolted open
and you returned to me.
No photo. Thankful for every day.
Aunt Flo
Old Glory flaps in the breeze
red and white stripes unfurled,
grommets clank against steel pole
as I walk by in a rush.
You loved the beauty of our flag.
You actually lived the flag.
The greatest generation, and you a woman,
a Naval Commander among them all.
Young girls should know your name.
Short in stature, you stood tall
saluted boys and turned them back into men
healed so many, traveled so far.
So many times we sat at your table
ate lemon meringue pie
and rolled the Yahtze dice
the infamous photo above our heads.
You and Admiral Nimitz, side by side.
One honored hero, known by many.
The other, slipped through time
a silver haired, kind old woman.
The wind stops, the clanking too
and I stand still remembering you
in that faded black and white photo
of your glory days.
Florence M. Frazier, 1915 – 2010. Former Commander in the U.S. Navy. Photo is from Aunt Flo’s visit to us in Boston, celebrating her 90th birthday. At our urging, she brought one of her military caps. We took her to the nearby Charlestown Navy Yard and visited this ship. As she boarded and as she walked on deck, every military personnel we met saluted her. It was an absolutely magical day!
Admiral Chester W. Nimitz was Commander in Chief of the U.S. Naval Fleet in World War II.
The Meeting Place
In my dreams
I often float to Neverland.
No fairies or pirate boys,
just a place where memories live.
Images once trapped in sepia tones
slip through the web of synapses.
The loving dead come visit me
as if to soothe my soul.
Their smiling faces calm me
into a deeper, softer sleep,
assure me, whisper to me
happiness exists here, on this side too.
Elegy for Childhood
Do not grasp or fear the sifting sand
savor instead, sweet memories.
Tippee cups and imagined friends
popsicle sticky smiles.
Unabashed big bigger Balooka bubbles
popped on freckled nose.
High pitched yells with a Mary Jane stomp
knock knock jokes giggled silly.
Proscenium now disappeared, curtains askew
props and costumes gone.
Mourn not the little ones of yesteryear,
loose your hand and revel now.
Their roots are strong, let go the sieve
tis time to change the scene
WP Writing 201 prompts: the word “flavor”, enumeratio (listing), and the elegy form. Elegy: usually in couplets, first line longer; can be a longing, loss, mourning, and/or a celebration of life.
Secret No More
Like a bruise on peach skin
her flushed face was mottled
from too much handling.
He stood across from her
tapping his spit polished
wing tip shoes.
Quiet, festering
until his fist slammed
into the glass table top.
Cornucopia upended
plastic fruits
clattered to the floor
as she stood, silent
eyes cast down
waiting for the barrage
she knew
would come.
WP Writing 201 Prompt for Day Four: Limerick, Imperfection and Enjambment (poetic device where grammatical sentences spill into next verse. It seems I’ve slipped to the “dark side” with this poem, using the idea of imperfection and enjambment. Obviously, this is not a limerick – for that, go to the Humor Category and see the G-tarian poem.
Life Regifted
Angels here among us
dearest, stay with me.
Over and back you hover
return to earth my plea.
Extinguish not, like inifinity
deny death’s call and stay with me.
This poem, dedicated to the love of my life. Life regifted for two years and many more: you came back to me. Thankful for every day. This poem is an acrostic: the first letter of each line spells out a message (Adored). Photo from on board ship on a Panama Canal cruise.
Helen Cecile
My mother lived with Amy Lowell.
Wrong preposition.
In, she lived in
a Boston housing complex
with a plaque.
Did you know her?
Amy, not Helen.
Tomboy turned poet-ess.
Way before Maya.
Not Emily.
Less famous.
Except there’s a plaque
where Helen Cecile lived.
Photos: Amy Lowell Apartment Complex in Boston, the plaque and Amy Lowell (1874 – 1925). Born in Brookline, MA won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry posthumously in 1926. First published poem appeared in the Atlantic Monthly in 1910. First published collection of her poetry, A Dome of ManyColured Glass appeared in 1912. Maya refers to poet Maya Angelou; Emily to Emily Dickinson. Last photo is Helen Cecile, my mother, in her last year of life. She was born in Waukegan, Illinois and moved with us to Boston in 1997 – lived in the Amy Lowell Apartments and died in 1999.
Memories in Black and White
Phyllis Groat, Billy Behr and Timmy Drew
Francis somebody with Jimmy Fisher
and Mary Buckley too.
Black robed nuns that seemed to glide
feet and hair a mystery
rulers that reached a mile.
Lunch time stools swung in and out
from tables that disappeared
into Mary blue block walls.
Holy card for first place prize.
Priests mumbled Latin mass
and girls watched holy backs.
Third grade fell out of mother’s drawer,
a stained photo stuck between dried up pens
and a Tupperware orange peeler.
Three days after we buried her
in a Catholics only plot,
she made me remember
what I deliberately forgot.
Photos: 3rd grade class photo mentioned was tossed….but these were also in the drawer. Me in my 3d grade Immaculate Conception School navy blue uniform and my first communion picture. I actually won a third grade competition to see who could learn the altar boy responses in Latin first (our third grade boys were lagging in this important task — it was thought this would spur them on). Silly me – I thought if I won I could be an altar boy. See that word? “Boy.” Nope. I did win a gold embossed holy card of St. Francis of Assisi and the boys all went on to assist with Mass. Memories…..
lillian the home poet 