Mothers Poetry: Mom's Apron
While thumbing through the old photo album,
A particular one my eyes fixed upon:
It was of Mom in her blue Sunday dress
And wearing a soiled yellow apron.
I smiled as in my mind I returned,
It seemed just like it was yesterday;
For I had left my small hand prints on it
From playing in the Carolina red clay.
Mom had called us into dinner;
I could smell Sunday chicken fried.
So I ran in and threw my arms around her,
As on my hands the clay she spied.
Mom pinched my cheeks as she laughed out loud,
Told me to wash up and quickly sit down;
Then sister Mary Ruth took Mom’s picture.
We kids snickered, not Dad, he just made a frown.
Mom would always wear an apron;
Yellow was her favorite color.
I loved to sneak and untie it,
Hear her shout, “Scat, you little stinker! ”
Yes, the apron was Mom’s preference
Of all the clothing that she wore;
She donned it like a badge of honor,
Displayed it like some fancy decor.
She would wear it into the hen house,
Then shape it in a rounded fold;
There, softly place fresh eggs gathered,
Or shield baby chicks from the cold.
I’ve seen her use it for a basket
For garden tomatoes or fresh corn;
I even recall when it cradled
A dozen kittens newly born.
She’d reach down, pull it at the bottom,
Her dishpan hands to gently dry;
She would fan herself in hot weather,
Or wave it like a flag to say goodbye.
Why, Mom’s apron could hide a shy child,
Or wipe dirt from a little boy’s ear;
And she would keep a hankie in its pocket,
That’s one memory I still hold dear.
I have seen her pat a sweaty brow,
After cooking over an old wood stove;
Or use it for a potholder, as cornbread
From the oven she would remove.
She’d use it to carry ripe apples
That had just fallen to the ground;
Maybe collect crumbs from the table,
Toss them to the birds waitin’ ’round.
Yes, Mom’s apron had many uses,
From a tote bag to shooing flies;
But I’ve also seen her use it tenderly,
When she would wipe teary eyes.
Now, I suppose the apron was invented
To protect a mom’s pretty clothes;
But they must have had my Mom in mind,
How she loved it... heaven only knows.
And I don’t reckon that too many ladies
Would care a whit for it these days;
But my mom proved its great value,
As she used it in so many ways.
*****
So, when I look through my family photos,
There’s one I still gaze upon;
It’s of Mom in her blue Sunday dress,
Wearing a soiled yellow apron.
poem by Loyd C. Taylor
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Good Practice
Apron, Shuttlecock and Feather
a group practice in Cheddar
whose aim was to make your teeth feel much better.
Apron was always the popular one,
she'd wear short white skirts
that showed off her bum.
Shuttlecocks wit made his patients all chuckle,
they'd giggle and wriggle,
hiccup and splutter.
Feather was wacky, he smoked old tobacci,
with hands like two planks
and a wild mustache.
He'd not numb you up, but a whiff of his puff
would make you lie back
and not give a - - - - toss.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Dink's Song
(b.gibson/b.lomax/j.lomax)
This is a blues traditional that has been performed also by bob dylan. jeff performed it several times in his concerts, and he performed it also live on-air for the music faucet, a wfmu radio broadcast, on october 11 1992.
If i had wings like noah's dove
I'd fly up the river to the one i love
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
If i met your man, who was long and tall
I'd hit his body like a cannon ball
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
One of these days and it won't be long
Call my name and i'll be gone
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
I remember one night, a drizzling rain
Round my heart i felt an achin' pain
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
When i wore my apron low
Couldn't keep you from my do'
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
Now i wear my apron high
Scarcely ever see you passing by
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
Now my apron's up to my chin
You pass my door and you won't come in
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
If i had listened to what my mama said
I'd be at home in my mama's bed
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Ancient Gesture
I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron:
Penelope did this too.
And more than once: you can't keep weaving all day
And undoing it all through the night;
Your arms get tired, and the back of your neck gets tight;
And along towards morning, when you think it will never be light,
And your husband has been gone, and you don't know where, for years.
Suddenly you burst into tears;
There is simply nothing else to do.
And I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron:
This is an ancient gesture, authentic, antique,
In the very best tradition, classic, Greek;
Ulysses did this too.
But only as a gesture,—a gesture which implied
To the assembled throng that he was much too moved to speak.
He learned it from Penelope...
Penelope, who really cried.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Thoughts on an Old Man at Work
Late one evening, I sat in my car - outside a fast food joint.
Outside, there was a silver-haired old man in a white button-down shirt and a black apron washing windows - and I couldn't help but stare.
What was an old man like him doing washing windows at a crumby fast food joint?
The man looked to be in his sixties, but his hard hands and wrinkled grimace added ten years. My guess was he wasn't there for a sense of purpose.
My mind began to wonder
Had the old man fallen upon hard times? Was he struggling to make ends meet?
Was the harsh look smeared across his face his way of letting me know that he'd rather be sitting in his backyard sipping whisky and smoking a cigar?
Horrible visions of shattered dreams come to mind.
For a moment I slip into his apron.
My back hurts from being hunched over all day - and my hands are sore from gripping the wiper.
A good life can only get so bad
Where do I go from here?
I snap out of my daze when my brother opens the car door.
I get to drive home and away from this place - and if I wanted too, I'd never have to come back
But the old man couldn't be so lucky
Youth is the single most unappreciated gift
poem by C.S. Smith
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No Butter?
No Butter? (when a country practice monopoly)
“Butter, the chef said, I can’t fry a snitzel without butter? If I use margarine
it gets too salty and tastes like whale, if I use olive oil, it gets a Portuguese
flavour, a snitzel is Austrian. How can you fry an egg without using butter,
one loses the taste of clover and rural idyll, farm yards and chickens looking
for worms? ” ” Sorry the restaurant manager said, but we have no butter,
you gotta use margarine and anyway the guests are not chefs they will not
notice the difference.”The chef looked aghast, put down his ladle and said:
“You can’t mean that, has all my work comes to nothing? ” Took off his apron,
had tears in his eyes, ready to walk out into the cold night and not return.
“Hang on the manager said, without you I can’t run this place, it is the caring
way you prepare food that our guests like you they know there is a butter
shortage, but they don’t mind as long as they now you are the chef.”
Mollified the cook took his apron back on lifted his ladle and said, “Ok, but
see if you can get some butter even if you have to buy it from the Danes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Hon, There's A Big Ol' Moon Out Tonight!
I know you said
I can't go bowling
And you'd rather I didn't
Go out and have
A drink or two…
You want me to wash
And dry the dishes
Cause you've got
Something else you'd rather do
Well dear, I really respect
Your opinion… and love
The many things
You give me to do
I even love
the apron you gave me
And you look waaaay better
Wearing pants
Than I do
So dear, I really respect
Your wisdom and
I've got a question
Or two
Have you noticed
The clothes line missing
Lately?
And the concrete blocks
Missing from the front porch too?
Howsabout we go for
A boat ride tonight… and Hon?
Does this rag smell
like chloroform to you?
poem by David Whalen
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Baby Looking Out For Me
TWO little busy hands patting on the window,
Two laughing bright eyes looking out at me;
Two rosy red cheeks dented with a dimple;
Mother-bird is coming; Baby, do you see?
Down by the lilac-bush, something white and azure
Saw I in the window as I passed the tree;
Well I knew the apron and shoulder-knots of ribbon;
All belonged to Baby, looking out for me.
Talking low and tenderly
To myself, as mothers will,
Spake I softly, "God in Heaven,
Keep my darling free from ill.
Worldly good and worldly honors
Ask I not for her from Thee;
But from want and sin and sorrow,
Keep her ever pure and free."
poem by Ethel Lynn Beers
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Why Is It…
You ask;
“Why is it Ray you always dress in black?
Do you mourn the dying and the dead?
Is it because soldiers come home in sacks,
Or on TV see jihad Muslims behead? ”
“Do you mourn Mother Earth they trash?
For laying waste to once lush forest lands?
A greedy few who sell their souls for cash,
Who on Liberty’s apron wipe bloody hands? ”
I answer;
Today and more tomorrows, I’ll wear black
Till peace upon a troubled Earth prevails
When evil ones let go and give power back
When balance returns to “Justice Scales”
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Great Divide
Keep on looking, find a way out
Get a hold on hoping, scream and shout
A new addiction, another show
Truth and fiction, well I did not know
Chorus:
I didnt know you and you didnt know me
Broken branches and a family tree
Blown over this wind is wide
A lone loners, and our great divide
Running forward, warning signs
Looking backward at the yellow lines
All the great suggestions and the horoscope
Stubborn lessons, and we could not cope
Chorus
And I know its not forever
This time its not the same
Why cant we live together
And share more than a name
In the name of friendship and the mask of love
Careful not to trip on the kid gloves
Or the cooking apron, and the wedding gown
Fabric so thin that it ties us down
Chorus
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soapy Hands
'Ours is a Parking Lot Love
a sometimes
Shouts Too Loud Love, ' I said.
'A Let's Talk It Out On The Porch Love.' she says
'so the kids won't hear.'
Slow walks, ' I say
Beach talks, ' you say
'holiday stress
and just please don't tell
those same old jokes again this year.'
'I solemnly agree
and forget and
tell the same old jokes again
and your eyes gently roll
and I complain
'how come your sister knows
what I like in bed? '
and my eyes gently roll.
I complain that
'I can't find anything-
you keep moving my stuff.'
'You mean the stuff you just throw in the closet'? she says
letting her eyes gently roll.
'I come up behind as you do the dishes, ' I say
'like now kissing your neck
as you gently protest;
soapy hands and wetting places
we silently stand like this
gentle breathing
our unspoken celebration
of our Not Perfect Love
but one which is ours
realizing again
that our memories
while not perfect
are ours
binding us
shared;
that
that Future Tense we'd pursued so long
had settled in
in our
sudden appreciation
of Now
and warm
soapy
soothing hands, '
I say.
You turn around
facing me
apron soapy
mouth open.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Touch The Hand
Stand up - if ya wanna fight
I'm tellin' all the women - stand up for your rights
If ya wanna wear the trousers - you wanna act like a man
I'd love to trade ya places - love to be your thang
I'd do all the shopping - collect you favorite suit
Press all the laundry - polish all your boots
And if you brought me flowers - I'd meet you at the door
Have your dinner ready - your slippers on the floor
And when day turns to night and you feel alright
And I turn out the lights
Touch the hand of the man who'll make ya woman
Touch the hand of the man who'll make it right
Touch the hand of the man who'll make ya woman
Cause when day turns to night and you feel alright
And I turn out the lights
Stand up - it's alright
Love to play the woman - love to play your wife
Light you favorite cigarette - pour your favorite drink
Wear your best apron - wash the dishes in the sink
Get your shaving lotion - turn the shower on
Warm up your bathrobe - keep my baby warm
Read ya bedtime stories - while you take a nap
Turn on the TV - put out the cat
But when day turns to night and you feel alright
And I turn out the lights..
Touch The Hand"
Stand up - if ya wanna fight
I'm tellin' all the women - stand up for your rights
If ya wanna wear the trousers - you wanna act like a man
I'd love to trade ya places - love to be your thang
I'd do all the shopping - collect you favorite suit
Press all the laundry - polish all your boots
And if you brought me flowers - I'd meet you at the door
Have your dinner ready - your slippers on the floor
And when day turns to night and you feel alright
And I turn out the lights
Touch the hand of the man who'll make ya woman
Touch the hand of the man who'll make it right
Touch the hand of the man who'll make ya woman
Cause when day turns to night and you feel alright
And I turn out the lights
Stand up - it's alright
Love to play the woman - love to play your wife
Light you favorite cigarette - pour your favorite drink
Wear your best apron - wash the dishes in the sink
Get your shaving lotion - turn the shower on
Warm up your bathrobe - keep my baby warm
Read ya bedtime stories - while you take a nap
Turn on the TV - put out the cat
But when day turns to night and you feel alright
And I turn out the lights..
song performed by by Bryan Adams from Waking Up The Neighbours
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Workplace Jingle
From the crammed crypt to the script
A new sun has shone on me
It is the Son from Sonzone
And He says come work with me
Be you Martha in the fore
Or that Mary wearing shawl
There’s new lease of life at work
And He says come work with me
Yet one King will have to reign
For all those who want a rain
On their apron or their scalpel
And He says come work with me
When He comes as C-E-O
And you stand up on your toes
Transformation is on us
For He says come work with me
No one jostles to see Him
He’s for one and He’s for all
The workplace is His workplace
And He says come work with me
You may have a piece of chalk
Or duster to wipe the stuff
Or that voice that pierces ears
He just says come work with me
Come stand with me in my stand
Come walk with me in my walk
Come sit with me in my seat
This is how you work with me
poem by Moses Kainwo
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Bad Nauheim Medley
Ill take you home again, kathleen (thomas p. westendorf)
I will be true (ivory joe hunter)
Its been so long darling (ernest tubb)
Apron strings (weiss/schroeder)
Theres no tomorrow (hoffman - corday - carr)
Ill take you home again kathleen
Across the ocean wild
To where your heart has ever been
Since first you were my bonny bride
The roses all have left your cheek
I watch them fade away and die
Your voice is soft when you speak
And tears bedim your lovely eyes
Oh, I will take you home kathleen
Across the ocean wild
And when the fields are soft and green
I will take you to your home kathleen
Somehow I feel
That someday well meet again
Dont ask me how
Its something I cant explain
Until the day
I give up all hope of you
Assure yourself this Ill do
I will be true
Its been so long darling
Since I gazed into your eyes
Its been so long darling
But now I realize
bout your love, not seeing you,
It hurts me through and through
Its been so long darling
Well, Im coming back to you
Tadadada ... ? ... apron strings
There tatatatata
Theres no tomorrow
When love isnt near
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Obligation
Hold your apron wide
That I may pour my gifts into it,
So that scarcely shall your two arms hinder them
From falling to the ground.
I would pour them upon you
And cover you,
For greatly do I feel this need
Of giving you something,
Even these poor things.
Dearest of my Heart!
poem by Amy Lowell
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What is happening to you?
I find it strange how we stopped making new beginnings
With our two hands we grope no light, with your ring finger
You snap a fly and there it dies with nobody mourning,
With your eye you touch a stone
And throw it to the sky. How strong are your thoughts today?
How crazy, how messy.
In the kitchen with your knife
You slice more onions amazed that you will shed no tears,
Proud about your long stares
Staying on the stairs
Just beside your apron a cockroach is crawling
On used tissue paper. And a fish is leaping like a frog
Like a dove just struck a window and
Fell to the ground. Soiled bleeding heart. You are always busy asking-
Why is this why is that? There is no end to your murmur.
You’re making heat where ice is frozen, making
Pancakes when there is no electricity in the oven
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Potters Hands
Her Dignity a phoenix of red crinoline
Shawl of poise gentle as a storm
The rain beckons me to seek shelter
Her arms bring a test
Rodin chisels his relished stone
What gate shall we enter?
Violin concerto calms the fire
Duality needs balance
Eagle wings soar with ease
Our integrity blends the colors
Red with blue, yellow with black
We dance on flames of fine marble
I know you have suffered
I know you suffer
The test is a labyrinth
These miles of forlorn road
Streets where doorways tempt
Loneliness like a kiln
Morals and ethics of green jade
I am the crude clay that must be formed
We meet like a wild wilderness
The sky smiles like a mother’s apron
It seems purpose is like Greek fate
We are formed into a grand plan
The Potters hands at work
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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I had no occasion for an apron on that morning.
quote by Lizzie Andrew Borden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My New Job
After I retired from the factory-I planned to be a couch potato-But soon my plans were changed-By my dear wife Evelyn Ada-She tied an apron on me-Though it was against my wishes-She pointed to the kitchen-And said go wash the dishes-She said I cook and clean-I've got enough to do-And now the dishwashing job-Has been assigned to you.
poem by Joy Thacker
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