Momma Should Have Told Me

(Photo by Ray Tingler)

My husband and I in our engagement photo, 1986.

 

 

MOMMA  SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME

By T. Raceine York

 

Momma told me I could get fat

but she didn’t say I would go flat.

Why didn’t Momma tell me about that?

 

Momma said I wouldn’t always be thin.

She  didn’t say I would grow hair on my chin.

Why didn’t Momma tell me back then?

Momma told me my body would change

but she didn’t say it would be rearranged.

Why didn’t Momma tell me? How strange!

Momma told me my body would grow

But she didn’t tell me parts would hang low.

Why didn’t Momma share long ago?

Momma told me I could pack on the pounds

But she didn’t warn me I would be round.

Why didn’t Momma simply expound?

Momma told me I could get fat

but she didn’t tell me that I would go flat.

Now, why, didn’t Momma tell me about that?

AUTUMN

Photos by T. Raceine York

 

AUTUMN

©T. Raceine Hobbs-York

Outside the air is cool and brisk.

The breeze is cheeky, refreshingly crisp.

The leaves are turning maroon and gold

as Autumn starts to slowly unfold.

Baby animals born in the Spring

leave their mothers to do their own thing.

Leaves on the trees that reached to the sky

float to the ground with a whispery sigh. 

Birds that flew north to birth their young

begin to fly south, summer is done.

Animals scurry to build winter homes

before fierce winter winds begin to moan.

On the tail-end of summers’ heat blast

the first cold day rushes too fast.

The sun is blotted by dreary clouds

cloaking the earth like a mourners shroud.

Longing for warm summer winds to blow

it’s time to prepare for the first snow.

But clothed in her bright colors again

Autumn is cherished like an old friend.

We look at her with awe from our youth.

Aging is beautiful. She is our proof.

We look at her from the prime of life.

She shows calm grace among man’s strife.

We look at her from the wicker chair.

She is quiet dignity, without despair.

In the prime of her life we see her glory.

In our eyes, she is a beautiful story.

Autumn in all of her beauty and splendor

is a treasured friend, we will always remember.

 

Photos by T. Raceine York

 

Until next time, my Friends, follow your dreams.

What DO I DO?

 

Photo by T. Raceine Hobbs-York

 

 

Me:  Greetings My Dear Friend!  How are you? 

Me:  Just wondering!  Have you visited my blog lately?  NO!!!

Me:  Well, I wonder why you haven't been reading it.

Me:  Oh, I see!  You say there hasn't been anything posted.

Me:  I don't understand why you haven't been reading it.  I have written my blog at least 3 to 4 times a week.  But, I am getting no feedback.  It is so disappointing.  WELL!  I suppose it would help if I posted it, huh? 

Friend:  Say what?!?

Me:  Yep!  I have written something almost daily.  Got blogs piling up. 

Friend:  So, what's holding you back?  I like what you have written so far. 

Me:  I'm not sure what is holding me back.  I have some ideas though.  Some of my blogs have been on why I am holding  back.  It always helps me if I share my thoughts with someone.  But this time I don't know who to share them with, so I thought I would blog about them.  Then I worried about blogging about them.  I'm not worried about what I have shared.  I would like to share my poetry, my thoughts, as well as how my blog is going.  I decided to share what my concerns were on my blog.  I hoped I would get some feedback that would help me evolve Blog What May.  So I wrote those blogs.

Me:  THEN I thought how I hope it will be a sharing thing as well as a learning thing, kinda' like my writing group.  Some good quality critique.  This came about because I am worried my writing isn't as good as others because my education does not include a bachelors or masters degree, only two years of college which was all I could afford.  I write from the heart.  That doesn't mean I'm good, even though I think I have potential.  So I thought it would be nice to have two or three people critique my blog, either before, or after I have posted it.  I have written poetry for 30 years (my kind - I'm learning all sorts of new things about poetry, as uneducated as I am.)  I am smart, just unschooled. 

Me:  I am so excited about my blog.  About sharing my "everyday common, ordinary, every day, simple - yet awesome" poetry.  I have written a few new poems, because I didn't know if sharing my old work would be alright.  And I love a challenge.  Blogging is awesome.  Whether I have one follower, or one-hundred, or one million, it doesn't matter.  I love it.  I just realized what I think I need, here in the beginning anyway, a mentor.  But then I tell myself, everyone is so busy.  SO WHAT DO I DO?  I am doing what I did when I was worried that I wasn't ever going to go to heaven until I became perfect.  When I finally went to God with my problem, He told me I don't expect you to be perfect before you trust me.  I will perfect you.  I need you to let me teach you.  My life became much more peaceful and less worrisome at that point.

Friend:  So!  What's your problem?

Me:  I don't know who to ask.  Everyone I know is so busy with their own writing, who do I ask?  Or do I just muddle along on my own.

 

Me:  Today’s poem about AUTUMN has sat in solitude since Tuesday night; waiting in its holding mode because I want to be perfect, but know I will always want to perfect what I have.  I even took photos of beautiful Fall trees today.  Yet, every time, s soon as my blog is written and I go in to post it, I doubt what I have written.  So, what do I do?  Do you know?

Hmmmm ... wellllll... Don't think.  Don't worry.  Just post this one.  Maybe someone will have an idea.

 

Me:  Great Idea

Photo by T. Raceine Hobbs-York

 Until next time, my Friends, follow your dreams; even when you run into a mountain like I have.  Eventually, I believe it will be a molehill.

The Judgment Room

 

 

The Judgment Room

By ~  T. Raceine York

 

I walked into the room with fear and trepidation.

To my profound amazement I found my life on exhibition.

In the middle of the room stood a solitary chair.

In bemusement, I asked myself what I was doing there.

A table by the door held an open book and pen.

I was directed to the chair, not allowed to look at them.

On the wall in front of me was a giant movie screen.

The lights dimmed in the room as I watched every scene.

It was the story of my life playing right before my eyes.

Stunned I watched silently in shame and sad surprise.

I saw every disgraceful injustice, every person I caused pain.

I saw every bad thing I had done, every sinful, ugly stain.

The images before my eyes caused disgust and heartfelt shame.

If I looked inside the book Would it read “guilty” by my name?

I hung my head in misery and choked back my despair.

When I turned my head aside an angel was standing there.

He pointed to the movie screen with sad and troubled eyes.

The scene I saw before me hushed my anguished cries.

I watched God come down to earth in precious infant form.

He made Himself equal to man as He allowed Jesus to be born.

I watched His ministry on earth as He taught us how to live.

Salvation, hope, and love are His most precious gifts.

This was not the greatest gift that God would give to man.

There was one final step to take in His Redemption Plan.

It involved a lonely walk, a cross, and crown of thorns,

a cup of bitter wine and spear, ridicule and scorn.

When Jesus entered Gethsemane He knew death was the final price.

In His compassionate love for man God made the ultimate sacrifice.

God’s love for us is unequaled, unconditional, and unlimited too.

He gave His precious life-blood in His love for me and you.

The picture slowly faded. The screen was dark and bare.

I felt God’s divine forgiveness and release from hell’s despair.

The angel disappeared so I turned to leave the room.

I was afraid to look in the book; afraid it sealed my doom.

In spite of dread I looked inside and wonder filled my soul.

By my name it simply read, “Your debt is paid in full!”

“You will come to live with Me, as My Word foretold

You will enter Pearly Gates and walk on streets of gold.

You will no longer be lost or hurt; no longer will you roam.

I stand here waiting to welcome you to your eternal home.

You have your life to live; Your time does not yet loom.”

On wings of joy and happiness I left The Judgment Room.

In the Mists of My Mind ~ Part 3 of 3

 

     I could not for the life of me figure out how to express ... to myself ... how I was feeling in all of that time.  But I knew that I wasn't me being myself during this period, if you can see what I mean.  I have read voraciously ever since I was a child and learned to read.  I have been writing ever since I learned how to write and about rhyming words.  I began keeping the things I wrote when I was fifteen years old.  Except for the time when I had children and didn't have time to eat or sleep let alone write anything, even then I managed a few poems each year.  I have always written poems and I have especially, "always" been a reader.  So what happened?  What was the problem?

     Before you say it, I knew it was grief, but I couldn't understand the lack of interest in reading, writing, or interacting with my children and yet desperately wanting to want to do all three of these things.  Instead I flitted from one thing to another like a hummingbird choosing which flower to seek nectar from.  I knew there was a way to define what was going on.  I, a writer, just couldn't figure out how to define it in words myself, let alone to anyone else.

     Well, during the week of 9/11 this year, I was watching the programs they have on, as I always do, and low and behold, one of the firemen who had survived the Twin Tower attacks explained it in one simple sentence.  He said, "After we finally got to go home, I would go home and do anything I could do so I didn't have to think." 

     Slowly over time, just before the OWFI Conference, my mind began to clear.  I began to write in my journal first. Then thoughts for the poetry books I am working on began to pop up in my head and I would jot those down.  Then a thought here and a thought there to add to the novel I am working on began drifting through my mind and I would write those down.  I finally realized I was writing again.  The champagne bubbles were running through my veins again.  The excitement and joy of creating was mine again.  I was returning to life.

     I have begun to read again.  I have stopped playing games on my computer (as often) and have begun to do more than function, I have begun to live again. To feel alive.  To dream again.  To hope again.  God carried me through the storm.  Now He is leading me into my future.  It still isn’t like it was before.  I am sure it never will like it was before again.  I deal with fears and concerns about what I will do to earn a living.  How I will cope with those emergencies that pop up when I had Bob here to keep me grounded.  How I will survive without him there to support and help me.  I do know God is in control and whatever happens He will lead me through the day to day life and comfort me during those times when I miss Robert the most.  It is a difficult road, as many people are aware, but my journey through life has resumed and my heart sings again and my minds joyfully dances with creating and fluttering from one project to the next.

In the Mists of My Mind ~ Part 2 of 3

     Around the time of the anniversary of my husband's death was the worst part of the entire year for me.  I went a little crazy.  I didn't drink, do drugs, or go off and do insane things like bungee jump or jump out of airplanes, but I got on dating web sites and ... God alone knows why I got on those sites.  Someone told my daughter it was because I was lonely.  And I was, desperately lonely.  The truth is, no one could fill that void but my Robert.  However,  I told myself, and anyone that would listen that I was doing good; because I was getting on with my life not drowning in sorrow or hiding under the covers in my bedroom.  Little did I know, I was still hiding.  I simply didn't know it until recently. 

     About a month after the anniversary of Robert's death, I began to come back to the land of the living.  While there is still a deep and gaping void which my husband filled for nearly 30 years, I began to feel joy and laughter, and I began wanting to spend time with my children instead of selling the house we had purchased 25 and a half years earlier and move to somewhere no one knew me and call my children "when" I wanted to call them.  That was weird, I love my children with all my heart and have always treasured and breathed in every moment I have been blessed to share with them; the good, the bad, and the ugly!  But I had wanted to run away from them for over a year.

     I slowly came awake to life again.  I probably began to act a little more normal than I had been over the last year or so.  I'm nutty to start with, so who really knows. 

     I attend an annual writing conference once a year, in my home state of Oklahoma called Oklahoma Writers Incorporated, Inc. (OWFI).  It was when I unexpectedly attended this year that  I really began to come alive.  Until then, I had been existing.  I hadn't wanted to go, but God got in the mix and got me there this year against my decision not to attend..  I'm thankful that He did now.  At the time I kept thinking "why did I come.  I don't want to be here."  I never thought I would think again.  Live again.  Write again.  But that weekend I met new friends, as you always do at these things; I listened to the seminars I attended and listened to the speakers; and I took photos.  Life began to creep back into my bones, my veins, my blood, my heart. 

     Following the OWFI Conference, slowly over time, I would have a thought, then the idea for a poem.  I slowly began to read again.  I stopped playing games on my computer and began to write down how I was feeling, write down ideas for stories for this blog, became creative again.   

~ To be continued ~

 

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