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Mother is overcome with emotion when reunited with her daughter after three years apart Tuesday, Aug 29th 2017 DailyMail on Facebook |
"I see myself as having three families: my birth family, the family that raised me, and my Cree family, who I was reunited with in my late teens,
so I consider myself to be lucky. "
You and I will meet again,
When we're least expecting it,
One day in some far off place,
I will recognize your face,
I won't say goodbye my friend,
For you and I will meet again.
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Midweek Motif ~ Reunions
Family reunions, class reunions, long-lost-friend reunions, soldier-on-leave reunions, forgiveness-induced reunions, after-the-disaster reunions:
- What is the same and what has changed since the last time together?
- What's the occasion and what is the feast?
- Is it sweet?
Your Challenge: In a new poem, paint a word picture of a reunion you've had (or know of) ~ or one you can imagine occurring.
The week in August you come home,
adult, professional, aloof,
we roast and carve the fatted calf
—in our case home-grown pig, the chine
garlicked and crisped, the applesauce
hand-pressed. Hand-pressed the greengage wine.
Nothing is cost-effective here.
The peas, the beets, the lettuces
hand sown, are raised to stand apart.
The electric fence ticks like the slow heart
of something we fed and bedded for a year,
then killed with kindness’s one bullet
and paid Jake Mott to do the butchering.
. . . .
(Read the rest of this AMAZING poem HERE.)
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Let us begin, dear love, where we left off;
Tie up the broken threads of that old dream;
And go on happy as before; and seem
Lovers again, though all the world may scoff.
Let us forget the graves, which lie between
Our parting and our meeting, and the tears
That rusted out the goldwork of the years;
The frosts that fell upon our gardens green.
Let us forget the cold malicious Fate
Who made our loving hearts her idle toys,
And once more revel in the old sweet joys
Of happy love. Nay, it is not too late!
Forget the deep-ploughed furrows in my brow;
Forget the silver gleaming in my hair;
Look only in my eyes! Oh! darling, there
The old love shone no warmer then than now.
Down in the tender depths of thy dear eyes,
I find the lost sweet memory of my youth,
Bright with the holy radiance of thy truth,
And hallowed with the blue of summer skies.
Tie up the broken threads, and let us go,
Like reunited lovers, hand in hand,
Back, and yet onward, to the sunny land
Of our To Be, which was our Long Ago.
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I Don't Know If History Repeats Itself
by
I don't Know if history repeats itself But I do know that you don't. I remember that city was divided Not only between Jews and Arabs, But Between me and you, When we were there together. We made ourselves a womb of dangers We built ourselves a house of deadening wars Like men of far north Who build themselves a safe warm house of deadening ice. The city has been reunited But we haven't been there together. By now I know That History doesn't repeat itself, As I always knew that you wouldn't.
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Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and
visit others in the spirit of the community—
Next week Susan's Midweek Motif will be "Peace."
