# Grave Danger



## Nellie (Aug 9, 2017)

We hear her lowly muttering
as mother wanders through time,
lame sketches of life's suffering
shown with amateur pantomime.

She has always been soft spoken
mother's words will never come back,
now her brain is forever broken
those damned, callousing brain attacks.

Mother could not remember when
last Easter, we sent her on a trip,
mom didn't remember where she had been
now we know she is losing her grip.

Mother was the full-time caregiver
as she watched my father die,
with only the passion she could deliver
to sustain the formidable lie.

Truly, mom is closer to her grave
day by day, moment by moment
as startling mini-strokes cannot save
mom from her dramatic lament.


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## jenthepen (Aug 9, 2017)

Your love and sadness for your mom shines through this poem, Nellie. What a cruel thief of the past these mini strokes are - my aunt suffered the same way. It's good that you remember your mother as the person she truly is, even though this condition has robbed her of the ability to access her memory.


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## Nellie (Aug 9, 2017)

Jen, thanks for reading and responding. Yes,it is very sad to watch....... and wait....... every day is more of a challenge. And mother knows because she took care of my father for 15 years after his stroke. His suffering was long and drawn out. He ended up on dialysis the final two years of life.  She doesn't want to go like he did. Ah, life can be cruel. :hopelessness::disillusionment:


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## CrimsonAngel223 (Aug 10, 2017)

Enjoyed it. I like the use of the word callous.


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## sas (Aug 10, 2017)

I thought of my mother while reading. She struggled back from many memory robbing strokes. But, what was most indelible was her total loss of memory, at age 86, after hitting her head in a fall. For weeks, at the hospital, I brought photos of family to help her.with names and who they were.  But, I cried with her when she asked where her mom and dad were. She cried like a baby when I told her they had died. 

I've yet to be able to write a poem about it, and that was 15 years ago. Still too painful.


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## Kevin (Aug 10, 2017)

Great title, double entendres( is that what they call it? ) I wondering if you played with the layout of any of the lines, putting the same words in different order?  Anyway, I think mom (when you call her that) is capitalized. I forget the rule. Difficult subject that most of will have to go through at some point. Thx.


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## sas (Aug 10, 2017)

Look to eliminate some words. I rarely make suggestions on rhymed work, as I no longer write it. However, can you do without "her" on first line? Maybe you've another expression for "losing her grip". I'd also consider not starting last stanza with "Truly". It is a weak word, serving no purpose. It would be more poignant to begin that stanza with Mom, whereas you used Mother, in previous ones. It would be a subtle and touching shift. The last stanza did not draw me in. Perhaps that stanza should be about you, and your loss. 

Hope helpful.  Sas


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## Nellie (Aug 10, 2017)

Kevin said:


> Great title, double entendres( is that what they call it? ) I wondering if you played with the layout of any of the lines, putting the same words in different order?  Anyway, I think mom (when you call her that) is capitalized. I forget the rule. Difficult subject that most of will have to go through at some point. Thx.




 Kevin, yes, I did play with the layout of the lines and words and this is what I came up with. And "mom" should be capitalized when I use the word as her name. Thanks for pointing that out.



			
				sas said:
			
		

> Look to eliminate some words. I rarely make suggestions on rhymed work, as I no longer write it. However, can you do without "her" on first line? Maybe you've another expression for "losing her grip". I'd also consider not starting last stanza with "Truly". It is a weak word, serving no purpose. It would be more poignant to begin that stanza with Mom, whereas you used Mother, in previous ones. It would be a subtle and touching shift. The last stanza did not draw me in. Perhaps that stanza should be about you, and your loss.



If you rarely make suggestions, why did you post twice? Your first post was sufficient. 

Anyway, I'll consider your suggestions. However, I am going to keep the word "grave" in the poem. This poem is not about me..... it is about my mother going away....losing her grip...... rhyme works for me.


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## sas (Aug 10, 2017)

Actually, I posted a second time because I thought it neglectful not to offer what I thought might be helpful, even though it is a quite personal poem. It is so much easier to just say nothing, or "yes, I can relate."  

When I post in this Poetry group, I now say I'm not looking for workshop, because I workshop mine in the Poetry Workshop group. Might I suggest that others do the same, if that's the case. It is most confusing. I never know where to step, for fear of stepping on toes. I've been pondering not making workshop comments here. That's probably a good idea, since lines seem too fuzzy for me. 

Best. Sas
.


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## Nellie (Aug 10, 2017)

sas said:


> When I post in this Poetry group, I now say I'm not looking for workshop, because I workshop mine in the Poetry Workshop group. Might I suggest that others do the same, if that's the case. It is most confusing. I never know where to step, for fear of stepping on toes. I've been pondering not making workshop comments here. That's probably a good idea, since lines seem too fuzzy for me.
> 
> .



:encouragement: This is why I don't post in the Poetry Workshop group. I find it too confusing, also. Why do we make comments here AND in the Workshop group?

Anyway, after thinking about your suggestions, here is a re-write:

We hear lowly muttering
as Mother wanders through time,
lame sketches of life's suffering
shown with amateur pantomime.

She has always been soft spoken
Mother's words will never come back,
now her brain is forever broken
those damned, callousing brain attacks.

Mother could not remember when
last Easter, we sent her on a trip,
Mom didn't remember where she had been
now we know she is losing her grip.

Mom was the full-time caregiver
as she watched my father die,
with only the passion she could deliver
to sustain the formidable lie.

She is on the brink of her grave
so until her final moment,
only Mom is willing to enslave
useless condolence.


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## sas (Aug 10, 2017)

I do like poem better now. Especially, the final stanza, which is most important.

I have asked for a long time why the TWO workshop groups. I know that the Poetry Group posts can be found on the internet, so if submitting for publication, they are probably not accepted. To have work "off the grid", the Poetry Workshop group, is where one should post. Those poems I never intend to submit, anywhere, and just want to share, I post here, in Poetry group, and say not to bother work-shopping. Poems I'm more serious about, I post in Poetry Workshop. Anyway, that is how I've sorted it out. But, on other's work, if posted here, I never know whether to make suggestions, or not. I wish everyone would just say: Workshop Welcome; or No Workshop when submitting, in Poetry group.


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## Freethesea (Aug 10, 2017)

This poem is a lighting rod to the heart for those who have witnessed a vibrant life slip away. But I find this part of the poem particularly intriguing:   

Mother was the full-time caregiver
as she watched my father die,
with only the passion she could deliver
to sustain the formidable lie.

Very sacrificial, right? But what was the lie?


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## SilverMoon (Aug 10, 2017)

Cindy, though no one in my family suffered from the painfully slow process of eventually becoming trapped in their own mind, I did work in a nursing home and witnessed this tragic slipping into an inner abyss. I found myself adopting several patients. I, the adult. They, the children. My heart, bursting each day.  

In this way your poem reached me - and as your friend who knows what you go through on a daily basis..

We hear *lowly muttering *a powerful word pairing.
as Mother *wanders *through time, a delicate word, effectively contrasting the above noted.

 She has had always been *soft spoken  *effectively giving us a glance of her nature

Mother's words will never come back
now her brain is forever broken
those damned, callousing brain attacks. I would consider eliminating the word "damned". You've gotten across so well that this is a condition to be damned. 

Mother could not remember 
last Easter, when we sent her on a trip,Easter, always a happy time for children. I imagine, your reflecting on those days, mother showing you how to color Easter eggs. Strong in your memory, hers slight. A strong visual 


 You've succeeded putting craft before catharsis, my friend. Not an easy going on. Hugs


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## Nellie (Aug 10, 2017)

Freethesea said:


> This poem is a lighting rod to the heart for those who have witnessed a vibrant life slip away. But I find this part of the poem particularly intriguing:
> 
> Mother was the full-time caregiver
> as she watched my father die,
> ...



Thank-you, Freethesea (I like that name).  

Yes, it was a very sacrificial life and that's what makes it a lie. Mother watched father slowly die for 15 years, taking care of him, driving him everywhere and the last 5 years of his life, he was in and out of hospitals and on dialysis 3 days a week. Then he couldn't eat nor could he clean himself if/when he did eat. Now she's saying she doesn't want to go like dad did. Neither do I!


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## Nellie (Aug 10, 2017)

SilverMoon said:


> Cindy, though no one in my family suffered from the painfully slow process of eventually becoming trapped in their own mind, I did work in a nursing home and witnessed this tragic slipping into an inner abysse. I found myself adopting several patients. I, the adult. They, the children. My heart, bursting each day.
> 
> In this way your poem reached me - and as your friend who knows what you go through on a daily basis..



It is a sad, sad thing to watch and know that they know they are going is even sadder. On his last hospitalization, when all five of us the kids gathered around his bed, dad knew he was going. He even asked, "Am I dying?" None of us could answer.




			
				Silvermoon said:
			
		

> You've succeeded putting craft before catharsis, my friend. Hugs



:applause::victorious::smile:

​THANKS!


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## sas (Aug 10, 2017)

To share:

My mother leaned into me and said,
 "I think I'm dying." 

Surprised, but knowing when truth was needed, I answered, 
"I think so, too, mom."

I broke a long silence and asked how she felt about it.

After another long pause, that I did not interrupt, 
she said,  "Sad." 

"Why?", I asked.

She looked up, then answered,
"I'll miss your faces."

Me . . .
"I'll miss yours, too."
I put my hand on her cheek. 


This is a writers' forum. My advice is to not avoid the difficult, in real life, or you'll never capture anything truthful and real to write about, much less remember. Allow even that which is painful. It could be your finest moment. 

.


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## jpatricklemarr (Aug 10, 2017)

My own losses prevent me from proper criticism. I can only say that your pain is all too familiar and, as always with this sort of peace, I am touched to know that...although I would never wish anyone a membership in this ever-growing club...I am not alone. Thank you for sharing it.


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## Nellie (Aug 10, 2017)

sas said:


> To share:
> 
> My mother leaned into me and said,
> "I think I'm dying."
> ...



 I wish we would have been that direct with my dad. My sister sort of told him, but not straight out. Thanks for sharing.



			
				sas said:
			
		

> This is a writers' forum. My advice is to not avoid the difficult, in real life, or you'll never capture anything truthful and real to write about, much less remember. Allow even that which is painful. It could be your finest moment.
> .


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## Freethesea (Aug 10, 2017)

Thanks so much for the explanation Nellie. It could be taken several different ways which makes it so interesting to me. 

Its wonderful to be able to get an answer from the writer themselves._ Their_ intention and meaning. 

Sort of indulgent. I like it a-lot.


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## Freethesea (Aug 10, 2017)

Geesh. Sas. How poignant. Is that part of a book, prose, or a poem? Cause I like the two characters and how they speak to one another. I bet it's not a book though, is it?


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