Patricia May Thomson
August 31, 1939 – May 7, 2026
Mom and Me in White rock, B.C.
I will always miss my mom and hear the sound of her laugh. She had a few different kinds; the laugh that said she didn’t believe a word you said, a laugh that found someone’s audacity ridiculous, then there was the real joyful laugh that was two notes with a lingering smile. My mom was the youngest and prettiest of all the moms. When she took her first grandchild to the mall, everyone thought it was her baby. She loved to sing along to George jones and there was ONE song she played on repeat until one of my siblings secretly hid the record. This Poem is for my mom:
A Poem for My Mother
Her hands held
Soft, newborn heads
Five of them.
Her young heart
Full of Joie de vivre
Was hardly prepared
For her burdened knee.
Shoulders bent to tasks
Meant for one much older
She lived true
To her bewildering sacrifice
Until she was no longer.
A laugh, a cry--what's the difference
within one's life?
While the moon and sun continue to rise
Photo by Kevin Mueller on Unsplash
Although
I want to write
About rainbows and birds
Pretty flowers perched
And gazing from their stems
But all that appears
Are ravens and storms
Black clouds
Stir my soul
Although I'm the first
To point to colours in the sky
It's black ink
Crows and clouds
That get me by
`Nora M. Parker
The truth is in his name.
A trick,
A lucky card.
He warned you himself
With his crimes and coercion
But you ignored it all.
You wanted so badly to believe
His campaign promises.
That is his power; to deceive.
His entitlement an understatement,
Overt greed his contagion.
For didn’t you want everything he represents?
So you voted your sacred power away
and now you awaken chained and starved.
Only to look in the mirror
And see his face.
A demented twist of fate.
When will you learn the price of siding with evil?
Now your bible is meaningless
Since you’ve learned nothing from it.
And you cannot pray yourself out of a cage.
-LTW
art Henri Matisse
He rushed past the threshold
With barely a glance back
No concern for his son’s lost shoe
Or his daughter’s missing “my little pony”
It’s woman’s work
And he need not bother
He works hard, he explained
But went to great pains
To catch a game
He was important, you know
Above menial chores
But he would soon learn
The cost of his absence
Could not be repaid,
Ever, amen
And the perpetual woman’s work
Came to an end, left undone
When the love dried up
Only a fool assumes she will forgive
Without appreciation for the little things she did
Like a kettle overboiled scalding his heart
The scar will remain long after she departs
Memory of her holding their son,
Or kissing a boo-boo,
Vivid and clear
Woman's work endeared
Many years later
The lonely man advises the younger,
"As you pass the threshold
Remember to glance back
For you never know
Which day will be your last"
Shadowed secrets
Weight my mind
Ground me in clouds
Greyer than time
Do you remember me?
Or am I a figment
Of a lie
You pretend to deny
Open now to sunlight
In the gloom
I make no sound
Simply pray
On a starlit wing
Returning to me
my soul replete
Treading lightly
In a new day
-Lisa Thomson Wells
image source: Ben Nelms for CBC “Aggressive Wildfire Threatens Major Okanagan Cities”
Untitled
Only the Lucky Ones
Orange, smokey skies
Cloud our thoughts
Confusion and loss
Invade our lives
Burning out of control
Devil’s breath destroys
Leaving our home behind
Only the lucky ones
Get out alive
-LTW
With the wildfires foremost on my mind, the above poem came to me naturally. I can’t think of a title though. Strange as usually titles come to me first.
I’ve been thinking about the evacuees due to wildfires in both the Interior British Columbia and Yellowknife, in the Northwest Territories. In addition, the tragedy of Lahaina in Maui, Hawaii has weighed heavily on my mind as I’m sure it has with you as well.
Normally I would write about ‘summer’ and what I’ve been up to but summer hasn’t been pleasant with wildfires dominating the news. The season’s no longer as charming as its endless blue skies and incredible sunsets. It is disturbing. I do feel that our world is truly on fire.
Just for reference, the city of Yellowknife is the most northern city in Canada. There is no daylight on the winter solstice and no darkness on the summer solstice. I’ve heard from people who have lived there that it is a magical place where the Aurora Borealis dances and the community, although fraught with a colorful history, is tight knit.
If you are curious about this city, I recommend reading Elizabeth Hay’s Late Nights On Air. I’ve read it twice because it’s that good. It is fiction (semi-autobiographical) and takes place in the mid-late 1970’s. She weaves the political issues and the growth of the city of Yellowknife in her story making the city itself a central character. The story takes you through the wilderness as well which is a vicarious way to experience the Great North without leaving your couch (haha).
I pray the city will survive and the evacuees can return to their homes and livelihoods. Ditto for the city of Kelowna which has been hit hard in the suburban areas. I saw on the news that the conditions for fighting the fires have improved but still, no rain in forecast to assist.
To give you a visual, you see on the map below exactly where Yellowknife is located. The Interior cities in British Columbia are southwestern part of the map.
Summer isn’t over yet and nor are the wildfire dangers. Let’s hope for improvement in the next few days. What’s happening in your part of the world? Do you feel overwhelmed by climate change, or the ‘news’ in general? Let’s chat in the comments. Also, if you can suggest a title for my poem please tell me in the comments. 🙂 Thank you, LA CONTESSA who suggested the title for my poem!
Photo by Randy Kinne on Unsplash
Do you love him? he asked
Yes, she answered a little too quickly
He could see through her lies
And her phony goodbyes
He touched her hand
His heart flickered
And he saw into her soul
His twin flame alight
When I was a child this odd and haunting song was often heard on the radio. I didn’t know what it was called or who sang it but it was both dreamy and sad. Something about life’s illusions. What even are life’s illusions? I would ponder.
There was a carousel or was that a different song? No, it was a ‘ferris wheel’ and a ‘circus crowd’.
We’re already half way through summer. It always goes far too quickly of all the seasons. Winter? Dragging…like an ellipses. Spring? The start of a new thought; like a semicolon. Autumn? Gathering, like a comma ordering things. But summer! The exclamation of the seasons. Bright, long days, swimming, parties and other exclamatory activities! But gone all too soon.
Design by ThemeShift.
