A Poem for Memorial Day

In Honor of Our Troops on Memorial Day

Image credit: clipartfan.com

MY ADOPTED SOLDIER

For Cpl. R. J. Roberts, USMC

America At War In Iraq – March, 2003

The message on my computer screen

said click on The Presidential Prayer Team –

the Adopt Our Troops link

and be given a soldier to pray for

until the end of the war

I didn't know any soldiers

stationed in Iraq, personally

soldiers who startled us with Shock & Awe

soldiers who endured stinging sand

blazing days and shivery desert nights

Didn't know any who engaged in combat

manned planes, ‘copters and tanks

or risked biological warfare

during that arduous trek to Baghdad

Didn't know any at all

so I clicked on the website

…but was unable to access the link

When the morning paper arrived

the front page held a full color photo

of a British medic

examining a newborn Iraqi baby

cradled in a cardboard box

with the flaps torn off

I placed my hand upon the soldier

Jesus, bring him home, whole

laid my hand upon the infant

O Lord, please have him grow up

safe and strong

in a land free of terror…

At work, later that morning

a co-worker approached my counter

softly singing a hymn

How lovely to hear singing

in times like these, I remarked

My son left Tuesday, she said

Our eyes locked

mother to mother

I'd like to adopt your son, I told her

I'll pray for him every day

until he comes home

He is a Marine, she said

serving in the air delivery platoon

Cpl. R. J. Roberts

He'll be on the ground

distributing supplies in Iraq

I know he'll return

Our pastor prophesied

a few years ago

that R. J. will become a preacher

He's not a preacher yet…

though I suppose

there's a very good chance

he may be preaching right now

When I got home

I fastened a yellow ribbon

to my front porch railing

Maude Carolan

Irises in Bloom!

It's time to stroll the iris rainbow
at the Presby Memorial Iris Garden
in Montclair, New Jersey.

Presby Memorial Iris Garden, Montclair, NJ

 THE IRIS GARDEN

I delightedly strolled

along an iris rainbow

one effulgent Sunday in May

while would-be VanGoghs

painted under sunbrellas.

God could’ve made irises gray,

but He’s as lavish with color

as He is with love.

Maude Carolan

Remembering Mom on Mother's Day

Frances Longo Walsh

MOTHER

In loving memory of Frances Longo Walsh (1915-1966)

I recall the way

my mother’s whole body jiggled when she laughed,

her sweet, shy smile,

that she understood Italian, but never spoke it,

the utter simplicity of her desires...

never asking for or receiving much

and not once complaining.

She had all she wanted, a home and family.

I remember the helpmeet working side by side

with our father, clearing the land

and building our stucco home.

My mind’s eye sees her plucking

chicken feathers in the backyard,

walking uphill home from the bus stop,

huffing, puffing;

scratching her itching back

against the bedroom door frame;

camping, just to please us children,

though it was more work than fun for her.

Recall, as if it were yesterday,

the flowery apron over her housedress

with its chain of safety pins

and her elastic band bracelets,

and Mother, standing at the stove, stirring

the bubbling red sauce in the big enamel pot.

Little Mommy, four-foot-ten and overweight—

She served herself the skimpiest portions,

never ate dessert, but occasionally gave in

to one indulgence: a crusty Italian bastone

from Minardi’s, sliced and spread with a pat of butter.

Hindsight reveals her quick on her feet

in the yard goods department at Quackenbush’s,

where customers remembered her

for smiles as quick as her feet.

When she arrived home, she changed her clothes

and aired out one of her two work dresses

on the clothesline off the back porch.

In retrospect, I see her

rolling her dark hair back into two neat curls

above her forehead,

applying red lipstick to her upper lip,

bringing both lips together to transfer color

to the lower, then, blotting.

Never attended high school, but

she could add columns of numbers

rapidly, in her head.

She read the newspaper nightly,

and completed the crossword puzzle.

My memory flashes to her relaxing evenings

in our parlor, in the old tufted chair,

watching Alfred Hitchcock or Lucy or

Barbara Stanwick in, “The Big Valley”.

She never missed the easy crooning of Perry Como.

He was her favorite. (He’d been a barber, like her father.)

I remember it pleased our father

that she always waited up for him

till he arrived home after working

the night shift at Wright’s.

Yes, I still see clearly, her dear kerchiefed head,

which Gramma remarked, made her look

like a peasant in a babushka.

Remember trying to convince her to hike her hemlines,

wear “Kiss Me Pink” lipstick, update her hair style,

learn to drive.

Flashback to hear her inviting my date

to come in for a cup of tea at our kitchen table

when he brought me home.

Vividly, I recollect the day

she was curled up tight on the couch.

She didn’t want me to call the ambulance,

though her hernia was strangling,

didn’t want to spoil plans

my sister and I had with our friends.

I disobeyed. The doctors operated just in time,

before gangrene set in.

My mind’s eye still sees tears in her eyes

when she came to my wedding

without my father.

And I remember her joy

to learn both daughters were pregnant, however,

she died before her grandchildren were born.

Oh! How much her grandchildren have missed

for never having known her—

which is one of the reasons

I’ve written this poem

Maude Carolan

Happy Mother's Day

to all moms, everywhere...

God bless you all!

Alana's First Communion Day

God bless my granddaughter, Alana,
who celebrated her First Holy Communion, Saturday,

 at St. Mary's RC Church, Pompton Lakes, NJ.

Alana Dulce Muniz

The following poem goes back, back, back in time 
to when my sister Carol and me

celebrated our First Communion in 1950.

FIRST COMMUNION, 1950

It was a long, long time ago, but
I remember as if it were yesterday—
My sister Carol was six; I was seven
Viola, my mother's best friend
sewed lovely white dresses for us
Mine had a bodice of white embroidered flowers
and a shimmery organdy skirt
Carol's, just the opposite
had an organdy bodice and flowery skirt
We wore crinoline slips
and pristine white stockings
shiny white Mary Janes
and tulle veils adorned with sprigs
of lily of the valley at the crown

Carol and I practiced walking
with hands in prayer
down the long church aisle
to receive the Little White Host
at the altar rail

We each nervously whispered
our first confession to the priest
in a dark confessional
the size of a small closet
We said the Act of Contrition
received absolution
and prayed our penance prayers
all in anticipation
of our First Communion Day

…but, my sister became ill
She had the measles
so I received my First Communion
without her, but with all the other
First Communicant boys and girls
of St. Bonaventure Roman Catholic Church

We were well prepared—
schooled in the liturgy
the songs and prayers
Most importantly, we all truly loved Jesus

As I sat, quiet and still
like a pure wingless angel
in the old wooden pew
gazing at the stained glass windows
listening to the Latin Mass
and the ringing of the Offertory chimes
my stomach began to feel queasy
I had fasted, as was the custom
from midnight, the night before—
the first fast of my life
so I thought I was just hungry
but I developed chills and felt faint
and wanted to go home

Nevertheless, I said the prayers
and sang the songs
and received the precious Holy Bread
from the hand of the priest
upon my tongue, happy
that Jesus now lived inside of me

After Mass was over
I went home and straight to bed
Little red spots dotted my face and body
…Measles, of course

Two Sundays later
Carol and I dressed up
in our beautiful white finery--
Two healthy little brides of Christ
and received Holy Eucharist, together

Maude Carolan Pych

Alana