Friday, February 11, 2011

The Result of a Creative Writing Workshop

A favourite because Nan and I wrote it together.  

LATE NIGHT SCRABBLE


A game of Scrabble was her request,
At this time of night it was surely in jest.
But the look on her face told me I was quite wrong,
"Okay, Mum, I'll play, but it won't be for long."


And so it began, the barrage of words,
Communication was open, rest was for the birds.
Mum doesn't talk much, but the Scrabble board does,
It tells of her feelings, her hates and her loves.


COMFORT, GRIEF, DUTY, conspicuously placed.
When fathers were lost, was this what sons faced?
My counter attacks were feeble attempts
Of BOWLS and of CHURCH and of the FRIENDS who would fret.


Attacking from the right she formed the word SON.
With MOTHER smugly set down my BURDEN was undone.
I thought I had won when I changed MOTHER to SMOTHER.
And when I placed NURSING in front of her HOME,
We glared at each other,
Would this game be atoned?


She finally spoke , "Why son I'm Surprised,
You should know better than to break the guidelines."
My fear went away I'd only broken the rules.
Hyphens aren't permitted, I felt such a fool.


So the battle was lost, though I tried to live on.
But Mum was so smart, and I hadn't played in so long!
As I poured out the tea,
I gave in to the plan.
She would move in with me,
We would sell the land.


I thought it was over and retired to bed
To consider the things that my mother had "said."
Yet when I rang the agent, did as I was told,
The agent informed me, the property was SOLD!

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