Memories of a Boy and his Dad

In Australia it is the afternoon on the last day of 2011. I awoke this morning with my being filled with memories of past New Years Eves , and the ache of emptiness that comes on what were previously special days.

 

Instead of posting a poem of my own, I have decided to share with you two poems, one written by my son Ken, and the other by my husband Rod. 

 

The first poem Thomas, was written by Ken after the death of his beloved Poppa. My father was a loving, lovable man who battled alcoholism all his adult life. My father and my son shared a very special bond, as Ken’s words achingly convey.

 

The second poem A Woman Calls, was written by my husband a week after he had stood with his hand on my shoulder, supporting me while I made the call to America to tell my son’s former partner and lifelong friend, of the suicide of our darling Ken. 

 

These poems may seem sad, and yes in some ways they are, but for me they are also a celebration of the lives of two special men who were gifted with the qualities of loving empathy, and poetic expression.

 

Thomas

 

A picture is all I have

To remind me of your life

This emotion runs so deep

Oh why can’t I follow you

 

Your wisdom and your heart

Greater than your legacy

Of the ones you left behind

Oh why can’t I follow you

 

I long for the time

When your smile meet mine

Tucked gently inside a bottle

Oh why can’t I follow you

 

I weep at the reflection

In the eyes of your wife

For since you said goodbye…

O why can’t I follow you

 

A soul so weightless

The wind took you from me

I never got to show you

Just who you were to me

 

This lid is sealed so tight

On your final kiss

Tasting death on your lips

Please wait for me

 

Kenneth Bertram

 

 

A Woman Calls

 

It is late at night

when the phone calls out

in a room so far away

As a woman sits in a sunlight room

and ponders what she’ll say

 

The receiver clicks

and she listens

to hear the gentle greeting “Hi”

She steels her resolve to speak her piece

but first she makes a sigh

 

She speaks not of betrayal

nor of a man who has run

She speaks to tell the other

of the death

of her only son

 

Two women linked by a common bond

for a man they each caressed

Now linked in common grief

feeling only despair

bereft

 

Their tears touch cheeks

fall on heaving breasts

as they share the dreadful tale

And as their grief hits home

their sobs become a wail

 

The common link is broken

as they both put down the phone

the bond remains between them

‘though each must grieve

alone

 

In separate rooms in distant lands

they weep for one another

They weep for themselves

they weep for him

His Lover and his Mother

 

Rod Bertram 1/9/1999