Patricia M Osborne

 

M – Magnificent Majesty

Magnificent Majesty was created for an assignment on my advanced creative writing course with the Open University. Part of the assignment included writing a villanelle which is a closed form. I chose a piano as my subject because that’s my second love to writing.

Magnificent Majesty was first published in Brian Wrixon’s Poets with Voices Strong – Rhyme with Reason and later on OAPSchat website.

 

Magnificent Majesty

The black beast stands proud on the floor,
his exquisite profile radiates light.
A magnificent majesty we all adore.

The lip of his mouth is open to explore
inside; ivory white teeth, gleaming and bright
in the black beast that stands proud on the floor.

Black tails sits down and strikes a chord
or two, then soft raindrops descend and glide
along the magnificent majesty we all adore.

He extends his arm to turn over the score
as he practises his repertoire for tonight,
on the black beast that stands proud on the floor.

The shower’s wrath deepens to storm
whilst the pianist continues to recite
on the magnificent majesty we all adore.

The virtuoso in his glory performs and ignores
what’s around as he plays with pride,
on the black beast that stands proud on the floor,
His Magnificent Majesty we all adore.

***

M – Muse

’The spirit, force, or a person that inspires or impels a poet to create.’ (John Drury, The Poetry Dictionary)

In the above poem my piano was my muse

M – Music Poem

Magnificent Majesty is a music poem as it uses Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude as an extended metaphor.

M – Mother’s Breath

Mother’s Breath is a Pantoum which is another closed form. I was inspired to write it when watching my mum sleeping in hospital in 2007. Thankfully we didn’t lose her at that time although she never fully recovered. She managed seven more years before falling asleep for the last time on June 22nd 2014. It was the saddest day of my life. I don’t think we ever get over losing a loved one but instead just get better at putting one foot in front of the other. My mum was one of the most inspiring women I’ve ever known. She showed courage and tenderness throughout her life, always putting others first, and she fought her terminal illness without complaint.

Mother’s Breath was first published in Brian Wrixon’s Poets with Voices Strong – Rhyme with Reason and later on OAPSchat website.

Mum this one’s for you…

Mother’s Breath
She lies peaceful, serene, and alone,
long silky-smooth hair drapes her face,
faded parting covering her crown.
She breathes peaceful in this safe place.

Long silky-smooth hair drapes her face
on the soft high swaddling retreat.
She breathes peaceful in this safe place,
her secure oasis, discrete.

In her soft high swaddling retreat,
she breathes softly, unaware I stand near
her secure oasis. I’m discreet
and patient, waiting and watching over her.

She breathes softly, unaware I’m near.
Her faded parting covering her crown.
I stay patient, waiting and watching her
as she lies, peaceful, serene and alone.

***

It took me a long time before I could write about the last moments of Mum’s life but I managed it when digging into memories while taking part in an online poetry course with The Poetry School last year.

 

Last Moments

Milky eyes
stare into space,

I drip water from a straw
into opened lips,

you suck but no words
leave your mouth.

I squeeze your hand
you squeeze mine,

I stroke long fingers
with tenderness.

The doctor calls me from the room:

you take a last gasp of air
at 11:22am and slip away,

not allowing goodbyes:

I’m not ready for you to die.

A photo frame hangs in my study,
nut-brown eyes sparkle,
open lips smile down at me.

A voice in my head whispers my name,
‘you’re not alone, I’m still here.’

Memories flood my mind:
kisses, cuddles and tucks up in bed,

playing catch, hopscotch, skipping,
two balls banging on the wall,

karaoke in the lounge,
giggles as we grease dance,

you twirl me under your arm,
we jive around the room,

delicious dinners,
a glass of Shiraz,

thrashings at Scrabble
and crosswords,

walks by the sea,
sandcastles on the sand,

that last Sunday morning
when I stroked and held your hand.

You’ll always be part of me,
You’ll always be in my heart

but not quite the same
as holding you in my arms.