POETRY

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Poetry by Paul Mitchell

 

When I was asked to write something for the church's Mother's Day in Seoul, Korea (2002), my own mother spoke about how she use to cry on her pillow at night when I was young. She was telling me that it was hard being a mother sometimes, and she went to sleep many times with tears on her pillow.  When she said tears on her pillow, the Holy Spirit told me right then that I would write about Mama's pillow of tears. May God bless you all.  I dedicate this once again to my mama, Vergie Lee Trahan-Mitchell. 

 Mama's Pillow of Tears

 © 11 May 02  Paul Mitchell Seoul, Korea

 

Have you ever heard your mother grieve?

Like a wailing woman at the tomb,

The sound tears at the heart,

For something must be wrong,

  And you are too young to play a part.

 

I recall a time, when comprehension failed to appear,

Apart from feeling something was not right,

Huddling down to be quite,

To hear the sound of tears through the night.

 

Sing me a lullaby mother dear,

It always makes you smile,

Silently, mother looks up and beckons me near.

Cuddling me close to her heart.

 

Hush child, don¡¯t you cry,

Mother is going to sing a lullaby.

And tuck you nice and tight,

Sleep my child in peace tonight.

 

Time fades fast away,

Years of not knowing go by,

Then one day,

The question is asked to mother

       of the reasons why.

 

This is what my mother had to say.

 

Through it all, I prayed for each of you,

Making mistakes

That seemed never few,

 

When the times got dark and cloudy,

And the winds blew strong,

I went to my pillow of tears,

And called up to God's Throne.

 

To be a stern and faithful mother,

When no one understood why I did not go,

I wanted to protect and shelter my kids from all harm,

Even now in all I know,

 

I desired to give you freedom

Around the safety of the nest,

But, the wind was driving you to venture far,

Therefore, I prayed that God would love you best. 

 

 Remember my words I use to say,

"Today is Sunday and you kids will be in
Somebody's Church Today".

 

Those are the words my mother still says.

 

I did not understand until much later,

In what my Mother was talking about,

However, I recall the lonely hours of the night,

When she called on "somebody" to help in her plight.

 

Sometimes my mind wonders,

And I think this way,

My mother is my angel,

Sent from God above,

Giving me everything

     in the name of love.

 

I can see her near the throne,

In which she made a choice,

A chosen vessel all her own,

To come in my life with a strict hand.

 

I hear God telling Heaven's own,

Whom will we send?

Whom will we let go?

We need a special person,

To love our child below.

 

The mission will not be easy,

Nor the rewards great,

There will be moments of misery,

In which it seems all is lost.

 

I see my mother coming forth,

With her wings stretched high,

Kneeling at the throne,

Saying, "Nevertheless, God, I will try".

 

My mother stretched her wings further this time,

And kneeled lower before the throne,

Saying, "I know you will not forsake me

When I feel all-alone,     

 

For somebody would surely come,

Sent out from your throne",

And rising, mother stood,

Not noticing her wings were gone.

But, that's not how the story ends.

For in this journey,

I found my mother's friend.

 

That somebody my mother was talking about,

The one who shared her pillow in the lonely hours of dark. 

For I found the owner,

In the Gospel of Mark.

 

And He was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, "Master, carest thou not that we perish?" ³⁹And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, "Peace, be still."  And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.  Mark 4:38-39

 

When the pain of life surfaces slowly,

And raise from the depths of my soul,

Clouding my visions,

For fear to unfold.

 

I remember Mama,s pillow of tears

Which leads me to understand,

Regardless of the terrible wind through this journey,

I am always safe in the Master,s hand.

 

 

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(English)

My Father knew……….

I was on a fantastic journey,

Alas, this was my thinking before I found my help mate,

I vanished from my world,

(Korean version)

나의 아버지 하나님은 알고 계셨네 …

그녀를 알기 전에,

Poetry by Herb Metoyer

Dying Roses....

 

Of all the things that

are living and be dying

To me — the death of a rose

is saddest of all.

Oh, how I do dread the smell

their silent unearthly screams....

 

 

Farewell

(To My Wife upon leaving for Vietnam)

 

For some reason, I thought my troubles had all gone away

Now I learn that I must fight a war today

Isn’t there something that you can say

A kindly word to send me on my way

Look above my love, the blue sky is now gray

 

If I could change the world, surely I would

And if I did, would it do us any good

Song birds sing only because they know that they should

And I must go to battle like any good soldier would

If I were the master, I’d change things if I could

 

Look my Love, the sun is falling from the sky

Wild geese fly thousands of miles and never ask why

Have you seen the place where young soldiers go to die

The place where stalwart men hide in holes to cry

Where each prays the other will be the unlucky guy

 

And so my love I leave you, with a task and one more song

Keep my love in your heart and remember me when I’m gone

And should I be of those who never returns back home

Blame the politicians, not the Viet-Cong

Farewell, my love. My love, farewell….