That I’m a Mama’s Boy

No reticence about it

I declare it with pure joy

We started out together

I was born in Mama’s bed

I remember how she lived

More than the words she said

My Dad was a preacher 

And Mom a preacher’s wife

It was Dad who did the talking 

But it was Mom who lived the life

Mama always loved us 

No matter what we did

She would tear our backside up

But Mom still loved her kid

There seldom was enough

But she made it go around

She often slept still hungry 

When she laid her children down

Life was hard and desperate

Dad I could seldom please

I think what brought me through 

Was my Mama on her knees

I’ve seen some hard road 

Just like my Mama did

Mom’s life served me well

In the raising of my kid

What Mama couldn’t teach me 

Was how quickly the years would go

How soon her youth would leave

And how soon her step would slow

The Mom who heard my infant cry

Listened for my step at the door

So soon grew old and feeble

And can’t hear me any more

In my heart I tremble

When I think of the day

That God will send His angel 

To take my Mom away

But there will be a time

When I will hear with joy

St. Peter at the gate 

Say , ” Here comes Mama’s Boy ! “

 -Karl Hansen ( The Rustic Rhymer )   Oct. 21 , 2001

 ^{Mom passed at age ninety three in March of 2003 .}  

The post Mama’s Boy  appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I knew Mom was lonesome

A child senses things 

That folks don’t realize

Mom has been a dreamer 

A writer in the night

She was wed, but unloved

Just a servant for my Dad

She was not important

Except to kids like me

I think, somehow she knew

That this kid realized

She walked a world apart

Carried burdens no one knew

You could hear it in the night

When she played piano, all alone

The melodies she’d weave

Traced the heart’s path for her

And I’d follow in my mind

From my bed behind the door

When I should have been asleep 

I had nights like this then

I guess I’m not surprised

To find myself at dawn

Listening to Mom’s lonesome 

As the memories come back

Of when I was only six

And Mom was restless

God, how it would pull

My heartstrings, lying there

To hear Mom’s broken heart 

Come through that old upright

As she played for God 

Asking peace for her soul

As this shivering little kid 

Listened in the darkness

Realizing what it was

Not knowing these big words

I put on paper now

The feeling hasn’t changed

She played piano then

And I write it down 

‘Cause I can’t play piano…

-Karl Hansen, The Rustic Rhymer 

The post PIANOS AND INK appeared first on Arkansas Strong.