An Unspoken Bond

Powerful

This is so authentic.

Well written. It's hard for a mother to keep her mouth shut, even though the children are grown up.

well written

Oh I really like that!

Thank you all you wonderful sensitive people...
I'm much obliged for the pithy but potent comments.
Meryl, my late mother was a bookworm like I am and it was not difficult
for her to keep her mouth shut under all circumstances somehow.
I guess I inherited her wonderful habit of listening and observing much more
than talking or asserting her point of view.
Thank you all.
Cheerz!

Good, as usual, Max. Cuts through and bares feelings. Thanks.

Nicely executed.
Confession and appreciation.
Concisely writing an entire story.

Mother watching son grow up, but close enough to step in and do her motherly work with this budding man. This is a wonderfully vivid portrait, Max. Well done.

Max, the bond was indeed unspoken - but its nature was not a Mexican standoff of fear ... underneath that was the love and caring for each other that speaks louder than words.

This is an elegant poem ... most impressive. Ten stars from me.

I know. My mom can still manage to cut me deep with her reproachful eyes.

Max, sorry I could'nt get here before this.

Anyone who has ever been caught smoking by their mother can relate to this, Max. It really is a complicated expression they give you when they know you know they know, ....but we're going to ignore it right now. Excellent poem capturing a a feeling I had not thought about for many years. Thanks for the e-mail Max. You're welcome to comment at atticus.gather.com too.

Very nicely written. It is amazing what parents can see, but not know.

Yeah, Max, me mom always used to tell me "the truth only hurts when it's supposed to"

I too have an uneasy truce with many I love.

My mother remained the smoker and I held my comments and my nose.
This poem is universal and well written, Max.

Not really, I held my breath as long as I could and then suffered anyway.

Hi Max, sorry that I am one that seldom comments ... the reason being is that based upon the Gather "poetry threads" I have most often read, I find great difficulty understanding the "value" of the poetry itself when so much of it seems to me to have been more of an exercise at using off the wall words that few could understand as more of an attempt to impress the non-understanding with the "claimed" normalcy of such by the author.

Not only is the attempt of the author usually rather pathetic in expression, the comments by the adoring wanna-be "worshippers" are REALLY pathetic ... overall they form a very "special club" (like a "religion") that I would just as soon stay far away from because I prefer to use words that only best express what it takes to get my real meanings across and then I would hope for a similar "conversation" back from the readers ... not adoring one liners, or 2 liners to "prove" that they "really" understood.

In "other" words, so much of it all is just pure BOMBAST ... and I rather prefer to just get to the point of things.


Max, now in your case I recognise that you are not just one of "them" ... and the poem of "this" article proves that ... but in "my" case, I have chosen to stay away from poetry on Gather for all of the reasons earlier given ... and that may well be my loss in the case of yours ... but those are my reasons.

Thanks for caring. j.

v. good you should check out my Valentines poems

Mother and child relation is always very strong and peculiar with each man in this world. And her words cut deep more often than anyone else.

Your poem tastes like cinnamon.

Max, this is quite good. Thanks for alerting me. I appreciate your specific images. Your verbs are strong, maybe strong enough to eliminate some of the adjectives. You might think about doing that as well as making this poem longer, or one in a series because this piece is dense and provocative.

Very good work. I know thosw looks as well. My mother did not use them often but they were very effective.

Mothers have a strange way of knowing, a knowing way of overlooking the obvious signs of guilt, a power to use guilt as a finely honed instrument for influencing the behaviour of their children.

Some over use that power, as the stereotypical Jewish or Italian mother does (but in reality this stereotype is not limited to those ethnic groups), but many know when to cut and when to hold back. It is more effective that way.

I remember a similiar dynamic between my mother and I during my teenage marijuana experimentation.

Fine slice of life poem-I too know the look and not just from a mother! Peace!

Pithy and potent poem, to steal your phrase, Max.
I like how the bond remains unspoken in the poem, though maybe you lifted the veil in your comment--books, reading, listening. A big bond, a world shared. Everywhere almost except at the laundry.

Nice... I splly liked these lines... "I held her accusing gaze with a foolish bravado"

Wow. This is excellent!

Very nice!~

Simply sweet, Max!

Ahh, now here I experience this poem as the mother, and the line, " I held her accusing gaze with a foolish bravado." is particularly indicative of my relationship with my son. I don't consider this poem sweet, or nice or lovely, but rather a misty mirror reflecting back our own personal angst or joy. Which by the way, is what a poem should be. So Bravo Max, well done.

having such an inheritance from your mother, you are our Max and I personally am so proud to call you a dear friend.
You do shine in the darkness
You are happy being hugged
You are you and nobody else can take that from YOU!
thank you Max
Om tat sat
I wish I knew more words in your language to express what I feel

Sorry to have neglected you Max. Even as I was scrolling down and saw the first comment made, I had already thought ""powerful"in my mind too. And, I can identify with the poem. On our last visit to our son's home in CA I was riding in the backseat of their vehicle and he drives like a CA madman. I told him I would get sick if he didn't drive less jerky. After that, he let his wife do all the driving whenever we would go anywhere! My goodness, he is 36 years old, and I still can drive him crazy. Pun intended! :)

Excellent, Max! My kids say I do the same thing with my eyes. lol

Painful truths, impeccably rendered. What I like here is how the title balances this play of counterfeit emotions with what underlay it, a familiarity that had rubbed out the possibility to express love. Boldly spoken and authentic work, my dear friend.

Thanks a lot, John.
As usual your scholarly remarks, fluffy critique that lays open the undertones of a poem, have giv en me immense self-satisfaction.

'Counterfeit emotions' is a label perfectly suited to the speaker's frame of mind. An adolscent can never hope to see into the labyrinthine complexities of a mother's mind, and every single reaction is counterfeit -not only counterfeit it is superficial and unsure too. You inspire me John. I should explore this topic now with a new pivot i.e. counterfeit emotions that confuse our dear ones.

Cheerz!