The Artful Assassin in Entries of Great Significance

Edited: Sorry! I meant to make this (draft I saved wrong) into “The Artful Assasin” to show the two favorite poems of mine inspired by the same person. The new poem is at the bottom of the entry. Woops! :)

So, I realized in all of my journey writing, I never wrote a poem about my mom in her honor.

One of my favorite poems is actually a brutal one after one of her, well, moments.

So I sat down here to write, and I came out with an odd poem that was half rhyming (which I have strayed away from for years!) and the second half more my typical venture of rhythm and flow. (That’s always the goal anyway! Whether I succeed or not.. heh.)

So with the help of a long-time friend and my most valued resource as a writer, she gave me some advice on how to amend it.

Here is that version. I prefer it, as have the precious few I have already shared it with who saw the original by comparison.

Things are interesting. Better. I think?

I’m sad, but it’s not constant and it’s actually been fairly easy to talk about things now. In a way, I think how sudden life is gone, and realizing that I won’t have things I had before at the press of a “Call” button on the phone were the most trying parts to process.

Still, that’s just how life goes.

Cycle of life, right? :)

It’ll be tougher during the holidays, but her birthday was Monday and her three boys, (my older and often estranged brother Mark and my roommate/best friend/younger brother Thomas and I) got together at her favorite Chinese restaurant and had dinner.

She’s being cremated, and so we’ll eventually spread her ashes.

Anyway, I’m tired of typing, so here’s the poem in honor of my mother. May she forever find her much sought after peace.

And sometimes the inspiration comes from the woman that raised you and made you and sometimes would break you, but regardless of good or bad, in the end, she always made you so much better than you ever would have been without her..

“Lasting Inscription”

Quiet nights
Were never our companion.
All alone, you held my future
In your weathered hands.
And you raised a small, fatherless boy
On his journey of becoming a man.

The streetcars rolled,
Just outside your window.
The mighty Mississippi coursed,
Just beyond the levee.
There was ivy hanging,
Low on Oak and Willow trees.
From St. Charles Avenue
All the way to Pirate’s Alley.

Pretty words were never yours,
Dreams and drawing instead,
Your constant companions.
Your skill and trade –
Was working fabric into fashion.
From wedding dresses,
Carnival Ball gowns,
To costumes and crafts,
So many fairy tales created
By your creativity, your passion.

Whenever life offered up,
A chance through circumstance,
That any soul you encountered
Needed affection, love, or
Just simple kindness,
You felt it on your shoulders,
To offer the lost what they lacked,
You gave them all that others,
Never expressed.
Their eye turned in blindness.

There were cracks, fissures
Within your sturdy foundation.
Yet I learned so much from
Perfection is family,
Family is perfection.
Truly, your heart’s inscription

There were such great moments,
Plentiful trying times,
And significant ugly ones,
No question.
And yet here stand proud,
Your three boys,
Heads bowed,
Raised into manhood,
By your determination.
Your strength of will.
Your loving direction.

We are your legacy,
Your lasting decision.
A testament to the woman,
And the mother, and the teacher,
A testament to everything you are.
All you were.
And still are –
All the good in me and in we.
You are our guardian angel.
No longer with us here.
Instead in heaven.

Yet I am most proud.
And I am most grateful,
That you were my Guardian angel,
In my life when I was a child,
Needing so much direction.
So lost but with so much affection.

Always loving.
Always hoping.
Always fighting.
Always teaching.

Family is perfection
We are that,
Your lasting inscription.

Brian Milici
July 17, 2015

This is contrasted by one of my favorite poems that wasn’t so pleasant:

And sometimes the inspiration comes from real life and real pain.. oh the pain.

“The Artful Assassin”

Oh how you cut me
Repeatedly
Skillful as a surgeon
Words your scalpel
I almost admire
How artful you can be
While wielding the blade
And burying it deep
Deep inside of me
Over and over
Repeatedly

Yet once you were an angel
My very truest one
And only saving grace
With eyes so caring
And hands ever nurturing
Healing the terrors
That would blunt me
And cause me to fall
Right on my face

And then there are those
Ever dreadful nights
Where your eyes sharpen
Your mood, it darkens
While the words that
Would so often encourage
Slice through the heart
Breaking me

Over and over
Repeatedly

Skillful as a surgeon
Your tongue the scalpel
And I almost could admire
How artful you can be
As you wield the blade
Burying it deep inside
Inside of me

And I almost could stand
To drag it again
Across my skin!
But I know what it can be
When love carves into you
Leaving you weakened
Weeping and bleeding
And you know sometimes
It is this forsaken love
That I can hardly stand
When it comes with a dagger
So sharp and so keen
Wielded by an artful assassin
Over and over
Repeatedly

© Brian Milici
January 23, 2009

May you always find your smile.

I endeavor to catch up on reading you all soon!

May you always find your smile.

Last updated July 23, 2015