MOM'S POETRY

MOM'S POETRY

MARY E. VAN GEMERT

OCTOBER 4, 1920 - JANUARY 23, 2003

It is difficult, perhaps impossible, for a son to put into words what his mother meant to him. So, I won’t even try.

In the spring of 1956, Mom tried her hand at writing a bit of poetry. The following five offerings were published either in The Foxboro Reporter (the once-a-week newspaper of our little home town), or The Boston Globe. I do not know why she didn’t continue to write, but I am sure she had her reasons.

She got the old newspaper clippings to me here in the Philippines shortly before she passed away. They were wrapped with wax paper and put inside a small envelope marked “my masterpieces, ha ha.” She obviously thought these words were important, and so do I. So, here they are, transcribed.

Dad was indeed a master builder. In 1954 we moved from Spring Street in East Foxboro, Massachusetts, to 44 Pierce Street in the west part of town. He built our house and then the rest of the neighborhood, seven homes in all. I was young at the time (born 1945) so I don’t know who was doing the complaining in the following verse. Everyone who bought turned out to be excellent neighbors. From west to east: Berlin, Blomberg, Mangion, Kaiser, Jazz, and Collins.

“Dig the Fad, Dad!”

My husband is a builder and a good one I might add,

He doesn’t gyp the buyer which is currently the fad.

He gives them lots of value, he uses lots of nails.”

But are they ever happy? Oh! You should hear the wails!

They search the whole house over to find a cause to moan

And boy, if they can’t find one, they invent one of their own.

The paint is just a shade too light, when night comes it’s too dark,

The driveway won’t hold twenty cars, there’s just no room to park!

The grading? Well, it’s not quite right; a fuse blew out today,

Hey bud! The taxes just went up, what have you got to say?

He gets the blame for rainstorms, ‘cause the the ground’s too wet,

I could go on for hours, for you ain’t heard nothing yet!

So now I look around our house, the furniture’s a mess,

The rug is frayed upon the floor, it will have to do I guess.

Oh Profit, wherefore art thou? You elude us every day,

If only we could find you, there’s so many bills to pay.

My husband is a builder, TOO honest I might add,

I wish he’d gyp the buyer which is currently the fad!

This was written when I was finishing Grade 6 in June, 1956. My brother, Barry, is one year younger than me.

“Precious Days”

Well, school vacation’s almost here,

A happy carefree time

When kids begin to skin their knees

And find new trees to climb;

When picnics on the lawn are not

Really there at all

But on some hidden island

Far away from human call;

When the house gets really cluttered

With dolls and balls and bats,

Some newly traded comics

And some beat-up cowboy hats;

When the magic phrase on special nights

Is, “Drive-In, anyone?”

There’s popcorn and there’s tonic

And though sleepy-eyed, it’s fun;

When the cookie jar is empty

Though you filled it yesterday,

And an outing to the beach brings shrieks;

“Hey, Dad, you’re real okay!

When their chores are quite neglected

And reminded, they must be,

You get some big, blank, stares and hear:

“It’s our vacation, Gee!”

Sometimes you lose your patience

With the mess and with the noise,

But don’t you think it’s worth it

Just to have some girls or boys?

The house will be so empty

When they’re grown and on their own,

Let’s make these, oh, so precious days,

The greatest we have known;

When school vacation comes this year

Make it safe, but filled with joy,

For childhood is so very short

To a little girl or boy.

My cousin, Dawn Clark, graduated high school in 1956. This was written for that graduating class.

Class of 1956

Now that graduation

Is so very near at hand

Let us then salute the

Future leaders of the land:

May they love their country deeply

For it’s freedom, truth and might;

May they never be so busy

That they don’t have time to pray,

May they show respect and honor

To their fellow man each day;

May each one find his niche in life

To make him feel secure,

May each one reach the goal he sets

And in his ways be sure;

We know each generation has

It’s troubles, that is true,

But we have faith in you young folk,

So now, its up to you!

Mom loved the Boston Red Sox. So do I. Die hard fans, they call us. Mom lived her whole life without ever seeing the Sox win the World Series. Last time was 1918! Maybe this year. Hope springs eternal. Jimmy Piersall was our centerfielder in the spring of 1956. He had a mental illness problem, documented in the movie, “Fear Strikes Out.” Most of his teammates did not like him. He was one of Mom’s favorites, though. This verse is in answer to someone nailing his uniform to a wall and his shoes to the floor.

"Get the Lead Out"

Is that character real happy

Since he pulled that lousy trick

On our favorite Jimmy Piersall?

Did he really get a kick?

Out of seeing Jim embarrassed

And presumably upset?

Takes all kinds to make a world,

But how crumby can you get?

Why pick on our boy, Jimmy,

Who’s inspired one and all?

But there is one consolation,

Jim will still be playing ball,

When the Joker’s in his rocker

‘Cause that type is soon all done;

And we know that Jim can take it;

His career has just begun!

So, Joker, one suggestion,

Though your name may not be known,

Instead of nailing Jimmy’s pants,

Get the lead out of your own!

Opening day was right around the corner, and there was still a foot of snow on the ground! Piersall was mentioned above. Jackie Jensen, our right fielder was married to Ester Williams, an Olympic diving champion – hence the "swan-dive." Teddy is Ted Williams, the greatest hitter of all time. This verse was perhaps Mom’s favorite.

"Opening Day"

‘Twas opening day at Fenway Park,

Excitement filled the air,

For this game would be played on snow,

Indeed a feat quite rare.

The players sloshed upon the field,

Their lips and fingers blue,

"Oh Spring! Thou didst desert us,

What did we do to you?"

Then Baltimore connected

And Jensen gave his all!

He swan-dived in a snow bank,

But came up with the ball!

The game wore on,

Each man was great,

Piersall and all the rest,

And though they made some errors,

They knew they’d done their best.

The Red Sox now were up at bat,

With Teddy at the plate;

He knocked the snow out of his cleats,

And began to speculate:

“The score is tied, they want a hit,

I just can’t fail their pleas;

I’ll shift my feet, no one will know,

The snow’s up to my knees.”

And so he hit a homerun ball,

The opening game he’d won,

But the skeptic’s sure to say,

“That lucky son of a gun!”

Little as this is, I am pleased to share with you a part of what my Mom chose to leave behind when she left this earth. God bless you, Mom. You are in a better place now.