| The Poetry of Michelle Z. Banda |
About The Author:
A native of Argentina and mother of two, Michelle Z. Banda is
currently a head Anesthetist at the Jordan-Young Institute in
Virginia Beach, VA, where she assists in knee, hip and shoulder
replacement surgery. She is a graduate of Virginia Medical School
where she received her degree in nursing before continuing her
education at Saint Francis Medical Hospital in Roslyn, NY. She is
an avid writer and producer of numerous prose poems. Her first
short story for LMI, "So Kids Won't Have to Mow The Lawn" was a
delight. Then her follow-on SS "50th Anniversary" made our "Best
of 2009 So Far" list. Now, more Banda in the form of her prose
poems praising motherhood and children. Enjoy!
A native of Argentina and mother of two, Michelle Z. Banda is
currently a head Anesthetist at the Jordan-Young Institute in
Virginia Beach, VA, where she assists in knee, hip and shoulder
replacement surgery. She is a graduate of Virginia Medical School
where she received her degree in nursing before continuing her
education at Saint Francis Medical Hospital in Roslyn, NY. She is
an avid writer and producer of numerous prose poems. Her first
short story for LMI, "So Kids Won't Have to Mow The Lawn" was a
delight. Then her follow-on SS "50th Anniversary" made our "Best
of 2009 So Far" list. Now, more Banda in the form of her prose
poems praising motherhood and children. Enjoy!
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Two
Two
"A Mother's Temple"
A man might a great temple build
Upon a mountain, even a tall hill;
Or reaching higher, its spires ne'er to decry,
Build a castle in the sky.
And those who might pass along its way,
In admiration, just praise, be forced to say;
With pillars and high arches of his will and careful thought,
A master builder with grace and skill, did it wrought.
A woman might a great temple too,
Sculpt and shape it from a different view;
Planning each arch with loving care,
Then laying each stone with a silent prayer.
Time the man's temple might press and crush,
Its mighty walls even crumple into dust;
But a mother's temple will for untold ages stand,
Her child's immortal soul, rising slowly from her hands.
© by Michelle Z. Banda
A man might a great temple build
Upon a mountain, even a tall hill;
Or reaching higher, its spires ne'er to decry,
Build a castle in the sky.
And those who might pass along its way,
In admiration, just praise, be forced to say;
With pillars and high arches of his will and careful thought,
A master builder with grace and skill, did it wrought.
A woman might a great temple too,
Sculpt and shape it from a different view;
Planning each arch with loving care,
Then laying each stone with a silent prayer.
Time the man's temple might press and crush,
Its mighty walls even crumple into dust;
But a mother's temple will for untold ages stand,
Her child's immortal soul, rising slowly from her hands.
© by Michelle Z. Banda
"You Came From My Heart"
Where did you come from, a question from you,
Not easy to answer for ears so tender and true.
Never easy to postpone or put off, till I am through;
That "time for an answer" will always come do.
Remember that day we went to the zoo?
Saw all the big animals, a few strange ones too.
First came the spiders and rattlesnakes, a few;
Then came the otters and a flying crane so blue.
We saw the large black bear; he seemed such a grouch,
The tigers and lions and that tall kangaroo;
You seemed so surprised she hopped around like that,
Carrying her new-born baby inside her pouch.
Remember I told you her baby was safe
Though it was so small, hardly a waif;
Her mother would keep her, close and warm,
Away from all evil, against all storms.
That's how I first carried you.
Although here, under my heart;
Till a special angel without any harm,
And allowed me to snuggle you, here in my arms.
© by Michelle Z. Banda
Where did you come from, a question from you,
Not easy to answer for ears so tender and true.
Never easy to postpone or put off, till I am through;
That "time for an answer" will always come do.
Remember that day we went to the zoo?
Saw all the big animals, a few strange ones too.
First came the spiders and rattlesnakes, a few;
Then came the otters and a flying crane so blue.
We saw the large black bear; he seemed such a grouch,
The tigers and lions and that tall kangaroo;
You seemed so surprised she hopped around like that,
Carrying her new-born baby inside her pouch.
Remember I told you her baby was safe
Though it was so small, hardly a waif;
Her mother would keep her, close and warm,
Away from all evil, against all storms.
That's how I first carried you.
Although here, under my heart;
Till a special angel without any harm,
And allowed me to snuggle you, here in my arms.
© by Michelle Z. Banda
"By the Lamppost"
As a child by the lamppost that looked like a tree,
She measured herself against her short happy history.
At first, she had measured so short and so small,
Then came a day, when she had grown both straight and tall.
At first she had promised, a good mother to be,
Having learned all the lessons of a good daughter, you see.
Then to be very rich, very beautiful, and stately too,
And be very good, which had seemed easy enough to do.
But time had not been so easy, nor even kind.
No children of her own, to nurture or mind.
No husband so handsome, strong and true,
The wishes of her heart to grant and renew.
So she herself did become handsome and shrewd,
A product of new thinking, ways yet tried and true.
Her sky had no limit, no barrier to break through;
Above the "glass ceiling", she urged all, to follow her do.
Till now to the same lamppost, in autumn she returns,
And meeting a child at play, here under the sun,
With hands laid peacefully on the child's head, she does muse,
"I measured myself here, when no taller than you."
"Pass not by the dreams, forming in your sweet head,
Leave nothing behind, that ever you might dread.
And of yourself, let it never be said;
It might have been different, if only I'd wed."
© by Michelle Z. Banda
As a child by the lamppost that looked like a tree,
She measured herself against her short happy history.
At first, she had measured so short and so small,
Then came a day, when she had grown both straight and tall.
At first she had promised, a good mother to be,
Having learned all the lessons of a good daughter, you see.
Then to be very rich, very beautiful, and stately too,
And be very good, which had seemed easy enough to do.
But time had not been so easy, nor even kind.
No children of her own, to nurture or mind.
No husband so handsome, strong and true,
The wishes of her heart to grant and renew.
So she herself did become handsome and shrewd,
A product of new thinking, ways yet tried and true.
Her sky had no limit, no barrier to break through;
Above the "glass ceiling", she urged all, to follow her do.
Till now to the same lamppost, in autumn she returns,
And meeting a child at play, here under the sun,
With hands laid peacefully on the child's head, she does muse,
"I measured myself here, when no taller than you."
"Pass not by the dreams, forming in your sweet head,
Leave nothing behind, that ever you might dread.
And of yourself, let it never be said;
It might have been different, if only I'd wed."
© by Michelle Z. Banda
A MOTHER'S TEMPLE
YOU CAME FROM MY HEART
BY THE LAMPPOST
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