Poet, Audrey Austin

Poet, Audrey Austin
This site is to honour my mother, poet, Eva Ruby Austin.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

The Apples and The Cantaloupes - a poem by Jurgen Braunohler


The World is such a fruity place,
You can toss it for a loop.
My Mother was the juggling Ace ...
With Apples and the Cantaloupes.

Sweets and fruits a-plenty
Were the visions in her childhood mind.
War and poverty left her hungry
In ways that were just most unkind.

She left behind that ravaged land
And came by ship to Canada.
What she saw then was so grand:
With fruits that made her shout "Aha!"

Our kitchen had enough to spare
With food from every group,
But always in the corner
Were the Apples and the Cantaloupes.

My Mother was a wonder
With all the things that she could do.
Whenever I had a question,
She reached for a handy Cantaloupe.

"Mummy, how are babies made?"
This posed no major problem:
An Apple and a Cantaloupe
Sure gave the explanation.

Questions about the Sun and Moon?
Why we have our night and day?
A flashlight on some dancing fruits
Lit things right away.

Evenings on the sofa
In our stormbound summer cottage,
A plate of peaches came at me:
Good health was Mother's message.

But when girls became the issue
 and this boy got quite silly,
"I'll fix your wagon, you!"
Was my seasoned Mother's play.

She sent me to an artists' school
To sketch and draw bare naked women.
I came home each time in a state of drool,
But my Mother saw the omen.

I feasted on this subject daily,
In every shape and form,
Until I got so fully sated
That I became quite bored.

Women, Apples, Cantaloupes,
The Baubles dancing in my brain,
Became so really tedious
That I wanted off the train.

With all my drawings done and stuffed into my tote,
Mother asked me once again just what it was I drew...
As my Baubles now were sailboats,
She winked and passed the Cantaloupe!

Jurgen Braunohler,
Mother's Day, 2010.

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