Belle-mere - A Visual Poem

Dead.

Nothing poetic about that.

Lying there on the ground,

Sprawled out,

Eyes open.

Not much of a funeral either.

Not enough money, y'know.

Just

found a casket,

Slipped her into it.

Buried it underground.

Marked the gravestone.

Scattered petals onto it.

That was it. Rest in peace.

I was the only one at this “funeral”, if you couldn't tell.

Not very conventional.

But then again, Mama was never the conventional type herself.

She never took shit from anyone.

More

like

a punk if you

will with her

tough attitude

and Mohawk.

But that was what I loved about her,

And I guess I've taken after her too.

I cried for days after Mama died.

Don't you dare laugh.

I'm not exaggerating.

It would be full-on sniffling and sobbing in the morning

(which I'd try to stifle with a beer or two).

And just when it seemed all over,

I'd start again some hours later.

Mum?                Mum?

C                        C

o                        o

m                       m

e                         e

b                         b

a                         a

c                         c

k                        k

!                        !

*sob*

                                                                                My

                                                                                                     face

                                                                   would

                                                                                                be

                                                                                    all

                                                        blotchy

                                                                                                                        and

                                                                                    snotty

                                                            from

                                                                                                    the

                                                                            tears.

At least there was the dog to cuddle up to and have them licked away.

They say grief ain't the type to last forever.

They're right.

I tend to get on fine most days.

I joke around with the others.

I do the stuff I like to do.

It doesn't take much to make me laugh.

        now and some trigger gets pulled.

    every     then,

But

'Cause I guess Mama was the one person that really understood me.

This one was uploaded just in time for American Mother's Day, and was originally uploaded onto another blog of mine on British Mother's Day. This started out as a poetry project for university before becoming the comic/poem hybrid you see here. Definitely one of the pieces that delves more into tragedy and drama compared to the comedy that you'd expect, but considering how Boomstick loves his mother dearly and the way he sometimes reacts when her death gets brought up, this direction just seemed to make sense to me.

Like the previous comic, this uses watercolour pencils and pens, again to mixed effort. I'll probably go over the drawing outlines in pen again to make them stand out more. That said, I was more confident with the use of collage this time, due to the brand of beer being obscured. In the future, I'll definitely try to use another medium to make the colours stand out more.