|Birth: ||Sep. 15, 1935|
|Death: ||Aug. 8, 2013, USA|
"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."
- Kahlil Gibran
UPDATE, AUGUST 26th, 2014: THANK YOU to Carol, related to me through the Mrozewski thread, for the photos which just arrived - included in the batch was the new addition to Mom's page. She is about 18 months here, and it is taken at her grandmother Anna's farm - I heard many, many stories from Mom of her happiest childhood moments being at Bill and Anna's farm. This is the first time that I have ever seen this photo - I don't even know whether Mom knew it existed...
UPDATE, AUGUST 5, 2014: THANK YOU to my third cousin on Mom's side, Anita, for the photo of Mom at about 8 or 9...there's that big old bow Mom said that her grandma was always sticking in her hair! I also see the difference within just a couple of years, for Mom...by this time in her life, her life was already in upheaval. Different opinions state this photo is before Mom found her little brother Butch deceased, something she never got over - I wonder whether it is after that life shattering event. From finding my own brother deceased, I can tell you that a person never gets over that...and the child is gone from this photo of Mom. =(
UPDATE, JULY 20th, 2014: THANK YOU to Jane Cox for the photograph of Mom at about age 3/4 - I actually remember Mom talking about how her grandma would put big bows in her hair, and so I guess that here's the proof. =)
UPDATE, MARCH 9, 2014: A GREAT BIG THANK YOU AND HUG to Angel of the site Sue, for her wizardry at repairing my mother's lead photo - even professional services could not get it to the quality that she just accomplished. =) Thank You so very much, my friend -
UPDATE, NOVEMBER 26, 2013:
My mother's ashes have now been scattered near Malibu, California.
Anna Jean Poynter was one of the most fascinating persons I have ever known in my life - and luckily, she was my mother. I remember growing up through hard times - many, many hard times - and it was Mom who kept our family together, taught her children to keep going and who simply didn't believe that there was anything that she could not learn to do, and teach us to do, as well.
I owe my mother my love for folk music and later on, classical, jazz and blues music. I would sit and watch her teaching herself to play the Spanish guitar, and when I asked her "How can you know how to do all of these things, Mom?", she answered, "Because I believe that I can do it."
She said in 1968, when stricken with uterine cancer and as one of the first American citizens to undergo experimental cobalt treatment at Champaign-Urbana in Illinois, "I'm not going to die - I've got four kids to take care of." She didn't die, and my father would say from that moment on, "I married a woman tougher than I am." When a serious hospital stay for me included hanging upside down by a 'burger board', Mom came into my room, slid under the hospital bed so that she could look me in my upside down eye, and asked, "So...when you gettin' up?" And I got up pretty soon after that.
Our peculiar lifestyle brought constant moves, heartache and confusions, but as I state on my father's memorial page, it was both a trying life and a beautiful life. On the road more often than not, Mom would turn around from the front seat and tell us kids to do something with that time, the constant blowing by of towns, normal lives and stability. I have always felt that she knew she could not offer us any of the before mentioned, and so she tried to give us other uncommon gifts. I personally owe my writing career to my mother; I owe my hard head and what I believe to be a peculiar but wonderful sense of humor to her. She always had something to say, and she taught me that same trait. I cannot tell you how many people have gone a round with me and thrown up their hands: "Rhonda, you are just like your mother!" I personally don't think that I am, but perhaps before my time here is through, I will be, and it will be a welcome comparison.
My mother was a writer, a singer, a carpenter (seriously, she built a garage onto our house the year she had cancer to 'keep her mind off the situation'); she loved gardening (to the point of actually keeping small plants in plastic containers at her feet on the floor of the car, whenever we were between towns and houses) and sewing - her handcrafts, knitting and such brought the statement from me that the woman could make booties from the devil's soul. She was frustrating and cyclonic and hard to get a hold on as to just what she had planned from day to day. She loved my father fiercely - there truly could never be any other fate for either Mom or Dad than one another; she never got over the loss of my brother, Ron. I once sent her a card that said "Chaos, Opinions, Disorder - My Work Here Is Done", and she displayed it proudly; she discovered the Doors in her early forties (thanks to my older sister Lee and myself), and we'd come in the door from school to "Roadhouse Blues" blasting from the stereo console.
I have tried for a very long time to figure out what words would describe my mother correctly, and as a poet, I have written many, many pages about her...but I have finally decided that there is one simple statement about Jeannie, the woman who held her own against Jr. Poynter and didn't care whose door she banged on and took names at...it's simple and true, and I know that somewhere, she is saying, "Yes, that sounds about right, Rhonda." ....
My mother was Something. =)
A loving THANK YOU to one of my guardian angels, Sue, for her as usual beautiful handiwork on my photos...
AND a big hug and Thank You to Judy, Samantha and Tonya for the balloon blessings that you see the photos of here onsite. I like to think that Mom has her road map and keys, and so now with the balloons, she's got everything she needs on her future travels. =)
"...I had a lover's quarrel with the world." - Robert Frost
"I wouldn't give any of it back for 'normal'..." - Jeannie Poynter
"No amount of money/could pay me/to go back and go through it/again/No amount of money/could take from me/the memories/that I have of then." - Dolly Parton, 'In the Good Old Days, When Times Were Bad'
to tell you how long ago
this was it was back when
hospital windows would still open
to let in the morning
and my mother would stand at
her window and call down to
us as we stood waving up
because my father did not want us
to go onto the cancer ward
at our young ages to
visit my mother
he was afraid of what we
would see and
but what I
is that it was the usual
unusual weather that
Chicago does so well
and a storm suddenly blew in
my father herded four small
children to the safety of an
ancient oak tree
across the hospital lawn
we shivered and wondered and
and I turned and
looked over my shoulder
at my mother's window and
she was still standing there
and that is what I remember and know about
how she would stand and stretch and
squawk against the
Previously published, all rights reserved
Rhonda C. Poynter
THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT CANNOT BE FORGOTTEN
Georgia trees rolling their lazy legs
through the midnight
hoofers stretching to Charlie Parker
they weave down and through Atlanta
steps well spent coins for
a moment more of that
bebop bebop bebop
my mother's voice is
back and singing Billie Holiday
to the baby
and my father is gambling on
the map and $6 and four
and I'm telling you
we don't have to end in four
I'm down listening to the
stars come up
just a mile or two outside of
Previously published; all rights reserved
Rhonda C. Poynter
Please note that some information remains private at this time - blank spaces are not a mistake. Thank You.
Sidney M. Ricks (1909 - 1995)
Rose May Hilgers (1916 - 1982)
Ronald Lucien Poynter (1935 - 1997)*
Ronald Lucien Poynter (1960 - 1981)*
Anna Jean Ricks Poynter (1935 - 2013)
Gary Dale Cox (1941 - 1945)**
Cremated, Ashes given to family or friend.
Specifically: Ashes scattered neart Malibu, California/Pacific Ocean
Created by: Rhonda C. Poynter & Frie...
Record added: Aug 09, 2013
Find A Grave Memorial# 115173886