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MOTHER (Remove filter)

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NOT MUCH CALL FOR PLOUGHSHARES.

(This poem was born of a Newsnight blogger's comment in 2008. Serendipity in 'spades'.)

 

The arms of the world reach up in despair

A desperate child, with no mother there;

As the armaments industry fashions war-ware

There is not much call for ploughshares.

 

The artisan’s hand cupped Britain’s prowess

When the smith made and mended the tools of success;

His arms now hav...

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warmother

An Ode To My Bro

Ode To My Bro

A personal homage!

 

     You’re my brother!

And it’s sad that you don’t come round

For offerings of food –

Perhaps a Sunday roast,

It’s always got to be at your home

Or neutral ground,

     And the coldness

Is like that of stone –

Polished to a high degree of status,

But I’m your brother man –

And though we fought like

Cat a...

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BrotherChild AbuseMother

stroke

stroke

 

no words

blood ricocheting

in all directions

going places

where blood should

smoothly flow

not rush headlong

 

apologies

made by sign

for dragging me

seventy miles

to see

your broken body

no words

 

thinking

is this it?

is this all there is?

will I live

the rest of my life

motherless?

no wor...

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strokespeech lossmotherdeathlovewordsno words

She, Mourning

She pressed her hand against the marble, felt its words,
Ran her weathered finger through the crafted names.
Many faces that had long since adventured,
Left for others lingering to bear the pain.

The autumn sun caressed its face and warmed the stone,
She drew it through her skin and let it stay a while.
Her silver head was bowed, her company her own,
To spend a few more moments...

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deathlossLovemothermourningpoempoetrysoldier

My Mother In Law, My Mon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I called you

Mom from day one.

You called me

Shirley, sometimes

you called me Hon.

 

But I had

to let you go,

I had to say

"Good Bye."

But in my heart

I said,

"Mom please

don't die."

 

That was more than

ten years now.

Sometimes I

still cry. That ...

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MomLawInMother

Trapped Inside

Painting by Jennifer Davis 

Trapped Inside

Every river longs

To swell memory to ancestor size

And reclaim land that belonged to her 

Old Woman River

Running naked in the sun

Carrying waste and toxins

Along with grief for dead things to a sea

Transporting esoteric knowledge

No one had a taste for

Unlike clockwork she forgets nothing

Though she sometimes wishes sh...

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identitymotherold woman rivewet-nursewhite noise

Mum

(This was an attempt at a villanelle but I'm not sure if its quite the right structure . .oh well)

 

I only wanted to help

And when I offered to get you some shopping

It wasn’t me saying you’re not up to it any more

I only wanted to help

 

Thanks for the cup of tea

But when I offered to make it

I wasn’t saying your tea was bad: far from it

I just didn’t w...

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motherMumvillanelle

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