Chemistry Of Shame.

Born soiled.

God said so.

XX,my kiss of shame.

Mothers rage

knocked me into shape.

From room to room we spun,

always behind boys,men.

Candy floss sick.

Pink,imperfect sin.

Chores to teach my place.

Clothes folded,beds made.

Dust down secrets.

Keep a quiet tongue in your head.

Wash,rinse,repeat.

Mother knows better.

◄ The Man In The Moon.

Comments

Pat Hughes

Fri 15th Jun 2018 20:41

Thank you Colin.
It was a hard poem to write and probably a distasteful poem to read.
People don't like to be reminded about things like this,and unfortunately it's not that long ago that this happened.
Magdalene laundries were still running in 1996.
My mum used to say that Ireland was the land of saints and scholars,unfortunately it was also the land of secrets and shame.

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Colin Hill

Fri 15th Jun 2018 08:34

excellent poem Pat - 'wash, rinse, repeat' the mantra of countless cover ups, excuses and blind eyes from the past. We might call it the spin cycle nowadays. Col.

Pat Hughes

Thu 14th Jun 2018 22:04

Yes Keith you are absolutely right.
I know its very much a universal thing,this poem came about from reading about the Magdalene Laundries,the Tuam babies and various other Irish tragedies that were hidden for so long.
Reading about these scandals has made my blood boil hence the angy poem.

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keith jeffries

Thu 14th Jun 2018 21:02

Pat,
This strikes a chord indeed. In times past this was the way we were humiliated and repressed: made to know our place. I remember well the words, ¨little boys should be seen and not heard ¨.
This poem speaks of a shameful truth
Well done and well said.
Thank you,
Keith

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