As a child, as an adult
I collected mother’s
Bewitched by what had been absent
The soft strength and maturing gravitas
Of gentle women who suspend the sky
It has long been a desire of mine
To inhabit the energy of mother’s soul, long enough to learn, the mystery
It is as if I am a man-child, cut from peripheral cloth
For she who is a mother, has a remote wholeness I cannot absorb
The density of putting others before herself, to bring life squalling into this world
Surely her soul is closer to the reduction and encroaching waves, shaping time
For her voice speaks of places I have yet to go
Mysteries in the birth and death of life, she intuits
The breaking foamy sound, one of collapse, folding in on itself and remaking
Like marbles in opaque jar, clustered too close to roll, will eventually spill
These tears, when dried, leave furrowed salt smudges
They do not know their existence well enough
To forget that another breeze, wild and hennaed
Would lift even leaden spirit, from washed reproach
Like children on the cusp of summer, appear ethereal, in fine grain light
Laughing with a freedom not found, in classroom
Imparting her knowledge, handed down by palm print
Sometimes I feel I am a fragment of her rich tapestry
A thin thread that could easily unravel and with strong wind
Be carried into puzzling wilderness, away from her sure footed climb
I feel safer when she is near, holding up the world
Her feet deep in red mud, her head just reaching heavens gate
If souls could sigh, mine just did. Bravo!!!!!
Reading your work is a frisson pour l’ame.
Oh wow I really like this!
“Her feet deep in red mud, her head just reaching heavens gate” beautiful finish!!
and I also love the line
“Sometimes I feel I am a fragment of her rich tapestry
A thin thread that could easily unravel and with strong wind”
Stunning! This makes my heart skip a beat.
Reblogged this on Daffniblog and commented:
love love love
So well written! I especially liked “her voice speaks of places I have yet to go”…It says so many things!
I love the image of those last two lines—the earth mother.
I used to be amazed at how many Mothers mothered their daughters while I was growing up…
” and with strong wind
Be carried into puzzling wilderness, away from her sure footed climb
I feel safer when she is near, holding up the world
Her feet deep in red mud, her head just reaching heavens gate”
There is both pain and love in this poem, and it seems, a small bit of understanding too.
Magnifique !!
wow
I think of walking barefoot on rich soil, the better to feel Her love.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – mothers and The Mother
Exceptional.
xoxo
Wistful, poignant, and beautiful!
The Earth Mother 🙂
Wouldn’t it be lovely if all mother’s were as marvelous as in your narrative!!! Je t’aime, N 🙂 ❤ xoxoxoxo
breathtaking
Such an awakening to what others had; such poignant longing; so well described
The Tibetan Buddhists tell us that we should treat everyone we meet with the love and respect we have had for our mother. In previous lives, they probably were once our mothers.
EXACTLY! I totally agree w/u my friend
Thank you so much D. I am so glad you liked it!
Thank you so much lovely one
Right? ha ha ha! So true. I know some who are. It is truly a hard thing to be a good mother, something we are all affected by.
Exactly!
Thank you dearest Betty
Thank you very much I really appreciate you commenting and reading.
Right? So true. xo
😉 xo
Totally agree with you. My BFF from childhood for example literally has the BEST mother EVER and doesn’t even really see it. I agree – so many are incredible and when you don’t have it you really see it and you sort of envy it and also applaud it.
Thank you so much. Wasn’t sure if this would work as so many of my ideas I feel get too unwieldly for the medium of poetry. Maybe it’s a sign I should take a leaf out of your very prodigious book and write a novel, perhaps this will be my goal if/when I get better. Meanwhile you inspire me and I really hope you know how proud I was of you for winning that first place the other day, I was ‘chuffed’ and felt all puffed up and happy for you all day! Of all my writing friends I believe you work hardest at your craft and it does and will pay off
Thank you so very much for your lovely and much appreciated words
Thank you so very much for re-blogging this I am very grateful to you!
Thank you so much! I am so grateful to you for reading this and commenting and your re-blog. Thank you!
Well you just made my day Miss Maggie. Thank you dearling
Aw you are lovely and I am so appreciative of you
I think one is envious of it because one doesn’t have anything else to look to…or feel… one wants what he or she does not have, a mother. Thankfully, some of us get a second chance at being mothered when we’re older. We lose out on a lot, but it fills up some of the holes. *shrugs*
The past isn’t going anywhere, but it sure does make an appearance when we least expect it and that pain doesn’t change.
EXACTLY. Even though you are such a young-un you have that personality of one who can be strong and steady and in that you have that gravitas of a mother, and the warmth and understanding. But the freedom and lightness of a wild spirit 🙂
*shakes head* Lol. You and this youngun business. I was talking about how my mother and I are finally able to have some sort of bond. It’s been YEARS in the making, but I’m learning from it… the damage is done, but healing is also taking place too.
The feeling is quite mutual, chica…..xo
It did work. It reminded me of Brigid actually, one of my favourite virtual people. Write a book. Start it now while you’re in the mood. Thanks, about the story. It’s one I’d been working on for a while and I like the colours in it.
As usual, I struggle for words. Some things just need to be admired quietly… The painting is intriguing and a perfect pairing.
Tis true! That’s because we’re all human!❤️❤️❤️
Thank you dearest girl