Collecting Mother’s

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

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42 thoughts on “Collecting Mother’s

  1. 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.

  2. 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.

  3. 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.

  4. 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.

  5. 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

  6. 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.

  7. 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 🙂

  8. *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.

  9. 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.

  10. As usual, I struggle for words. Some things just need to be admired quietly… The painting is intriguing and a perfect pairing.

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