Tag: poem

A pool of sea rain

Into the puddle she gazed and gazed
My sister was amazed
She’d never seem rainwater deeper than eyes
Mystery undisguised.
Round the rain puddle she ran and ran
Too much for any doll’s pan.
By reflections of trees she was hypnotised
Curiousity’s often wise
Oh,my dear sister what do you see there
I hope a vision fair.
What are these ships and the tugs and the tide
Where are the sailors who died?
This is an ocean and I’m in my boat
Come sister ,dear let us float.
We’ll never see father again, for he’s here
and down her face travelled one tear.
I see him afar off, he’s meeting the Lord
There’s the archangel’s sharp sword.
We cannot follow,no, we must go back
We each must stay on our own track.
Three little children with newly washed hair
On this road going to where?
Once three small sisters ,but now only two
Eyes of one green,other blue.
By the park gate by a pool of sea rain
We shall be three again.
One in a pushchair and one gripping tight.
I push my sisters into the dawn light.
Keep hold of the handle and never let go
I love my two sisters so.
Keep hold of my hands as Dad crosses the sea.
Don’t seek for what you can’t be.
I told her it’s only a rainwater pool
Held in God’s hand like a jewel.
But she saw the patterns and she saw the tides
Which all human beings will ride.

For nothing is “only” and nothing is “just”.
Nothing and everything’s passed.

I loved her for her mind alone

Flower are love tokens and symbolise  female fertility and beauty

I loved her for her dark blue eyes,
And her Le Creuset pot.
I loved her though she was naive,
As she was very hot.

I loved her curly golden hair.
I loved her home made jam.
But most of all,I loved her brain
And how she dealt with spam.
I loved to lick her bright pink lips
I loved to bite her ear.
But most of all,her innocence,
Which made me pull her near.

I liked to lick her cheeks as well
I liked to touch her hair.
But it proved slightly difficult
For she was rarely here.

I looked at all her photographs,
I looked at all her posts.
She has twenty boyfriends now,
Whom does she love the most?
I loved her breakfast coffee pot,
I loved her tea as well.
She fed me on her buttered toast,

The rest I shall not tell

I was happy,I was sad.

Whatever should I do?
She has run off with a tramp
She met in London Zoo!

She sent me a love letter once,
And now she sends a card
I wish that she’d leave me alone
Jealousy’s so hard.

My heart has got the cramps in it,,
I’m sitting in the bath.
The water is as black as coal,
And I’m still filled with wrath,

I wear my heart

I wear my heart displayed upon my face.
Attentive readers find their meaning there..
Where feelings thought too deep to be embraced
Can shine demurely where they do not scare.

As Freud observed, we're never quite disguised
Betrayal is our body's real motif
The message comes conspicuous from the eyes..
Bright sparkles or our tears of blackest grief.

The answer to a question seemly leaps
So Yes or No is visibly revealed.
The blush that spreads so fast across the cheeks
Both bold and shy unable to conceal.

Your face tells me you lied when Love you wrote.
Love is more than kisses and false notes.

Nature’s lowness is my theme

Bute

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Winter weather,frost and sky,

See white geese and silver stars.

Two cooing doves with collars red,

Watching out for seeded bread.

From the sun ,low in the sky,

Light falls slantwise to my eyes.

Trees bud though invisibly,

Nothing that my eyes can see.

Bulbs shoot up from dark cold soil

Where worms and beetles quietly toil.

We take for granted air and sky,

Love the birds we see fly by

But who loves the worms and slugs

And those creatures we call bugs.

So in our dark cold winter time,

Praise these creatures in the grime.

Without these worms ,our crops would die.

No cornfields for us to lie,

Midst the poppies bright red flowers

Revelling in soft summery bowers.

Praise the snails and bees and ants

For these and spiders,let’s give thanks.

As the lightness needs the dark,

From darkness come life giving sparks.

Enrich darkness with our gifts.

Look not always to the swift.

Slow and patient like these worms,

Nature’s lowness is my theme

Loss

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As you disappear through the winter trees,

I see you come and go like a sine curve wrapped

around the axes

of tall trunks

and flat earth.

I want to call,”Come back”

but my mouth won’t open.

My lips are dry without you.

I’m flooded with loss already,

though I can still glimpse you now and then.

Sun,so low and silver,

looks like the moon.,

my desolate heart its inscape.

my hands its freezing soil.

Staring as darkness falls,

Nothing left now

Flu season

p15

This is all I can do today..!

Sometimes a woman wishes she did be a man
so she might lie drowsing in bed
while the dishes pile up
and lay unwashed
the laundry basket overflows
the cat eats the meat for dinner
and the mice dance on the table just for fun

I guess there’s some reason why women can’t rest.
A wolf might appear and snatch a child
A man might lose his temper
smack the baby,kick the cat
Cos a man gets angry waiting
don’t believe his woman’s sick..
Think she’s manipulative when she cries in pain.
And kicks her when she’s dead.
Plenty more women,like buses,
another one will soon be along.

But do you really envy a man
when they have to fight and kill
Earn a living in a coal mine,doing night shift for 20 years.?
It’s not what God intended.but it seems it’s here to stay.
I don’t know if I’ll even live for one more day..

You are my light

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You’re my lodestar,you’re my light.
You get me through the darkest night.
You keep me on the path I follow
I know you’ll still be here tomorrow.

You’re my companion, another self.
You have knowledge,spiritual wealth.
You have felt and you have thought,
In meditation, souls are wrought.

You are there when I’m in need.
You don’t allow my fears to breed.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you,
And you’ll be here when life is through.

We’ve been together since the start

And I know we’ll never part.

You are my soul,you are my love.

You are my own,my dearesr dove.

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I

My hand is lonely

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Sometimes my hands curl up,
and other times,they open.
Then I feel the air;
My fingers relax.
I touch your hand;
uncurl it and press it to mine.
Palm on palm,it’s no secret
that palms connect to hearts.
In your face I see a hint of melancholy,
I feel it in my soul..
as if there was a secret connection..
thought how,I don’t know.
Somehow,touching, we create another soul,
Neither you nor I, but we……
Touching,need to be physical..
We know how a story can affect us that way.
What a gift to know we have touched someone…
In the heart.’s. most tender space.The place of love.
Both true and false,my palm is lonely.
Then I feel the caress of summer air..
To touch is to be touched
as one soul opens to another..
Vulnerable,human,loving,
Painful and illusory,like those dreams of childhood.
Now I go,first gripping, then loosening our hands.
Goodbye,we say,Goodbye

Making a poem

My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across the page to flow
Like wet paint from an artist’s brush;
And words come in a rush.

Enchanting through the hand which writes,
Bewitched with art, beauty alights.
The script is like a music score
Through which you pass as through a door.
Imagination’s home.

As,mysteriously, to you,to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed,
By rhythms of pen,of brush,of mind.
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round
Fire joined heart and hand.

The pen slows down,the hand goes still,
And just as dreams at daybreak will,
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone,
I almost caught that one.

Destruction

Wakening up,remembering.
The rain falls onto the windows like an angel’s tears
Thinking all the time,it was a bargain they wanted
.. not this…….not this… no,no
Is there a name for this destruction
which destroys also those who commit such acts?

A haunted Europe;Britain
the interfering empire,grasping at the world’s wealth
have made a patchwork out of Eden
Here where man began to be civilised
where we learned to make an aleph bet
and to write on scrolls
where God spoke from the fire
Why is it here that the hate is so strong?
What did we steal from these Arabs
when we bought their oil and made them wealthy
Materially,only; they had the wealth of knowledge and learning; they who invented the abstractions of mathematics?How have they become who they are?

And from those learned Jews when we plundered their religion
their Book and their G-d.
And their mystical traditions and learning..
and scattered them like dust across the diaspora
Our rulers and others thieved like starving beggars
and sat watching as they struggled?
How can religion be used with such cruelty?
The hate they should feel to the West
is transferred to their neighbours.

The wet eyed and heart weary,the strained and tearless too,
those whose hearts are heavy with
the pain of unsheddable tears
They turn again to the mountain
the steep climb continues
Tears water the path and the cold earth
As we look into the heart of darkness
Hoping for a sign
Or at least to be ready for a sign…
Those who have eyes to see,let them see

But he said, “I will not ask; I will not put the LORD to the test

It’s not that I don’t love you

It’s not that I don’t love you,
only that I don’t want you to become part
of my mind’s furniture
which I sometimes stumble across unknowingly in the dark.

It’s not that I don’t hate you
only that I don’t want you to become fixed
as my resident devil
who’s reponsible for all the badness in me .

It’s not that I want to become indifferent to you,
only that I want always to see you afresh
when my eyes greet yours
and not ignore you as you are always here.

It’s not even that I don’t care about you
only that I want to be unburdened
from the guilt of love
and to love freely when it’s the right time
or not at all.

It’s not that I cannot sing for you
But that I want to sing for others too
when I find my voice
and to sing my own song as the spirit moves in me,
or not at all.

It’s not that you are lacking in any way
only that I need to be alone some days
to digest all I’ve gathered
You know, I am never myself without you,
that’s all.

And it’s not as if we can’t be together
But we’ll be more fully together
when we live our own life
You know I’d never have sung my songs without you
No, never at all.

When my voice trembles

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When words no longer work

wonder

wish

want

When words won’t come

compensate

contrive

When my voice breaks

snaps

sunders

strains

When I want to talk

touch

tenderly

towards

But you are not able

about

abandoned

absent

You are no longer

listening

live

longing

When I need to find a meaning

In the shape

form

structure

But I ‘m stranded

Stuck

Sucked under

Swallowed up

Then I reach out to you

I want your touch

tenderness

tranquillity

temerity

Sometimes words don’t seem enough

endless

empty

emotive

ejaculatory

Yet words can console

conjure

quilt

charm

captivate

cover.

Stretch out your hand

across the emptiness

and touch me with your fingers

friendship

faithfulness

forgiveness

frailty

fever

touch my heart with words

and I will hope

expect

await

be grateful

grave

garbed in joy

When words don’t feel enough

When all we want is touch

Or to see

sigh

sob

sing

Words can be shaped

changed

contorted

controlled

challenged

Words are all we have

To make us love

To make us live

To make us alive

To make us sing

To make us stand up

To console

words are

just enough

“Their beauty has more meaning” by Robinson Jeffers

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    http://www.patheos.com/blogs/daylightatheism/2008/03/poetry-sunday-xi/

    Yesterday morning enormous the moon hung low on the ocean,
    Round and yellow-rose in the glow of dawn;
    The night-herons flapping home wore dawn on their wings. Today
    Black is the ocean, black and sulphur the sky,
    And white seas leap. I honestly do not know which day is more beautiful.
    I know that tomorrow or next year or in twenty years
    I shall not see these things—and it does not matter, it does not hurt;
    They will be here. And when the whole human race
    Has been like me rubbed out, they will still be here: storms, moon and ocean,
    Dawn and the birds. And I say this: their beauty has more meaning
    Than the whole human race and the race of birds.

Arched like a fallen moon

Old man,bending over,
arched like a fallen moon
in a dark lilac November sky.
joy and pain wrestle my heart across the emptiness
and toss it up like a damp rocket
to fall in a hidden corner where mice live.
Would that not be a good ending,to be dust
to these little creatures nesting
in my chewed green twine and my tartan basket?
They have eyes and shiver in my hand when I rescue them
from the cat…
as any heart might.
Now night falls on the newspaper basket
where the damp Times and the Guardian mix into glue
and tomorrow the sun will rise
and it will just be the garbage
with no poetic undertones nor deathly hushes..
Heather and a silver light
you stand on a hill top like a god
looking over his domain.
Strong and now weak
it’s the humane condition
Everlasting life is too dangerous for humans.
Silent,motionless,home of beetles
bit by bit we fall away
into the mother soil
with cracked jugs and dropped coins
for a future academic to dig into.
Transparent hand touches me.
Who are you?

Words and images

My sister is learning by copying a Lowry.Can one learn to write a poem by copying? Yes,copy the rhythm of a song or a ballad.That can be a help to start you off
My sister is learning to psint  by copying a Lowry.
Can one learn to write a poem by copying? Yes,copy the rhythm of a song or a ballad.That can be a help to start you off

At the end of my first few months of writing,and on New Year’s Eve 2010 ,this was the poem I remembered best and want edto share  then

If you prefer images to words I have put one of my sister’s first paintings here to show what a beginner can do

The theme of this poem is one that is very important to me.Actions change when vision changes.Actions are changed most by Imagination,not by force or will power,Actions change by seeing from a new perspective.

In a trivial way,sitting on a different armchair in your sitting room can be interesting if you usually sit on the same one.But don’t sit on Pussy’s favorite chair or she may scratch you!She will see you in a new  perspective as an  invader sometimes go outside in the dark, and look into the sitting room through the lit up window.I always find it more interesting and beautiful.I’d like to peer into other people’s windiws but they might get the wrong idea which is the right idea

These poems are my gift to you

They flow from my perceptions

I write them to discover truth,

And my preconceptions.

I write because I see and think

More deeply than I knew

And seeing is the first step

To imagining the new.

Changing perceptions changes deeds

Without the need for force.

Find out your hidden dreams ,and look.

You ‘ll speak with your own voice

Only the rose

You know there’s that little place in the inner wrist

where it’s so soft and tender?

Where I need your touch;

Where I touch you

Wrist to wrist,no-one will notice;

But we notice,

I feel your pulse beating,

Or is it mine?

Take the rose,

Take the rose for your table.

And when you see it

Remember,

Remember everything

What we said,

What we never said but implied,

And only the rose will listen

As you sing your song

The rose will be there

In the heart’s garden

Dreaming,

Dreaming us back into being.

As we fade gently away

With evening time.

Love is map enough for me

Your face is map enough for me ,

Your gaze,your smile,your frown,your glee.

And if I want to know the rest

The shape your posture‘s made is best

For showing how your life is now.

A look,a gesture all this show,

Till who you are is then disclosed

And I am in your arms enrobed.

Love vanishes when analysed,

And thinking too by Love’s despised.

Choose the means to fit the end,

And then I’ll be whom you intend

My scheming heart

Sonnets

A sonnet has three verses of four lines each which rhyme in a certain way as you can read in mine.Then the have two lines at the end which should be succinct.Shakespeare’s sonnets are the most well known and rightly so
Source: Katherine

My error

I live a life that many would enjoy
My home and garden artists would admire
And yet my heart is sad and I feel flawed
As my real life fits not to my desire.
I married for the money that I’d gain
and for the house and garden of my dreams
Yet looking back my error is quite plain
That love cannot be found by she who schemes.
I gave birth to six children whom I love
My sons and daughters are my living joy.
Yet I fear vengeance from the One above…
I made my husband’s life into my toy.
And yet he seems so happy with his lot
Perhaps my traitorous heart has been forgot

Never,no more

They think that they own us


latest 2 pic

I’ve sung my wild singing in time gone before
But I don’t want to sing now
Oh,never no more.
And it’s no nay ,never
No,nay,never no more
Shall I use my voice here…
Nor out will it pour.

My name is Allanah,or Eileen. perhaps
And I came here from Ireland
with outdated maps
And it’s,Why,why ever,
Why ever and more
Did the Brits give no votes to
The poor Catholics?

My sister and brothers
All died from T.B.
And an early dark grave
is here waiting for me.
But I bore six children
And I cared for my man
As he came home so filthy
From the auld coal diggin’

We had no free doctor
And no kind midwife.
So though my son’s born,
Strain is takin’ my life.

Always and ever
The rich will maintain
That without them this country
Will go down the drain.

But why don’t you try it
As a memorial to me.
Let the rats all depart
And what shall we see?

No,nay,never,nay never no more
Shall I bear my man children
No nay never
Not ever again.

I looked down from heaven
Where God has put me
What did I find
When out did I see?

I saw that the world
Turns round once every day
The beggars and homeless
Kneel down and they pray

Oh,no no never,
dear God help the rich.
Your son tried to l’arn them
But they weren’t bewitched.
They have their accountants
And they have all their laws
They find their amusement
In troubles and wars.
They think that they own you
But,dear God,you’re not theirs
We saw your son Jesus
And he said you are ours

So when will you come down
To make that judgment?
My pen it has broken
My life force is spent.

So it’s no,nay never
Not ever again
Will I sing my old songs
Nor  shall  I love my own man

Better to do nothing or….

My sympathetic
Nervous system is on hold.
I shall sleep now.

Sometimes I feel fired
The parasympathetic
Can’t switch itself off.

A good cup of tea
Can restore British people.
Drink one now with me

Then take to your bed.
Fall asleep or go daydream!
Soon you feel better.

Rest is neglected.
Better to do nothing or
Stare at a big tree. .

Flowers delight me.
Anemones are the best.
Such colour and joy.

Give up fight or flight.
Just write a funny poem.
You will enjoy tha

The sacred images within

When first I saw your soulful face,
Then wished I most to you embrace.
I wished as well to clothe you in
The sacred images within.

To find a home for love without;
To fold my dreams all round about
Your loving body and your face
Were covered in such joy and grace.

But now my dreams are cast aside
The world of meaning denied life.
What seemed most precious now is fled…
And I lie sleepless in my bed.

What is the world when unadorned
With all that in my heart I’ve formed?
There is no meaning I can trace,
As in a mother’s empty face.

On these grey rocks my path is hard.
From paradise, my soul is barred;
To struggle or to grief succumb
When this dark day of mourning’s done?

Into His dazzling darkness dart
My dreams and love like dying sparks.
Into His Mystery so fair
I’ll cast both hope and my despair.

Thus my dreams will be transformed
To show themselves in other forms.
What feels a loss may foretell growth.
On my hope,I’ll take an oath:

That nothing in my life is waste,
That I have not for phantasms chased.
And you are human,as am I.
Let’s live once more until we die

Like startled flowers

lit-up-hands

The hailstones pounded the window
as violently,as if they had minds
bent on killing;soldiers in rows and ranks rushing onwards;
as each fell another and another took its place.
Cold and mathematical they had a simple precise force and geometry.
Into this warlike scene,floated two white butterflies
Crossing and recrossing the spaces between the hail
they followed a random path;now together.now apart
Their unplanned,loving dance leads to mating, procreation and a future
while the hailstones can only die.
Seems sometimes fragile freedom is more productive
than the fierce mechanical modern world can imagine.
I see the butterflies now like startled flowers
hunting for the sun

Hurricanes of the heart

Image

When the windows shattered
And the splinters flew in
He just made for the back door
And left me
not knowing where to begin.

When the shards of glass hit me
And pierced my vulnerable skin
He was  already going
Leaving me
feeling he was an inhuman being.

When I fell down covered in glass and bleeding,
And the storm raged on,
I didn’t look round because
I knew,I knew,I knew,
I knew  he would be gone.
Gone.

Suddenly peace came,storm had quite
disappeared..
It was all over so quickly
Not as terrible as I feared.

My wounds were bad,I have to confess.
I had no bandage
Nothing with which to dress.
With an old towel I cleaned my blood
Then I lay me down
Just to have a rest.

Since that day,no storms come this way.
My wounds are healing
I have just one thing to say.
When the storm was so bad
He left me all alone…
but strangely since then
all is peace and calm.
His absence has become
almost a balm.

But I hear stories of fierce storms rising up
In towns and villages
Not too far from here, where a wandering man appears.

Seems like he’s running to get away
From some storm
But the storm’s inside him…
He gives it form

 

So when the windows crashed in

And glass flew at my face
left me all alone
In what, he thought,
was a very dangerous place.

Did he not pick me up
and carry me outside?
No,my daughter, he left me alone;
I might have died.

But since then
I lost a great burden…
And I lost a great feeling of shame.

Rise up,you women,bleeding and torn.
For on days like this,a new resolve is born.
While you live don’t accept all the blame.
Don’t live so long as I did,in fear and in shame.
Rise up and find that calm
In the eye of the storm…
On days like this
a new woman is born.

My own blood

When the windows shattered
And the splinters flew in
You just made for the back door
And left me
not knowing where I could begin.

When the shards of glass hit me
And pierced my vulnerable skin
You were already going,
Leaving me
feeling you were an inhuman being.

When I fell down, covered in glass and bleeding,
And the storm raged on,
I didn’t look round because
I knew,I knew,I knew,
I knew you would be gone.
Gone.Gone.

Suddenly peace came,storm had quite
disappeared..
It was all over so quickly
Not as terrible as I feared.
My wounds were bad,I have to confess.
I had no bandage
Nothing with which to dress.

Gently I washed away the blood

Now I just have bruises

And a  dark shape

On the floor,where  you stood

Since that day,no storms have  come this way.
My wounds are healing
I have just one thing to say.
When the storm was so bad
You left me all alone…

but strangely since then
all is peace and calm.
Your absence has become
almost a balm.

But I hear stories of fierce storms rising up
In towns and villages
Not too far from here,where a dark man appears.

Seems like he’s running to get away
From some storm
But the storm’s inside him…
He gives it form.

So when the windows crashed in
And glass flew at my face
He left me all alone
In what, he thought,
was a very dangerous place.

Did he not pick me up
and carry me outside?
No,my darlings, he left me alone;
I might have died.

But since then
I lost a great burden…
And I lost a great feeling of shame.

Rise up,you women,bleeding and torn.
For on days like that,a new resolve is born.

While you live don’t accept all the blame.
Don’t live so long  in fear and in shame.
Rise up and find that calm
In the eye of the storm…
On days like this
a new woman’s soul is born.

A true story we invent

No words of mine can potently display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.

No sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse;
we need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.

Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better action gently stems
each day the grace we have is just enough
as through the meta narratives we thumb.

For life’s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intent

Now there is no vertical

When you struck me,I vibrated like a kettle drum,
then as smaller percussions and repercussions
echoing from all the glassy surfaces
creating a balletic geometry of sound tracks
in space and time.

When you knocked me down,
I fell against her and her and her;
we were like a row of skittles
and we all went down with the lifeboat;
The infinite chain of being is.

When you hit me,the Fall spread across the world
Now there is no Vertical
All is undivine and graceless.
By the Rod it’s ruled

When you left me,I left myself,the world,the rocks,dry land
I weighed down sank to the ocean bed
with coral eyes
gazing.

When you struck my mind
I became an instrument of a foreign power
Singing a song I didn’t know.

When the glass was smashed
the splinters flew into all our hearts.
You didn’t know what we couldn’t see.

I lay on barren ground and gave birth
To my own Creator in the desert.

Beats like my heart

Clock on the mantelpiece beats like my heart

More regular.not affected by emotion,vision,thought.

Cats stand proudly in their grey stone bodies

As if at the entrance to some other world.

The heating comes on with a bump,

and suddenly darkness has come to earth.

Clock,clock forever beating,

Will my heart outstay you?

will you tick for someone else?

Though strong in silver case

you feel nothing

give me another heart instead

to share my feelings.

Let another heart beat alongside mine,

and we’ll be tuned in unison,

sing our song of love,

or heartbreak.Human,made of flesh

We will drop like leaves

still the infernal clock beats steadily

controlled by,not love

but radio waves.Imagine now

these waves multi-layered across the earth

carrying shopping lists,time,date.

whilst we go on living ,

hearts fluttering  like a cloud of butterflies,

see they go now

climbing away

into the soft tenderness of your hands

From those lost lands of long ago

In the land which dreams dwell in
where love and hate and life begin;
where swiftly the deep rivers flow
from those lost lands of long ago.
I wander through wild poppy fields
Underfoot the dark earth yields….
I see the flowering fruit trees start
Their blossoms gather round my heart…
I hear the sparrows sing with joy
And bees their busy wings employ.
In those lost lands I saw your face
And now I long for your embrace.
Are you real, am I deceived?
From this earth we all must leave.
Earth to earth and ash to ash
Glory,pride and boasting pass.
Leave me now,my dearest one
Soon I too will be called on.
Nothing lasts but love is real
Remember that and your ideals..
Earth to earth, we rest in clay
We must give all self away
Softly on this earth I roam
Seeking still my love and home,
for until the very end
Love and kindness may descend.
Soft as wings of butterflies
Tears well up and wet my eyes.
My heart has melted into yours

And thus we live and die like flower

It shall be so

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Gently dancing in the sun
Wildflowers grow;
they bloom,
are gone.

With no thoughts,they have no cares;
Yet their lives are gentle prayers.
May I walk in such a way
That I am alive to this day.

So I see with widening view,
And joy and sorrows embrace too.
Then my time will come, like yours...
And of us nothing  endures.
As to the earth our bodies go,
All are one;it shall be so

The good things my mother taught me

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Gravity

The good things my mother taught me

are too numerous to list

here or even on a large hoarding

I could rent for a week by the train station.

She gave me my blue eyes and my love of stories

and tolerated the fact that, I like my father,would learn

for the sake of it and not with a view to earning money.

She praised my sense of color though not my three year research scholarship

to place of higher learniing

would rather I curled my hair and smiled at boys.

But my destiny was determined by the fact that I never could

master that Singer sewing machine she had

so I had to learn Theoretical Physics to make up for it.

And here I am now,thinking of her home made bread

her showing me how to read music

and the names of the keys on the piano.

I know I was a big disappointment in not marrying into money

or becoming a saint or virgin and martyr,well martyr anyway

She always believed me to be a virgin, even after marriage;

and it’s true I was a virgin with regard to common sense

getting on in society and all related issues.

Some ordinary female knowledge never penetrated me

so I’d sit in the rain wondering what tolerance was

or how Pascal got to lie in bed so much,and whether I could too

because I got creative ideas in bed—

not what you may be thinking of—–

She always changed the sheets and washed our clothes however poor

we were…

And made us dresses from scraps of fabric

That’s how we learned geometry,with the trapeze dress……

Numbers we learned from the stars and excitement from playing with boys

in a disused brickfield.

Strange what makes us who we are,but

the biggest contribution comes from mothers

and just to please her I hope as well as all my academic success

one day I’ll make myself a dress out of some rare print

embodying simultaneously both male and female design and shape

And she’ll look down and say,

She always had her head in the clouds,in a book,in the smoke

patterns from Dad’s cigarettes, in a dream and a whirl

but she did have a good sense of color.

Yeah,she is my daughter

Yeah,once I imagined I must be adopted but

Yeah.I’m her daughter.

She’s my mother.

Yer she’s gone.