I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

4 April 2010

Poets Are Losing Their Mothers

Kris in Melbourne
Donall in London.
A mother in Ireland, visited
just before the last.
A mother from Alexandria,
settled in Dorset, and now
the son will wait
and visit siblings later.

Last year it was Tony
in Manchester, with all
those grieving haiku.
Neil in Austin, Texas
has written of it too.
Neil grew up in Canada;
I guess his Mum died there.
He didn’t say,
had deeper things to say.

Of course they write of this.
Some include photos:
slim, beautiful, young mother
smiling. When my Mum died
my cousin pressed on me
a photo of her old:
skeletal, crouched, forcing
a smile through pain.
Afterwards I tore it up.

There is nothing to say
that touches the death
of your mother. That is where
your life came from. That
is your source of body nurture
even if you weren’t wanted
(and most of us were). I
was never more confronted.


NaPoWriMo Day 4

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