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.

26 June 2015

Speaking with the Mother

'Thou,' I say
to Mother
(She who is all this)
to give respect.

Not that we are 
used to hear
the old tongue,
but I know it.

My hand is ready
to pull from fire
what black ashes
I can

to spit at that worm
the man — but she says,
'He is My son. Learn now
to flow, be water.'


Written in response to a Words Count prompt at 'imaginary garden with real toads' in which we are asked for a poem of 60 or fewer words, using some from a list of 23 'ultraconserved' words dating from the Ice Age, which the Eurasiatic languages have in common (seeming to indicate that there was an original mother tongue). The words are: 

thou
I
not
that
we
to give
who
this
what
man / male
ye
old
mother
to hear
hand
fire
to pull
black
to flow
bark
ashes
to spit
worm

15 comments:

  1. Oh, this is truly wonderful, Rosemary. Such a clever way with the words to paint this intense scene so succinctly.

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  2. 'He is My son. Learn now to flow, be water.'

    That is wonderful. I think she has bent over backward with man so far.

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  3. Fabulous! A whole dark story there.

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  4. A mother's favorite son is growing up here. I love how you told it, putting Mother in her favored place before the action started. The younger son reminds me some of the Biblical Joseph whose other, older, brothers were worms, but still their father's son.
    It also reminded me of the rituals of the N Zee Indigenous people. We spent a mid-day with one of these tribes and observed some their rituals. One of course was the welcoming of new guests. That involved the rubbing of noses in which we participated.
    ..

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  5. I love that last stanza....the depiction of man as worm and then the turn in the middle of it, especially.

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  6. I think that even worms of men can be forgiven.. all men have a caring mother somewhere. Love the last two line.. be like the water.

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  7. I LOVE "Learn how to flow. Be water."

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  8. Agreed with Sherry.. the closing lines are magical :D

    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

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  9. I love the suggestion that even though we're not used to the mother tongue that deep inside we all know it.

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  10. I know I commented on this. Maybe I am in your spam? I totally love it! and mother may well acknowledge her son and caution leniency. That would be just like her, so loving and all.

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  11. this has the flow of myth, of stories passed down over generations ~

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  12. Much mystery in this well crafted piece and the last two lines a great sign-off

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  13. it tugs at the heart, the ideals, here presented

    much love...

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  14. Mother's heart is always with the son come what may! There has to be adjustments made by her and others! Very truly said Rosemary!

    Hank

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  15. the old tongue... respect... ah, i love it. cheers!

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