Home

ABOUT US

Recent Posts

Recent Comments

Categories

POEM ARCHIVE

ONLINE SERVICES

BOOKS

Contact Us

Useful Links

August 7, 2014

 

 

 

If only she could

see me now;

the one who pushed

me up yon brow.

 

Who I suckled free,

when mealtimes due,

from mother nature’s

potent brew.

 

Who gave me hope

through word and song,

and always taught me,

right from wrong.

 

Who saw in me,

my greatest strength,

and urging, went to

any length,

 

in her role of

unconditional support,

never backing away,

from a hasty retort,

 

that came, at times,

when sensitivity lacking;

she took it all, and still

gave full backing.

 

Though, alone in tears,

she would sit and wonder,

what had gone so wrong,

when she was cast asunder.

 

Yet, always returning

with both fists clinching;

accepting of her lot,

without ever flinching..

 

Through my ups and downs,

my lows and highs,

she loved me like no other,

without compromise.

 

And who, in later life,

whilst in sad decline,

still said ‘You’re round the bend,

sweet child of mine!’

 

And me, by then,

old enough to be a Gran!

Her words so insane,

if heard, by fellow man.

 

But she’d never leave me;

she made that clear,

that in death too,

she’d be always near.

 

And true to her word,

she’s never far away.

Her presence I feel,

at some part of each day.

 

The one who held

me to her breast,

and gave me life,

and knew me best,

 

may not be here

in human form,

but still keeps me calm,

and away from harm.

 

And tortured still am I,

to this very day,

for the times I kept

her love at bay.

 

in my quest for freedom;

my only goal.

Such impulsiveness,

beyond control,

 

which seems so futile now

I can please myself,

and my travelling boots

never on the shelf.

 

But it’s much easier now

to enjoy the view,

for where I choose to go,

she comes with me too.

 

And the one who pushed

me up yon brow,

forever on my shoulder,

for it’s my turn now,

 

to feel her warm embrace

and keep her memory near.

Until such time she feels

it’s time to disappear.

 

And when that time comes

I’ll know how she felt,

when I found her praying;

on her knees she knelt.

 

For she saw in me, herself,

as the pressure piled.

That’s how she knew too well,

her child, to be quite wild!

 

All too late, alas,

these things come to pass.

But closer now, than ever,

this mother and her lass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Post tags:

No Comments »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URL

Leave a comment