she picks me up
just before eleven,
talk over our favorite thai,
and the last time for years
I will ride down this highway like this
the butterfly house
there is something that makes it art
me leaving home and
all those wings
we walk through
a piece of st. louis
(the last piece of st. louis
somehow I keep having to tell myself that)
and the years paint all these colors
on the butterflies,
on my hands
and the unforgiving heat rises from all the pictures we take
and I remember all of this from when I was little
but also none of it
I am seeing it from a new height and
a new angle
they tell us
we can release a new one into the room
hand us a jar-
she is a pink rose
dark all down her back,
reddish pink spots underneath
so bright they look neon
we open the jar and she does not leave
we spend ten minutes gently tapping her out
into the open,
onto a flower
we spend so long
watching her sit unmoving-
this one is apparently her favorite
but I don’t think she’s realized
what you taught me
the world is opening up for her and
you will still be waiting
the world is bigger than where she puts her feet
I look up down at my mother
and there she is,
the one I have always wanted to be,
smaller than me and still just as important
and we are running the world
from opposite sides of it
and we are crying and cheering
as much as before
and we are still back in the butterfly house
just as much ourselves as we have always been
as long as she’s known me
I turn over my shoulder as we leave,
looking for the pink rose.
suddenly she is in the sky.
and I am too.
Our love of music begins early…as in our mother’s womb we lie
and from somewhere in the distance we hear a muffled lullaby.
Soon we are soothed within her arms as she gently rocks us in the den
and we fall asleep as we hear her sing that lullaby again.
And we hear music all around us in our nursery where we lie…
We are like the bird who learns to sing before she spreads her wings to fly.
And even as we grow older we find music everywhere
In the oceans, in the trees, in the mountains, in the air.
Music is so vital to us that once we’ve spread our wings and flown
we sing, we write and we create instruments to make music of our own.
So now when nature plays her music…her symphonies…her songs
we not only have the ability to listen…we also play…and sing along.
Through the years our taste in music changes as we change…as we grow
but music still accompanies us…wherever we may go.
There is one type of music, however, as other notes rearrange
that remains with us forever…that will never alter…never change.
For when it’s time to leave this Earth…when it’s our turn to say goodbye…
we close our eyes one last time…listening to our mother’s lullaby.
Momma was strong, right to her last breath.
She knew her Lord, so she feared not, death.
For years she fought, keeping her faith strong,
An example to us, when things go so wrong.
~
Her smile lit up her face, her laugh, a delighter,
Her Irish green eyes, made everything brighter.
She held together the ends, of our family ties.
Our matriarch, she was the love of our lives.
~
She fought so hard, for so many years,
A woman of courage, despite all the tears.
Her body was worn, the pain was too great.
So God took her Home, to walk through that Gate.
~
She lived for her family, how fierce was her love.
She's still loving us now, but from Heaven above.
No one could ever compare, nor take her place.
She was a woman of God...She was a woman of Grace.
Trembling,
her hands were,
when she found the suicide note on my bedside,
grabbed my lifeless body,
hoping that I shall breathe again,
hoping that I shall annoy her again,
hoping that I shall lover her again,
She was trying to remember the time I came to this land,
or should I say, when she brought me
Now that I am gone and rest in peace,
she cannot live, let alone rest,
In the vast emptiness, I am happy,
leaving her sad and mourning
But, I won't complain,
mother, my maker,
for this silence is better than the chaos of the cruel world,
I am sure I'll rest in utter peace,
for I know that we will meet beyond this land of sorrows.
“I had a child just like you”
She said to me that day
Waiting in the hospital
On my knees to pray
She didn't know who I was
Her mind just couldn't see
That I knew who she talked about
The child was truly me.
We'd had this converse once before
And many before that
The degradation of her mind
Was obvious, as she sat
And prattled on about her son
How happy he will be
With her family when she comes home
And I had to agree
She never found her memories
Or recognized my face
After everything she went through
She's in a better place
Where memories last forever
And can't be lost to time
Where human bodies don't break down
Always in their prime
Many years have come and gone
I can't recall them all
It's not like I haven't tried
But the thoughts just have a pall
I try to stare back to the past
Peer directly through the grime
Just like a fog covered my eyes
It's hard to see through mists of time
A mother’s heart!
A mother’s loves is strong and steady a bond from a heart of gold
For nine months she’s carried her child inside a love that will never grow old
The moment the doctor puts her child in her arms she sees a work of art
And nothing in this world will ever compare to that of a mothers heart
She sees her children with eyes that shine as bright as the morning sun
There’s no one quite like her in all the world and her love cannot be undone
She’ll protect her child until her dying breath like she’s done from the very start
A true mother doesn’t have to bare a child to have a mother’s heart
All she needs is to open her heart to let her child in so that he will know
And hand in hand she will walk with her child until he’s had a chance to grow
Only when he is grown and her life on earth is done will she let go and depart
And this to me is how it was meant to be from deep inside a mother’s heart!
Dedicated to mothers everywhere have a fun filled day you all deserve it
To hear you say…
By jfarrell
To hear you say “I love you”
I would have sprouted wings and flew
So happy, so joyous those words would have made me feel
From you, my mother
To hear you say “I’m proud of you”
I would have pulled the stars from the sky
And made of them a crown
For you, my mother
I heard you say “I should have smothered you at birth”
And I feel crushed, hated
Outcast and rejected
By you, my mother
I heard you say “I should have had you aborted”
And I feel aborted;
Stopped, cast aside
And incomplete
I still hear what you said
After all these years, over all these many miles
Has my silence, my absence, gotten through to you
After all these years, can you still hear me
But,
I still want to hear you say
“I love you”
To me, your son
He was both not there
And my savior
All in one
Because when he WAS around
He protected me
I was his daddy's girl
I was the most abused
He did what he could to help
Usually by doing dishes
Mother would get pissed
How dare a parent help
Their child
Their blood
Let them flounder
Let them fail
So I can win at one more thing
And hold it over their head
He helped
But only so much so
Too timid to really fight
Too quiet to speak up
She ruled over us all
She was the queen
If she wanted something
You fetched it
And I did everything
To take care of our homes
The many apartments
We called "homes"
As soon as I was old enough
To hold a sponge
I was doing dishes
Once I was old enough to cook
I made dinner every night
If not
You faced her wrath
The anger that would spew
From her nostrils
Her eyes glowing red
And a quick flick
Of her tongue
And the beatings
She would give
Once he passed
It was free for all
Into early adulthood
The abuse continued
I was conditioned
When I left
It trickled to my brother
She continued to abuse her child,
But now it wasn't me
And my father wasn't there
To save him
Last chat with mum; aged 24 (me, aged 24)
By jfarrell
“now he’s dead, I gotta ask….
“was he my dad? Truly???”
…. “yes”
This is my mum responding….
Her and the ‘truth’….
If she told me water’s wet and leafs are green…
I’d have to check….
….my mum truly believed her lies…
Really…
…
She didn’t get kicked out of the milkman’s house…
1 am in the morning
And walked home naked with her 7 year old daughter screaming at her
What a w……. she was…
No….
My ‘dad’ was flirting with the barmaid again…
….
I was there; I know what happened…
But,
She really, truly believes her lies.
“was he my dad?”
“yes”
….
Deep breath…
Disappointment, anger, relief?
Who knows?
But….
What I asked next was really, REALLY stupid!
A very bad idea…
But
How could I know?
“Ok… ish… he’s my dad…”
Long silence, couple of minutes?… less?… more?…
“what happened back ‘then’? when I was 5? 6?
When uncle brian raped me?
….….
….. we haven’t spoken in nearly 10 years… what you all did hurt….
What happened?”
“your dad told me you’d raped your cousin”
…...
“i was 5…?… 6…?….
…. I wasn’t even physically capable…. 5…6…”
“that’s what your dad told me.”
A couple of deep breaths, from me…
Several seconds…. a minute or two…
Felt like f…. centuries….
….”and I believed him.”
NOT an added aside, an intentional thrust with a stiletto…
Not an attempt to move in for the kill…
On an already injured, badly bleeding target…
No….
She was just being honest.
….OK…
“nan, uncle peter…. di…..”
“well of course I told them about it!”
…..
At least I had the sense to shut up then and not ask if that’s..
What she told her friends…
…..
Haven’t seen or spoken or had anything to do with my ‘mum’
Since that day…
Over 25 years ago…
I will be 50 in a couple of weeks…
My anger, bitterness, hurt….
…..that little mother to son chat….
Is killing me
Poisoning me, like a virus …..
That hate, anger….
Wanting to hurt back…
….
Maybe my mum had mental health problems….
I don’t know….
But..
To so totally, absolutely believe… agree…
At 5… 6… years old…
“your son raped his cousin”….
I don’t totally believe that’s the WHOLE truth…
I will happily call my scumbag ‘dad’ a lot of names…
But.. ‘Liar’ isn’t one that would be honest….
….
…”and I believed him.”….
I don’t know….
Have spent all my pointless life trying to imagine….
WHAT I DID….
That was so bad…
That…
At the age of 5 or 6….
… my mum hated me SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much,
“and I believed him.”
Maybe she’s right ;-)
After all,
Who knows a man better than his mother?
I wish I could forgive and forget…
I wish I could be a son….
I wish I had a mother….
…..
And,
I so wish I wasn’t me…
But…
These are the hands we are dealt.
Sadly….
I fear my bitterness, anger….
Absolute f…… rage…
…after I die….
My hate will continue.
….
Other than my mum, who can rot in hell…
PEACE AND LOVE TO ALL YOU LOVELY WONDERFUL READERS!