when I was born
my mother wasn’t there
the clouds parted
I tasted my first air
when I was a child
my father chose to die
the country widened
beneath an open sky
when I was a man
my love abandoned me
the birds began to sing
setting my soul free
when I was old
my heart declined to beat
the setting sun burned
consuming me in heat
when I was reborn
my life began once more
mistakes and lessons learnt
repeating like before
we travelled south
east and west
each taking a bone
to plant and tend
we grew great forests
gave them names
like laughter, love
tundra, teal
there were swans and lakes
hills and streams
swallows flew
dreams took place
and then one summer
years from then
I caught my breath
inhaled again
and there before me
on the shore
a skiff, a whale boat
nothing more
we found your bones
recumbent
in an abandoned skiff
bleached and burnished
wind weathered
but there on your finger
the ruby red ring
and around your ribs
intricately knotted
the matching necklace
identifying you
laying claim in this
wasteland grave boat
connecting us
in no uncertain terms
your sons and daughters
they built a fire
with driftwood and dried kelp
and using the stars for lanterns
sang your name until morning
when light shone
and you were at last
at peace
I wear the fleece of my mother’s skin
around me wrapped like a body blanket
a bag of gifts and good intentions
warm affections and familiar smells
no sacrificial lamb am I
for through this needle’s haystack eye
do I travel through the birth canal
my Shepherdess has opened wide
(to read more in this series please click on the Shepherdess tag below)
my Shepherdess cradles her little lamb
she comforts him with tender hands
abandoned, desperate, stumbling blind
her breast she offers for him to find
suckled, nourished, love divined
Shepherdess save me from my mind
(to read more in this series please click on the Shepherdess tag below)
eyelids heavy
sun setting
between lashes of rain I nod my thanks
like a pigeon full of shot
on a bed of autumn leaves
the little traces of blood spattered
amongst the green
yellow
brown
camouflaged bed now careening
on swivelling casters
an overfilled trolley dash
to death’s door
it’s a
bump
bump
of a ride
that rollercoasts me to the sea
it’s a
dive
dive
that parachutes me
to the bottom of the blue
it’s a
gulp
gulp
that delivers me
to the entrance of your cave
it’s a
kiss
kiss
that welcomes me
in the arms you hold open for me
it’s a
why?
why?
that haunts me
your door – always open to the brave
the barnacled handles
wrought lattice portcullis entwined with kelp
that helps hide your underwater domain
that helps keep your castle cave secret
amongst the shoals of fishes and seafoals
and dragon breath’d seals who guard your inner sanctum
and there
in the corner
coiled in a cockle’s mouth you lie
like the coral queen you are
I venture forward
I stumble on my own breath
the bubbles foaming in my nose
I know I am not drowning
I know I am under your spell
I know why I am here
I know now the answers to all things
and I know nothing else matters
deep down inside your mother belly
to which I have come to return
as I knew I always would
as I knew time would call me back
you waiting patiently
as if my birth was only an echo of yesterday’s calling
and I would have no wish to leave
as I had before
there’s no such thing
as a good soldier
said the girl with the bloody doll
you come and rape my mother
then you want to marry me
there’s no such thing
as a good soldier
said the boy with the wooden gun
you come and kill my father
then you want to enlist me
there’s no such thing
as a good soldier
said the old woman in the black shawl
you come and burn my family home
then you pity me
there’s no such thing
as a good soldier
said the good soldier to himself
I don’t know what I’m fighting for
then I fight some more
In the backyard battleground
The mother wants rid of her daughter
But the daughter wants more worms
Time to fly the nest little blackbird
The mother tries to persuade her daughter
But the daughter has a broken wing
They argue beak to beak upon the ground
The mother determined to force the issue
But the disabled daughter won’t let go
A stand-off dance of sorts now ensues
The mother twelve inches from her daughter
But the daughter mirrors her every move
Flicking autumn leaves as blackbirds do
The mother finds a tasty morsel or two
But the daughter dashes in for the steal
Another fight and flying feathers
The mother’s had enough of this pantomime
But her daughter’s bond is that much stronger
Than Mother Nature would care to admit
With winter waiting beyond the hedgerow
Where the weak will succumb to cold defeat
(These past couple of days I have been watching a pair of female blackbirds fighting and bickering in the yard. One appears to be injured and I have surmised that it is the young of the adult which now appears to be growing impatient for it to leave her side. The adult tries to chase it away but it keeps hanging around and dashes in when there is any chance of being fed.
I love all the birds that visit my garden and always have nuts and seeds in feeders for them. Living on a smallholding away from other houses and people they are my closest neighbours
Mother Nature is also often a cruel neighbour who waits next door with harsh winters and her very own and very effective mechanism for dealing with the weak and injured. I wondered about drawing comparisons with the way we treat our own weak and injured but the story of the birds felt too self-contained to add another dimension. Sometimes it’s best that we just observe and leave our emotional footprint out of the equation.
By chance I was writing this poem as the Daily Post prompt came through. The word ‘neighbors’ (spelt ‘neighbours’ here in UK) seemed to fit the theme quite nicely despite my having already posted the poem elsewhere under the title ‘Succumb’. Have a lovely weekend friends)
I don’t like the smell of these candles! said Peter.
It’s all I could get hold of, his mother replied.
They smell of sick and dead things!
When is the electricity coming back on?
I don’t know Peter. When it can, I suppose.
Peter and his Mum sat huddled together,
Curled up under blankets on the comfy sofa,
Watching the TV that would never work.
Not without electricity. The candle flickered,
A reflection in a screen of blankness.
When is Jane coming home? asked Peter.
Your sister has found a new home, mother replied.
Is it up in Heaven? asked Peter.
Yes dear, I’m sure it is. Mother smiled.
Did she take her arms and legs with her?
Outside the street was deserted,
Ominous thunder shook the world.
Peter imagined it wasn’t thunder.
He imagined his Dad up there somewhere,
Like Jane, but in a different way.
No school again tomorrow, said his Mum,
We have to go fetch water, find some food.
I’m hungry! said Peter, and bored!
I know, said his Mum, I know.
This game’s not fun anymore!
so Bill
I was just wondering
when will you be done
taking your photographs
you were never this long
in the roll of film days
when you had a couple dozen shots
but now there’s no stopping you
my mother had always been
just wondering
patiently sat filing her nails
flicking through glossy magazines
Harpers and Queen
Vanity Fair
the breathtaking scenery
had never interested her
we’d drive out each weekend
take the Oldsmobile panting up
The Skyline Drive or
Blue Ridge Highway
there were swallowtails
and black bears
if you knew just where to look
and point your toy pistols
mother watched
from the passenger seat
window wound down
breeze blowing her mini beehive
the ten most alluring women
in the world
she would read out loud and
how to marry a billionaire Bill
poor father was a delivery man
never an ambitious bone
in his weary body
the long hours delivering parcels
exacted a price on his arthritis
but you would not hear him complain
just a few more minutes honey
he would quietly say
all those Kodachrome slides
he never showed or looked at them
they sat boxed
gathering dust
like his simple thoughts
over time he feared he would one day lose
our sunny days wandering Big Meadows
with mother in the car wondering
the names of our favorite places
still sing in my ears
they echo out from overlooks
call me back each year
to Riprap Trail
Hawksbill Gap
Elkwallow and
Bacon Hollow
now I am the keeper of his thoughts
unlocked and free to wander
projected overhead
we watch them on the big screen
there’s me I point
pistols at the ready
and mom smiling and waving
a cripple with withered legs
(apologies for posting this poem twice on the Daily Post one word prompt slot. My other blog is winding down now that I am coming to the end of my travels and I inadvertently added this to that although it does have relevance there too. Managing multiple WordPress blogs from a smartphone is not always without its glitches)
