EaRth MothEr.


Every morning
Every bloom
There is a pigment that sparks a loom.
Every decent has been forth told.
If they do not look the same,
Then that is what time has made in the mould.

Never can the white outshine the depth.
Of colour and grass root.
In the transient stream of embrasure, the links can always be seen.
The hard yards come with mastering trust.
Of letting go, to what is told that you must.
Similar arguments span across the many and morn.

So many are left devastated because the recognition is undrawn.
When the alienation turns into collateral impair.
Then the consequences utter…..
It just isn’t au pair.

The loss of invocative spasm and subdue
Isn’t truly lost when it was only an observer who said that was what to do.

Observation is just that, when songs are sung.
When invaders use lines and eyes and hum.
With anus to blind a mother
and beef to strip a son.
As dreams are reopened;
the desire to have them undone.

In the grounding of readers, you’ll laugh and clip,
my wings as I express, a double dip.
The verse started out as a response about the human race.
But, landed at conveying the experiment on me.
The way I was stalked.
The way my voice was ignored, I was demeaned disembowelled.
My young drawn as hosts.
Whilst really they are being exploited by those who want to shape their future, through trickery.

Children hurting from their cruelty.
They were not just the spawn of me.
They were not the gift to another.
They were a part of me.
I am a part of them.
There is no-one to blame than the greedy of the past.

Allure and deceit,
are all sorts of bait.
When a mother is protecting the reason for supporting her feet.

So must I repeat, this notion is true.
That if an observer tries to hold onto you.
Their view is transparent, but not a nurturing kind.
It’s a see through window, they try to hide.
Many learn tricks, and many recoil.
People know privilege and people know spoil.

In the length of the weather and the rhythm of love,
The bonds of a mother will always be sung.

The rampant good deed doer who grows in a womb,
then reaches for light of another’s insight.
Has no place to eat at a mothers, heart body or soul.
Not even to rescue what they give to replace.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s