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Poetry about mothering - Page 3

post #41 of 71

A Measurement of Me

A Measurement of Me
By: Angela Petersen

My eyes are closed, yet I can still far too easily see the undisciplined wavering of the tiny light. For a brief moment, I glance at it through slitted eyes, fighting down annoyance. At times, its glow is so bright and inviting, and then just as I decide I love it, it flickers and dims so low I can barely see it, and it leaves me with a sense of bitter mistrust.

There is a steady draining of water; the only thing that I can truly count on in here. A slow loss, barely noticeable until you measure it from where it began.

The once intoxicating smell that made me want to breathe deeper than humanly possible has now left me feeling nauseas. The steaminess that was once so enticing is now smothering me; I ache for air of freshness, my skin needs the touch of coolness.

In the unstable luminosity, I can see the thin layer of mildew glaring back at me. I thought I scrubbed you clean, yet you persist with a diligence far greater than anything I've ever been capable of.

I reach for the curtain, suddenly frantic to escape this dark dungeon and the growing dread that comes with it. A narrow shaft of light reaches towards me from beneath the sealed doorway, and a tiny whimper from somewhere beyond promises me there's still purpose.

I stand alone for the time being, my hand on the doorknob. I am exposed and defenseless. I wonder which place is more difficult to endure.

I recall the time when this solitude had been all that I longed for. Now that I am in this place, I find its gaping emptiness depressing.

Its betrayal stings me to my innermost core.

Without a further thought, I turn the knob and step back into the world I had so frantically run from.

The smell of burp up fills me with a strange and unexpected sense of restored vitality. The thin layer of stickiness from a spilled cup of juice gives me an unexplainable feeling of impeccable spotlessness.

How does one measure what they have become?

That steady whimper from the bedroom upstairs brings about a miraculous realization: She is my One Reliable Beauty. She is the measurement of how far I have come.
post #42 of 71

Fleeting

Fleeting
By: Angela Petersen

Sometimes I feel like I'm spread far too thick,
With some plastic knife that's been tossed in the trash.
What am I but some wooden spoon threat?
Scrape, scrape, then rinse yet again
That plate that I rinsed just a brief time ago.

One glance in the mirror proves I'm not at my best.
A smear on the glass makes me doubt what I am.
Why must I question the significance there?
Polish, polish, make that mirror shine,
Now I can see what I'm destined to be.

Outside in the snow a loud wail sounds.
I jump up to look, find him face-first in the snow.
How does he learn to rise by himself?
Pause, pause, watch him search for my face,
Wipe at a tear, then climb to his feet.

Look at this home, see it's inviting warmth.
Hear him open the door and stamp off his feet.
Why do I doubt the weight of my call?
Embrace, embrace, love with my all.
Help him to find what he's destined to be.

My hearth is beset by dependable tenderness,
A welcomed respite for this chilly young thing.
What's so exquisite in a room this banal?
Savor, savor, bask in the glow.
Drink in the knowledge that he has to show.

Folding his clothes, I breathe in the fresh scent.
I'm reminded again of the blessing that's mine.
Who always brings me this knowledge divine?
Certain, certain, as sure as his smile
That peeks down on me with the first morning light.

A light that flows far too fast through the room,
Touching gently with radiance all that it sees.
What can I do to slow the Earth's flight?
Soak up, soak up, for as long as I can!
The brilliance is fleeting and soon will be gone.
post #43 of 71
Thread Starter 
Angie, I really enjoyed reading your poems, thank you for sharing them.

Let us know if you want a certian kind of feedback, or if you just want to share with us (I think you write beautifully)
post #44 of 71

I'll take all the help I can get!

If you have any suggestions, please don't hesitate to pass them along! I'd appreciate anything you'd have to offer.

Thank you for taking the time!

Angie
post #45 of 71
Quote:
Originally Posted by OakdaleMama
whatcha think of this . . .


The Peony in the Backyard

Bloody organ
In a dirty hole
Below

Deep green leaves
Raw red blooms
Above

Many don’t understand
you, sleeping next to me
all night
Strapped to me
in sunlight

They don’t see
what was below
That throbbing placenta
Your heart in my belly

Feeding my roots
through your needy, crying, all-day, all-night infancy.

OMG, you planted your placenta below my favorite ever! the peony placenta, how lovely...i love your poem and have found a kindred spirit, someone who obviously shares my fixation with a peony.
post #46 of 71

Weaning Woe

thank you all for your poems, you inspire me from the depths of your beings...so here's a new poem for you to enjoy from me, from the depths of me :

Weaning Woe

For you two
I bled milk
and love

it came down
pouring out
white liquid light
loooooooove
immediately soothing
your cries

feeding fulfilling your
bodies and souls
from my
body and soul
looking at you
into you
feeling the newness
of your beings
the sheer satin
of your skins
the purity
of your needs

proud mama i am
full breasts i had
full! gloriously! full!

aahhh there we go
relaxin sets in
this tired body releases
milk flows
there is only comfort
sweet being
together
peaceful we are

you both
latched onto me
after the chord was cut
and now, we have
broken the latch
never to latch on again
but i can still hold you
until you become men
maybe, perhaps, even then...


***commentary and criticism welcome.
post #47 of 71
Quote:
Originally Posted by zenfulmama
thank you all for your poems, you inspire me from the depths of your beings...so here's a new poem for you to enjoy from me, from the depths of me :

Weaning Woe

For you two
I bled milk
and love

it came down
pouring out
white liquid light
loooooooove
immediately soothing
your cries

feeding fulfilling your
bodies and souls
from my
body and soul
looking at you
into you
feeling the newness
of your beings
the sheer satin
of your skins
the purity
of your needs

proud mama i am
full breasts i had
full! gloriously! full!

aahhh there we go
relaxin sets in
this tired body releases
milk flows
there is only comfort
sweet being
together
peaceful we are

you both
latched onto me
after the chord was cut
and now, we have
broken the latch
never to latch on again
but i can still hold you
until you become men
maybe, perhaps, even then...


***commentary and criticism welcome.
Wow. Now that made me pensive about my own situation...........I love the images I get reading your words!
post #48 of 71
Thanks, Zenfulmama! Glad you like the poem. I'm sure you know that peonies live for 100 yrs or so--the perfect plant to mark a birth or special event! I imagine grown-up Oliver (it's "his" placenta) looking at its huge red blooms and remembering his babyhood/childhood. Really liked your weaning poem, too. Much to think about . . . my daughter (coming up on 5 yrs) still nurses and it's not easy for me to relax when she does. And yet, thinking of her weaning, well, it's tough . . . Thanks again for your kind words--such fuel for my soul (and today it's a really tired soul). --Nancy
post #49 of 71
Quote:
Originally Posted by OakdaleMama
whatcha think of this . . .


The Peony in the Backyard

Bloody organ
In a dirty hole
Below

Deep green leaves
Raw red blooms
Above

Many don’t understand
you, sleeping next to me
all night
Strapped to me
in sunlight

They don’t see
what was below
That throbbing placenta
Your heart in my belly

Feeding my roots
through your needy, crying, all-day, all-night infancy.
This poem is so powerful it spoke right to me.
I see the colour, the exact colour of that bloom.
The line 'Strapped to me
in sunlight' the image is so vivid, and the last two lines are just perfect.
post #50 of 71

Here goes...

Rai
Seeing my son's face
and for an moment,
a fugitive instant,
seeing the man he'll become.
Sloping into my kitchen.
Sleep and wear hair,
shoulders barely contained by a stretched black t-shirt.
Jeans, desperately clinging to bony hips.
Heads taller than me.
Monosyllabic.

post #51 of 71
Thread Starter 
Bump
post #52 of 71
You had this published in MotherVerse didn't you? Great work.


ETA: That was meant for AngieP A Measurement of Me
post #53 of 71

other mothers

here's one about another kind of mother:


Hyena,
Jaws that crush
bone,
Delicately hold their
young




embrace the gentleness and fierceness in your mamaselves
post #54 of 71
Thread Starter 
Sweetymom, what a powerful poem...It packed worlds of meaning in a few words. I had to read it twice, then it sank in. I love it
post #55 of 71
Quote:
Originally Posted by sweetymom
here's one about another kind of mother:


Hyena,
Jaws that crush
bone,
Delicately hold their
young




embrace the gentleness and fierceness in your mamaselves
Oooooooooooooooh I **like**!!
post #56 of 71
Wow! I loved reading all of these poems. And moms who write about placentas...I thought I was the only one. Beautiful.

This one I was working on for Nursing Mother, I wish she could see it.

The Blamer’s song

I knew that they would blame you
I knew it when I heard
Folks whispering bout what’s good and bad
While you don’t say a word

Out beyond what’s right and wrong
Dear Mama, there’s a field
Where all of us can gather
And our hearts can be healed

Out in the field we’ll gather
And I think it would be neat
To bow down low beside you
And wash dear Mama’s feet

For if we stick together
Then we can all stand strong
And we can never waiver
While the blamer’s sing their song
post #57 of 71
Then, there was this extra verse I edited but I loved

I knew that they would blame you
I knew it when I heard
just take your middle finger
and flip them all the bird.

of course, inappropriate, so it had to be edited.....
post #58 of 71
Quote:
Originally Posted by Attached Mama
ok what do you think of these? I wrote them after an emergency c-section.

Tears

I'm sorry I'm sorry
A thousand times over I'm sorry!!
I cry tears in the night
Dimming your precious sight.

I'm sorry you were torn from me
To bright lights and loud voices
Denied the love from gentler choices.

I'm sorry they quickly cut our cord
Time a precious jewel
They could scarce afford.

I'm sorry in first memory so dim
A stranger holds you
While I longed to warm you unable to.
You were denied the nourishment at my breast
The warmth and comfort
Of all that's right and best.

I'm sorry they whisked you away
Not to be mine til another day.
My arms still ache at the thought.
Will my heart ever ceace to bemoan
Child of my love
In a room, sterile, artificial, alone?

I'm sorry this world greeted you
With its long arms mocking, sterile cold
Locked me in a prison
So my arms could not enfold.
I never dreamed you'd learn its cruelties so fast
My plans only to protect
But a nightmare came at the last.

I'm sorry at each prick of hte heel
I could not comfort, wipe your tears away
Oh the pain we are made to feel!

I'm sorry you received no protection
From strange sterile procedures
Which stole you away, denying our first connection
Untapped depths of love and affection.

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! A thousand times over I'm sorry!
Sooo touching! thank you for sharing! I am new to this forum - just found it tonight. I have been reveling in all these poems. thanks.
post #59 of 71
As I said in my previous post - I am new to this forum. Please let me know if I don't follow protocol...I love this thread - I haven't even gotten to any others yet cuz this has been so powerful and scrumptious

I used to write. A loooong time ago but stopped. Don't know why - I guess life stuff...So here goes...

In Spirit

I’m inspired to be
the best that I can
when I witness your soul
speaking free
unhindered

you have brought me
to my knees
in joy
in laughter
in love

I am stripped of
pretenses
exposed
bare
raw


I am humbled
by your truth
honored...
to be your mom

in your spirit
I am inspired...

Thank you all for allowing the space to express!
post #60 of 71
gift


a high-pitched squeal tight
coarse curls
combed into an afro feet
pitter patter running
away a beeping phone clasped
in sticky fingers
toys, pots, pans scattered
this way and that my feet
tripping over mischevious
grins and laughs and four
bodies piled
onto mine squirming
and I don't know where
I begin or end only
that I have arrived
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