She bore a platinum baby,
of one she could be proud.
Her mossy earthen womb,
a misty dew-grey shroud.
...
The envious corner,
The combed silence,
Breathing heavily, feeling is dank.
Shivers, that his arm touched mine,
...
I feel about this small,
a thimbel shaped growth,
unshaped and common.
Who are they? not me,
...
Even her thorns have roses.
Swept into the purity of her smile.
Dreaming, dreaming for her world.
She recites her books aloud, she is infinite.
...
I love her,
but would not do this.
Please preserve that sanctity she breathes.
Like light through a prism,
...
We all feel alone some days,
fretted with anger and emptiness.
What am I but this thing?
a victim of consequence.
...
‘You’d never think I’d end up here,
At any point in my life, ’
Clutching now her walking stick,
A bent and broken wife.
...
The bridge opens to you my friend.
The journey is long, bathed in light, you are now pefect.
Dont look back now, dont even shed a tear,
...
Where I live grows a tree,
It has seen eons, and is infinite,
But the moss has grown,
And the borish brown of age
...
Straddle love,
anesthetise love.
For it's never ending furies
tie up almost all
...
Observing the rape of history.)
Ode To My Mother
She bore a platinum baby,
of one she could be proud.
Her mossy earthen womb,
a misty dew-grey shroud.
She looked down on her pride,
her hope, and she cried as she,
forced her hand beneath
the skin the burn away her babies sin.
she has done it again,
bowed again to the natural salute.