So, my four brothers, being a completely uncreative lot,
asked me to write a poem about our mother,
That cover of second skin,
the woman who smells like warm linen in the morning,
Or should I say, the dappled afternoon, long after the sun has slapped us awake
to the tune of birdsong,
No, our mother could sleep for a long long time.
I've never wondered why,
as I've always just assumed that she's
playing catchups after patching up the broken skin of her rowdy children.
you know what they say about assumptions though,
that they're the mother of all... mistakes,
But those nights she stayed awake so we wouldn't choke on vomit in our sleep,
stroking broken hearts that bent to bullies and creeps in the playground,
yes let our dearest mum stay soundly dozing now.
She accepted our flaws as par for the course in the
lawless childhood that was our youth.
To tell the truth I’ve never respected her more
than when she cared for us uncouth, baby-toothed brats.
This selfless dame first gave her maiden name,
then her chance at fame to fill her life with
board games, insurance claims and family photo frames.
After years of feeding, cleaning, cooking, singing,
dreaming up big futures for us kids,
to rest her mind from what we did or did not do,
her brain has flew the coop,
packing light with just the slight bags under her eye lids,
those bags we stuffed full of
lies and tears,
our mother needs her rest, she's finding peace tonight.
This woman doesn't see the world like you,
she's quirky, lively, full of tunes,
Her fumes of love will always fry us,
Like lasers beaming from her eyes to pierce a
single point of light in you,
a star given by the moon.
She accepts the worst but expects the best,
holds us pressed against her breast when the testing trials of life,
prove she's a wonder mother, a wonderwife.
Her crooning, lilting voice always soothing nightmare nights,
when the world had tilted on its side and nothing really seemed quite right,
From before we could even think our mother hummed to us and winked in fun,
to bond with her one daughter and her four strapping sons.
Before any of this came along, before the song of lullaby,
My Mum would never justify to anyone the way she'd
walk the hallways on her hands,
Or cartwheel til she couldn't stand or
play drums on pots and pans or
climb trees in a furious manner,
or how she used to tan herself with olive oil and butter.
So curious to me, this gymnast girl so free,
From what everyone else believed,
she wasn't naive,
she loved everything,
and I"m pretty sure she was a hippie.
I've seen those dresses Mum, you can't fool me,
I've seen those photos of you in the seventies,
With that power perm and enormous shouldering,
Assimilating to progressing society,
Underneath, our mother stays free,
She’s the tooth fairy, and Easter bunny,
She’s the doctor and the nurse,
She’s the Mary Poppins of our family, holding the whole world in her purse,
And if she could, she’d ensure that we’d all get what we deserve,
Buy us coloured shirts of all the places she’s seen of this earth,
to dance and jump around in,
cursing stillness, since her birth.
The woman who bounces around the living room
to the tune of her husbands crooning,
with the hose of a vaccuum horsing around
Her man was clowning too.
They play together at fifty five,
As though it was the first time,
I see the wonder in their eyes at this love in their lives,
Still the passionate abandoned youth
in disguise.
She's a force to be reckoned with,
A monument to lead us home,
To show us the way to the heaven she knows.
Mamma light up the way
Sunrise the night into day
Please tell me of the secrets of our future fate.
So now maybe you get it,
that we deserve none of the credit we get just to exist.
I reserve it all for Mum, for every little kiss and the life she missed
in order to help me in mine.
Does she wistfully wonder what it would have been like,
to give up the blunder of kids and family alike,
to hike round the world,
spike up her hair
take a different path to that of childbearer?
I owe her my everything and
hope that I now bring to her world that unique pearl of relationship
between a mother and a girl.
asked me to write a poem about our mother,
That cover of second skin,
the woman who smells like warm linen in the morning,
Or should I say, the dappled afternoon, long after the sun has slapped us awake
to the tune of birdsong,
No, our mother could sleep for a long long time.
I've never wondered why,
as I've always just assumed that she's
playing catchups after patching up the broken skin of her rowdy children.
you know what they say about assumptions though,
that they're the mother of all... mistakes,
But those nights she stayed awake so we wouldn't choke on vomit in our sleep,
stroking broken hearts that bent to bullies and creeps in the playground,
yes let our dearest mum stay soundly dozing now.
She accepted our flaws as par for the course in the
lawless childhood that was our youth.
To tell the truth I’ve never respected her more
than when she cared for us uncouth, baby-toothed brats.
This selfless dame first gave her maiden name,
then her chance at fame to fill her life with
board games, insurance claims and family photo frames.
After years of feeding, cleaning, cooking, singing,
dreaming up big futures for us kids,
to rest her mind from what we did or did not do,
her brain has flew the coop,
packing light with just the slight bags under her eye lids,
those bags we stuffed full of
lies and tears,
our mother needs her rest, she's finding peace tonight.
This woman doesn't see the world like you,
she's quirky, lively, full of tunes,
Her fumes of love will always fry us,
Like lasers beaming from her eyes to pierce a
single point of light in you,
a star given by the moon.
She accepts the worst but expects the best,
holds us pressed against her breast when the testing trials of life,
prove she's a wonder mother, a wonderwife.
Her crooning, lilting voice always soothing nightmare nights,
when the world had tilted on its side and nothing really seemed quite right,
From before we could even think our mother hummed to us and winked in fun,
to bond with her one daughter and her four strapping sons.
Before any of this came along, before the song of lullaby,
My Mum would never justify to anyone the way she'd
walk the hallways on her hands,
Or cartwheel til she couldn't stand or
play drums on pots and pans or
climb trees in a furious manner,
or how she used to tan herself with olive oil and butter.
So curious to me, this gymnast girl so free,
From what everyone else believed,
she wasn't naive,
she loved everything,
and I"m pretty sure she was a hippie.
I've seen those dresses Mum, you can't fool me,
I've seen those photos of you in the seventies,
With that power perm and enormous shouldering,
Assimilating to progressing society,
Underneath, our mother stays free,
She’s the tooth fairy, and Easter bunny,
She’s the doctor and the nurse,
She’s the Mary Poppins of our family, holding the whole world in her purse,
And if she could, she’d ensure that we’d all get what we deserve,
Buy us coloured shirts of all the places she’s seen of this earth,
to dance and jump around in,
cursing stillness, since her birth.
The woman who bounces around the living room
to the tune of her husbands crooning,
with the hose of a vaccuum horsing around
Her man was clowning too.
They play together at fifty five,
As though it was the first time,
I see the wonder in their eyes at this love in their lives,
Still the passionate abandoned youth
in disguise.
She's a force to be reckoned with,
A monument to lead us home,
To show us the way to the heaven she knows.
Mamma light up the way
Sunrise the night into day
Please tell me of the secrets of our future fate.
So now maybe you get it,
that we deserve none of the credit we get just to exist.
I reserve it all for Mum, for every little kiss and the life she missed
in order to help me in mine.
Does she wistfully wonder what it would have been like,
to give up the blunder of kids and family alike,
to hike round the world,
spike up her hair
take a different path to that of childbearer?
I owe her my everything and
hope that I now bring to her world that unique pearl of relationship
between a mother and a girl.
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