PENKNIFE

the mother screams in pain
the sheets are wet like rain
a bloody screaming mess expelled
and upside-down by ankles held
…
with big bright eyes and light soft hair
holding on to legs of chair
when things fearful are detected
lift and hug and kiss expected
…
in all the street there’s no dispute
everybody says she’s cute
confident in song and dance
doted on by all her aunts
…
growing awareness of her self
facial features of an elf
harmless words they may cause shame
a cult of friendship makes its claim
…
marching strictly to the grocers
sticking up her walls with posters
responsible for all the youngsters
combing hair and scaring monsters
…
finding boy and dreaming sweetly
living in her love completely
crying dew drops on the pillow
drawing limits to her sorrow
…
saying maybe saying yes
a stern forewarning not to jest
bravely turns to face the crowd
nervous, anxious, pleased and proud
…
time entwines the two as one
finger, finger, thumb and thumb
ivy grows around the castle
mating, waiting for a parcel
…
throwing up and shocked or happy
learning how to tie the nappy
eve with apple firm within
how has man commit no sin?
…
the mother cries, the sweat streams down
her new born babe it pops its crown
feeling hate and love and spite
dreamy nightmare of the night
…
but this baby is her treasure
a sea of silver fails to measure
she smiles with glazy glassy eyes
kissing cheeks as warm as pies
…
on the hip and on the breast
pointing pet and pointing pest
teaching nursery rhymes and words
pointing tractors pointing birds
…
her former life now holds no traction
the new born babe her sole distraction
if the father is feeling jealous
her defiance is more zealous
…
now she’s tiring; wearing thin
getting plumper adding chin
less and less time with her friends
she’s either busy or she pretends
…
but how she takes care of the brood!
not just love but health and food
packing clothes for voyages
make sure nothing goes amiss
…
feeling stronger; happy, healthy
maybe adds a child or three
maybe focus on career
maybe lives for songs and beer
…
forging train-like on through life
swiftly deals with trouble and strife
big decisions, small decisions
precision of vision has arisen
…
about this time she learns of loss
loss of mate, parent or boss
and her children fly the nest
she helps them and she does her best
…
takes a hobby or a lover
finds time to be more than mother
learns to study, starts to make
weaves completion in her wake
…
feeling age and feeling older
aches a little in the shoulder
creaks a little getting up
at times declines to eat her sup
…
loss of beauty, loss of sway
in her hair now streaks of grey
curves and flash and glamour fades
spending time on beauty aids
…
when looks and youth are gently waned
the tides are turned and wisdom’s gained
stored and saved, and oft imparted
whether she’s soft or hard-hearted
…
now her wisdom crystallises
she sees old news in different guises
and if she’s caught outside the gate…
don’t you think it’s getting late?
…
her health slows down and makes life harder
she pushes on though, like a martyr
feeling pains that pills make worse
digging deeper in the purse
…
much more saddening is loss of spright
loss of hearing, loss of sight
tastebuds fade and now she talking
to herself when she’s out walking
…
now she’s old and we think that’s sad
or we think she’s funny and call her mad
the way she smells, the clothes she wears
leads the family to mock despair
…
if her children have more children
that’s a lineage of her building
and if she’s proud then proud she should be
she been everything she could be
…
now she’s dying and now we cry
her history plays out in her eye
now she’s dead and with the others
so love and take care of your mothers

i wrote this on the yucatan peninsula, surrounded by beaches and blue lagoons. it follows the life of a mother, from the day she is born to the day she dies. it follows the life of a mother in a general, generic sense.

to be honest it kind of surprises me, this poem.