what are the words for mothers’ day?

ponders myself

a day that’s already bled in
(365 times Hallmark)
to our psyches’ movement
through mountained plains

perpetual translating
of the countenanced refrains
that echo
after birth.

The depth obfuscated, unsung
fully,
we play punctiliously with undone
really
and the cardium layers hold hands
tightly
tremoring with the ache
of a thousand forms.

For nothing is what it seams
we wake from wrongly so/ewn dreams
in that cold sweat of generations
we honour with strange venerations
those undeserving.

And there’s no way to finish these lines
kaleidoscoped mystery of a child’s eyes…

 

IMG_20170515_141250_588
My beautiful mother in the 60s before she was married. Always loving on everyone. One of my biggest regrets was never recording her angelic singing voice. She won’t let me now! We’ll see…

 

Why…

the explosion?

You’re deafening my dreams,

the yelling is sewing up

sarcastic seams.

I’ve grown into pink

and warm, loving streams

of consciousness, lost

in childhood low beams.

I’ve come to cherish

a colour so rare,

it’s often disparaged

and stripped to its bare

misunderstood essence

left beating to fare

in a world that translates

kindness

as

weakness.       Care

should be taken

to hearken the voice

that speaks so much closer

to ears and hearts moist

from beatings relentless,

frustrate in defenceless,

it’s time to put value

in not kicking more ass…

(when did that get cool anyway?)

I’m so sorry, what did you say?

No need to speak louder

put your guns down instead.

Let’s speak in a whisper,

nuanced tilts of the head –

(watch those mind bullets fall out…)