4d • ✨ Love & Lyrics ✨
Mother Dear
Written to the prompt...
When one mother cries, we all cry?
Mother Dear
My childhood hero, Baroness Floella Benjamin.
Doesn't know it but gave me hope with a smile.
A woman.
The first teacher to really open my mind
Dr Rossena Bakari.
( My favourite poet too)
A woman.
First to encourage me to finally speak what's inside.
Leah Abraham
A woman
First connection, real understanding of my adverse childhood times
Sara Almaraz.
A woman
My muse, my spiritual guide
Val Dupre
A woman
My mentor, whose words and wisdom guide me every day.
Dr T Williams
A woman.
The love of my life, Alex my wife
A woman.
All amazing mothers too.
Everywhere I look;
Even Zen Publishers sorting my book
(Fill in the blanks 🙂)
Amazing women and mothers too.
But the twist, you knew it was coming along.
Like an itch I cannot resist.
The first oil painting I ever did was of a mother
A mother carved from stone.
Forced to be a mother by god, when just a child.
Is that why, when one mother cries, we all cry?
Don't cry for mine, her tears, fake every time
Perhaps I should avoid prompts about mothers?
When the only example I had as a child is mine.
I was trafficked by my mother as a child, before I was five.
Freedom. “Freedom is no fear,” Nina was so wise, a mother too.
I have no fear of what was or is.
But not just because my mother beat me daily, to make me comply,
Is the freedom I seek, not wholly yet mine.
There is no freedom whilst in fear of what may still arrive.
For the fun of others, humiliated and sold her child,
Trade in children still goes on, though my mother is now gone
I fear future harm, will be inflicted on children
It is rooted and nurtured in society's own fear of truth.
Thrown on the streets when she saw no more use
Powerless?
The most dangerous truths power works hardest to supress
She screamed don't come crawling back.
Still the exploitation of children is just a money thing.
Like so many additives, acceptable sin.
School said keep them informed.
Sadly a little bit of what you fancy
Does a commodity child absolutely, no good at all.
Think of the neighbours, she insisted I should
Behind curtains reading headlines, demanding more
To satisfy a need for sordid details and gore.
Appropriate tears at a broken little brothers funeral
How could we let things get this way
Sponsors and advertisers tell us what to say.
Declared, I was ungrateful, for being raped one day.
There's no money in survivors stories
Unless the sequel takes justice away
You're a worthless piece of shit she’d say.
If another little boy is so hurt by his mother
I fear in today's world he may never recover.
So forgive me if when I hear those cries
If my heart listens sometimes for lies.
In case hidden behind; a child cries.
Not the narrative most want to hear
But it is the only one I've got,
Nurtured with fear.
Lovingly by Mother Dear.
( The painting is of the medieval statue of the Madonna in the cloistered court yard of Durham Cathedral.
My spiritual home.)
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Mother Dear
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