Tag Archives: Mother


Girls can do anything,
they said,
on A4 posters slung
around old
’80s classrooms
seducing our eager bodies
into believing
we were invincible.

You can have it all
they said
with their ’80s shoulder pads
broadening their
slimming their bottom
lines, making out
like those who
ruled the world.

Can you come
to camp, they said,
on this school trip, what’s
for dinner, did you sign
my form, make my lunch,
find my shoes, love
me unconditionally?

Did you answer
those emails, pay
those bills, mark
those assignments, work
your 40 plus hours, but don’t
switch off your email,
they said.

How come, they say,
you’re so busy
out of breath
crying in the bathtub
the edge of reason?

Why don’t you just
get more sleep
take a day off
start a fitness regime
drink green smoothies
do more yoga
work less, do less, stress less,
they say,

as if they somehow knew,
but didn’t really
know at all, that the
not so secret answer
to breaking
that grim and gritty grasp
of capitalism,
lay in and around
the collective
curves and contours,
of that fierce and aching
of all the world’s

#diveintopoetry  with jenaschwartz.com

’til the cows come home

It has been some time (2 years!) since I have posted on this blog and I thought it might be fun to begin again, as I’m sure many lapsed bloggers do at this time of year.  Hello again to anyone who might still be out there, at the other end of this post. I hope this finds you well and still enjoying poetry 🙂  This piece was inspired during a 2 week online writing group with the supreme writing promptress and beautiful poet, Jena Schwartz.

path fairy lights

image from theberry.com


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My most beautiful thing

Once, in the blackness of night,
I would gently lay my hand
upon your doll sized chest, 
place my ear against the red ripeness
of your lips, and listen

to the sound of the soft whispering 
– in and out, a tiny pause,
and it begins again –
of the beauty that is
your breath.

You’re bigger now, 
but somehow it remains 
my most beautiful thing.
Like an invisible heart-line

between your breath and mine,
its rhythmic flow, a soothing meditation,
a peace-filled reminder of all that is, 
of all that is possible,
and of all that matters.

Fiona Robyn, of Writing Our Way Home, has recently published a novel titled My most beautiful thing, which you can find out more about by clicking on the link below. Right now she is offering it free for kindle on amazon.


As part of this, she has also invited people to write about their own ‘most beautiful thing’, which I have done above. I wonder what you would choose?

Mother, mother

Through a paper thin mirror-image
I glimpse this mother-ness
as if for the first time

I thought I should know her 
intimately, yet I am startled 
by that unfamiliar gaze
in picture perfect focus

She dwells in the unsaid
of the amorphous space between
us.  She cloaks her impalpable
web of connection around
our threadbare shoulders

I was not cognizant of her truth
or beauty, she lay 
obscured from my sight 
as I yielded to you
and other worthy distractions

Now, I pass by that chaotic collage
of our daily lives, where 
this mother image confronts
and confounds me
like a once familiar stranger

In my looking
a subtle shift takes me
from inner preoccupations 
sodden with guilt and 
laid bare by a history 
of which you were not a part

         to seeing

the gently sloping lean of your tender body
      falling into mine

the careless fall of your golden-brown hair
        merging into mine

     hand upon hand

that speaks of the dawn of another story
of mother, that is only mine to be
and yours to one day claim.

daughter of mine

Woman and child pause
to rest on a flat, seat-like rock
that peers out to sea
A small and delicate waist
cupped by the large and pendulous arm,
a well-rehearsed coming together,
as if separation
was only ever
a painful illusion.

Separation – Small stone Jan 19

Painted woman, red on black
Twisted limbs and shifting hues
Barebreasted mother and babes,
it is hard to discern
where she ends, and they begin.