And that was the last they heard of him…


There is only ever going to be one woman this poem could be about

And frankly I’m embarrassed

I know how it will look to other people

Cos it has to be my mother


Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not because I can’t think of any other women

I know loads of women

OK, maybe not loads of women

OK, some women

One or two…


But regardless there are few PEOPLE in this world

Who had more effect than my Mum did to me

And only fifty percent of that

Is motivated by fear


Don’t judge me, this is the woman

That history claims at the age of 9

Broke a 12 years old boy’s arm with a skipping rope

For doing playtime wrong!

This and other stories are perhaps the reason why

As a mother of young children

She shows great pride

In having never had to count to three

Before getting her own way.


But there are positives as well

She has:

Taught us right from wrong

“I’m right, your father’s wrong”

How to be self reliant

“What makes you think I’m going to do your ironing for you?”

How to be impartial

“I don’t care who started it! I’m finishing it!”

To have an appreciation for the natural world

“Stop lounging around the house and go play outside! I don’t care if it’s hailing!”


Unfortunately I must end this poem now

As she has just read this over my shoulder

And I only have a few lines left to say

That regardless of the fear

She did provide an example

Of someone you could be proud to be

Strong, confident, honest, fair

All a son could ask for…



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