The Poetry Marathon

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…

 

 

Send help! Please!

She (Prompt 1)

She, who never says an untoward word, thinks an unkind thought,

surprised me with her assessment:

“You have deep humility, accepting anyone without judgment. Sure,

you’re a little sad but that makes you relatable.”

 

Me, a proud woman who judges the ants that dare to walk beneath me,

the husband who falters at my hands, the children

I bore, through no fault of their own, and the world, belching forth steam,

storm and dung, that dangles on a thread at God’s fingertips, I laughed.

 

A teacher, business woman, President of the governing body of

all bodies, my body, those of my clients, friends, and students,

heart of my income, soul of my future, guru, acharya, spiritual grift,

I pay in sweat and sacrifice for a sideways glance, enlightened lint.

The Giver

She shares my laughter
and soothes my pain
embraces darkness
and celebrates rain.

She’s the only person
who accepts me for me.
When I encounter a blind spot
she helps me to see.

I’ve never known anyone
so strong and wise
A stalwart soul
who can empathize

A generous heart
that gives so much.
She creates safe space
with a healer’s touch.

I’m so grateful for
the love she shows.
And if she ever wondered,
I hope now she knows.

A True Calling

 

 

Where others kept a facade

She lived for her work,

Fearless and forgiving

in another’s name.

Where others judged

she opened her arms.

When backs were turned

She counselled.

Every needle track

in a junkie’s arm

told a story.

Every cell door

that slammed

let her in.

Christlike, she entered

under the roofs

of the most wretched.

Christlike, she was shunned

by her peers.

She’s gone home now,

He life’s work completed

An angel among us.

 

 

Hour One: Famous Woman

My favorite famous woman has been Maria Montessori for over three decades now. Her fame arises from her research into infants, and how they could blossom given simple freedom to choose. She understood if children are allowed—given respect—to play, or work—at their own pace on whatever material, toy or tool, they choose with free will; then concentration will form, attention to detail will be sparked; confidence blossom, and the unique self of the human being is born. Dr. Montessori developed environments for young children, ages 2-6, to draw from. She developed and provided materials that the children would be drawn to; beautiful, durable manipulations that the child would play with, work with, experiment with. Each child develops at their own pace—in their own time—so the environment or classroom was designed to be a self-directed learning environment—depending on each child’s sensitive period. They may pour water, testing weight and capacity, they may draw, trace, paste, cut with pencil paint and scissors. They may build with blocks, they may sit quietly and watch—observe the other children—wait for just the right time to choose to begin. Maria Montessori discovered the human soul that is innate in every child born—she not only discovered it, she found the soil, the water, the nutrients to enable the psyche to grow, to flourish.

For C

She breaks into tears
broad shoulders shuddering
under the weight
she must bear
every waking day.

I wrap my arms
around her broad form.
She is so soft
to be so hardened
against the world
of walls she batters against.

Walls I cannot break down
alone. Walls I and others
like me helped build
through our complacency
our acceptance.

The shame I feel
as I hold her to me
is all this moment can do.
We take deep breaths
step back
each seeing now
the color of our skin.

We smile. We nod.
We say
I’m okay for now.
But there is so much more
work to do.

[Prompt 1: Write a poem about a famous woman or an influential woman you know personally.]

1. Matriarchy

When a boy
is granted a family
comprised of
Women
He is privy to
The Intelligence
The Power
The Influence
That X can have over Y
and
if he has the courage to grow
to feel with his whole being
He knows that the old parts of the bible got it wrong
He knows that the Head is turned by the Neck
and doesn’t see how when someone says
topple the Patriarchy
they can’t understand that The Matriarchy already has control

Fashioning

Those dressmaking scissors
Heavy to hold and never to be used
Fashioning costumes hiding in
Won prizes every year
Slicing words interspersed nurture
Continuum of dialog
Too early to filter
Dressmaker programming those undressed.

Heavy sinking in
Car journeys
Her and I alone
Unfinished house
He came back so late
So much shouting
English green agoraphobia
Never a good child.

Exotic from abroad
Yet xenophobia for all
Able to create anything
Yet mind turned sharp
Told how special I was
Yet demon you couldn’t handle
Amazed with everything looking so skilled
Yet cradle pushed, no secure base.

Beholden to what puts it in motion
Markings strike stars shards and sparks
Reflected sameness, unclear heritage
Conceptual inheritance with maternal sins
What talent, like you, without foundation
Secret love for those with your face
Hostile hypersensitive and unsafe
Trying to find your love in hers.

So long walking away,
Leaving me, eyes through letterbox torment
More than the hardest times
Holding hitting never sure what to do
With only one of you,
How would another bring me?
So much, subtle profound parts of you
Laying roots far enough to survive.

Madame Curie

As a fellow Marie

You inspired the

Mad Scientist in me

 

My love of physics and chemistry

The  scandalous Madame Curie

 

First woman to win, then

finding true depths of isolation

When you, and only you

Received Nobel number two.

 

You, continued on

Becoming the first female

professor of Surbonne

 

Idealistic mother-daughter bond

Your life saving Little Curies

X-rayed injuries through the

World War tragedies

 

Mother of modern physics

Laid in a bed of lead

Radioactive in the end.

9am Step In

Step into the journey and explore, be present, here fluid, be you.