These are two poems I'd posted here quite a while ago, but have totally re-worked for the creative writing class I'm taking. Go ahead, be brutal. They've been through the Professor's slashing already.
Hushabye Child
A cry cleaves the night.
Answer my flesh and blood, thrumming
With each gasp drawn out of sleep
Into waking life.
Hushabye, child. I balance this moment
Against regret or fear,
Against the moon’s full face unflinching, too bright,
This stark white in darkness.
Rocking to and fro
Bearing each night, each babe gone before
With mother’s wordless prayer, I gather my strength,
A circle of brooding protection.
Wet cheek glistens from tears just spent
Wail, whimper, then short shallow breath.
A last clutching sob, quiet now in my arms
Dream-fleeting the ghost of childhood drifts
Into a wash of sleep, leaving nameless yearning.
The unremitting moon my only witness.
Beauty Tip
When (as must happen) the toilet clogs
Wear no hallowed jeans
No towering heels.
For when the toilet clogs
(You hear the giggles, raucous ringing?)
When the jeans
--O hallowed jeans!
When the heels
--O towering heels!
Lie with your pride in sewage o’erflowing
Wrath, terror, beauty--none hold sway
When (as must happen) the toilet clogs.
3 comments:
I am having a hard time being brutal because I am too busy feeling intimidated. I love them both. I love the moon as witness to the solitary motherly act and I love the hallowed jeans and heels! Talk about the sacred and profane.
What? You don't go for the plunger in your best dress?
You put in to words the tender feelings of a mother's heart and then with joviality describe something we certainly don't find jovial at the time. I too am intimidated but proud!
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