Thank You, Mum

A day, almost certainly, doesn’t cut it.

Mother’s day has long been associated with cards, flowers, and the general giving of gifts to a maternal figure, but it is about so much more than that. It is a celebration of a lifetime devoted to a child, a celebration of unconditional love, and a celebration of the influence of mothers in society.

I’m lucky to have a mum like mine — a great woman who I can thank for so many things. She has instilled in me a love of reading and writing that has become central to who I am; supported me through my every endeavour; and because she believes in me, I can believe in myself.

I can write all the poems, all the stories, and the speeches in the world, but it’ll be a drop in the ocean of all the things my mum has done for me.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mum. Here is a poem dedicated to you.


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The first straining buds of springtime nature
Plough hard, like  builders, through the winter bark.
Like vestibules of life bursting from the myrrh.

Spring, carried soft on winters death remarks,
with all the fervour of a priest before altar,
‘Such beauty’ as grass bursts through snow in the park.

And every seed, waking without falter
Rise from their cold graves and dance a winged dance
On winters dying breath, warmed in springs vault.

And teenagers, feeling the tang of warmth glance
Outside, probing to see if its warm enough
To emerge into the vast expanse-

-Of spring. New life yet to learn of the corrupt
ways of the world gasps in horror and rebuff.

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The Writer’s Curse

Leaving my world of undreamed subtleties,
I am left trying to authenticate
My life. Sometimes in my dreams gentle breeze
Flutters across my nightmares and abates

There is a tepid dissipation then,
A dissipation of dreams I wanted
to be true. Thrust into the daily ken.
I pick up my pen again and bleed a

In the corner of my room it’s just dark
Enough, lit by the footlights of my soul
And not by the floodlights of those who judge.
Putting words to paper is a blessing.
a blessed experience.

And I am cursed

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