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Yes, only a mother, truly knows,
The true extent of her child’s woes.
Pain blossoming so deep inside,
Hurting so, while trying to hide
From a mother’s, knowing eyes,
Confident that mother, never pries.

Instead she gives her sound advice,
Being agreeable, saying how nice,
The flower garden looks today,
While in a sublime, pleasant way,
She soothes the inner aching pain,
Removing all the stress and strain.

She sees the strengths, weaknesses,
Gifts with which the child is blessed,
The nature of all burdensome traits,
Heart’s desires, the loves, the hates,
Character blooming through the years,
Sharing laughter, along with the tears.

Reflected within the child’s face,
Throughout awkward early grace,
She herself soon becomes exposed,
And as intrinsic recognition shows,
She gathers to her humbled breast
A tireless love that knows no rest.

The child hoards with thoughtless ease,
Bumps and bruises and skinned knees,
And if the hurts are too much to bear,
A child knows mother is always there,
Her calming words soon gently caress,
Soothing all troubles with tenderness.

The child grows and finds another
Person to love as much as mother,
But the bond of life remains forever,
Cannot be broken, not now, not ever,
And the child realizes as it grows,
Yes, only a mother; truly knows.

©Paul M Chafer 2015
This poem is for mothers everywhere, even fathers, even fathers who have replaced a lost or missing mother, even a mother who has lost her children.
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Myriad summer colours of an abstract view,
Curling up between and under the far away.

I’m lost in the mix, a melting *** full of play,
My own shade of Dark, a subtle blended hue,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.

Beautiful retro splendour, asking me to stay,
Flower in her hair, white petals, edged blue,
Curling up between and under the far away.

Smiling, she raises my soul from feet of clay,
Dark and Stormy cocktail easing me through,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.

Cuban rhythm dancers give a riotous display,
Bohemian sight and sound unleashed on cue,
Curling up between and under the far away.

We sample dreams from an enchanted tray,
Allowing hearts, minds, and spirits to renew,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Curling up between and under the far away.

©Paul M Chafer 2015
After meeting my muse, I wrote her a villanelle. Not easy to write, but a step up from the sonnet, methinks, if only in difficulty. As always, anyone brave enough to try one, be true to your thoughts, allow yourself to flow forth and it will be good, it will be you, nobody can argue with that.
 Jun 2015 david mungoshi
niamh
I burnt the pages of my history.
Flames of fantastic orange
And electric blue
Feasted ravenously
On past mistakes and regrets.
I gathered the ashes
And polished
My shining future
Apparently wood ash can be used to clean silver! :)
 Jun 2015 david mungoshi
niamh
Dusk
 Jun 2015 david mungoshi
niamh
Shadows sliding down,
Enshrouding the mountainside,
Heralding day's end
 Jun 2015 david mungoshi
niamh
Buried emotions
Breaking free
From their constraints.
Dormant thoughts
Coming alive
In pools of molten lava.
Love,
Untethered and unashamed
Shines brightly.
Fears pulled
Struggling and screaming
Into the light.
The switch was flicked
And poetry came
Like an unstoppable current,
Bringing me to life
After many many years of not writing, I came across this site & now can't seem to stop! Cathartic in the extreme!
 Jun 2015 david mungoshi
niamh
A life without love
Is like a night sky without the stars.
It's still there,
Just not quite as beautiful
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