I’d rather be in a starship
Visiting the stars
Than be a star.

Stars cannot retreat to remote asteroids
And turn out the lights.

Stars cannot drift loosely
among the constellations.

Stars cannot drink in
the uncertain darkness.

I gave birth to a star once.

He is a beacon
Attracting other celestial bodies
Into his orbit.

He grows brighter
With each ray
of admiration.

His admirers revel
in his cheery glow.

Sometimes he is blinded
By his own light.

He shrinks away
At the mention of shadows
Which must be eradicated
At all cost.

I offer him my hand,
Beckoning him to join me
In my starship.

He shakes his head, wordlessly.

I let go
And promise to meet him
Wherever he may be.

For my first born daughter
Motherhood began with you
I didn't know what love was
Till I looked into your eyes of blue
Always know that I love you
And I'm proud your part of me
I'll always try to protect you
Even when we disagree

For my middle daughter
This one is for you
You showed me unconditional
And that love can really be true

For my youngest daughter
beyond your years so smart
you will always be my baby
and my monkey wonderheart

I think its important
for those you love to know
just how much they mean to us
so I'm giving it a go
I wrote this for my girls
so they know how much they mean
I want them to know how loved they are
Even when there being a stroppy teen.

(C) Julie Murphy

She was thick, erubescent.

Advised not to give her my eyes, I stared:

she was haloed by the diaphanous seat

which held me when she shifted.

Flourishing fiercely, defiant,

she glowered, staining porcelain

like pink tipped damasks; a Fauvist impression.

I believe if she’d had a tongue

she would have screamed,

scolded me for my selfishness-

shrieking as the sorceress’ slain offspring.

My heart cringing, heavy lids like two tomb doors

shielding me like from her quiet contention,

I summoned the scrubs to put her out.

I used to be nicer
Pay more attention to you
Sing to you
Feed you
Watch you with delight in my eyes
Gaze into your eyes with a smile
Our brainwaves were synced
Our bodies linked
We were one

Then he came
The intruder. The interloper.
Slowly at first
Nausea. Lethargy.
I needed to sleep
I turned my back on you at night.

Then the pain
Relentless
I couldn’t run with you
Couldn’t chase you
Couldn’t carry you
I started to snap

Then my body betrayed us
Made our special time unbearable
I couldn’t stand to feed you
Your little hands searching for comfort
Made me sick
I dried up inside

The night before he came
I realised what was coming
It hit me
As I held you
In your sleep
I felt the tearing begin
And I cried and cried

Then he came
And he cried and cried
And cried
And I snapped
And now you don’t remember
The time before
And you cried and cried
For milkies
And I couldn’t give them to you

I have always been under the impression,
Or been surrounded by, that
Women are far too sophisticated to be
held down by material things.

They don’t need television, all they have is
the sun, whether they like it or not,
When the moon joins the sky at night and
Where their fires flame in conversation.

Beyond men, myself, because of subtle
Behavioural conditioning differences in
youth
Women taught insecurity.
This in turn makes for a heart to heart
person, trust, loyalty, kindness.

Or maybe it’s just my
Mother
The one person, there’s only one.
This one has taken up so many others’
places in my life, scattered amongst every
good soul
I see my mother.

The most sophisticated. A loyal song
Beyond anyone’s understanding but I think
I am
Nearly there. Close enough to touch it
Far enough to keep itself
From entrapment.

Love, her

Sun beam

I’ve been praying at the sky
I’ve been begging under different phases of the moon
I’ve been praying in two
Languages
At different times- morning, night, noon
I’ve been praying unto my
Pillow
Soaking wet
From thinking the thoughts that cause fears
I’ve been praying with my eyes open and shut
I’ve been swallowing my bitter tears
I’ve been praying while imagining the ancient pyramids
And the man on the moon
I’ve been praying while looking at the children
Playing


I’ve been praying while staring at my  mother remembering the smell of her and wishing her hugs could engulf me the way they did way back when I was a small child
Wishing she could tuck me
Smelling like baby shampoo
Sound of the late night cartoons
The warmth of a blanket
and my mothers soft prayers
Floating in the air
Past the sound of lullabies
Past the ceiling
Past the ancient pyramids
And any man on the moon....

There is a little flower
Sat in front of me
Purple and delicate
It tilts its head in pity

As it watches in forever silence
At my scarily endless tears
At my gagging devastation.
The realisation of my fears.

I'm thinking of my only Daughter
The very light of my being
That lost her life last night
A sudden, unjust reckoning.


This flower in front of me
Has a note attached to its stem.
It says "I'm sorry you lost Her"
But Her life meant nothing to them.

This beautiful, wilting creature
is meant to replace Her
As if a pathetic flower
Could ease these crippling burns.

This single papery display of nature
Is just as temporary as She.
In a few weeks it'll be dead like her
Tell me flower - was she robbed of life,
or is she free?!

Is this some kind of cruel joke?
They feel my pain "like an ache in their heart"
But as if to remind me of what I just went through
They give a grieving mother a dying plant.

And yet...
Its beauty reminds me of Her...
Its delicate movements in the breeze
Its quiet solitude and sophistication...
Colour of the deepest seas.

I'll enjoy it while I can
The lift before the fall
I'll give this flower a chance because
maybe it's not so bad after all...

A broken mother loves from a distance
She keeps you at arm's length to prevent her from suffocating you
She can't stand your sadness but will do nothing to restore your happiness
She stays up all night wondering
If you inherited her illness
If by chance you were destined to walk through the same path
Do not mistake her for a bad mom
Loss is the only language she understands

A broken mother will never hide her feelings from you
She will serve you a plate of her deepest scars on her anniversaries
Just like the generous cook she is
She will tell you stories behind the recipe over dessert
She can't stand to see your heart broken
But she will do nothing to make you feel better
Do not mistake her for a bad mom
Heartbreak is the only language she understands

A broken mother will never believe in your dreams
She will make it her duty to remind you of your past failures
Hell will break loose if you ever talk about your nightmares
She can't stand your wounds
But she will do nothing to make them heal
Do not mistake her for a bad mom
Abuse is the only language she understands