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Steve Page Jun 19
In her previous life, my mother
must have been an architect.
She brought her vision, her love of precision,
her stability to every family occasion
- ensuring the family structure
was sustainable and capable
of longer-term development
- and we still bear her signature style.

In her previous life, I’m sure
my mother was a portrait painter
- able to take a fresh canvas,
such as mine and my sisters’,
and add layer upon layer
of colour, of texture, to portray
what she saw we would become
– each proudly bearing her inscription.

In her previous life, I expect
my mother was a pioneer
– not of paths yet travelled,
but of more frequented avenues,
boldly exploring the details and intersections
between friends and neighbours
helping us rediscover what we had in common
- each fresh bond bearing her seal.

In this life, my mother
was an endurance athlete, a gifted healer, a 5-star chef,
a respected teacher, a talented mediator, a wise counsellor,
an innovative financier, a diligent archivist, and our chief story-teller.

In this life, she was my mother.
Arvon retreat June 2022 - an exercise to narrate about family from a fresh perspective.  I recommend Cynthia Miller and her poem, Dropka.  Thanks to tutor Jonathan Edwards for helping me rework this.
Not lost as much as misplaced,
gone from where you should be
in bosoms of families
and conspiracies of friends
still adding your narrative arc,
your author’s hand

It is for us to ape your style,
continue your quirks and syntax
so the story, like these spring bouquets
will bloom well
Ongoing
The pretty lady screams
**** ME NOW!!!
Putin’s bombs just murdered her baby
What life will the young mum have now?
In a shattered country war death hate killing
The ******* waited decades for this

And acted not caring the cost
Of Russia’s neighbouring nation
Plus thousands of dead Russian soldiers
Let the traumatised lady be an example
Of what it’s like to be in Putin’s war

Like the husband’s family also killed
By Putin’s mortar bombs while waiting
To flee their devastated homeland
Remember them all make him pay
For every single death and injury
And ruined town and city…
Simon Soane Feb 18
Its hard to deny the thought
you won't always be here,
because you won't.
One day I'll post if people want to mark your passing
they should get to a place
where your gone leaves that dreaded space.
But not right now:
now we can laugh
and you can hold my hand with love
as I'm getting off the bus,
we can argue about the merits of giving titbits
to that little tabby ****.
We can arrange to meet for dinner
in a greasy spoon
and after our fill of calories part with the words "I'll see you soon."
We can chat about football and how City win supreme,
you can peck my head
about if I'm keeping my flat clean.
Of all this I want more
but for the now
I'll be glad
that when people ask what I did last night
I'll reply that I went for drinks with my Mum and Dad.
aspen wilde Nov 2021
i'm scared to look at you


i'll fall apart if i do
and you will too
everything i touch turns to dust

should parents be like that
Asonna Nov 2021
It's here...
The time has come,
yet my feelings unmatched
to how i thought i would handle it.
this pain that dwells,
a haunting like no other.
Permanently ingrained,
stitched to my soul ...
the raw thought,
rolling your name off the tongue
in the past tense.
They're not just tears.
My eyes, they leak.
Uncontrollably.  
Hitched with the breath that plays repreat.

You push on...
But how?
the new day starts,
the old pain persists.
I don't want to miss you.
Let me keep loving you, still.
I know you no longer suffer,
but right now it's transfered.
I struggle to breathe
Struggle to sleep
Struggle to let your memories creep in.
I don't want to miss you,
But I'll never stop loving you, still.
Dave Robertson Oct 2021
For my mother friends:
my good gosh you are amazing.

Kids in general spew and hurl,
flail utter ******* at you
and forget the next day

boys stink,
think in straight lines ‘til they don’t,
girls twist all sorts of hate
and then hug your very soul

you are the world to them
forgoing all others
to be kicked and kissed equally

which is why you have my envy x
Simon Soane Aug 2021
You unforcefully cram
your particles
into every time
of loveliness,
seldom rocked
by
the
tick
tock;
minutes are just moments
that bring
all
your
joy.
Simon Soane Jun 2021
Oh my:
I just accidentally phoned
my Mum
when I attempted to call my drunken mate a cab,
how fab!

Mum, I try not to be aware of the seconds when you won't be here anymore (and when that happens surely the world will stop and pause, and then applause your wonderful tour de force).

I'm happy that the mistake ring
gave me extra moments of the life you bring.
Dave Robertson May 2021
Hawthorn breaks a smile in the hedgerow,
whispers a truth
that, easily forgotten, delights again
and the indoor pain is lifted a little

The green is almost angry
demanding attention like a fat toddler
or peacocking buffoon
that somehow still wins hearts

I cried yesterday
despite spring’s giving relief as backdrop
anticipating a warmth
that still evades my fingertips
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