Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Simon Piesse Feb 2021
The doctors said you weren’t allowed
To see Mum in her final hours;
It wasn’t safe to will her on
Nor wet her lips with stolen snow
In case the virus you’d bring in
Might claim asylum on the ward.

Behind her mask Mum couldn’t tell
The story of her party trick:
Apple Pie with packet custard
Baked to death and turned to cinders,
Fed to Dad with stoic humour.    

No doubt it’s best you hadn’t seen
The carnage of the resus room
The febrile pumps of hand and nail
The gasps of good-intentioned strain
That reached a pitch at ten to three
And then from shrill went monkish silent.

On Barn Hill snow is falling thick
The Gaderbrook is filling up
The numb routine the porter starts
Now takes disfigured life away
And Northwick Park can breathe again.
maria Jan 2021
I didn't really know her
but I met her.
I saw her through his eyes
and she was beautiful
She was shy
but strong
a fighter
an angel
She wasn't defeated
She's still here
She is a mum
She will always be here
They just needed a mum in the sky
Deticated to an angel, a fighter of cancer, a mum whose son I truly love, a woman I saw a few times but truly admired
rest in peace

written on January 08, 2020
© ,Maria
Tom Salter Nov 2020
All-knowing am I
Of the privilege that comes
With being a son, entangled
In his Mother’s love,

And that, (He wishes
You to know)

Is more than enough.
Whisper Yes Nov 2020
My mama
gifted with a gift
dream weaver
deep seer
her soul called into the night for a long time
with no promise of retribution
her longing has been met
in the most beautiful, surprising, life affirming way
the mystery that she has so bravely courted and opened to
is now welcoming her home
Charlie Oct 2020
That crippling loneliness with which I am well acquainted

Waiting as a silent observer

While I sit here and write

Sat here decaying waiting for that call

That vicious lump within my mother's womb

Is it what we fear the most?

That cruel diseases that took my grandmother from us too soon?

Every second drenched in fear and terror

Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
.
.
Right hand, labours on. Burdened
by the clay of her body  
A stubborn limb.  
In tempered skin.

Still, her left
Passed in Spring.

It's gentle palm
Curls open.
Leaning into the
surly revolt of her body.

Summer swirled.
A haze of sun.
And delicate
forget-me-nots

Autumn threatens floods.
Swollen clouds loom overhead.
We brace for bitter winds
In the Winter of her life.

And the rain pours.
And the rivers carve a map.

And the days pass.
Searching the blur of her body.
A ****** wristwatch throbs
Pulsing past a beating heart
Mocking mottled skin.

And the rain pours.
And strength settles into the seat.

A soft creak of leather
Warms the room.
whispers of my presence
Saturate the cell walls
of her coma.

And the rain pours.
And unearths an infinite truth

A graceful dance. She flees
The wreckage of her broken body,
Expired lungs exhale all suffering.
A parting gift.

And the light guides.
And she sets sail.
And the light guides.

A compass tears through swollen skies.

And the rain pours.
And the floods rise.

And the banks burst.
And the rain pours.

And the rapids
Drag me into the gutter.


By Anna Grace Du Noyer
A poem about the end of life. Influenced by the profound event of my Mums death and unexplainable higher existence of which I'm.now sure. And being left behind. : the poem contains graphic imagery of end of life experiences. Caution is advised if this could affect you negativly.
Laiba Aug 2020
I wish I could say
That life is much more beautful
I wish I could say
You don't appear in my dreams
I wish I could say
You are behind bars for hurting me
But all i can say is
My mum is dealing with the mess you created
Expedition
Next page