A new year is soon to dawn. Bright and shiny as a magpie’s trove. From January, I can wave to April and the onset of spring. A cheery, yellow wave like a clutch of daffodils; a wave which pays homage to longer days and the promise of sunshine, bare feet and river swimming. These things sustain me when all else falls away: indomitable mother nature, who for all the tidal waves of rubbish and poison we throw at her continues to bless us. We defile our pretty nest, and still she feeds and shelters us. She really is the best of women. I try to take my cues from her where I can.
Tag Archives: mothers
Because they built the world
With their cocks
They built the world
Tilting like the tower of Pisa.
What came after was war
We tried to piece together the jigsaw of their dead
They made monuments to the conflict
Symphony to the strong and the brave
To the survivors.
At the top of the tower
They could not see the tilt
It seemed that the softness
Gathered at its base was what swerved
Tender and pink like a little girl
Whose mouth invited kiss
Madres de los disappeared
We tried to tell them that our red womb
Our warm fleshy breasts could right the tower
Or tear it down and nurture the rubble
But to them it sounded like
The muttering of slaves
The hysteria of Babel.