Last chat with mum; aged 24 (me, aged 24)

Last chat with mum; aged 24 (me, aged 24)

By jfarrell


“now he’s dead, I gotta ask….

“was he my dad? Truly???”

…. “yes”


This is my mum responding….

Her and the ‘truth’….

If she told me water’s wet and leafs are green…

I’d have to check….

….my mum truly believed her lies…



She didn’t get kicked out of the milkman’s house…

1 am in the morning

And walked home naked with her 7 year old daughter screaming at her

What a w……. she was…


My ‘dad’ was flirting with the barmaid again…


I was there; I know what happened…



She really, truly believes her lies.


“was he my dad?”




Deep breath…

Disappointment, anger, relief?

Who knows?


What I asked next was really, REALLY stupid!

A very bad idea…


How could I know?


“Ok… ish… he’s my dad…”


Long silence, couple of minutes?… less?… more?…


“what happened back ‘then’? when I was 5? 6?

When uncle brian raped me?


….. we haven’t spoken in nearly 10 years… what you all did hurt….

What happened?”


“your dad told me you’d raped your cousin”


“i was 5…?… 6…?….

…. I wasn’t even physically capable…. 5…6…”



“that’s what your dad told me.”


A couple of deep breaths, from me…

Several seconds…. a minute or two…

Felt like f…. centuries….


….”and I believed him.”


NOT an added aside, an intentional thrust with a stiletto…

Not an attempt to move in for the kill…

On an already injured, badly bleeding target…


She was just being honest.




“nan, uncle peter…. di…..”

“well of course I told them about it!”


At least I had the sense to shut up then and not ask if that’s..

What she told her friends…




Haven’t seen or spoken or had anything to do with my ‘mum’

Since that day…

Over 25 years ago…

I will be 50 in a couple of weeks…

My anger, bitterness, hurt….

…..that little mother to son chat….

Is killing me

Poisoning me, like a virus …..

That hate, anger….

Wanting to hurt back…



Maybe my mum had mental health problems….

I don’t know….


To so totally, absolutely believe… agree…

At 5… 6… years old…

“your son raped his cousin”….


I don’t totally believe that’s the WHOLE truth…

I will happily call my scumbag ‘dad’ a lot of names…

But.. ‘Liar’ isn’t one that would be honest….



…”and I believed him.”….


I don’t know….

Have spent all my pointless life trying to imagine….


That was so bad…


At the age of 5 or 6….

… my mum hated me SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much,

“and I believed him.”



Maybe she’s right ;-)

After all,

Who knows a man better than his mother?


I wish I could forgive and forget…

I wish I could be a son….

I wish I had a mother….



I so wish I wasn’t me…


These are the hands we are dealt.




I fear my bitterness, anger….

Absolute f…… rage…

…after I die….

My hate will continue.


Other than my mum, who can rot in hell…












Author's Notes/Comments: 

20 years of therapy, 40+ years of pain and bitterness..

poetry is a salve, a poultice, i could never have imagined....

Into the Depths of Chaos

I slip into an onyx dream
darker than any decaying thing
From the void trying to fill the void
Like Erebus I too am born of Chaos
-unraveling in a mist of dissonance
The silken noose tightens
I am cast into my own Spellhold-
cursed and forgotten
Pain is a welcomed refuge
Lest the 'stars hide their fires'
I will burn into a blacken ember

The hour of silence beckons
Echidna coils her fiery despair
Round and round, over and over
A mother's love- her beautiful poison
And sinks her fangs while
begging for absolution

I sink below the slithering surface
where nighmares wash away the sadness
There is no peaceful passing
She carves her scars into her child's heart
And only with her blessing does she allow any healing

I slip further into the tangled madness
caught on layers of dissension
The steady beating of despair
is slowly creating a new heir
She shows you the horizon
She tells you it is near
Then she swims in self delusion
all while drowning others with her fear

I close my eyes, I open them wide
Inside a sleepless mind, the quiet
is a beautiful lie
Like it or not I have to choose-
To descend further into a watery grave
or tie the noose 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

**My relationship with my mother can be quite...tumultuous**


Paradise. It is found in a mother's embrace


happiness at the smile and shine of her face


Surge of power at the encouragement of her words


Intellect at the acceptance of her wisdom


Selflessness and zeal at the prospect of protecting her from harm


There are few feelings as euphoric as the sound of a mother laughing


Likewise, few things are as gut wrenching as her crying


To realize she suffered like most but hid it from your infantile eyes


The realization that as a child, your words were full on pure honesty without a modicum of restraint in your words


The statement of pain as a question. The inherent honesty may hurt more than lies


And yet her refusal to give up in the face of several storms. A great accomplishment  


Such determination, teeth shining, smiling, eyes twinkling in the face of every deterrent


From the pain of childbirth to the struggle to give you the world


There is no greater parent


Understandably, you strive to repay  this boundless debt


You yearn to give her a fraction of the love, gifts, and strength you have been given since birth


You acknowledge this herculean task


But as you contemplate this insurmountable feat


Worry not, her love was not bought, it came with no receipts




Paradise is found at your mother's feet


Author's Notes/Comments: 

Aren't Mothers great y'all??? yes, they are. no question

Go tell your mamas you love them if they are no longer with us reminisce on your times with her

Then come back and criticize my poem. You're gonna have such a fun day

If you are a mother, know that you're a BAMF

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Haqueian Verse


Religious, caring, charitable,

Emotional, selfless, dedicated,

Hard-working, dynamic,



Author's Notes/Comments: 

A new form of poetry created by me is called ‘Haqueian Verse’, which starts with a single word; it has five lines that contain ten words in total. The poem ends with a single word that rhymes with the first word. 

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My Mother's Flowers

Flowers, lots of flowers. My childhood was filled with them. I can still smell the roses all over my house, in every single room and remember my mother waiting for them to bloom. Flowers are for every occasion, she used to say. As she put together flower arrangements for Valentine’s day. My sister and I were like her assistants. She taught us how to treat flowers, how to paint flowers and how to name flowers. She even taught us what every flower means. An iris represents inspiration and a poppy represents consolation. A Magnolia represents dignity and red and white roses together represent unity. Knowing all this, makes it impossible for my mother to see a flower as a simple flower. Sometimes she said that flowers were like a language, a way of expression. And the more time we spent around flowers I came to understand what she meant. There’s so much that can be said with a white rose, a red tulip or a black orchid. Every time you can’t find the right words to say to someone give them flowers, she always said. Every week we went to huge flower storages. There were roses, lilies, tulips and some others with such exotic names that my sister and I turned the naming of flowers into a game. I always described those storages as beautiful, fresh and colorful places, but without the flowers those storages where nothing but big, grey and very cold places. When she needed help, my mother used to take us to church to help her arrange the whole place with flowers hours before a wedding started or for a memorial for someone who recently parted. Now I understand that every flower has a meaning and that every single type of flower comes with a feeling. As flowers can make you feel happiness when you receive them from someone who you love, they can also make you feel sadness and grief as you deliver them to someone who soon leaves. Flowers made my mother very happy for a long time and always made my house look nice. Then the sad day came along, when she had to close her flower shop. Even though they are not useful anymore we still have piles of flower books laying on the floor. And when someone brings flowers to my house my mother always enjoys naming them all, especially the ones with exotic names.

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Corpse Pose

Hand Written

"Feel it, 

the sensation of breathing, 

with a new friend. 



the addition, 

but the release of a union

of muscle and sinew, 



cast to the side. 

The breath


with the support 


of the floor. 

The ground, 

the dirt below, 

thinking now


of feeling the green grass

in between your toes, 

the Earth, 

our Earth. 


Nay, she is not ours, 

we are instead Hers. 

Your breath... 

given strength by Mother Earth. 


Do you feel it? 

The ebb of the Earth, 

the beat, 

the ancient, encompassing embrace. 


Do you feel the flow

of the Ocean,

the breath of Mother Earth

made manifest?


Do you feel the presece

of the energy,

in this room, 

right now?


The energy that is still, 

the energy that links us, 

neighbor to neighbor, 

the energy of the mightiest wave


crashing onto the shore,

the wrath of the surf

felt as fury by the surfer

that Hell hath no. 


The energy of the exhausted canine

resting finally on couch

with the child who so tenderly

ran it tired. 


The energy when Autumn comes

when you're not quite done

kissing Summer



Do you feel the breath? 

Do you feel your mind 

spiraling all over this

whirl of whimisical words?


Do you feel the heart? 

Your heart? 

My heart? 

The flow of energy 


of the one to your left

or right? 

Us all, limited not

to labels


or categories, 

not by old, young, 

American, skin tone, 

the foolish boy or the sweet lady.


Try Human, 

Homo Sapien, 

try Earthling, 

giggling practitioner about spirit fingers. 



you know what? 

I do not

need to instruct, 


because I feel it. 

I feel you. 

I feel joy,

stress, searing pain, 


us joining as a whole

with our Om. 

So beautiful, 

you people. 


This is it. 

This is you, this is me. 

This is Mother Earth. 

I feel it.


And maybe you do too."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The piece I wrote for Lululemon's UNITEd State campaign, during a yoga session I sat and observed.

My mother's black gym bag

My mother has been a spinning and aerobics instructor for over 25 years now, and for the 18 years that I´ve lived to see it, she has carried a black Nike gym bag around with her. This gym bag is a small plain bag with drawstrings and a big pocket in the front of it, kind of like a black trash bag with the Nike logo on it. It is a pretty small bag, but you’d be surprised how much stuff my mother can fit it in. You would think that the contents of this bag would be a water bottle, towel, house and car keys, iPod, earphones and maybe some kind of healthy, gluten-free granola bar my mom’s been obsessing over (she has a new favorite one about every week). But this gym bag holds much more than that, actually, it can hold about pretty much everything. I think my mom is secretly Mary Poppins because somehow she manages to have every single object you could ever need in that  17" x 13" pouch. As I said, ever since I can remember my mother has been a gym addict, as a consequence, this bag has been present in my life for every remarkable life event, always providing some kind of object to save the day. When my little brother was born, my dad had to bring the bag to the hospital because that’s where my mother kept the book that she was currently reading. When I had my first dance recital (and I was late for it) my mother pulled the bag out of the trunk, pulled a hairbrush and hairspray out of it and finished doing my hair all under two minutes. When I learned to drive, the bag was in the passenger seat with my mother and it provided us with the CD that made my mother’s screams much more bearable. When I had my high school prom, the bag was sitting in the bottom of my stairway and my mother pulled a bobby pin out of it to fix a strand of my hair. Of course, this bag is not magical or anything, what’s really magical is my mother’s dedication to my brothers and I. Like every mother, she’s always looking out for us and she’s always prepared for whatever we could need. I know for sure that no matter what life throws at me, I could go to my mom and her black Nike gym bag and she would have exactly what I need, whether it is a bobby pin, a granola bar or a hug.

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A Mother's Love (Haiku)

The world may leave you
but your Mom will always stand
by you. That's true love!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A haiku I wrote for my Mom this Mother's Day. :)

A mother so rare! 2015

a mother so rare! 2015


our mother was born the oldest girl of six children

she had a good up bringing growing up way back when

she went against how society though women should live

didnt get married like her family told her they believe

society back then had thought women needed a man

but my mom knew diffrent and wanted to prove she can

so mom blazed the trail for other women back then

and went against the grain and proved she didnt need a man

she wanted to make her own way and blaze her own trail

before she settled down and gave herself to a male

Audrey was the name of our mothers good friend

they found jobs together best friends till the end

but found out they got paid a lot less than the men

so one day she and Audrey were angry and they

marched into there bosses office and had there say

we proved we could do the work of the guys

we wont work untill we get equal pay every day

thats when all the women in the shop got a raise

thanks to Audrey and mom's determened ways

mom loved bowling a was part of a great team

they wont many trophys they were very good it did seam

when mom met our dad she was ready to settle down

she was 36 years old when they got married in town

not married a year when mom got pregnant with her first

the baby didnt make it but mom didnt think the worst

and never gave up and was rewarded you see

mom took good care of her family especialy us three

she loved us all equal and took us under her wings

she always sacraficed her wants if we needed some things

growing up with two parents who loved with there hearts

gave us kids the good sence to be kind and be smart

we grew up with a mom who never complained not one bit

to us she was as powerful and as loving as a woman could get

mom was a strong and indapendant woman who loved life so much

she was a very carring person and a true gift from above

and to us it's a blessing to have been born to there love

our mother was the strongest woman we've ever known

and the day that she died we got a call on the phone

this news that us kids got was something we couldn't bare

but we will never forget that we had a mother so rare






Author's Notes/Comments: 

  this poem took me weeks to write and im so glad i got it done before mothers day enjoy it all!!!


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