mum

To hear you say…

To hear you say…

By jfarrell

 

To hear you say “I love you”

I would have sprouted wings and flew

So happy, so joyous those words would have made me feel

From you, my mother

 

To hear you say “I’m proud of you”

I would have pulled the stars from the sky

And made of them a crown

For you, my mother

 

I heard you say “I should have smothered you at birth”

And I feel crushed, hated

Outcast and rejected

By you, my mother

 

I heard you say “I should have had you aborted”

And I feel aborted;

Stopped, cast aside

And incomplete

 

I still hear what you said

After all these years, over all these many miles

Has my silence, my absence, gotten through to you

After all these years, can you still hear me

 

But,

I still want to hear you say

“I love you”

To me, your son

Author's Notes/Comments: 

sadly true

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…

Really…

 

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…

No….

My ‘dad’ was flirting with the barmaid again…

….

I was there; I know what happened…

 

But,

She really, truly believes her lies.

 

“was he my dad?”

“yes”

….

 

Deep breath…

Disappointment, anger, relief?

Who knows?

But….

What I asked next was really, REALLY stupid!

A very bad idea…

But

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…

No….

She was just being honest.

 

….OK…

 

“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….

But..

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….

WHAT I DID….

That was so bad…

That…

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….

…..

And,

I so wish I wasn’t me…

But…

These are the hands we are dealt.

 

Sadly….

 

I fear my bitterness, anger….

Absolute f…… rage…

…after I die….

My hate will continue.

….

Other than my mum, who can rot in hell…

 

 

PEACE AND LOVE TO ALL YOU LOVELY WONDERFUL READERS!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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....

A daughter's plea

Folder: 
Bibi

A daughter's plea.

 
 
Let me speak to the manager,
So I can give my plea.
My mum has spent all her time,
Please, take it from me.
 
Give her a year, 
a decade would be ideal.
She can have a year of mine,
Please let's make a deal.
 
I have yet to have any children
My kids will never know,
That warmth a grandma brings,
With her embrace, and wonderful glow.
 
It may sound very selfish, 
it may make me sound insane.
But thinking of a world 
without  her, 
Gives me lots of pain.
 
I know this is all futile,
I know what eventually will be.
But she is a lovely woman,
Just you wait and see.
 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

First attempt at a poem that rhymes. Very difficult.

 

all feedback and potential tweaks welcomed.

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an ode about my mum called The Queen of MSG

Folder: 
Personal

 

The queen of MSG

 

I want to tell you a story

About the queen of MSG

Not forgetting e numbers too

Everything thats bad for you

 

Im talking about my mum

Still knee deep in the program

Getting on in years too

Cooking stuff thats bad for you

 

Im not just talking about

Ghastly stuff out the packet

The way she boils the crap

The goodness, doesnt entrap

 

Cooking cabbage, green water

No gooness left in: oughta

Same for every vegetable

To process a bodily struggle

 

Dont forget gravy granules too

Day after it turns to glue

Is that how gluten got its name?

Either way, its waste: insane

We even consume it at all

Western food standards: Mental

 

Cheap stock full of salt

It really isnt her fault

Limited budget, food going up

Soon the people gonna be stuffed

Not with food, lack of it

Shelf stackers, job to omit

 

Whole system turns blind eyes

Bad for you, shouldnt suprise

Profiteering or more sinister?

People in charge, just don’t care

Just seeking increasing profits

People suffering: STOP IT

 

Im glad i dont eat mums food

None of its any good for you

Dads struggling under the weight

Of Boiled food at a discount rate

 

The only cheap things in food shops

Bad for you or waste products

No choice for poor people

Or too busy or too feeble

Please think about what you eat

Could be killing people inavertently

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tags:

an ode to my mum and my sister

Folder: 
life

Hard wired is my mum

For the life she has chosen

Servitude, cooks and cleans

But at her age definitely

Should lead a more graceful life

Instead of wallowing in strife

 

She gets up every morning

Early, dad’s breakfast sorting

Then she cooks and cleans

From dawn to dusk: INSANITY

 

Boiling the good out of food

Not caring put inside of u

Any wonder my dads failing

Stodgy food hinders plain sailing

 

She’s 85 years of age

Should be winding down with grace

Used to think i was mad

Not having her life, truly glad

 

Shes created every part of her

Going the same wqay my sister

Too late to change for mum

Not for my sis, please hun

 

My sis please do the right thing

Put an end to all suffering

U don’t have to believe me

Ask anyone spiritually

 

Tuned with life, divine, gaia too

All designed to help you

But it’s your choice choose

Spirituality, win or loose

And a garbage life of servitude

Which doesn’t become you

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an ode to my mum

Folder: 
Personal

I have come to a conclusion today
Which causes me much dismay
About the woman who birthed me
And her bad attitude endlessly
Always looking to pick holes
In anything she can don’t you know

I’m doing some painting and decorating
And she didn’t see the tape masking
The paint from tiles and stuff
She thought she was out of luck
So she had a bitch at me
It comes off everything anyway
The paint is water based

If I didn’t know any better I’d think
That her attitude really did STINK
And she wasn’t happy unless moaning
Forever the martyr; permanently groaning
She is the chalk to my cheese
I really can see why her attitude
drives away Some of her family

not that I judge anyone at all
I just comment about facts: Mental
Mums only happy when a martyr
She wouldn’t have heard of the Buddha
Who strived for an end to suffering
A lighter load this does bring
But she wants to be dragged down
And she wants a permanent frown

Her bad attitude won’t drive me away
She is not going to win that day
The parting will be more natural
Will leave her to her personal hell
I can’t be around such negativity
For too long else it will get me
She’s bemoaning lack of sleep
I have done my thing on her
Yet it’s her choice to keep

She has created every part of her
The cook, washer woman: Martyr
And she is too old to change now
Hard wired till her final bow
She won’t let anyone do anything
This attitude only leads to suffering
This is exactly what she wants
Its absolute madness: the lot

I reiterate its dads final year now
Before he takes his final bow
will spend as much time as I can stand
at Dinas Road, this is where I am
they need more permanent care here
but mum won’t let anyone near
being the martyr till the end
no need for suffering the Buddha said

I believe him more than my own mum
Who thrives in her world of glum
She really is welcome to it
I have only one word for it: shit
Hard wired and she aint changing for
Anyone you all know the score

And mum likes quality in her life
Yet life aint complete without strife
Watching TV poison for her mind too
Just been under chemical attack too
Hairspray kills bugs and flies
Imagine what it does to your insides
She is worse to my chalk and cheese
She is in the neighboring galaxy

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