deepundergroundpoetry.com
apronsongs
sometimes
a mere unhurried sigh
no righteous indignation
she’s a mystery
whose tears are not
her children’s entertainment
or their dad’s entitlement
for far beneath
her armour
of polished incisors
and slightly tinted lips
ruddied by apronsongs
the more to whisper kindness
to ears that come for comfort
where words can scarce find footing
they trickle only in the dead of night
cutting across the quiet mischief
of thorns that pierce her heart
in unsuspecting daylight hours
to settle at nerve’s end
old worn-out lyrics
for fresh new
apronsongs
© Copyright 2012 June 19
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
a mere unhurried sigh
no righteous indignation
she’s a mystery
whose tears are not
her children’s entertainment
or their dad’s entitlement
for far beneath
her armour
of polished incisors
and slightly tinted lips
ruddied by apronsongs
the more to whisper kindness
to ears that come for comfort
where words can scarce find footing
they trickle only in the dead of night
cutting across the quiet mischief
of thorns that pierce her heart
in unsuspecting daylight hours
to settle at nerve’s end
old worn-out lyrics
for fresh new
apronsongs
© Copyright 2012 June 19
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
Published 21st Feb 2019
Author's Note
Copy/paste link to view full-scale visual poem:
http://mydo.cx/OGZkNTc2
She was ONLY 99 years old when I wrote this, the first in my mother-dedicated apronsongs series. The poem is a sequel to "DAD," which I had written two days earlier for my late father, who had gone to sleep since March 2007, himself then only 99. The inserted image is not a portrait of Mama: it resents the spirit of motherhood, which remains young at heart to give endless succour to adult children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren, who are never truly weaned from Mama's apron strings.
http://mydo.cx/OGZkNTc2
She was ONLY 99 years old when I wrote this, the first in my mother-dedicated apronsongs series. The poem is a sequel to "DAD," which I had written two days earlier for my late father, who had gone to sleep since March 2007, himself then only 99. The inserted image is not a portrait of Mama: it resents the spirit of motherhood, which remains young at heart to give endless succour to adult children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren, who are never truly weaned from Mama's apron strings.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 0
comments 0
reads 405
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
