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A prayer for my mum (Free verse) by Mr Pig (again)

She never tasted fresh oysters, Yet you found her in them, She crowned me King of the Castle, It was really a compost heap, She would be the dirty rascal, And every night she stroked my hair, I would smell her fragrant lavender cuffs, And I would always fall asleep. She would always pray, Never to Jesus but to the song birds, She would always say, That upon there wings they carry her words. I like to believe that sometimes, Like to remember her made up nursery rhymes, And the way she looked after my first Nativity, In Grandma's Sunday best on a Friday, Her black tears she said were not for her misery, They were magic tears of happiness. Eleven candles burned and she helped me blow them out, I made a wish thinking wishes were like prayers, Looking back from then it's a void, I still remember the birds singing, The nightmares, The constant noise of the phone ringing, Uncle Jeff and his sprinkles, That made my chin sore when he kissed me, Remember the chaplain saying how Mummy missed me, I remember the playground, It was like one big merry go round, Children would walk around me and spit, Drag me by the hair she stroked, And dip my face in Dog shit. I remember everything, My Mum was very pretty you see, Me and her she would say was one happy family, Then it was Uncle Jeff and Auntie Anne, Who thought I was odd, So they took me to God to make me a man. They caught me praying to the birds, And dragged me away half way through, And I cried because Mum never got my words, There were only 4, Mum I Miss You. Now I pray for hours, Remember her in the fragrance of flowers, And I believe no one can really die, Life is just like a cage, And when we escape, We fly, So whenever I can, I pray, So the beautiful words upon beautiful birds, Are taken to her nest, Her nest, the sky

Bachus 22-Feb-03/12:32 PM
Well if that doesn't prove that you are not me, nothing will. Because i hate my mum, and last saw her at five (for8mnths) then at 21 for (3 mnths) but she left me and my dad when i was 9 months old, and then my father went to prison for 16 years. thank god for grandmas and kind aunts huh? But sounds like you and your mom got along, ah it is interesting that apparently we share a similiarity in movie and music taste or art or culinery feastings, i guess that is so rare it makes us the same? lol. Your poetry reeks of Great Britian the isle of man and white. why people can't see that. who knows. you are either older and well traveled, having a great and refined grasp of the written word, or you are Tarquin la bog, ha just kidding? but you don't have the young urban chisel chest of poor white trash mid west america like i almost do.lol. great poem. but i hate moms normally. i will let your's slide. 8




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