I think of you as the founders of peace, limitless affection for children as you look upon your own and upon those outside of your arms reach.
(You would hold them, too,
Press the quivering child to your breast,
Conceal the innocent of any suffering or
War, away from the vile thievery of their soul.)
I think of mothers as the final resting place for all those exhausted of spirit; the displaced, the sick, the dying, as a warm respite for the bright eyed living.
(In Africa and Palestine yours is the voice of
What is possible; if it can be dreamed,
You seek out its thrumming center,
Stoking new belief and nurture what’s missing.)
I think of mothers as nothing short of absolute. Unwavering, boundless loyalty to an oft erratic planet. Devoted, not just to your own, but to all the earth’s offspring.
(Young and old, satisfied and hungry,
Glimmering of hope or faces beset by gloom;
The slums of Harlem, the streets of Sderot,
Woods of Kentucky, excavations of Tehrān.)
I think of you as the waters that course our common ground, warm winds that float in our dreams, the flowers. Women dangling love like necklaces.
(Women, whose hearts move with nature
And whose love lights the darkness
Of horror and the grim shadows of deceit,
From coast to coast and sea to shining sea.)
I think of you when madness grips my breathing, when the dreaded counting’s still afoot and the use of this world seems unwilling to wait. You stand at the rescuing door of cities that move deep from end to end of the sun.
(Your balance, undisturbed by fear,
Wrenches us to safety from ourselves
And from those that would usurp our affection.)
I think of mothers as the founders of peace, keepers of the entryway to love’s bosom. I celebrate you with words that fall short of your creed in mankind.
(I celebrate all women, for you are the harbors
Of our breathing, the beacons of our dreams,
The keepers of all children. You furnish us the
Much needed strength to resist the crow of failure.)
© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman