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Long Mother daughter Poems | Long Mother daughter Poetry

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Long poem by Dorine R Spruill | Details |

Mommy Why

 Molested the first fifteen years of my life. My mother remained silent the whole time. As the molesting continued all those years. Forced to live a pretend life all my childhood. Beaten and punished every other day. For no reason other than being a child. After all this I figured I was a unwanted child. My mother couldn't love me abusing me. She brought me fancy expensive clothes every year. To cover up all her verbal, mental, and physical abuse. She tried to hide me from people, family and friends. So that they wouldn't see the embarrassing scars and bruises. Sometimes so bad I couldn't even go to school the next day. Or I would get into fights or act rude to get a suspension notice. That would have allowed my body to heal. One time I even tried to get ex-spelled. However, it didn't work. I only came home to more beatings. Her boyfriend watched and help hold me down on the floor as she would beat, and beat, and beat. Maybe this gave him a idea that it was ok to abuse me. Being that my mother was already doing it. Yeah! From the outside looking in my childhood was perfect. Every child wanted my seat. Name-brand clothes, shoes, computers, and almost every toy in the Jc Penny catalog. From the inside looking out I was screaming to get out. Scared, alone, abused, and still a child. So there was nothing I could do. I had no brothers or sisters at the time. All my family wouldn't believe me.No! Not him they would say, and did say at age fifteen I started getting older, and more developed. I had to put a stop to this. So after talking to some school friends. I decided to talk to my mother about what was going on.  So later on that night I called my mother in to talk to her. I had told her what had been going on. while she was a work, and out late shopping. She in return asked me  to draw a picture of his *****. As if she didn't believe me on the spot. What! I thought to myself. How could she ask me a thing like that? After one hour she finally called the police. I was brung in also for video questioning. I told them what had been going on  in the house while my mother was away. The police in return asked me "what took so long for me to tell" I replied" I was scared, alone, and threatened. I had no one in the house to protect me. From my mothers abusive ways. I thought people would tease me." The next question was to my mother.  The police asked "How could you live in the same house, and not know that your child was being raped?" My mother sat quietly and had no answer. So she got charged with neglect. My mother's boyfriend got charged with child molestation, and a few other things. I can't remember them all. After all that I was still scared, but finally free. Free to be a kid again.
    Awh, hell the relationship between my mother and I went down the drain. After trial  she hated me even more. Every day she was threatening to kick me out of the house. I was only sixteen so she couldn't just kick me out. Yet! She even got so angry at times. She went as far as not letting me communicate with my newborn brother.  She even told people to keep him away from me. That hurt me so bad everyday. I prayed to God everyday to soften my mother's heart, but it never happened. When I turned eighteen she finally kicked me out the house for real. With no place to go, no money , and no food to eat.  I ended up living with family and friends until she let me back in. I don't know why, but I thought things had changed. About a week after moving she called the police and told them that I was prostituting. Which was a lie. Thank God I didn't spend time in jail. Due to her lies and deceit. I never thought I would have to leave my own mother alone. However, after that incident that was my final decision. Sporadically I call her to hear her voice, and check on my brother. Unfortunately she never answers the phone. Her guilt for abusing me won't let her answer the phone.
    I moved to Albany, NY for a fresh start. A new beginning! There I met  more friends, moved into a brand new apartment, and fell in love. I wasn't expecting to fall in love, but I did. With a adorable, hot, and sexy Italian guy. For the first time my life was great, and I was happy. I even tried some plus size modeling, nursing, and I started self-publishing my writings. I was accomplishing things that my mother never encouraged me to do.
 After about four years I started feeling homesick . So I came back to Virginia. Wow! What destruction was happening. My whole  family fell apart. Nothing or nobody were the same. They all became police property. That was a sign to continue to stay away from them. Continue my happy life. Continue self-publishing my stories. Praying to God everyday. that I remain successful. This is a true story. Unfortunately it happened to me. From a mother who brung me in this world. Only to use and abuse me my whole entire childhood. Then pretend that nothings even going on.


Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/megans_hit_464711' st_title='Megan's Hit'>

Megan's Hit

        MEGAN'S HIT
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
    He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
    to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!

                    II.

"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
   Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
   while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
   
                   III.

All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
   The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
   a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!

                   IV.

The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be 
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
   Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
   and on his heels--I made my promise good!

                V.

We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me! 
    Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
    the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


Long poem by Eileen Manassian | Details |

I Miss My Mama

I miss my Mama
She left me too soon
I still see her in dreams
And even then I wonder
"Mama, are you going to leave me again?"

Everything she was
Seems to live inside of me
Her love for words
And rain
And sweets
Her incredible kindness
Towards her students
And everyone who crossed her path
That ready smile
That won her the nickname,
"Sunshine"

I miss my Mama
It’s one of those days
When I wonder why
She had to suffer and die
A slow living death
Of many years
Blood stains and cuts
And immobility fears and reality
Brought on by that accursed disease:
Multiple Sclerosis

But Mama had strong faith
She'd sit up in bed and pray
When she could no longer kneel
And I knew...
As I passed by her room
She would be praying for me
And for my brothers
Each in turn

I miss my Mama
Tears fill my eyes
As I remember how I prayed
How I begged
How I tried to work a miracle
"In the name of Jesus.....be healed."
Nothing....
Silence from the heavens
Pain in my heart
Hearing her say,
"Lord, take my life."

And she died knowing
Her prayer was answered
She was set free
From her wheel chair ridden life
And now she sleeps

Yes, she sleeps
No thoughts
No dreams
No recollections
The sleep of the just
In the arms of Jesus
He has marked her resting place
And when He comes again
Angels will go wake her up
And she will rise
Perfect and whole
Beautiful and complete
Full of energy and life
Her smile no longer crooked
Her eyes no longer dim
Her voice no longer garbled
She will rise
She will sing praises
In her beautiful alto voice
She will hold me....again

Yes, I hope to be there
by HIS grace
I hope to squeeze her tight
And never let go
As I cry tears of joy 
That we’ve both been faithful

And we will rise
To meet the Lord in the air
And heaven will begin for us
He will take us to the place
Of no night
No tears
No pain
No death
No war
No illness
No rejection
No fear
No abuse
Heaven………HEAVEN!

I miss my Mama
But……..not for long!

"Even so, come Lord Jesus!"

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Ecclesiastes 9:10- Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.

I Thessalonians 4: 13 - 180 13 Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. 14 For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. 15 According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. 18 Therefore encourage one another with these words.


Long poem by Eileen Manassian | Details |

A Few Choice Words from my Daughter

Busy getting ready to go to a meeting
I was looking through my closet for something to wear
My 20 year old daughter, Shereen, was in my bedroom
Showing me her new clothes
I marveled at her
What a body
What a beautiful woman
Her curves were to die for
Her thin waist set off her other assets to perfection
Such a womanly figure
Her black raven hair fell in big waves to her waist
She commanded attention
Her pencil thin skirt set her curves off to perfection
What a beauty!
I loved showing her off to the world
Just that day I had told her
She was a living goddess

Rushing to get ready
My mind was on finding something quickly 
When her words totally threw me…
This goddess
This paragon of beauty said to me:
“Mama, I was just looking at you earlier today.
You are so sexy
You have wonderful curves.
What you were wearing really set them off nicely.”

I paused…
Me…sexy.
This 47 year old overweight woman
I looked at my daughter
Who is brutally honest
The one I turn to when I need an opinion

"How was the solo I sang in Church? Did I go off key?
Does this color suit me?
Am I being unreasonable?"
To all my questions she'd answer with truth, not mincing words
She'd call me on some actions that she thought were "childish"
"You're overreacting, MOM! Stop being a Drama Queen!"
And here she was saying...
"You're so pretty, Mama!"

Because I know she doesn’t hide the truth
I felt like my heart would burst
It may not seem like much to you all
But those words….
Filled that hurting place in my heart
That little place where insecurity has set up a home
Where walls echoe of coming age...and lessened desirability
That place where memories of who I was
Mock and jeer the reality of who I am
Deep in my heart
That place...
The words settled in
And for a time
Chased all the ugly away
and gave me back my glow
exuding out in my stride
and they way I carried myself

Those words reminded me 
That age is an attitude
That the inner woman
The INNER woman doesn’t change
She is ageless

A few words….
But what a big gift
my daughter gave me today!

Eileen Manassian

I know it's hard for men to understand the sheer agony a woman goes through when she realizes that time is passing her by. That certain age where menopause reminds you that fertility is a thing of the past and beauty is slipping away. Men don't understand....They just get better as they age...more handsome.  The ravages to a woman's heart are extreme. Seeing white pepper your hair....changes to your figure...little wrinkles around the eyes. It hurts, but we need to accept it with grace. I never thought it would upset me so, but I'm trying to cope and it's all the lovely comments I get that make me able to go on. Just this evening, I got another such boost when a family friend who is visiting my brother from abroad said, "Hello, Pudding" when he saw me!  What a delightful comment! :) I'm, sweet, jiggly, and yummy! ;) It's all attitude...and I got plenty of THAT! 


Long poem by Rachel Kovacs | Details |

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

You were beautiful, 
my tiny child, 
wrapped tightly in my arms, 
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
Helpless, 
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.

Will you hear me
when I cry out? 
Will you hold me close
as I held you then? 

I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway, 
cautiously, 
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run? 
no longer work? 
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too? 

I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.

I am proud too, 
of my writing
and my drawing, 
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you? 
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth? 
Will you be proud of me too? 

I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however, 
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.

But 
I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left, 
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am? 

You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love, 
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.

I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.

You welcomed her home today- 
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.

You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately, 

"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "


Long poem by Louise Phipps | Details |

Fight The Demons Diet

It was that time again to empty once more,
I was on my Knees on the bathroom floor.
Putting tissue down the Loo making sure nothing stayed afloat,
Then I slid my fingers down deep inside my sore throat.

Trying not to make a sound, Making sure no sick hit the ground,
And even though the taste was so vile I needed to empty till there was no more bile.
I had to be quick but the release felt great,
No-one understood me but I believed this was my fate.

Staring at my reflection, tears would roll down my cheek,
I'd hear the torments in my mind saying how I was such a freak.
The Demons they would say "Look at the state of you, 
You are disgusting ,You are a mess, No-one could ever love you".

When looking in a mirror at my body I would cringe,
Then turning desperately to the fridge I'd begin again to Binge.
I would eat so much till I was about to pop,
One more trip to the Loo then I promised myself I would stop.

I'd wish people would leave me be, They just didn't get that....
I had eaten too many calories and I was sick of being Fat!
So I had taken control of my diet, Obsessed with weight and measure,
Punishing myself after every treat, Desserts were no longer a Pleasure.

Over time people started talking about how I had become so thin,
So I pulled the curtains closed and I locked myself in.
Hiding myself away from neighbouring abuse,
I stopped all contact, I became a recluse.

Then a visit from my mother my Angel, who Id avoided for awhile,
Came knocking at my door, Arms open,
Oh I had missed her warming smile.  

I looked into my mothers eyes as she turned to me and sighed
"Oh sweetheart what has happened to you,
Your hair is falling out and your bones are showing through".
She placed her arms around me feeling my frail torso".
Then whispered to me gently " Please let your Demons go",
"Everything you are doing is damaging your health",
"You're deteriorating into of me, You're slowly killing yourself".

Turning away she began to cry,
Wiping away the tears falling from her eyes.
She told me how she lost her best friend to the very deadly disease.
I wrapped my arms around her, Comforting her as she grieves.

Seeing the hurt upon my mothers face,
The heartache I was causing her, The shame and the disgrace.
"Mum" I said "I will fight my Demons and make myself strong",
"I realise now what Ive been doing Is dangerous and wrong".
"Getting back to full health will take a long long time,
But with you and my family and friends I know Im gonna be just fine".

So Here I am Today at this Time and on this Date.
I am Making my Illness History and re-creating my fate.
Big Thankyou to my family and friends for all of your support.
I know now time is too precious to waste and our life on Earth is short.x


Long poem by Katie Pukash | Details |

A Lesson on Love to my Future Daugter

It will hurt like a tattoo guns sting
as the ink infiltrates your skin.
Your first love will be like a tattoo on your heart,
buried deep,
always remembering the blessings and pain he gave you.

Be with a person who fills you with fluttering hummingbirds
even after the first and second and tenth kiss
who drinks the nectar of your demons and sucks them lifeless.

There will be men who you think will carry you forever
but after so long of holding
your feet above the water
they will throw you down. 
They will not reach out a hand to pick you back up.
They will turn cheek,
kissless and forgotton.
You will stand with dirt palms
and fall back into his inferno.

There will be loves like this,
who convince you to prick yourself with safety pins,
the ones who carry guns on their backs
but never shoot to protect,
only to hurt.
The ones who drink all the water,
leave you parched in the desert of his mistakes
telling you that they are your own.
The ones who shoot arrows in your lungs
and you lye bleeding 
believing that the color of your blood is true love for him.
The hour hand will spin around the clock
too many times before you leave him.
It will hurt. 
You thought it was true,
but after the death of it
you will realize you deserve someone so much sweeter
than a bitter apple. 

Love the one who doesn’t cheat you blind,
but instead comes to you with truths in his wretched palms
and waits for you to
forgive,
but never gives up and never stops wishing that the past could rewind
that he could change the things wrong that he did to you.

Love the one who feeds your heart warm apple pie,
who cries in front of your children,
who drives them to school and hugs them when they get home.
Be with someone who doesn’t ask for you to change
but instead loves your mistakes
cradles them within his fabric lungs
breathes them in with a grin.

Love is an interesting thing.
You will be thrown out of a moving car to the side of the road.
Some will come running back to you.
Don’t jump back in the front seat,
just run
and run 
and run 
and run
until you find someone who buckles the seat belt for you.
Drives five under the speed limit,
takes things slowly and waits for you to be ready to accelerate.

Daughter,
I am here for you.
Remember me, the one who loved you first,
the one who will never stop loving you.
Come to me after he breaks up with you.
You can cry on my shoulder,
and ill wipe your tears with my sleeve.

Daughter,
Find a love who loves you the way 
that your father and I love you,
the way that your grandmother loves you.
Find a love who already considers you family.
Who meets you
and looks into your ocean eyes
and drowns peacefully into your heart.


Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

Limericks croises: Once a Mother Professor and Daughter

Limericks croisés : Once a Mother Professor and Daughter
      
     for Farid & Zafir

Once (a) Mother Professor and Daughter
Came to Paris to see a Poet Mister
He took them on a lope
From Opera* to Procope*
Till their feet got thicker with blister

He took them to see Doctor Goethe :
Said Devil was shooting thorns from Under
They went to Mephisto*
To calm down their sore toe
« Une belle épine du pied , Mister »

« Vous m’enlevez »,* said learned Mother.
« How can we repay you », said Daughter.
« Not a care, I dare hope,
I’ll take you to Procope. »
The bill for trout, veg-dish and butter

Came to more than what they could then pay.
« Don’t give us this ol’ Napoléon lay ! 
You’re not wearing Bicorne*! »
« Yes, but for Devil’s thorn ! »
« Leave us your Mephisto shoes or pray ! » 

So Mind-Full Poet took them upstair(s)
To prostrate long at Table Voltaire*
Philosopher weighed plea
Said : « This Poet like Me ! »
Mephisto shoes freed from Procope lair !


Resources

•	Opéra : The National Academy of Music in Paris where ballets are still performed ; opera performances having been moved to the new concert hall in the Place de la Bastille.
•	Procope : One of the oldest cafés in Paris, founded in 1686 (and opened in 1689) by a Sicillian whose Frenchified name was « Procope », at 13, rue de la Comédie Française, Paris-75006.
•	Mephisto(pheles) : In Goethe’s play : Faust, one of the principal devils. Happens to be a brand name for shoes under the pretexte that it is better to have the Devil under-foot rather than in the boudoir.
•	« Vous m’enlevez une belle épine du pied » : French for, according to Collins (bi-lingue) Dictionary : « You have got
me out of a spot. » Literally means : « You have extracted a painful thorn from (the sole of) my foot. »
•	Bicorne : two-cornered hat
•	Napoléon lay : Napoléon as a young officer is supposed to have left his « bicorne » hat as a pledge for the meals he ate there and could not settle with cash. The hat is displayed in a glass case at the entrance till this day, for the future emperor had far more interesting things to do – like conquering a continent – and could not take the time off to reclaim it.
*       Voltaire : The great French philosopher, author of the satirical
novel : Candide, became a Freemason just four months
before his demise. He was a frequent visitor to the Procope, 
and his table is still displayed on the first floor of the
café-restaurant at the top of the ornate stairway.  
The décor of the place is preserved exactly as it was realised in 1835.


© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013


Long poem by Su Ben | Details |

Mother, I

I am walking on the path between flowerbeds
where the flowers the mother cared and grew 
for the daughter whom she loved are now in full bloom

O dear mother, the elegance of the flowers is your graceful image
O dear mother, the scent of the flowers is your beautiful nature

I am standing in the midst of the valley
where your mind flows as a stream of tears

When I, the little girl who learned how to spell a word mother
and showed it to you with a great pride though it was written 
on the paper with poor hand, was molested by a sorceress of darkness,
and therefore, confined to bed with burning lips, 
sweats on the forehead, and holding the air tightly in the small fist,
you were knelt, held on the hem of the wicked and ugly sorceress, and begged with tears, “For I ask you, please don’t torture my little girl any more. For I kneel and beg of you, please don’t take my child away from me”

I am standing in the plain of mother’s sorrowful mind
where your daughter’s name echoes in darkness

One day, at time of my junior year in the high school, I ran away 
from home, I ran away annoyed by my own wrong doing that was
pointed out by you, and therefore, got grounded

In that day, I was foolish enough to think that everything 
that expanded in front of my eyes should be for my favor, and therefore, 
I was fascinated by a warm spring day’s shimmering air floating on distant mound,  flew away dancing in the air like a butterfly, which charmed by the colorful flowers, overcame with their sweet nectar 

And that day, however, as your call dwindled,
the darkness deepened, and darkness deepens;
I was frightened more and more. As your voice diminished, 
I felt lonesome all the more. And for darkness and the loneliness 
turned into the anguish that of more than I can bear, dragging weary feet, 
I returned home with a heavy heart

Nevertheless, you embraced me in your bosom and said
“Not you but your mother was the one to be blamed 
for all these troubles, it was not you but I made 
my poor daughter angry”

You are tapping my soul’s window that is fixed fast
since you gone to the world beyond. You are knocking 
at my mind’s door that is closed tightly since you returned 
to the home in better land

After all, you came deeply in my heart through the gap 
split open in the soul’s window. After all, you entered 
in my heart of hearts through the crack broke open 
in the mind’s door and, now, you are caressing my aching heart 
with tender and loving care





        
  
     


Long Poems