Details |
Harris Melinda Poem
Death of a Vagrant
I am your mother, hold out your hand
Trace the lines of fate, tragic, pre-planned
You’re exhausted and empty, tired and cold
Fingers yellow with smoke, clothes smell of mould,
Frail body so white, with face so tanned
Begging for scraps, the life of the damned
You do not judge, but are cruelly measured
Your memories of her, still secretly treasured
Now I am here, it is time to go
I am your mother
You grew up fast, you grew up strong
Your head held high, your stride long,
How you have changed, my son, now sadly reviled
Hold on tight now - my lost and found child
I am here to take you to home.
I am your mother.
Melinda Harris
June 2009
Copyright © Harris Melinda | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Harris Melinda Poem
proud tree straight
shepherding the refraction of light
into wistful eyes
Melinda Harris
June 2009
Copyright © Harris Melinda | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Harris Melinda Poem
He looked into my eyes and told me
‘I’ve brought you something’ he said
‘A Thousand Million ant hairs
To put upon your head’
‘Thank you for the present”
I managed to say at last
He’s only 7 years of age -
I knew I had to think fast
‘I’m not sure that I need them’
I patiently replied
‘But I think mummy would love them’
Full of mischief then, I lied
Suspiciously he looked up
Blonde hair and eyes like honey
“Do you think she’ll really like them?
I’ll give them to our mummy”
“A good idea my brother
Run to her now - make haste
Surprise her with your present
And stick them on her face!”
A Thousand Million ant hairs
Were returned to me in time
Each one had a barb attached
Reminding me of my crime
It’s hard to be a good girl
When little brothers are about
But it was worth it, I tell you
To hear Mother’s hysterical shout!
Copyright © Harris Melinda | Year Posted 2009
|