Best Philosophymother Poems
Across the broken boundaries
My mother spoke to me with her eyes
And I understood
The mood upon my father's face
The song so irrelevant
To the situation's required comment
But it was good for me
To know
What each shift and contour of body meant
This was less punishing to the skin
Than too late recognition of arguments
Words meant th end of negotiations
I liked to disengage
Into books ... where fairytales or science
Was the same kind of fantasy to me
I felt no pain
In virtual curiosity or ... fulfillment
Though I was scarred by words
Meant to rebuke me
I was stronger
For my knowledge of the oral tradition.
So why do I read the bits and bytes
Of new landscapes
From silent cinemascope
To pixel pictures
In pregnant telephones
Delirious with apprehensions?
Are all these electrons around me
Battering against the flesh imperceptibly
Free radicals of thought
Swingeing the brain
The new spirituality,
A community replacing the baobab tree
Of village reason?
I negotiate nothing with air
Except my increasing powerlessness
And the meaninglessness of fear.
From touch tone
Camera to screen
The new domination of belief
Is not so superficial
As academics now scope in grief
Mother's eyes had more life than automatons
More compassion than read only memory
I correlate all violence
In the tsunami of expectation
Less with phases of the moon
And more with chips
Disintegrating sand dunes in winds
Of electronic conversation
I am a satellite of no theory
But what I discern
And the faith my mother taught me
In this across the broken boundaries
Still only a marginal cathedral
I yearn
The beat of Mother Nature’s heart is in a rhythmical pattern,
Echoing around the forest through the song of birds.
My hair sways with the gentle breeze,
And the glistening sun shines down upon me,
The screams of joy and happiness carry on through the field, until it reaches me.
And I find that life isn’t always about the sufferings of humanity
But it can be about simple things; the adrenaline that courses through a small child as
they run through the grass
And when you look at trees, you think of their age and what they’ve seen.
The knowledge that they must have is formidable,
Yet it’s comforting to know that something so silent, holds a thousand secrets.
Each leaf tells a story, and dies in the seasons.
For new children come with their tales to be made
And the birds that surround the branches sing in harmony with Mother Nature.
It’s here, in this moment, that I realise there is no God.
Mother Nature is purely a personification of a child’s innocence.
For we, humanity, are our own God.
And our holiness surrounds us, in every breath we take.
In every thought, and every image we capture.
A secret, to be told.