You never grow old;
Mom, your beauty surpasses
Everything on earth.
Do they who feel
As much do think
Do suffer; doubly so.
Yet stronger be.
Raised of that voice
Inborn, heart-deep
Shakes the sensitive nerves
To almost break
(When not faint for whose sake)
In sympathy.
Pain holds its insistence pressed against me.
I dream of a misty, selfless new morn ~
soft as maternal skin ~
easing me free with a true smile
to greet a
sweet day born!
There is a silent visitor inside you now —
softer than fresh-baked bread,
more precious than gifts from wise men of the East.
A second heartbeat,
gently echoing beneath your own.
You carry more than a name.
You carry memories yet to be made,
a mirror of past souls,
a vessel for tomorrow’s joy.
So walk gently,
eat wisely,
rest fully.
That bottle of cider —
it whispers lies.
That puff of smoke —
it scorches what is still becoming.
Feed this life with love,
with hope,
not with chemicals that dilute beautiful expectations.
Go.
Sit with those women in white —
the ones who read charts like oracles,
plotting the rise of a king or queen within your womb.
Let them weigh the weeks,
count your months like blessings.
Endure the prick of needles —
not just for you,
but for the strength of the life to come.
And when the countdown draws near,
remember:
Swollen feet will give way
to first smiles.
Too much sleep
will surrender to sleepless nights.
And sleepless nights
will bloom into stories —
told by the very angel
you now carry.
by Davie Kaliu
Maternal builders
Patiently gather debris
Fragile wombs of blue
The crow dived in one
full swop
A chick to be picked for
lunch for her chick's
So the mother hen in
a daring response
fluttered her wings to meet
the crow in mid air
To redeem her chick's
This is maternal instincts
in foreplay
Writen 3rd March, 2025
A poet gives birth to a poem,
Just as a mother gives birth to a child.
Lo! How innocent and mild!
Then comes day another;
The child looks after its mother
When it becomes grown;
So, does a poem take care of its poet,
When it becomes well-known.
a little girl smiled at me today as i walked home,
she held hands with her mother,
and offered a small wave.
when i waved back,
i saw the mother stare at her daughter,
her pride and joy,
just watching her exist because that was enough.
i turn a corner and see my house,
i am so lucky to have one.
but god,
how i wished that in those moments,
in that house,
my mother didn't make me need a mom that was never there.
...And I suppose therein lies the rub,
since society as a whole
is not like mother and child,
it does not fit into such roles.
To grow feelings are sometimes hurt,
in fact they are guaranteed to,
and half the time the push-and-pull
is what generates something new.
And often the failure in those we see
who claim they’re ‘victims’ and ‘oppressed,’
tells others what they shouldn’t do
if they’re looking to pass life’s test.
And saying unpopular things
is a check on passions and trends,
if such voices just get cancelled
we can walk blindly to bad ends.
The competition and friction
that gives our society life
slows and stops in female instinct
becomes our only guiding light,
which leaves you quite vulnerable
to those who make no such mistake,
maternal instinct does nothing
against monsters who just want to take.
This begs the questions, what do we
do to get it all back on track?
Tell women to marry, have more kinds
and into the kitchen get back?
Ugh…that’s gonna be a hard sell.
The mother loved him before she met him.
On days when her love posed a threat
She gambled with her health
And cradled him against her breast,
And clenched her teeth
to preserve the gift her love begets.
She supposed that with this seed
Her soul could soar free,
And he- her gentle dove-
Would one day bring her comfort from all the men
who gave her unreciprocated love.
The day came when, in her jubilee,
The mother held him close as he suckled.
She journeyed with him through desert lands
And her love planted seeds that sprouted
Fruits from the sand.
Then one day -
In a cataclysmic transform -
He despised the graceful garlands on his head
And instead
She bled from the blow of his knuckles.
She watched him pluck the pendants from his neck.
And in his unreciprocated love,
the mother was decked.
She nurtured him, still, for love bears all.
So in her hospice,
she held him close.
For what does he know, what does he truly know
“Of Love's austere and lonely offices”?
He felt the void from early on,
and knew innately the loss
of something beyond touch.
A life of bad choices,
and failed relationships,
still left him searching.
He witnessed it in others,
friends and family,
the relationship, bond and love.
In the Fall of his life,
he identified the piece missing
and hoped it was not too late.
Though not by choice, you became my kin,
Our joy not constant, yet our bond within.
I'm inspired by your every move,
In your presence, cherished moments prove.
I strive to earn your pride and respect,
Yet at times, I stumble and deflect.
Still, you offer guidance and support,
Amidst my life's challenges, you escort.
If only I possessed your humor's grace,
If only I mirrored your talents' embrace,
If only I possessed your fearless might,
Your endeavors, forever shining bright.
Not born beneath your heart's gentle beat,
Yet a love akin to a mother's sweet.
Our memories forged, eternal and true,
For there's none like you, that much I knew.
Every female in the nest,
feeds and protects
her creation, her puppies
I’ve had the example
Of women I love,
Being strong and outspoken
When push comes to shove.
Generations before me
Gave me so much
My looks and hair colour
Tenacity and such.
I was taught by the greatest,
Who in term was taught,
By the greatest to her mind
Her mother of course.
Sister, mum, grandma
All different yet then
They have been my example
Women among men.
Nearly one full century
Has passed since we won,
The rite of democracy,
For both daughter and son.
My matriarch ancestors
I thank you forever
For showing me women
And strive through endeavour.
walking alone with my memories and a tearstained heart
watching the water and thinking about Her
there is nobody here and the chill and the quiet is a perfect combination
the makeshift Christmas tree on the sand makes me laugh for short spell
wishes and regrets then creep up on me and steal me again
i am on spaghetti legs but remain Bountifully Blessed
the water senses my level of unbalance and doctors me back straight
i walk along and reminisce about the company that now dwells in heaven
the skies are blue and the sun is elated
despite the wind being unforgiving, i feel its guaranteed embrace
so many songs pop into my head
i am a snaggletoothed little boy again, impatient and full of energy
i hear you now firmly telling me to go and unpack
now i hear no voices
now i am forever wounded due to my choices
nevertheless i have maternal healing hands that are Heavenly Dipped and Infinitely Divine to reassure me
my walk becomes more confidently erect
my heart beats with pride and valor, pumping the tearstains away
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