from your son

mommy! you made your slim and sensual frame

into a shapeless bundle, bundling my being inside
you for nine long months, keeping me, a worm, warm,
free from hunger and thirst, marks of the world outside;

and today! you struggle to work so hard to remain a mom
of great affection, cuddling me, as you march to a profession
greater, and your time for me is likely to reduce, to dim
like a lamp gathering smoke soot on her facial expression,

like your mom before you, travelling that path of darkness

prior to teaching you skills to swim, to avoid sinking in a pool,
without that settling in a trailer park, to bike and hike, distances
incredible to inspire me, that i may avoid the way of a fool!

henry victor     12.05.2013

making a poem

you keep pushing me from my depth

within my soul, my body, heart and mind
me to will a life of creating lines
breaking, at my own will, those lines

that others like me call it a poem

just like my mother, long ago
put her bigger hand on top of mine
gently, overriding my will, to script mine
 
that in school they called alphabet
thus seeing with her intuitive mind
she liaised with the master poet
submitting her will, in making a poet

31.12.2011