Mother Love

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

[Update March 11 2018]: Today is Mother's Day here in the UK so I am posting this poem for sons and daughters everywhere.]

When I was in Brighton the other day, I kept thinking (gladly and fondly, not in the least sadly) of the times my mother used to take me there for day trips when I was a child. Someone contacted me to ask what I am  thinking about for much of the time as I stroll along the beach in the video. Now you know:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZLV23r6NdQ&t=12s
(For anyone interested, find more videos at: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber )

Now, today's poem has appeared in several poetry publications since 2001 and, for obvious reasons, is a favourite of mine. I wrote it for Mother’s Day here in the UK as a tribute to mothers worldwide, not least my own mother who died at the age of just 59 during that long, hot summer of 1976. I was 30 years-old then, and still miss her. She was OK with my being gay while confirming my gut instinct that I should not broach the subject with other family members.

Now, mother love isn’t just about mothers of course; there are many women (and men) who, for various reasons, may be called upon to take on the maternal role to children other than their own; like birth mothers across the world, they, too, rise to the challenge and well deserve our love, admiration, respect and gratitude.

Ah, but we should never forget (as I fear we often do) that mothers are only human; we should give them some space sometimes, and never take them for granted.

MOTHER LOVE

I hear an angel crying
for the joy of a child newly born;
a lovely, gentle human being
to live and love, laugh and mourn
through tears of its own;
I hear an angel singing for the joy
of a child newly grown;
a lovely, gentle human being
risen above worldly troubles down
to human foibles

I see an angel winging
for the joy of someone’s passing;
a lovely, gentle human being
taken at last, well deserving of rest
among the best - lark risen
like an angel, a measure of joy
at a new dawning, on wings
of song, a lovely, gentle motion
at Earth Mother’s bidding, glorious
to behold

Mother love, through grief
as well as joy, a gentle tale told us
at each bedtime like a quilt
to keep us warm, we children
of Earth, much as orphans
in a storm ever seeking sanctuary
from acid rain as the worst
of human nature pours divisions
on a world ever challenging its faith
in Everyman

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2012

[Note: An earlier version if this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]