Mother

"Mother"

Too often I ponder roads traveled,
Straight routes twisted.
Scrambled, walked,
And dragged through to find a way forward.

Prioritizing reflection creates
Anxiety,
Which leads to more reflection
On that history that looms.

My mother gave me sour grapes.
Rough against my teeth, like eating sand,
They bring to mind poor choices.
Not mine.
Though, I soak them in because they define me.
I belong to them.
Set me on my path, a whispering oracle of
Something a little less potent than despair.
Etched into skin is a map.
A tattoo of lines devouring themselves
In an abstract pattern that clearly spells turbulence.
But she tried.

Too much barren soul filled by too many men,
The mind can only handle so much ascetic silence.
We suffered for it, my brother and I.
Love replaced by duty from Fathers
Who never sowed or cultivated,
As if expecting one cup of water would yield fruit.
Only enough to perpetuate virulent thirst.

And so I recapitulate.
As son. As husband.
New sidewalks allude me, I know not
The road I travel now.
Its familiarity tells me she’s seen it before.
A translucent dream
Dancing on the tip of my frontal lobe.

She is Mary, except I am
Flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood.
Begotten and made in pain well nourished.
A kenotic act transcending
Her own failures, given to me
Like a Eucharistic rite.

I will take and I will eat.

http://rapbattles.com/forum/showthre...g-dew-ft-emily

http://rapbattles.com/forum/showthread.php?492259-Rev

Etched into skin is a map.
A tattoo of lines devouring themselves
In an abstract pattern that clearly spells turbulence.
But she tried.

not that this is when i started enjoying the piece, but this bit stuck out to me. as if she tried so hard to keep you on track, but the obvious turbulence strayed you off course. 'a tattoo of lines devouring themselves' was great wording, i would have never thought to word it like that. and i think you set it up great with 'etched into skin', we can gather it's a tattoo with that wording itself but it just brings a bit more to it.

the thing about your writing is you can write about something so simple, like a "mother", and a tattered relationship yet make it extremely elegant.

Too much barren soul filled by too many men,
The mind can only handle so much ascetic silence.
We suffered for it, my brother and I.
Love replaced by duty from Fathers
Who never sowed or cultivated,
As if expecting one cup of water would yield fruit.
Only enough to perpetuate virulent thirst.

basically filling a void physically while leaving the emotional aspect out. the 'sowed or cultivated' part stuck out, they never paid their dues as fathers, just kind of sat back and like you said, waiting for the cup of water to yield fruit. it doesn't grow or bring life unless work is put into it. work and patience. time.

it gets kind of eerie at the end, because you say you're just repeating the same thing, veering away from a different path, because familiarity is more comfortable even though it's not necessarily the 'good' path.

i'm still kind of stuck on the sinner/saint aspect, and the overall level of christianity in here, i'm not one who knows what to do with that kind of information once i obtain it. overall, i really liked it. you wrote about something in my opinion that's a pretty simple and standard topic but made it into something else, with 2 possible translations. (for me) poetry is weird because i can see you were writing for a specific outcome but i am unsure if i caught it. but that's also why poetry is great because there can be so many different outcomes that even the writer doesn't think of till someone else points it out. either way, i enjoyed reading it and the thoughts it provoked out of me.

thanks for posting.

this is dope.

this was a very sweet, heart-felt poem without the brazen trait that plagues many.

My fav segment was the third stanza. I felt it was the heart and soul of the verse. Lets ignore for a moment the beautiful wording and focus on the core idea. This stanza spoke the power of a mother's influence/nurture. How their values can plant the seed of our deepest belief. Understandably, whether these belief align with the social norm or not, it is, with no fault of anyone, becomes who or what we are (whether u agree with it or not). It really spoke to me because i'm of a 2nd generation immigrant family and much of my parent's teaching at the time does not align with the social agenda of our new environment. Looking back i can distinguish between the two (rather easily) but still the things they instilled in me still resonates and voice itself, whether i agree or not, with every decision i make, to this day. The final statement was powerful. Whether a saint or sinner, all they could give us was their experience and what they know so if they were to teach us to drag through to find a way forward, there's a reason. And how can u fault them for that. They tried.

The fifth stanza cleverly implemented a call back to the first and third stanza. My fav line of the whole piece was:

Quote:

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Its familiarity tells me she’s seen it before.

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The familiar road, which i felt was the subconscious emergence of ideas, values or method, at any point in time, again, speaks on the nurturing theme of the piece. I can keep going but its midnight. Nonetheless, this was a very impressive work. hope to read more from u, man.

Well, you got the mother's influence right, but missed the generally negative connotations. Further, the sinner/saint dichotomy isn't the religious talk. But you're not ridiculously far off. First line of each stanza points in the direction I'm going (generally).

upping. I'll get to a few of the stuff on top soon. Waiting for your thoughts @Emily

Too much barren soul filled by too many men,
The mind can only handle so much ascetic silence.

that's pretty sweet man.

"Mother" ---- Ugh. Even the word sounds harsh to me. ...Mother.

Too often I ponder roads traveled, With'Too' there, I already know it's 'too' much.
Putting 'Too' as the first word was smart, and propelled my imagery from the start into the rest of that intro.
It was a strong start. Who would have thought three letters could have done that?
Straight routes twisted. I can...feel the snap of 'the bends' in water. The fork in the road. The twists.
Scrambled, walked, I like scrambled.
And dragged through to find a way forward. Nice pace.

Prioritizing reflection creates
Anxiety,
Which leads to more reflection
On that history that looms.

Yes. That's true. Anxiety. And future anxiety....that's good.
My mother gave me sour grapes. That...was a burst of energy. A beautiful, line.
Your mother gave that sourness, to you... what a paradox they are, those mothers
That's good writing. I see back lash, backhanders, and commitment to control.
Rough against my teeth, like eating sand, Eating words against the grain.
They bring to mind poor choices. The tempo drops well with these lines. I like the sombre tone.

Not mine. ...and the vulnerable resentment, lol. I shouldn't laugh but, I know its a way out so, we laugh.
We, sons and daughters of some mothers.

Though, I soak them in because they define me.
I belong to them.
Set me on my path, a whispering oracle of
Something a little less potent than despair. Best lines I've heard in a while.
You sail with grace, pirouetting down bars, airing leaflets of imagery as you twirl.
Clean, and to the point. You, make beautiful music.


Etched into skin is a map. Nice visual.
A tattoo of lines devouring themselves inviting wording.
In an abstract pattern that clearly spells turbulence.
But she tried.
Another lot of very nice lines. 'But she tried', is something else though.
That's well written.

Too much barren soul filled by too many men,
The mind can only handle so much ascetic silence.
We suffered for it, my brother and I.
Love replaced by duty from Fathers
Who never sowed or cultivated,
As if expecting one cup of water would yield fruit.
Only enough to perpetuate virulent thirst.
This isn't an easy read for the abused.
I wonder what it's like for the abuser?

And so I recapitulate.
As son. As husband. Wonderful tone; you're honing poetic air.
New sidewalks allude me, I know not
The road I travel now.
Its familiarity tells me she’s seen it before.
A translucent dream
Dancing on the tip of my frontal lobe. I hear, a symphony of song in that. It's pure.
Generations steeped in drama, for how long?
Till you break the link.

She is Mary, Stunning.except I am I like the build here.
Flesh of her flesh, And here. blood of her blood. And here.
Begotten and made in pain well nourished. wow, that's good. In 'pain' well nourished.
A kenotic act transcending Another beautifully written line.
Her own failures, given to me
Like a Eucharistic rite.

Kyrie Eleison.
The vulnerability in that writing, touches me.

I will take and I will eat.

Because that's what the son does.
Prophetic words, you speak from the soul.
Beautiful representation of family.
And what it means to be normal.
For there is no normal.
We're alone.
And yet, there are many that could relate to this piece,
connect, and feel a slight familiarity to Grandiose Narcissism on the Mothers side.
'Mommy Dearest' comes to mind.
And rocky music. lol. That scene, where he's running up the steps lol.
It's that type of victory to me.
The writers daughter, won't be writing a poem like this, titled 'Daddy'.
I loved what you had to say.
I liked the air you maintained throughout. A soft melodic flow,
with a loud heartbeat. Organic feelings, and open wounds.
I enjoyed this piece.
It's very, naked.

Beautiful Read


Thank you

Thanks for the feed, @Emily . Perhaps some HoFs in the future still. This is the first thing I've written in years.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Spoken Deity

Thanks for the feed, @Emily . Perhaps some HoFs in the future still. This is the first thing I've written in years.

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you're welcome.
you have a beautiful style. and an honest voice.

Too often I ponder roads traveled,
Straight routes twisted.
Scrambled, walked,
And dragged through to find a way forward.

That first line is gold. We all do that don't we.

Prioritizing reflection creates
Anxiety,
Which leads to more reflection
On that history that looms.

Awesome. I like the word looms at the end.

My mother gave me sour grapes.
Rough against my teeth, like eating sand,
They bring to mind poor choices.
Not mine.
Though, I soak them in because they define me.
I belong to them.
Set me on my path, a whispering oracle of
Something a little less potent than despair.
Etched into skin is a map.
A tattoo of lines devouring themselves
In an abstract pattern that clearly spells turbulence.
But she tried.

Solid stanza.

Too much barren soul filled by too many men,
The mind can only handle so much ascetic silence.
We suffered for it, my brother and I.
Love replaced by duty from Fathers
Who never sowed or cultivated,
As if expecting one cup of water would yield fruit.
Only enough to perpetuate virulent thirst.

Probably my least favorite stanza but still decent.

And so I recapitulate.
As son. As husband.
New sidewalks allude me, I know not
The road I travel now.
Its familiarity tells me she’s seen it before.
A translucent dream
Dancing on the tip of my frontal lobe.

I like the image of a dream dancing.. if it can do that lol.

She is Mary, except I am
Flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood.
Begotten and made in pain well nourished.
A kenotic act transcending
Her own failures, given to me
Like a Eucharistic rite.

I will take and I will eat.

Are you Catholic?


Nice poem spoken. Sorry my feed isn't all that great little rusty on all this.

@Jukon

Appreciate the feedback.
Religious imagery is tough to do well, and easily comes off a little preachy. I often use theological imagery because it's what I know. I usually try to keep it subtle or let is come out in a way most folks can relate. This particular imagery isn't subtle.

You're right in that I played with "sinner/saint" language but without naming it so obviously. I am indeed referencing my Mother as Mary, the mother of God, but rather than conflating myself as someone with divine relationship, I more or less spin normal theological language to show I am as much my mother's son as Jesus was God's (for Christians). Reading it now it does seem a bit on the nose....

This was a pretty deep piece, I can tell you loved your mother alot
my favourite part was:

Too much barren soul filled by too many men,
The mind can only handle so much ascetic silence.
We suffered for it, my brother and I.
Love replaced by duty from Fathers

Keep up the good work

This is just a stunning piece of poetry, spoken. You outdid yourself with this one.. I have read it numerous times now.

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Love replaced by duty from Fathers
Who never sowed or cultivated,
As if expecting one cup of water would yield fruit.
Only enough to perpetuate virulent thirst.


^^This.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Enclave

This is just a stunning piece of poetry, Emily. You outdid yourself with this one.. I have read it numerous times now.

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Love replaced by duty from Fathers
Who never sowed or cultivated,
As if expecting one cup of water would yield fruit.
Only enough to perpetuate virulent thirst.


^^This.

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Emily knows what she is doing, but this isn't her piece lol

lmao. sorry I've been in and out of threads all afternoon. you know what I mean

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probably from scrolling the thread and seeing her giant EMILY signature lol