Maternal Memories

Maternal Memories

I am told that I will forget,
How it feels right now,
To be a vessel for
Something so important
As another’s total life.
It is said I won’t remember
The feelings of
Total responsibility.

That every movement thrills me,
How I’m scared of all I do
Should anything cause any harm to you.
The love which suffuses all thought
Could surely not be lost to me.
How can I possibly forget
You react to every mood,
Moving to my tone and colour.
Intimately part of me
As one, we are two together.
Until, at once, a violent act
Will tare us both asunder.

Least I forget, I feel it now
So I write down quickly
As memory begins to fade, Already!
It has been but seven hours
Since you emerged from within
And announced your presence in the world,
And yet the memory fails.



This was written shortly after Christopher was born

Christopher is home

Christopher came home after I had been detained in hospital for a week as he started to breast feed on demand. That ment I got a gentle introduction to being woken up at night.

He has been home for 8 weeks now.

During this time we have had our internet service provider go bust and then the computer afected by the lightening storm, and of course Christopher takes up a lot of time.

He has grown a lot, he is out of early baby size clothes now and is into tiny baby sizes - he has gone up to 6.5lb. He is very long.

We haven't posted any more photos of him as the site we used for this was run by the service provider which went bust.

Will post more poetry soon.

Materialism Gone Mad

This poem was inspire by no experience of mine, but due to the media coverage of the problem and due to my days volunteering at the CAB.
The CAB is a free indipendant advisory service which can help you not get into poor credit agreements and help you to manage debt. They also provide information and advice about a wide range of issues including family matters, housing, neighbours, social security and benefits ammongst other things. You can find them at http://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/winnn6/cabdir.ihtml or in your local high street.

Invitations come through the door,
Falling on my mat once more,
Suggesting that I borrow lots
To buy all I want, including pots.
Phone this number for instant credit.
Rates so high, tiny type, they hid it.
All I can think of is items desired,
Shopping daily makes me feel wired.
Wants mutate into incessant needs,
Addiction, on these offers it feeds.

Credit card companies unscrupulous offers.
Promissing to swell my coffers.
The money - it's obvious, it must be mine,
I never can think of late payment fine.
Catalogues and shopping channel
Invite my spending with excessive flannel,
Showing me how to desire their things,
Materialism, in me takes wings.
Dresses, gadgets and fashion, its hot.
Looking now I want the lot.

Reminders are sent, on my mat they fall,
Cresitors debts they now recall.
Stress, it builds as I can't repay.
'Pay me now!' the bankers say.
My income, no longer is enough,
Court admin order - its very tough.
Perhaps its better to go bankrupt
Oh! How these lenders are corrupt.
I suppose I could considor mediocracy -
Not spending so much, but this is democracy

Losing Weight - The National Obsession

This poem is a reflection of today's society. I have written a number of poems which do this. This is a bit of a diversion for me, where the title actually says exactly what is in the poem.

How did it happen?
That losing weight
Became the national obsession.
We are in a terrible state;
Half of us now obese
And hlaf under weight.
Surrounded by fads
All those various diets;
Atkins, Weight Watchers, slim Fast,
Do we get all those gadgets?
All that motionless motion?
Or do we just limit our food?
Food taunts and surrounds us;
Low calorie, low carb, low fat.
Choice over whelms us.
Fast food, lets have more of that.
And now I'm as wide as I'm high
I'll take all your potions
I'll have opperations
I just don't want to wait
Doctor please help me
Get back my size eight.

Destruction, Dividing

This poem is set to the hymn tune 'Imortal, Invisible' and was written when the protest marches were being planned before the Iraq war started in February 2003. The gun in the last line of the first verse refers to the weapons of mass disturction, of which even then, there were enough clues given away in the world press to show that the polititions knew were not there.

Destruction, Dividing, War in our name.
In attempting to prove that he's not the same.
Most forceful, most fearsome,
Blair leads us all on
Into battle victorious
'Cos Sadam has no gun.

Unhearing the country, determined to fight,
Nor listening to reason, just proud of his might.
Blair thinks he is moral
To hurt the children,
To impose all those sanctions
That deny medicine.

From all life war taketh, from both great and small'
Just leaving a country deprive'd of all.
Our arm forces, they flouresh
Like leave on a tree
But our services perish
And our leaders don't see.

Great wars of the past have destroyed many live
Yet we never learn, we just avert our eyes.
Oh Lord God please help us
And lead us to peace
Our leades should back off
And turn about face

Home Alone

This poem spent much time without a title and then was given one by a reader of it. It was written upon hearing a radio 4 drama about a woman who followed her lover to Italy to write poetry (her lover was an author). She ended up spending most of her time writing letters to him about how difficult it was to write any poetry and how she was going to have to go back to her husband soon.

I though to write a poem
About something mundane
So, for ideas, I looked about me
And then looked about again
While the washing up
Gathered in a mountain
I sat and wondered
'What about a fountain'
But the time wore ever on
And imagination, now had gone.
Yet all about the bright sun shone
You would think that, generously
It would give some inspiration
But no, no rhymes would come
And time wore ever on
There is so little now left
Before my man gets home, bereft
Of tasty dinner or tidy home
And, what's this?
I'm all alone.

Angels with Broken Wings

Angels once were our gods.
In the firmamnet they flew,
Having power o'er death and life
The stories of them grew and grew.
Then, at last, we tried to change them
Till one of them wa set to fall,
All we wanted was to own them
But He wnated to tempt us all

Where the angels once flew and played
Within our minds and hearts
Gaps and fissures there now appeared
As evil made his little finds.
He found a way to twist and warp us
A few of us became his kinds
And though they try, so well, to behave
Good and sweetas Jesu was
They find the going is tough and hard
As temptation follows us

Temptation to have our way
Our fifteen minutes of spiteful fame,
The desire, by others to be seen
To be admired for our glowing flame.
Weakend by all the sins against us,
Struggeling to be known by name,
We force our will upon some others,
Till their view appears the same.
Not noticing the beast's work been done,
How we change the ones around us,
They only see the harm too late
But now thier friends have upped and gone.
Left, as Satan causes hate.

Up date

Our baby, Christopher, was born 12 weeks early. I wrote the Clock Ticks a month before he was concieved. As you can tell there were many hold ups in our attemps to have him including a miscarridge a 16 weeks. The effects of a late miscarridge on the person having it should never be under-estimated by others arround them. It will probably make them cry for a very long time afterwards.

His birth was normal except that it was so early, it started with the waters breaking at 2.30 in the morning and ended with his birth about 8 hours later.

He was then transfered straight to the special care unit, where he has been ever since. It is important for all babies to have breast milk but this is espesially true for preterms. This means expressing regularly and being tied to a breast pump except for short and well planned outings to get back in time.

So we managed to get a trip to a local baby store and buy his pram, which is really bright and cheerful and extremely versitile. He still needs a matress for his cot and a moses basket for his first 3 months or so at home.

His progress in pictures can be viewed at www.papageorgiou.e7even.com.

He started having a go at suckling on Monday last week and has been getting stronger at it. This is quite impressive as they are not supposed to develope the sucking, breathing and swallowing co-ordination untill they are 34 weeks of gestation and his gestational age was 32 when he had it.

The Clock Ticks

I long to welcome you into my arms
To hold you to my breast
I sob
I wonder where you are
and who you are
and when will you arrive
My life lies barren all about
Fruit trees grow fertile
Hospital tests leave doctors confused
They wonder why you don not come
And Why, when you do
Why you depart so soon
The months move on
My maternal clock tics loud

Photo of me

One life for another?

There it was, hardly there at all
Not much bigger than a tiny ball
And next to me, there she lay
Her relatives would count each day.
While, inside, a new life it grows,
Another is there, who’s life, it goes.
The illness that put me in here
Tests the foetus’ will to stay in there.
And inside her, there grows another,
Of which her life, it tries to smother.
A malignancy within her brain
While there, in uterine, grows the wain.

What makes me cry?

The guilt that I delivered you early
When you should have had twelve weeks more.
The wondering if it was something I did,
Or was my womb too small?
Then I look at your long limbs
And marvel at your weight.
Thinking, how would you have fit
If, perhaps, you had been late?

Leaving you alone in there
While I leave and travel home.
I feel that you should be by my side
Or better still, within.
You should be listening to sounds
Right here with me.
I want to see all your developmental bounds
And have you share with me.

Changing your nappy
For once, that might be pleasant
While others are moaning;
“I really don’t need this present.”
They don’t want to clean up
After all their offspring did.

Breast feeing is such a chore,
While I don’t get that chore at all.
No, for me, it’s the electric pump.
With the noise
The sterilising and all that bumph.
You should be here
To nuzzle and need
For you would do it better
Than any electrical feed.

But you should be still inside,
And sometimes it makes me bitter
Because we missed out
On these three months together.
I had such plans for us,
Sharing my days and nights with you.
And now I can only look on
With tubes and wires breath for you
And you from within are gone.

And what of the bump
That was supposed to grow
So enormous and make me so slow.
No trouble tying shoes for me,
And only a little hard to get up.
And look, its nearly gone – you see.
I know its silly but I miss it so
The maternity clothes hang limp
Like wet washing they drip
Off my more slender frame and slip.

Twelve Weeks early

Your tiny form, strong yet vulnerable
Your wild movements with weak muscle,
Looking so fragile, yet your control
Your full control over my whole
Caused my womb to bid farewell.

I watch you, my eyes adoring.
With tiny hand, tightly gripping
My finger, gauche when comparing.
Beautiful your form, even the bruising
How delightful you are now growing

As with each hour, by comparison
Improvements in your condition
Start to appear for observation.
My love it grows in unison.
You are all my attention.

And who would have imagined it?
Us both here in the special care unit?
Your skin with special lighting lit.
I would never have thought to commit.
This happens to others, doesn’t it?
My womb lies bereft of where you fit.

Maternal Memories

I am told that I will forget,
How it feels right now,
To be a vessel for
Something so important
As another’s total life.
It is said I won’t remember
The feelings and emotion
Total responsibility, not just for me.

That every movement thrills me,
How I’m scared of all I do
And the worries of beliefs
Should I cause a harm to you.
The love which suffuses all thought
Could surely not be lost to me.
How can I possibly forget
How you react to every mood,
Moving to my tone and colour.
Always so intimately part of me
As one, we are two together.
Until, at once, a violent act
Will tare us both asunder.

I can’t believe I can forget
The wonder that I feel
When I feel you move.
The marvel that you choose
The moments when I still
The strange tumbles
Flutterings when I stand
Then motionless, there you lie
As I continue on my way.

The feelings of perfect completeness
That this is the way that things should be
Will surely not fade from remembrance
No, not ever go away.
The moments that I treasure now;
The music that we embrace
Knowing that you hear me now
That you can learn my voice.
Surely these thoughts will never go

Lest I forget, I feel it now
So I write down quickly
As memory begins to fade, Already!
It has been but seven hours
Since you emerged from within
And announced your presence in the world,
And yet the memory fails.