Working class communities are ravaged by those who seek to profit through temptation. When those fall foul of temptation, the families behind them are forgotten, here we acknowledge one such mother…
The tears of cruel motherhood
Lubricated the movements of life’s joy
Those tenements of the modern age
She guides against the guile’s of life, her boy…
None of the bogey men
Of dark alleys could lead him astray
For behind him, she was the light that cast his shadows
Who I got to meet one day.
A jester fool danced round in rings
To the jibbering screams of fools
Worshiping Mammon who believed in no Gods at all
Seemingly wasted their time in schools…
The rhythms of the night had faded
Replaced by the birds morning song
Excited words went round not of the fight
That he had joined the throng.
For some reason, the time stood still
As I have noticed some times before:
I would die contented in my time
Should I never feel its ilk no more.
Alas, in time, my mood was no idle mood
Word got round, confused
His words live on, a living memory
For such, such poems are by readers, used…
As we remember the boy who escaped the bogey men
Who could not lead him astray
But the serpent through those who should have had his back
Had his words and his way.
Be not the one to buy the first drink…
And old saying, yes, and true…
I remember him, shrugged shoulders, as that is life…
I acknowledge a Dublin mother too.