Wise Woman

Cherry

By Ewan

Fri, 23 Sep 2016
  • 1596 reads
6 comments
 

Outside Morrison’s behind a trolley,

battling the wind with a skeleton brolly,

no wily descendent of Mrs Gamp

- a woman that everyone calls a tramp.

She has seven cats, carries blunted knives,

her wrinkled face has lived several lives.

We do not know the words she shouts,

her otherness surely increases our doubts.

We turn away as she squats at the drain,

impervious to her shame and pain.

Someone lost in her labyrinth mind.

Whether Polish, Syrian, or simply other -

She is no alien and is our kind:

for even this crone is someone’s mother.

 

Certificate U
Poem
Miscellaneous

Comments

Submitted by seashore on

Maybe, maybe not (as in mother) - no matter, it's on the money, Ewan.

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Like you have a story to tell within this poem, I'm sure that lady would have a lot of her own experiences she could talk about.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by karl_wiggins on

Good job. Too few people write rhyming poems nowadays, but this tells a veery, very important story.

Great job  

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

You catch many aspects of the lady here. 'Someone lost in her labyrinth mind' is evocative, and invites to think about the lostness of old age mind loss, and 'her wrinkled face has lived several lives'

and particularly, of course, 'surely … someone’s mother'. So much breakdown of family links. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by hippie girl on

good wordage everything really comes together

 

Submitted by love_writing on

Yes indeed what makes us turn away, love the rhyming

love_writing