Title: A Mothers Grip
by Jye from Devon | in dance & drama, street dance, crew/group
A sculpted hand rests on its figure;
flat warmth.
Infantile fingers trace the concave and feel the thought of compassion.
Brown eyes swim and define the figure,
Full stop freckles and torn eyelashes.
Crouched on panels of wood, above billows of sand, tied in a knot and fixed by the hand,
It’s nine miles to the waterfall, and a fourteen hour swim, and if there’s a god which created us, then it can only be within,
Playing in the garden of sunken sand,
The closest thing to enlightenment, is in the grip of a mothers
hand.
A poem written whilst painting describing the beauty of pregnancy and of children, not in the sense of it being aesthetically beautiful, but rather in the sense that it goes against the commonly accepted clinical idea of beauty, but retains our affection.
Comments