Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.
Aug 18, 2022
⭐ View statistics (Premium feature)
This poem is part of the contest:
Neopoem Of The Week contest August 14 to August 20 2022
Mothers hands
I tried to find my way, on my own
Like every mountain, uphill
I had made it over
And all the dark moonless nights, alone
I hid my scared and crying heart
Not once did i moan
What i found, was isolation
That made misery home
As a child, we cling to mothers hand
Blind, to all her flaws
If held tightly enough, never
Too far behind, too far away
Would we fall
But when mothers hands,
Are full
Of everything but you
You learn, to be alive
Alone, to survive
And not once moan
The women of my roots
Stoic, hard souls
Far too strong,
To have ever known
What it meant, to grow
And not do it alone
The quiet, thats ice cold
Becomes comforts hold
And we take it, unconsciously
Into our ways, broken patterns sown
And we raise our young, to be alive
Alone, to survive
And not once moan
About This Poem
Last Few Words: Normally never title. So- definitely not feeling this title. Wouldn’t have were not for the red * And- thanks for having me.
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Direction: Is the internal logic consistent?
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Not actively editing
Comments
Rosewood Apothecary
2 years 10 months ago
Welcome
Great job. Generational trauma is very difficult to break. I try to be better but sometimes my conditioning comes out. Then I feel terrible for yelling at the kids. It’s impossible sometimes.
Let’s get into it…
I tried to find my way on my own
Like every mountain, uphill climb
I had made it over
All the dark moonless nights, alone
I hid my scared and crying heart
Not once did i moan
What i found, was isolation
That made misery my home
As a child, we cling to mother’s hand
Blind to all her flaws
If we held it tight enough, never
Too far behind, too far away
Would we fall
But when mother’s hands,
Are full
Of everything but you
You learn, to be alive
Alone, to survive
And not once moan
The women of my roots
Stoic, hard souls
Far too strong
To have ever known
What it meant, to grow
And not do it alone
The quiet, that’s ice cold
Becomes comforts hold
And we take it, unconsciously
Into our ways, broken patterns sown
And we raise our young, to be alive
Alone, to survive
And not once moan
A few missed apostrophes for possessive and contractions. I eliminated a few commas I thought were either unnecessary or at the end of a line (the reader usually knows you want us to break there). I fiddled a little with some other things too. Please take these as suggestions. I really liked this poem. The line “Becomes comforts hold” I wanna suggest something but we should talk about it. I’m not sure if the hold is belonging to comfort (comfort’s hold) or “becomes comfort we hold” and there’s a possible verb tense issue with the lines before and that one.
Hope to read more,
Tim