Sunday Afternoon Blues

More old poetry this afternoon.  I'm in something of a reflective mood, but nothing terrible original is springing to mind to try and explain my mindset.  So I turn backwards to see if I've been here before, does anything fit the bill.

This first poem is a really old piece, but at the time it was important, even if it isn't terribly well written and I've never been happy with the ending.

The idea that I took on a role, and forgot it was a role, was critical in the early days of my separation from the Absent Father.  He described me as an 'Over Protective Fussy Mother Hen' in confrontations about our different ways of handling our children post separation.  Like all people who know each other well, he knew how to hurt me, and boy, it hurt.  The idea that I was somehow spoiling our children with my care really undermined my self confidence, as if it needed any more undermining.  Of course, I think his method of absenting himself from their lives is hardly textbook parenting, but I wonder if part of the reason he has gone is that I am here for them.  I was watching a bit of Desperate Housewives that DN2 had on, and watched as a recently separated couple admitted that when one parent was successful with the children, the other felt as they were failing.  Of course the AF's Woman doesn't make things easy with her desire not to be excluded from anything in the AF's life.  I think this is wrong, and my children should be allowed, nay encouraged, to have time with their father on their own.  It seems this is not possible for the AF.  I can only hypothesize as to why, but the upshot is my children only have me.  With my successful relationship with my children, is this keeping him away from them?  It seems so unkind because it would be better for them to have a good relationship with their father.  Would I like that, really?  When the children and I row, which we do, and get tired of each other, which we do, would the fact they can escape to their father make me feel more twitchy, or relieved?  Of course in the perfect world I would be glad they had someone to go to, but he left me and I haven't got anywhere near understanding why.  Perhaps for now, his absence from his children's lives, although really painful, is the only way we can have any hope of an independent future.

The idea for this poem came from my sleeveless quilted jacket that I wore all the time, although the coat in the poem is clearly not this, more a tough tweed, shapeless but distinctive.  The jacket was reversible, blue/green check on one side and blue on the other.  It was absolutely the wrong style to look anything but functional on me.  To my shame I remember I wore it with black velvet hairbands.  Looking back it is surprising he didn't have an affair earlier on, saddled with such a frump.  But then, he did, and I retreated to motherhood and uniforms.  Isn't hindsight the most irritating of human abilities?

The Mummy Coat


I tried it on for size
The Mummy Coat.
It was a little big and baggy
But I’d grow into it.
And look how tough and strong
The fibres were.
That would keep out all weathers,
The Mummy Coat.

And so I bought the coat,
I soon began to grow.
It gave me such protection
I could brave all the storms.
Soon everyone knew me
By my Mummy Coat,
They’d see me at a distance
And know it was me without looking.

But do you know as much as I filled the pockets
It was still a little baggy on the inside,
The lining didn’t fit.
But outside was strong and tough.
It wore well.

Such a good investment, they last for years
Do Mummy Coats.
And so comfortable you forget to take it off
When the weather changes.
I mean, best be safe, you never know,
And I’m sure there’s something in a pocket
I may need.

But my Mummy Coat protected me
From the sun on my skin,
The warm breeze on my face.
I missed a gentle zephyr that
Might have soothed my soul
Might have made me realise that uniform
Is for the outside
And not for the mind.

23/02/2008

 
 
 
This is much later, and written when I was trying to explain mood swings.  The frightening mad days when the pain is exhausting and there seems no way out.  There isn't, of course, you just get used to mad days, and try not to burden everyone else with the fear that it will always hurt. 
 
The Maze


The wind changed.
And thus her mood
In angry stomps
Strode out the door

And back in on the prowl,
A grin in place,
Glazed with charm,
Skating back
To where it all began

And now forgotten as
The breeze flattened,
And tears of sorrow
Oozed up through cracking tiles

Dripping quietly whilst the
Wind changed,
Howling through the tunnels
That once led out

But now are padlocked
Against the sunset.

23/02/2011

And finally, something a bit more cheerful.  Written very early on when I was in a relationship that was never going to last, but showed me that I was perhaps something more than an over protected hen in a Mummy Coat.  The title came from the idea that if the Absent Father wanted to come back, there was a less than 50% chance I'd have him back.  To the rest of the world I was never having him back from the day he left the second time.  But in my heart it took a very long time to accept that I would never have him back.  The man I loved is lost, if he ever really existed, so I couldn't have him back now, he is gone forever.  But I'm ok, always was, under the Mummy Coat.


The Less Than Fifty Percent Thought


With you I am ok.
With him I failed
His tests and expectations
To be all he couldn’t.

With you I am ok.
Freed to be myself
To explore and find
The joy that is me.

To give and take,
To ask and listen,
Sometimes!
To laugh and feel and want,
And be wanted
For what I am
Not what I should be
For the greater good
Or for him.

With you I am ok.
I am me.

21/04/2008