Murderous Motherhood – The ultimate act of human betrayal!

By Stanley Collymore

Motherhood is and has always been regarded in
every society that’s truly civilized one as the
fulcrum of a truly advantageous family life,
the consummate preservation of societal
norms and the intrinsically formulated
and profoundly treasured values that
vastly and invaluably contribute to
and indelibly decisively fashion
the mindful understanding and
even the subconscious acknowledgement and free
acceptance of who we are or studiously want to
be as an ongoing progressive and thoroughly
enlightened society or nation reciprocally
and harmoniously benefiting from the
fruition of our collective aspirations.
And as such there is an intentional
amalgamation of markedly right-
thinking people internationally,
and not only those confined
to Britain, who fundamentally and willingly
entrust their fullest, staunch and heartfelt
cooperation towards the attainment and
overt utilization of what is essentially
an exceptionally exemplary human
rights situation and furthermore a
veritably admirable and durable,
principled system exposition!
And when fatally sabotaged
by of all persons a mother,
cannot be verbalized or
understood as anything
other than a murderous
betrayal of motherhood!

© Stanley V. Collymore
24 May 2016.

Author’s Remarks:
It’s hardly surprising that those who are cosseted by and criminally protected by the powerful and most influential in the land not only think but also assuredly convince themselves that they can and will with impunity get away with murder; and what’s more are entitled to vituperatively vilify those who dare question this assumed right of theirs.

The frequency and number of children deliberately killed in Britain either through the individual actions of their respective mother or else as a direct consequence of the dastardly collusion between her, her husband, boyfriend or lover and irrespective of whether or not there is any biological connection between the murdered victims and their mothers’ co-conspirators of wilful death is not only frightening and an alarming aspect of contemporary British life but also a consummately shaming societal development.

And so this poem is written in commemoration of all such murdered and innocent victims, the vast majority of whom once their tragic story is out of the limelight and the perpetrators of their crimes having been arrested, tried, convicted and sent to jail where they belong, are unfortunately quickly forgotten and remain that way until the next child homicide is given media prominence.

But that’s not always the end of the story as not every murdering mother who’s patently guilty of killing her own offspring, and even more contemptibly culpable of infanticide in the process, is ever arraigned brought to court and treated objectively, as anyone else in her specific situation would be, before the law; since primarily there are dark forces at work to ensure that in her case that’s never likely to happen.

For despite her privately known and even acknowledged criminality this immune felon because of her powerful connections, biological or otherwise, that are then ably assisted by those with immeasurable influence knows full well that with a mind-boggling mixture of pretentiousness and hubris she can manipulatively play the innocent or cruelly misunderstood victim in this self-willed matter that she herself, it mustn’t be forgotten, has both rashly and irresponsibly created and what’s more is principally, if not solely, and in spite of her intentionally obfuscating tactics profoundly responsible for.

And while the immunity that she has secretly and unjustifiably been given and which is itself scandalously buttressed by the impunity she officially reserves for herself to act in any manner she cares to and that accordingly sees her as the classic portrayal of the Untouchable Teflon Woman able to freely walk the streets of her country rather than being justly and legally placed behind bars and serving a lengthy prison sentence; the public is additionally confronted with the toadying and asinine spectacle of seeing the forces of law and order at considerable expense to the taxpaying public and with a Canute-ingrained mindset essaying to bizarrely fortify this murdering mother’s house of cards with the most elaborately manufactured and media propagandized but all the same sanctioned at the highest levels implausible story; although easily recognizable as such to the average observant or prescient-minded person who from the onset of this massive charade has been perceptibly and consciously aware of what has been going on.

And the observable moral and the truth here? Any woman who’s fertile can breed; getting pregnant however doesn’t necessarily mean that she possesses the requisite qualities to be a fit or successful mother however unconscionably she is cosseted or unwarrantedly protected!

I Love You

I loved you before I knew you
Before we met, my soul longed for you
I loved you without trying to

I love you without expectations
I love you with good intentions
I love you beyond measure
A love I will always treasure

I don't know why I do
I just know that I adore you
Even when logic says no
My heart, my soul overshadows.

I know this much is true, nothing can change the way I love you.

An Old Friend in a Box

I found an old friend
in a cardboard box
in the basement
where I left him
forty years ago.

His body was intact
but he never had a heart
which is why I left him
with drafts of other
poems published
long ago on paper
in little magazines
decades before
computers appeared.

The poems were born
on a Royal typewriter
with carbon paper
serving as midwife.
He was the only one
I didn't sent out
but didn’t have
the heart to abort.

I took him upstairs
to see if my skills
as a surgeon
had developed.
Maybe I could give him
a heart on my iMac.
So far so good.
He’s not perfect
but he’s wriggling.
If he doesn’t reject
his new heart
I’ll let you know
how he turns out.

Donal Mahoney

Crosses in the Park

Phil went to Memorial Park yesterday
on his crutches and saw new crosses
in the ground commemorating veterans.
Must be a hundred more than last year.

HIs brother's cross is there, in the
middle of the third row, a fitting honor,
Phil says, after Bob died in Vietnam.
His cousin, Velma, has crosses there
for four uncles and her father, too.

Her father and four uncles fought
in World War II in Europe and then
went AWOL to meet again in Paris.
The Army looked the other way,
perhaps because the brothers hadn’t
seen each other in four years.

As Phil walked among the crosses he
remembered that in his home town one
person in four voted in the last election.
Had Hitler won World War II, voting
might not now be an option.

Phil thinks Americans thumb their noses
at veterans of every war by not voting.
It bothers him when people don't take pride
in freedoms veterans died to save.
He’ll tell his neighbors to vote until
his cross stands with the others, too.

Donal Mahoney

An Epidemic, They Say

Where I live the press says
teen use of heroin is epidemic.
I thought an epidemic

was a widespread disease
afflicting thousands caught in
the wrong place at the right time

as might happen when mosquitoes
bring in the zika virus and inject
as many people as they can.

There’s a difference in the two.
Unlike victims of the zika virus,
teens inject heroin themselves.

Donal Mahoney

Bill of Indictment

According to reports
certain White House interns
past, present and future

are asking Americans
not to vote for Hillary
because that would put Bill

back to the White House.
He has a feel for the economy,
the interns say, and other things.

Donal Mahoney

A Note to Young Writers

Over the years I have been accused of many things in real life and in the virtual world as well and often deservedly so. Recently, however, I sent a few poems to an editor unknown because samples on his site suggested to me that these particular poems, rejected by other editors as not fit for their sites, might find a home there. One never knows and can only try.

These poems were scabrous enough, I thought, to have a chance at this site but they lacked profanity, sex and violence. I am neither in favor of nor opposed to profanity, sex or violence but I don’t knowingly traffic in any of those when it comes to writing.

Sex is too easy to write about, I feel, and profanity seems an easy way out when the right word can’t be found. Violence I don’t think I have ever dealt with although I have dealt with the prelude to violence as well as its aftermath. I guess it’s all a matter of taste.

Nevertheless, I decided to send these poems to this particular site because I thought they might fit there. No cost to send an email overseas. It’s not like when I started out decades ago and you would have to weigh envelopes and affix overseas postage not to have the postmaster return the envelopes damned as bearing insufficient postage.

Editors vary as greatly as writers in taste and patience and I speak as a former print editor bearing the scars of many years of experience. I remember writing acceptances and rejections and receiving pleasant and irate responses. But the response I received in the rejection of this batch of poems accused me of something I had never been accused of before.

The editor told me in no uncertain terms my poems were too “nuanced” for his site and left it at that.

If you write for many years and send a lot of stuff out, you should eventually become less elated by acceptances and less dejected by rejections. But when I received this particular rejection, I thought what if a young writer starting out received a rejection that said his or her poems were too nuanced.

Rightly or wrongly I've always thought nuance was a good thing in writing poetry, fiction or an essay.

At the same time I think there is a place for tough poems that can be nuanced if that is the right word to use. Such poems may cause some editors dyspepsia and I have no problem when they send them flying back. At the same time I would never consciously inject profanity, blatant sex or hard-core violence into a poem. I have never felt poetry was the place for that kind of thing. Perhaps that comes from reading too much T.S. Eliot as a young man and not enough Charles Bukowski.

As someone who grew up admiring Jack Kerouac and Gregory Corso and most of the writers in The Beatnik Generation, you would think I would find some merit in the writings of Bukowski but try as I might—and I have tried off and on over the years--I have not found anything that made me want to read more of him. Yet there are writers today who think of Bukowski the way Buddhists think of the Dalai Lama and Catholics think of Pope Francis.

There are more than a few sites that are almost dedicated to Bukowski but editors at many of those sites don’t seem to demand imitation of him in the poems they publish while some seem to like that kind of thing. And I think an inordinate admiration of Bukowski at this particular site is why my efforts were judged “too nuanced.” But as my wife often reminds me I could be wrong once again.

In any event, I hope young writers learn early on to accept rejections for what they are. Either accurate because something is wrong with the poem or simply because the poem is not suitable for that site.

Or maybe the editor has too big a backlog or simply doesn’t like your content or your style.

Or maybe he or she doesn’t like you. Not everyone does, you know. I don’t think any writer should strive to be everybody’s friend.

The editor who does all the work on any site has the right to have the site reflect what he wants his efforts to accomplish.

So whenever you get a rejection, look the poem over, make changes or not, and send it out elsewhere. If the poem has merit, it will likely find a home somewhere. But try to pick potential homes carefully—almost as carefully as you might pick a spouse.

Donal Mahoney

A Mulligan May Be the Answer

Anyone might have
what you need if she’s
choice in your eye.

She can be big or small
provided she has
the substance and form

that appeal to you
in your mountain chalet.
You’re happy although

no one knows why
but you’re willing to pay
a price that once meant

payments for life.
You’d take a vow that
once meant forever.

Now if it doesn’t work,
you can take a mulligan
and look for another.

Donal Mahoney

The existential fear of terrorism usefully incited by regimes whose business is terrorism!

By Stanley Collymore

The existential fear of terrorism wilfully, cynically
and sadistically created by the very same sponsors
of terrorism who assuredly know that financially
and in numerous other ways they’ll massively
benefit from their murderous and persistently
utilized hegemonic foreign terrorist forays
is a burden that the dim-witted, gullible,
or the easily manipulated and populist
morons of Britain, the remainder of
the European Union and the USA regard as something
that they in their pernicious contagion of rapturous
ignorance must clearly, preparedly and blissfully
unremittingly endure, and notwithstanding the
known consequences of it all, since obviously
they’ve been there before, rather unconscionably
feel that they have to continue with all the same
dishonest and lying shenanigans as the price
they have to pay in the name of western-
style democracy, imperialism and, of
course, the American led, toadying
United Kingdom and European
Union coupled with the bullied
UN’s General Assembly and
Security Council’s backed
United States delusional
perception of its own
and western, white
Caucasian abiding
exceptionalism!

© Stanley V. Collymore
21 May 2016.

Author’s Remarks:
Rank stupidity and an abysmally low personal self-worth most markedly so in the case of significant numbers of Britons among the privileged classes and those who are of an older age in terms of the former’s underlings at having lost an empire and still looking for a role to play; comprehensively ignorant in all their cases of the fact that empires come and they do eventually go. But having deluded themselves individually as well as collectively and for so long that such an inevitability would never happen to their precious Blighty as the sun would never dare set on their priceless empire, when that “impossibility” did actually occur these same morons were quite naturally left stranded and utterly bewildered as they still are at what precisely to do with themselves other than embarrassingly, though left with no other choice, if they still delusionally wanted to portray Britain as a world power than play second fiddle to the incoming upstart and new bully on the block the United States of America, an amalgamation of Britain’s former colonial entities.

And all this coupled with the manifest awareness that many of these contemporary wannabe imperialists and colonialists are completely ill-informed and additionally miserly lack either the foresight or the ability let alone the incentive to alter their psychological and highly debilitating situation; and it’s not rocket science to deduce why so many of them like numerous numbers of their fellow westerners are as pig-ignorant as they evidently are; and correspondingly so easily manipulated by their criminally disposed politicians and terrorist western leaders.

No John Wayne

He likes people
if they are useful.
Women are useful.
Employees are useful.
Voters are useful.
Tax experts are useful
when you have
that kind of money.

You get the feeling
he loves his children
and that’s a good thing.

But despite the thunder
with which he’s galloped
out of his skyscrapers
to capture so much
of America, deep
in your heart you know
even if he puts on
a ten-gallon hat
he's no John Wayne.

Donal Mahoney

Pages

Subscribe to POETRY WALL RSS