Mum had been gone a couple of months, six I think… (An ordinary day. Feeling hollow but doing OK) …when I realized I could get rid of the sofa.

I thought it was ugly. She thought it was a bargain. A sofa’s not a keepsake and it was certainly no heirloom. I’d not inflict it on my kids. I got rid.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. Even if it meant keeping the sofa.

Redecorated. Bought a new telly. Spent frivolous amounts of cash on scatter cushions. She disliked scatter cushions. I thought they were cosy.

My little boy drew on one of the cushions. On purpose. I was about to smack the back of his legs… (Mum would have. She smacked me when I was little) … but I stopped.

I never wanted to. I had known all along, somehow forgotten.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. But she would not smack my children.

Mum had been gone a year… (Planting bulbs. Feeling conspicuous carrying a shovel ‘round the churchyard) …and I missed her .

It was as hot as the day she died. There was no breeze up on that hill. No cloud. Beautiful views stretched right out to the sea.

My little boy had grown. He helped carry water and dig holes. My baby was learning to walk. She wobbled on uneven turf between the headstones. I wanted Mum to see.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. No question.


Mum had been gone three years… (Bulbs were doing OK. There was nothing left to plant that rabbits wouldn't nibble) …and I realized it was time to move on.

I kept the ghosts quiet while agents showed people round. The house sold. We moved away. A warm, terraced place in a small town by the sea. Dad died.

Mum has been gone eight years and I miss her.

Looking out from the Downs across cliff-top and sea, the churchyard seems nothing more than a soft-grey fleck on the green edge of town.

If I could bring her back now? Everything’s changed.

Ghosts exist. They sit in empty chairs and speak kettle-whistle. Wishing us well.

I miss my mother most
when I'm in her frenetic company.
Such an angry fragile woman
in the shadow of the mum
she used to be.
Lost and alone, wanting a way home,
one woman against the world
with no old friends
only fresh new foes.

She can identify every shifting lie
sitting scared with no escape
from a hundred shifty eyes.
Stalkers criticise every mistake
watching her practice looping moves
cornering her as if to prove
that we're all conspiring
each trying to rob her
when the screaming truth here
is that her fleeting thoughts
have already gone where
we can never walk
not even in our tears.

Some people have kindness in everything they do,
a helping hand that listens well
then reacts with easy care,
spreading love
everywhere.
They never cease to offer a warm hug
and try to make things better with their wondrous galloping strive,
distances reduced in seconds;
some people have sunshine in all they do,
some people Mum,
just like you.

I am my Mother's son.
She shines where darkness prevails.
She lights up a room like a comet.
She soothes where illness ails.

I am my Mother's son.
Through troubled days ahead.
The constant love throughout my life.
Where sunshine fears to tread.

I am my Mother's son.
She's the moon and stars, you see.
The warmth and kindness of a saint.
The reason I am me.

Mum was never happier
Than when supping tea with friends
Sharing well worn wisdom
Seen through a mother's lens

I can't deny I was a teary child
And when mum heard me sobbing
She'd make dash, be there in a flash
And smother me with hugging

Mum'd appear when needed most
She had a mother's sonar
A way of sensing where and when
We would really need her

Mum had a knack of persuading dad
That it really would be best
To not shout, to let me be
And let me stay half dressed

Mum would know where to find me
When it was time for tea
And it was worth being found
Not staying an absentee

Fish fingers at least once a week
Followed by artic roll
Bangers and mash, bubble and sqweak
Don't expect a finger bowl

Mum made each birthday special
She knew how to stretch the budget
She'd sit each month with my dad
And work out how to fudge it

I wouldn't be this man today
If it wasn't for my mum
Her care and warmth, her smile and love
Gave me my foundation

So this mother's day let me say
If your mum is still around
Make sure she knows down to her toes
Just how much she's loved.

this woman
she raises soldiers
Spinning sweet lies
and throwing hard truths
its ******* brutal in here
nothing is sacred
We take what we need
when we want it
Its us against them
we are alone
You are alone
She'll throw you right in
and you do have a choice
You sink
or you swim baby
Mumma cant keep us all up
Come out swinging
She cant tell you whats on the other side
but she’ll tell you that you'd better be ready
gun cocked
fully loaded
She'll light a ******* right at your feet
keep moving
This woman
she’s covered in scars
she wants you to shoot
Shoot for the stars
But you're on your own
Mummas got guns
Pointed at men
Pointed at lovers
Pointed at fathers
pointed at mothers
Love is blind
and she’s firing
Into the night
so take your post
Soldier
You're on your own

Not a brave fight,
But a certain defeat.
Not heroic acts,
But daily surrender.
Not a close race,
But the frustration of consecutive false starts
And inevitable disqualification
And slow expulsion from this life
With no fanfare, but with a sob and a sigh
That sank like a stone
And pulled her family down
Around her
Each soaked in stunned silence
Engulfed by their memories
Of lost opportunities
Looking for resolve to do better
Somehow.
And only, eventually, finding hope
In each other
In the shared endeavour
To love one another, together
As she once did a forever ago.
Our mother could fill
A cup of tea with love
Like no other.

The green handbag,
Clutched close,
Constant companion,
Matching clothes?
Not always.
Where did you go today?
The green handbag,
Loose change,

And pension book.
Made up?
Take a look!

Where did you go today?

The green handbag,
Memory sac of
Nooks and crannies,
Papa, Grandkids,

Aunts and Grannies.
Where did you go today?

The green handbag,
Held to heart,

Perched on knees,

A medicine chest,

With pain to ease.
Where did you go today?
The green handbag,
Where did you go today?
Pointless question, Usual answer.

As ever ­ ‘Up the Toon!’

Too soon,
Not today.

The green handbag,

Not clutched,

Nor held,

But at the foot of your bed,
A reminder of hope,
Where did you go?

Today,
The Green Handbag,
Sits at my Dad’s feet.
A monument to love,
In fading verdigris.

The world no longer fits.
Friends like fleece
Family like well worn wool
Triple wrapped for winter
Tea that's brewed stronger
None can now heal her

A smile to light the day
A hug to last the night
A keeper of peace
And ender of fights.

The world ill fits her
Her anchor won't hold any longer
She's lost and bewildered
No longer graceful as she grows older
And there's only this frail shadow
Of the woman I still ache to know
Mum, I miss you
Where have you gone to?

As natural as you
is how I want to be,
moving before
formalised thought
into the you
of yourself
without thinking;
understood
as easy
as a season.