This is just pieces from my collection of assorted Poetry. Hope you like. Reviews, comments, critiques are all welcome and I'll try to update and reply as soon as.
She wakes to the sound of crying children.
Her rations have gone.
She carries herself to the money bowl.
Three one notes lie crumpled.
The mother looks out through her window
past the cracked vase
of White Mariposas,
The children watch her leave for food
through blood-shot eyes.
They sit in filth
In the ration house the snakes turn to see the mother,
their pig hungry hands open and
their jackal laugh filling the room.
She keeps her head down and speaks:
'Please, please spare food.'
'My children starve.'
'They ill. They die soon.'
Cackle. She leaves.
At home she weeps:
The mother, cradling her children,
stares through the window
to see richness in the distance and,
in between, her Butterfly Jasmines
She’s no hero. She’s a mother.