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Our Mother's Anguish     By: Sharon Heaney Stansfield  

17/2/2014

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The baby
Pushed from its mother’s womb
Cries angry tears,
Arms and legs writhe in discontent.
Our lump of clay, too
Raged at her birth.  

Pushed out in a big bang,
Furiously tore her tectonic plates apart
Then slammed them together again,
Violently spewing burning anguish
From deep down in her belly.
 
The wrathful gods hurled meteors
At the tempestuous infant.
This was a difficult birth.
 
But the child grew calm and beautiful,
A face of blue and green,
Rich, resplendent and serene
She gave birth to life forms of her own.  

Her pinnacle child,
With greatest promise and talent.
Her child who can love and care
And think and plan.
 
She must have smiled to watch him
Learn to walk
And play in her fields of abundance.

  But now I look
And think I see
She’s starting to cry quietly.

 I wonder how far can we go,
Before our Mother
Rages once again?
Read more poems by Sharon Heaney Stansfield
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Nature can laugh.   By: Sharon Heaney Stansfield

16/2/2014

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The sky was blue,
The air was warm and still.
The birds were flitting in the trees,
Singing nature's praises.
It was a perfect day.

Too good a day to waste indoors.
We kitted up,
Time for a ride.

What better place than a nature reserve?
Large tranquil vistas,
Aromatherapy of the fynbos,
The infectious serenity of the grazing buck.

I don't like hills.
And hills is the main ingredient 
On Cape Town's smorgasbord.
Swallow hard and swallow fast,
You might not even notice them.

Elation, excitement, adrenalin.
Smash!
Some sneaky, soft sand 
Snagged my wheel
And venomously
Threw me to the ground
With a snapped knee.

We are but playthings
In Nature's humorous palm.
                                                 Sharon Heaney Stansfield
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My Broken Knee     By: Sharon Heaney Stansfield

14/2/2014

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As I lay in my bed
Feeling painful and forlorn
There is no poem in my head.
Outside the sky is grey
This summer morn.

The wind does battle with the clouds
And I must battle at my end

To help my knee to mend.

 The curtains billow like sails in the wind.
A yacht must harness that power,
Not break its mast;
But tack and turn and use it.

At end of day the birds return
To the comfort of their nest.
They cannot let the wind's force
Leave them stranded on the beach.
They struggle through;
Sometimes pushed back
But undiscouraged,
They fly true.

I climb inside my head
And peek out at the sky,
The clouds are retreating
The blue is shining through.

I slowly stand and slowly walk
My body's made a pact for health;
My will and patient effort,
Like the birds in the South Easter,
Will steer the path.
The clouds of pain already lifting;
Soon I'll step with a spring
Into a clear summer day again.


                                    Sharon Heaney Stansfield

Click here to read more of Sharon’s poems

Reading and language are so important to our lives,

Click here to see how to help your child develop their reading skills.

 

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