Very excellent as always. It is living hell to lose a child. Having to tell my cousin Deb that her son was killed was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. My daughter and I still shed tears for him every single day- and it has been three years. His mother is still devasted. She will never ever recover from this loss. You expressed that anguish here very accurately.
All at once the anguish of a perceived reality spread like a sickness. We are all unique but share the same mortality. It is the ethereal blood that binds us. You have captured the words exactly that swim beneath the emotion of loss and what it's like to be human. Your obvious compassion, while compelling, is dwarved by your accuracy with the subject matter.
Signpost
Peace my friend,
B
Reviewed by Katy Walsvik (Reader)
Reviewed on August 23, 2005
"Yet his soul still lived
In the womb from which he was born..."
This made it personal, though my only son is alive. These are the lines that brought all mothers into my head, into my heart.
Jude, when I hear the ugly words being tossed at Cindy Sheehan, I will think of this poem. A mother with empty arms should be untouchable. You have made it so. Thank you for bringing me in... you have bared your soul and generously allowed me to see it. katy xox
I think, the full impact of the emotionalism here, at least for me, was this: "Yet his soul still lived / In the womb from which he was born." It makes the loss even greater. ~ Sara
I had only one son ... decapitated and mutilated by his fiancee's 'other' lover.
Different deaths, at different hands ... yet the forever lost is forever the same
Thanks for this tender poem,
:)Sandy
A deeply compelling and moving poem Jude, excellent.
Paul;-)
Reviewed by Kate Clifford (Reader)
Reviewed on August 22, 2005
Loosing a child is something you never forget. A part of you dies at that time and is never recovered, but you do move on. I have experienced this from both angles. I have also felt the loss of a child through someone I care about. Even though I have gone through it myself I became aware of how helpless one feels as they attempt to comfort one that has lost. Being touched in this manner I find I feel an emptyness, sadness of anyone that I learn of that has lost a child. This poem brings the reality of these emotions to the reader in a very deep and thought provoking way. I found myself also drifting in thought to the mother/father who looses a child through misjudgment in accidents that causes the lost of many other children. How saw and distrubing this must be. Only one who has gone through such a loss could write such a heart touching write. Sorry for your loss.
Dear Jude,
Every mother reading this will feel the raw emotion so effectively depicted within your words. It makes me want to take my own son in my arms and hold him. There cannot be anything worse for a mother than to hear that her son has been killed by senseless violence. The empathy felt by the other mother was sensitively and beautifully woven into this poem. Excellent!
With admiration... Chanti
Powerful and emotive. Very painfully true. A Fathers grief is one thing. While a Mothers grief goes deeply within her soul. Being the source of birth and life to the lost loved one...
Knowing the loss of both parents and a brother and sister I feel this emptiness that this poem depicts. Very well written and shared. Take care...
My goodness, Jude... where on earth did you get this one from? This speaks from such a deep bed of omniscience that I am (almost!) dumbfounded - you feel things here that even some women, perhaps, would never be able to feel so keenly, and, even though the profound emotion driving this creates such a richness and oozing flow to the strong narrative, it is the "knowing" which surpasses even understanding and an all-seeing eye that impacts me the most. "distant instant" is, as has been said, a brilliant poetic epithet - but the feeling in "his soul still lived In the womb from which he was born" turns MINE inside out! This is deeply personal to me, because THAT is where I know I carry people who I care about, even more than in my heart. I am completely undone by this. "His lingering aroma still permeating his room...For this mother it was the scent of life Yet she felt the longing for another mother's son" Again, a total bullseye of "knowingness" that I find awesome and remarkable. This goes way beyond compassion and perception. The essence of this can, I think, only have come through revelation. Of all the senses, I think that smell is the one that has the ability to cut across all of time and space to hit the nerve of "being", and never more so than through the deepest emotions of love or hate.
This is just bizarre... I am sitting here totally transfixed by the depths of this poem. Perhaps you were right with your word choice yesterday: virulent. At the risk of sounding crass - which I don't mean to - you seem to have rolled the big guns out on this one: virulent, maybe, but an iron fist couched in the tenderness of a mother's womb.... You must be a nurturer by instinct.
Don't mind me... as you know, I'm a bit whacko lately. (Watch it, AT!) And, I really hope you're OK - cluck, cluck! :)) Now to scrape myself back off the floor and get on with my day... TY LOL Kate xx
much insight and compassion. you've touched on something universal - the desire to do more than console or wish it away but to embrace the whole of grief. I wonder if this was inspired by an actual story; it just feels so real and true. Dawn
Jude having lost a son you will never know how this touched me..you have such keen perception to write with such knowing and compassion
Too emotional to comment further...
When a mother loses her child, it is a wound that is felt universally. It is not how life should be, we should be survived by our children; but when it is a death without purpose, when they are murdered by someone who doesn't even care about their own life nor who their victims are, it causes a loud wailing, from the hearts of all, that rings through the universe. This is a very sad and pointed poem, Jude, one that tosses the reader against the wall and causes us mourn for all of the lost children.
Take care,
Sherry
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
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Wonderful poem as usual
blessin's,
cynth'ya
You are a fine poet.
All at once the anguish of a perceived reality spread like a sickness. We are all unique but share the same mortality. It is the ethereal blood that binds us. You have captured the words exactly that swim beneath the emotion of loss and what it's like to be human. Your obvious compassion, while compelling, is dwarved by your accuracy with the subject matter.
Signpost
Peace my friend,
B
In the womb from which he was born..."
This made it personal, though my only son is alive. These are the lines that brought all mothers into my head, into my heart.
Jude, when I hear the ugly words being tossed at Cindy Sheehan, I will think of this poem. A mother with empty arms should be untouchable. You have made it so. Thank you for bringing me in... you have bared your soul and generously allowed me to see it. katy xox
Greatful for your own child, while mourning for anothers.
Bonnie
Different deaths, at different hands ... yet the forever lost is forever the same
Thanks for this tender poem,
:)Sandy
Carmen :-)
Felix
a daughter would be unbearable
to me.
Paul;-)
Every mother reading this will feel the raw emotion so effectively depicted within your words. It makes me want to take my own son in my arms and hold him. There cannot be anything worse for a mother than to hear that her son has been killed by senseless violence. The empathy felt by the other mother was sensitively and beautifully woven into this poem. Excellent!
With admiration... Chanti
peace and love, Carole
Regis
Knowing the loss of both parents and a brother and sister I feel this emptiness that this poem depicts. Very well written and shared. Take care...
In the womb from which he was born
I'm sure he did, Jude, and this is one powerful poem.
The pain in this is surreal.
Sad and touching write.
Lisa
This is just bizarre... I am sitting here totally transfixed by the depths of this poem. Perhaps you were right with your word choice yesterday: virulent. At the risk of sounding crass - which I don't mean to - you seem to have rolled the big guns out on this one: virulent, maybe, but an iron fist couched in the tenderness of a mother's womb.... You must be a nurturer by instinct.
Don't mind me... as you know, I'm a bit whacko lately. (Watch it, AT!) And, I really hope you're OK - cluck, cluck! :)) Now to scrape myself back off the floor and get on with my day... TY LOL Kate xx
Love Tinka
Too emotional to comment further...
Eileen
Take care,
Sherry