Café Crem

Art, Music and Words around The Coffee Table

Someone asked where the mothers are?

To My Adult Son Who Revealed He Writes Poetry 

Its a secret language.

Only some can understand it,

a chosen few can speak it.

You must be initiated:

a bloody ritual of human sacrifice

and tormenting joy  that could not last.

Therefore the agony.

Like a prophet you are given the excruciating

vision          you scream and rage against it

but it is done to you      and when it is

finished you must write your poems

or you will die.

We’re marked but its invisible.

We walk alone       always alone

and if we are lucky we  recognize each other

along the way and  share      for a moment     

 the kinship of survival.

And so I greet you now,

you of my body and of my blood,

you        my first poem

and whisper this:

we are cursed but we are blessed.

You will be alright.

I can’t say more       they don’t allow it.

Each one must find it for himself.

So though I would stab my own heart with your pain

if I could        to spare you,

I rejoice in learning that

you too have grown wings

and fly closer      each day,

toward the gods.

Copyright Psychscribe 2008


January 5, 2008 - Posted by | Art | , , ,


  1. Great poem Psychscribe, and isn’t it interesting that you use the word “revealed” , almost as though it’s a shameful secret to be able to have an outlet for your emotions? Perhaps if more of us surrendered to this aspect of “the fallibility of human nature” (to quote Michael) then the world would be a more compassionate place.

    Comment by kevmoore | January 6, 2008

  2. The “mother” part that still really speaks to me (I wrote this poem over 10 years ago) is this line:
    “So though I would stab my own heart with your
    pain if I could to spare you”…because even now, ten years later, he is such a depressed young man and its a heartache i always carry – i will address this more tomorrow in your post about your daughter. Good night, all…

    Comment by psychscribe | January 7, 2008

  3. A late reaction to your poem, Psychscribe, I am sorry, but I chose to wait to read it, I didn´t want to read it in the impersonal atmosphere of an Internet Cafe …
    As Kevin says, a great poem, so touching, so true, so honest. Even more touching considering the time when you wrote it, and how your son is today…
    I have spent many years of my young life in deepest depression, I even spent a whole year in my bed because I could not find any reason to get up… nobody and nothing could help… at the end my vitality won, I simply love life, and need “to do things”. But even then the depression was always inside of me, I knew it could burst out again, at each moment, in absolute paralisy… The day I met Kevin . as he took me for the first time in his arms, the depression totally vanished, it was REALLY completely out of my body and brain! I still can´t believe my luck!!!
    I don´t know for certain if true love can be a solution for everybody, but I believe it is…

    Comment by Miki | January 11, 2008

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