Divine Mother

The mother gives

The gift, the life, the energy.

She is

In the shape of

The mother beyond the world,

Who breathes life

Into existence.

The mother is deity in earthly form,

No less than God

But no more than the mothers

In time, who populate the ages,

And bring new life

Time and time again.

They are her

As she is them.

In their hearts

They know her

Although not all resonate

With her full magnitude.

When she gives

The world is more

For she is the blood in the veins

And breath coming freely,

Filling the lungs,

And elevating the body

And the mind

With the gift of Source

Given infinitely

As a stream of love without end.


To the tight
To the tearless
To the dried
And desiccated
To the dead
Who still inhabit

I wish
The hot breath
Of Aslam
The gentle touch
Of Jesus Christ
The Buddha’s smile
Mohammad’s light
And the unsung strength
Of every mother
Who loved their child
And the fathers
Who stood
Strong and watchful.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

And The Mother Said

And the mother said
You can turn on my earth
And in a trice
My children
Will be upon
The glistening clods
To do their colonising
And consoling work.

And you may desert
The plentiful place
And turn it bland
With monoculture,
The flourishing
With chemical
And beings augmented
And superior

All the while
Dashing yourself down.
But I will love you nevertheless.

And you may
Stricken the fertile
And the life giving,
Blemish it,
Injure it
And put it
To dust
And stone

And I will scar
For your learned eye
And then turn beautiful
With rest
And time
Fallow and forgiving.

And you may
Use me
Like your own heart used
And cut me
As your own blood flows
And deny me
As your own
Loneliness is made

In the crucible of your intention
And I will love you still
And whole

And love you
As only the land,
In its richness can

For killing is not mine
My children’s

And as the world turns
I will be
As I have been;

The force
The spirit
The energy

The lick of love
The empty space
The possibility

The lift
Behind it all,

The reason
And creativity

Rolling on, and endlessly on.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.