February 2, 2023


Writer's Showcase


3 min read

As you will see, my relationship with mother was, sadly, not smooth sailing.  Now that she is gone, I see things with contemplation that I never saw before….BUT we cannot wipe memories away, they are not tears.


Like many other mornings with my mother
I awoke with a nervous stomach
fearful for what this day would bring.
Rarely was the verbal assault, on my ears,
continued past the hour of midnight.
Instead she bore the offensive lance
of being completely incommunicative –
her silence borne like a perpetual greivance
for the childhood wounds I had inflicted.

On this particular morning I recall,
I contemplated ending my life.
(Obviously I never did the dreadful deed
but at each jousting, such as this, yesterday,
the concept of suicide strengthened
became more contemplative.)

At the time I had not a single clue
of what exactly was going on in her head;
how did she feel, how much anger and hate
did she really have, there inside of her?
What I feared as I finally arose from bed
was how she had painted yesterday’s event
to my father – long since gone to work.

The days that have accumulated since then
have robbed me of the precise memory
of what it was that created the situation.
Very rarely, in truth, did I have guilt
for my part in these recurring spats.
This one though, and the sickness I felt
throughout the ensuing day, was m-e-m-o-r-a-b-l-e.

Memorable too, in the evening that followed,
was the slap across my face my Father bestowed.
I can still feel how it momentarily
caused my world to shudder and blank

deep, deep, inside my head.
That a child could cause such disturbance
in the ether of our family habitation
is quite an anathema in my memorabilia:
I am sickened in my belly just sitting here
expelling some of the sense of injustice
I felt, through my loved medium of words.

Ah, but time allows the memory’s skin
to shed the scabs and scars of wounds!
But though it’s skin is soft and smooth
my memory maintains, and the events of that day
cannot be unseen, unfelt, or forgotten.
Such is the uneven path of life we live
that the stones beneath our soles that bite
are the the ones remembered most. The skill,
I have not yet fully learned, is how to absolutely
fill those pains and craters

with everlasting love.




© Allen Ansell 2022

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  1. This poem have reminded me of so many childhood memories from my friends who went through such kind of life. It is sad to see that painful memories will always be with us because memories are not tears they can never be wiped away. I am glad you grew up to be a great poet and inspiration to others.

    1. Hello Joel. Well, that is very nice of you to say… I respond with, ‘I try to help others’. If that inspires other people it isn’t my intention, but it can’t be a bad thing if it happens I suppose.
      I’m pleased that you found my poem had effect… even if it was to cause reflection or comparison. It is a sad tale there can be no doubt, but I have come to understand that even that bad energy has in some way influenced me to become who I am today, and as I am comfortable in my skin for the most part, I should be grateful for its influence.

  2. A very close friend of mine grew up with a narcissistic mother and a father that was all too consumed with work. I watched her go through so much because of the words her mother would speak over her. Even now she does her best, has a husband and her own children but her mother still has a way of making her feel so awful. This reminds me of her so much. It is so sad that children have to grow up wondering if they are even loved.

  3. Larkin summed it up – our (sometime) relationships with our parents, and I recognise aspects of my own family in your poem Allen. As a mitigating factor, I think that the wartime generation, who gave birth to the baby boomers, were often f…..ed up by their experiences; and hopefully we didn’t pass on the same to the next generation. Anyway, as always, a moving testimony.

    1. Thank you for your comment, Dougie. Since I first felt able to admit the relationship I had with my Mother I have been amazed how many other people also had difficult relationships too. It is quite comforting to know that this journey has not been unique or solitary, but one that many others have taken.

  4. This is really sad. As a result of this type of behavior from parents’ side, the ties of children with their parents are destroyed forever. It will affect the child’s personality in a negative way. The worst thing is these children tend to be rude to everybody and the society.

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