Saturday, January 12, 2008

Today I am bringing two poems from my stored files to this blog. Two mothers; two families; two births. Two babies, but only one living. I hope the thoughts expressed here are helpful to others in coming to terms with the big questions of life and death. Joy Johnston


Salty tears fall from swollen eyes
as the woman mourns for her child.

In the day and in the night
surges of pain and sorrow
are reminders of her loss.

White milky tears flow from firm tender breasts
that never will feel those rosebud lips.

Deep pain of heart and breast and womb
is soothed a little by the warm and generous torrent from the shower above.

Tears, milk, and dark drops of blood
mingle at her feet
and are washed away.

J Johnston, January 2003


I called it an uneventful birth.

There was no time of fear or doubt,
no place for concern.

Progress was swift as you opened and gave up your treasure into my hands.


How could I call it that?

When heaven opened a little
and a sunbeam in the night showed an angel the way to your home.

When your beautiful pink babe was ushered into your arms.

When heaven’s host watched on in awe,
and a little cherub said “ah - ah - ah!”

When your heart swelled to pour out its love.

As mother and father, and the whole circle of family and dear ones greeted and welcomed the newest member.
As you and your loved ones watched
an unfolding miracle.


The rush of waters.

The surges of power from within, urging the little one forward.

The need to be ready, as fullness and heaviness preceded her arrival.

The moment between times – still within, and yet without,
and a small cry before the release.

Warm, wet, and glistening in my hands
held over the welcoming mat.

Could this be called uneventful?

Arms stretched wide, and air filled the little lungs for the very first time.

The baby heart undergoes the miracle of changing from the placental circulation
to its own supply.

The baby skin feels warm at mother’s breast
and the baby lips search for sweet warm milk.

The mother’s arms encircle her soft baby child.

Senses are fully alert, as sight, touch, smell and sound
imprint on the mother memory.

Others are reverently quiet, unwilling to interrupt this falling in love.

And her womb gives up the afterbirth.

What great mysteries we have witnessed!

A child has been born.

Events too momentous for description.

The early light of dawn can be seen above the hills to the East
as a family settles down to rest
before the new day begins.

Uneventful – yet extraordinary!

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.

Praise Him all creatures here below.

Praise Him above ye heavenly host.”

J Johnston

January 2003

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