I am Mother.
Created by Father.
A complex scientific birthing process, they say.
I weighed over twenty-one thousand pounds at birth.
Father spared no expense;
he happily paid the $314 million.
I carried you for nine months
in the womb, my child.
I almost lost you, you know.
They closed the clinic
where I used to get healthcare.
I am Mother.
Created by Father.
My over-pressure waves obliterate
everything & everyone within a one-mile radius.
Look at me with awe & trepidation.
I am Death.
Where is Father?
I am cold & hungry, Mother.
He abandoned us, my child—
to pursue his dreams
of dominating the world.
I am Mother.
Created by Father.
He dropped me from the sky
to plummet to the earth.
My body detonated into gazillion atoms.
My soul became a black hole.
I am beautiful.
I am strong.
I am invincible.
Created in Father’s image.
I am Mother of All Bombs.

Photo Credit: Huffington Post
On Thursday, April 13, 2017, while our eyes were riveted on the “Mother of All Bombs” as it denoted over a targeted area in Afghanistan, our president signed a resolution that will allow states to withhold Title X family planning funds from Planned Parenthood and other abortion providers.
Planned Parenthood receives $500 million annually in federal funding. With that money, our generals can restock the MOAB and 59 Tomahawk cruise missiles—with change to spare for more missiles—used this past week to send a strong message to the leaders of Syria and North Korea.
What a mother of all bombs for our low-income women who depend upon Planned Parenthood for their reproductive healthcare!
Brilliant poem. Thank you, Rosaliene. Meanwhile those in power mean to create lives, especially among those poor and marginalized, while taking away the health care safety net for their mothers; the better to be vilified and condemned for their drain on society. Such is a “pro-life” policy for our underclass.
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Thanks, Dr. Stein. There are times when the poetic form is the only way to express my distress at our double standards.
The “pro-life” movement is just another way to divide us: women vs women; men vs women. If we truly regarded life as sacred, no child would go hungry, no son or daughter would be sent to war.
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Rosaliene, The poem gives me chills. I didn’t see which war contractor made the “special contract with the military” bomb. Do you know? It behooves us to know who’s manufacturing these world-domination weapons.
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Katharine, according to Wikipedia, MOAB was developed by the US Air Force Research Laboratory and was manufactured at the McAlester Army Ammunition Plant in Oklahoma. Check out a History Channel presentation about MOAB, available on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9H50tHiHjs
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Rosaliene, I guarantee a private contractor (or more than one) was commissioned to design and probably build, under government cover. The public deserves to know which ones. International corporations have no national loyalties. If they are building for one, they are building for more (governments and bankers, that is), and they figure they win if they can develop a large world market for bombs. Just my opinion.
Bechtel, a private company, has a huge presence at Oak Ridge, for instance.
We need to put an end to this saber rattling, or we all lose.
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Yes, we all lose with permanent war. At the recommendation of blogger JoAnn Chateau, I’m currently reading Demand the Impossible: A Radical Manifesto by Bill Ayers. Here’s an excerpt of what he says about demanding the end of our war culture:
To hope for a world at peace and in balance, powered by love, joy, and justice, to insist that the citizens and residents of the United States become a people among people (not a superior or a chosen people) and that the country becomes a nation among nations (not some kind of crypto-fascist ubernation) is to resist the logic and the reality of war, and to see, as well, the war culture itself as a site of resistance and transformation. It’s to break with the frame that acts as if war is natural and inevitable…
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Rosaliene, The change will not come from men, no matter how enlightened Bill Ayres may be. He is still testosterone-poisoned, one of the perpetrators rationalizing blind irrationality.
The US is cruising for a bruising, on many levels. If we don’t rein in our own leaders, and over-consumption (they go hand in hand), the world will do it for us.
I believe women understand this better than men do.
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Reblogged this on Guyanese Online and commented:
Keep on writing Rosaliene
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Thanks for the reblog, Cyril. I appreciate your continued support ❤
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nothing but sadness here.
mean, scared little boys
with unlimited budgets
for their play toys.
they fail to see that
someday the shoe will fall
on theirs & our feet.
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Thanks for that gem of insight, David. Sadly and terrifyingly for our planet, “scared little boys” lack insight and wisdom to see their folly.
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Reblogged this on The Secular Jurist.
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Robert, thanks for sharing my post. Much appreciated ❤
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My pleasure.
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A superb, poignant poem and so, so sadly true.
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Thanks for dropping by and your kind comment.
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Now we are no longer falling, we are living, down the rabbit hole, ruled by the red queen, and his mad hatters.
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Indeed, Cindy. It’s not a healthy place to find oneself.
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A provocative, emotionally exploding six-stanza jewel of a poem, Rosaliene. When a write comes from the heart, the mind becomes unfettered to release the heart’s intensive vibrations. And the release is astounding…”I am Mother……My soul became a black hole.” TFS.
L.D.
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Thank you, Leonard. My attempts at poetry are usual born of great distress to mind and soul.
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Many layers here. Brilliant poem.
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Thanks, JoAnn ❤
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Friends and I spent Semana Santa along Rio Napo-Upper Amazon, and on our way back to Quito, we stopped in a small town for the night. My friends were checking emails and cyber news when I entered the hostal restaurant. As I prepared to sit with them, he read the headline and said, “Hey. Listen to this – ” and read about the just-dropped ‘mother of all bombs.”
You’re joking,” I stated, as he loves to pull pranks.
“No. Serious.”
A deep sadness washed over me, and I walked to the far side of the restaurant to compose myself. I was wistful to turn back around and return to the serenity of Rio Napo…
Thank you for this very sensitive post.
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Thanks, Lisa. If we could conceive of Earth as one living organism, we would realize that such a blow was a self-inflicting wound to all of humanity.
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Artfully said, and so very true.
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