Often word weight is too much.

In the telling it is over skimmed

till gradually the meaning of such

fades, the sentence neatly primmed.


Of the myriad ways to convey hate,

embarrassment, or official fear,

the appalling, ill-used ‘illegitimate’

slanders little children here.


That a human life can somehow be

‘not in accordance with the law’.

That babes born outside matrimony

be not treated with love and awe


is damnable to Hell or other place

where all hope is vanished.

For hope avoids a mother’s face

when from her her child is banished.


What saint or scholar deemed it fit

these infants to be bound in rules?

That made them wait in half lit

lines in segregated holy schools?


The unwed mother carries all,

from womb and on into the world.

Scorn and family shame does fall

on her and what abuse is hurled


by those walking quickly past

high stone walls and laundries.

No wash of water came unfast

the dirt of guilt’s quandaries.


Scattered to the wind like leaves,

divided by some scalpel pen,

two parts of one who grieves

and never sees that face again.


The fingers of our new born son

wrap around our hearts and souls.

Legitimate every single one

above decayed scribes and scrolls.


About divilthebit

Husband/father/musician (guitar, banjo) singer/songwriter/poet, storyteller, writer ( Irish speaker, B&B proprietor
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