Spoonful: A Gathering of Stone Soup Poets

An extension of Cambridge's Stone Soup Poetry Venue.

Poem by Coleen T. Houlihan

Photo by Bill Perrault

Ode to Life

The bull will not be stilled inside the cocoon,
or lulled with baby blankets and planned birthdays.
This altercation steps out fully formed, swinging balls and fists,
a lothario all the girls are afraid of but cream their jeans to.
It is the gentle palomino who flips the child off its back,
the python that holds you tighter than Mamma.
I have seen men fully formed, wrap their legs around the beast
and hold tight for seven seconds,
but this does nothing to negate the uncertainty of the next day.
In Poland, 1940, a young girl talked about the horror
of the Nazi occupation, how life had become unbearable,
two breaths later, she affirmed her love of living.
In the midst of the graveyard, life never losses seduction,
lumbers like a fast moving train and bids you to keep up,
turns a corner then gazes at you from a distance.
Smiling softly it shakes its head and reminds you
Mother does not have favorites.