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These Free Verse Mother poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Mother. These are the best examples of Free Verse Mother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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~Summer's Eve ~ I am a woman! I am proud- I am everything you want. Plus more The adoring wife, A beautiful mother, A grandmother a granddaughter A daughter, a sister, A lover, the aunt. Your enemy, your friend. I am the working lady. A widow left behind. I AM! The Spawn of Adam's rib- I AM! A mentor throughout this world. A lady with class, sometimes a material girl. A flower, and the sound of rain. I am the color of the rainbow. I am deeper than the sea. I am the pink ribbon you wear. I am delicate like snow. I AM! The sun and the moon in your eyes. A twister during dark skies. I AM! The Daughter of Eve- And, here is the only feeling I want to endorse. Summer's Eve. ***** In honor and appreciation to all the women of the world. Happy Mother's day! By;PD
around the corner...just! light brilliant...trees freshly brushed... a breeze meandering through the grass... a baby blue sky, an occasional cloud shaped and reshaped, ...a waterfall roars like a lion...its spray soft as a lamb. around the corner...Just a lovers breath against my neck...a lover's lies, an ego lift...a seat on that pedestal men dream of... a bold kiss...an us in a crowd...a lazy summer day outdoor chairs...an overhead fan, an open door around the corner...Just, rollerblades...a mountain bike, a jaunt in the park, a movie house...a why not...an invigorate, a swim in a freezing cold lake... a restaurant night...an evening walk, a club... dancing...karaoke...being a little wild... so many images paint my mind... bittersweet ...my thoughts march one by one to want something so bad to fear it at the same time Just around the corner I get back my life, just... Around the corner the loss of a life, just around the corner... yes I need to do that now, yes I can wait longer yet... responsible for her... consumes the life I knew the actors, the stage, the lights, the set, the techs, a play, my life flow...directing stage. Just around the corner my life waits for me impatiently Just...! Around that same corner, death waits for her patiently Be careful what you wish for... Around the corner...just around the corner two tears wait for me one joyous...one mournful Around the corner I want to be Around the corner wait for me not yet, caring for my mother...still she lives, I can wait, I can wait... 10~13~2014 Sponsor: Francine Roberts Contest Name: Around the Corner ...
*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN* Hi grandpa it's me again! Your dentures sit in an open glass Do you remember the tears grandma sang before she passed? The way she looked into your eyes, Moments before she said her goodbyes Grandpa, I found a note from grandma, she doesn't want you to cry. Hi grandpa, it's me again! The rocking chair is old and dusty Do you remember the way grandma sat me on her lap? Read many stories before I took a nap How she enjoyed brushing my hair with her hands Love the way she rocked me to sleep every night until I grew. Hello grandpa! I stored your hearing aid away Do you remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer? I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina dance I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma lived in I hope you don't mind, I'm keeping grandmothers favorite scarf. Hello Grandpa! I'm caressing grandma's picture frame Do you like the way she looked in that pretty sundress? Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you I like the walking stick she handcrafted, the day your needed support It kept you in balance every time we took long hikes in the woods. Hello grandpa, it's me again! Here I sit holding your hand I have no more tears Soon you will see grandma Please tell her hi, and I know you will be there the day I die Bye, grandpa Give grandma a kiss, and tell her I miss her By; PD
I carry my mother like a rock in my pocket that I just can't seem to throw away It serves me no purpose, it just weighs me down ~~~ When I first found it, when I first picked it up and started carrying it with me, I thought it so beautiful – I could look at it for hours But, like my mother, it never looked back at me, never grew warm under my loving gaze For the longest, I was blind to that, Blind to anything but the beauty, blind to the cold, hard, beyond-remote nature of the rock, of my mother, my stone ~~~ I carry my mother, a thought without weight And she's heavier and she's colder than all the stones there are ~~~ By the time I recognized her immutable, emotional unavailability, I had run out of joy, felt depleted of hope – But I could not, for the life of me, stop seeking a beauty, a warmth, inside her heart Could not stop wishing that one day this stone, my mother, deep inside my pocket, Might just become its own opposite – Change from hard to fluid, from cold to warm But my rock, my hard burden, will only turn to water When my mother stops being a stone
Long before the written word in a sheltered hut, a mother and her baby rocked to peaceful hums and gentle song. Long before a purposed rhyme, in cadence to drummed hollow logs or paired with trill of ivory flutes, a mother and her baby rocked to peaceful hums and gentle song. Children told a bedtime tale of quiet thoughts with loving prayers while, there, outside, the thunder rolled, and when her wounded hunter fell or her soldier lost at war, a mother and her baby rocked to peaceful hums and gentle song.
Modest woman moderate woman Your inner beauty strikes me Like the tongue of noble eloquence More than gold even refined gold Or our purged fulgent silver. Black woman proud woman Your pride is not haughty But a humble pride of eaglets; Your black eyes are so glittering As the eyes of our dark rivers Filled with messages of peace That banish the broody turmoil From those panting hearts Of your foreigned offsprings. Gentle mother diligent mother Your kindness kindles the fires Of my heart – Your dexterity dresses The table of our ageless history And the thought of your being – Oh kind mother! – Makes the most delicious menu For my heart. I remember your naked feet Fast and fair as a pigeon's limbs Treading the invisible paths Almost covered by shrubs Small shrubs misted by the prime mist. I remember the wood from the wood The water from the water And manifold items from jungle alleys Borne by your delicate hands And upon your soft black-haired head. I remember the constant match To markets and to farms And your bright face smeared with The ash dust Making you more beautiful Than any woman whose feet Ever touched the naked earth. I remember those burdens Upon your cheerful kin-souls And babies strapped to your backs Babes full of unspoken words To unborn others in patient wombs Waiting in an endless turn – Indeed, mother is dove! A black dove and a dark huntress A hunter's gift from the maker? Mother is like a weaver-bird Building a big foot-like nest Filled with corn and warmth A bundle of eagle-flight Mother is dove And the hunter calls her The clan's eternal dove. Oh, mother loving woman Gentle as our black horizon To you we humbly come From these far and lonely lands Hoping to grace our love and beauty Before that jealous grave Makes her temporary feast.
See the woman. See the face behind its age. See the beauty of her form. See the way her way becomes her. See past her once taught skin, as it was when it enflamed many a man. See the way she holds her head; the tilt of her neck, the ease of her being. See the strength that binds her jaw, unrelenting in its flex. See her hurt displayed, as shadows fall like night upon the earth, eager for rest and resolution - retribution, for the one she could not save. See her darkness. See it very well. See it shatter like glass, glinting, when she giggles like a girl. See her shine. As the shades of dark days rise, See the years that grace her eyes, like rays of her own sun exponentially shining forth. See forgiveness in her patient hands as they weave memories with a touch. See the breadth of her breasts, unapologetic, for they have quenched her children's hunger, soothed their frantic cries, and became the safe haven for her beloved. See her empty, scarred abdomen – round and perfect in its imperfections, once holding the essence of all things; carrying creation within – see the divine home of God. See the innocent baby, the impetuous youth, the voluptuous woman, the devoted wife, the selfless mother. See the wisdom of the grandmother – the epitome of every moment lived for someone else, and the realization of the circle. Hear the acceptance in her sigh. See the gifts she has given – see the woman! See the goddess! The beginning and the end! See the infinite that bares the name, Woman! See her for all that she is and isn't. Smell her scent and know you are home. Taste the strength of her words on your tongue. Hear her experiences like your own. To touch her soul is to touch perpetuity! See her face in your mirror. See the tears that fall proudly upon the woman you've become, and hope yet to become in time; when you have lived through all that has been set before you – tasted each woman's tears as if they were your own. When you enter that perfect union, timeless ancestry; when you become, when you come full circle; you will see yourself in all things, and your journey, will see you back home. *Reposted for Chris's Get Your Rebel On, Contest! This was written with my Beautiful Grandmother in mind. She saved my life in more ways than one. love you, Gran. This one's for you. (and every woman, and woman lover, here)
It is thirty six years ago, and I am with her in the garden, where July is a picnic of egg sandwiches, cress-stippled, the fuzzy down of peaches, acid-yellow tang of lemonade. Her fingers have the delicacy of dancers as she deftly mixes paint on a palette blue as the sky - blobs of acrylics bright as sweet shop candy. Summer is a sizzling colour wheel, spinning in its heat hues - cadmium orange, pyrrole red, gold ochre - those fever flames that blaze across her page. My small world is warmed by the sun in her smile. Russian vine stitches a delicate doily over the shed roof. The heat-glazed garden shimmers and buzzes. There is a twilight world under sweet clusterings of lilacs: a cool shock of shade, pendulous-legged black flies hovering in the murky mauve. China white stars of jasmine light my way. Please keep me close. Let me stay. * It is twenty six years ago, a morning of mourning, and the notes of the dead bells toll as, mist-muffled, they roll through November's sleet streets. I close my eyes and the sun in her smile parts the clouds. Sober-suited people crush and cluster in pews; row upon row of perylene black, winter-pale faces titanium white. Stained glass windows filter and warm the ash-grey light until her coffin is a vibrant palette of rainbows. There are stories - lots of stories - anecdotes, a crimson-backed journal she wrote, a painting she painted, coffin-propped, a poetry reading - one of her own - Tapestry is a wondrous thing, in it the lovely colours sing. . . Creamed rice-colour roses heap sweet on her stone - a slate plate serving up a dead name - and carnations splash cadmium scarlet like blood throbbing from the gash of grief's raw wound. * It is now, and I am alone, taking a short cut home through evening's rich palette. Elegiac elms shed viridian tears, and the sky is a burnt sienna explosion. October's umber seeps into November's sepia tones. My mind is coloured with her and then. I hold a small cameo box that held the colourful spill of her pills: kaleidoscope planets orbiting my loneliness, spinning off into nothingness. . . Dark figures fill the park: silhouettes, shadows following me home; spirits stepped from her portraits, faces pushed down into coat collars, crinkled with frowns. Paint-pinned people in their primaries and pastels, on canvas, under glass; stopped heartbeats of the past. Trapped moments on paper and boards. I close my eyes and see the sun in her smile, recall how, since her passing, life has become a free fall, a parapet leap without parachute. And the smudged charcoal lines of memory are beginning to blur, fading like her watercolours. . . in memory of my grandmother
In the drawer Behind all the white t-shirts Packed away in the corner where It is safe, I keep you. You are hidden No one knows you're there, Except me. I take you out to see your Smiling yet depressed face. I realize the trouble you went through Just to make sure I live a better life Than you did. Here you hold your baby one last time Before sending him off to a Life without poverty. He doesn't say goodbye because He is so small and innocent. You give him a little kiss and say Goodbye my sweet child. So I thank you Sweet, sweet, lady. I'll put you back In that safe little place, So that when the time comes For me to meet you, I will find you before You find me.
In the past, my country cradled me within her womb, but our roles reversed. I held her in my arms, felt her slip away. I lost my country today. Gave her up to synthetic medicine, deficit spending, and pie-charts overseas. They wrenched her from my arms, took her from my loving arms to poke, to prod and draw blood. I prayed while watching attempts made at her resuscitation, as greedy hands held out pens, prodding me to fill in the proper forms. The world is on lithium, the drug has defiled the last drop of clean water. My country was on lithium, for her, the vibrant colours turned into dull grays, and in the end, her heart gave way from having spent too many decades trapped within a gilded cage. She had an organ donor card - her organs were sold off one-by-one while she still clung onto life. Her organs were removed, replaced with waving flags and roaring stadiums. Men from every standing, race and creed, groped Motherland's body after causing her to bleed. Many men had laid with her. Oh, how they did. At least some men showed decency, graced her with meaningful caresses. But they were far and few between - between the rape, miscarriages and spoils. Lithium is being slipped into my drink, into my food, into the very air I breathe, so daily I purge, horrified by my country's overdose. She looks decrepit, splayed out in the morgue, a cardboard ticket hanging from a big toe like an empty, whorish price tag. I will have to give her a proper burial in my mind, for they are going to have Mother embalmed, encase her in a glass coffin, and put her on display. Our Mother passed away, yet the land is here to stay. I will walk across clear-cut ridges, pass through neon-lit distractions as a gypsy vagabond. From now on, the territorial lines mean nothing more to me than rules to follow. The shell of this country remains, Nationalism has turned empty-hollow. I lost my country today. Gave her up to synthetic medicine, deficit spending, and pie-charts overseas. I lost my country today, held her in my arms, watched her slip away, felt her slip away. April 30th, 2012
When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong. I wanted to be able to compete with the boys and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time. They called me 'She Hulk' because of my muscular frame and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants. After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed, I've only ever wanted to be feminine. I started wearing skirts and dresses and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair. But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew until I became a mixed drink cocktail with one part anorexic and two parts lonely, because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail. No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us, how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton. I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds, so cold and frozen, yet I still considered myself a 'She Hulk.' You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin, as if somehow my bones were dirty knives just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment. As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough. Not good enough to speak poetry. Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas. Not good enough. Not tall enough. Not big enough boobs for them. Not primped to perfection. Not undeniably straight. Not smart enough. Not dumb enough. Not ditsy enough. Not cool enough or fun enough. And I began to believe, too, that I wasn't enough. I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl. I never told anyone about the night we first kissed because I was too vulnerable for the judgment. And parents always justify saying that 'kids will be kids' But when we are kids our brains are still growing and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom into one giant regret, will one day affect the choices that we make, will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear, will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be. I only ever wanted to be strong, and as a child I thought strength was only about being able to lift a bar stool above your head. I thought that strength was only about being able to beat the boys in bare foot running races. I was told that strength was something only a man could have. But as I've grown older I've realized that strength isn't about muscle at all, but it's about weakness, and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness. It's about carrying around a lifetime of baggage on your broken back because the ones that kicked you when you were down are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong. I thought that the definition of woman began with the word disappointment. And I became a mixed drink cocktail with one part freedom and two parts Sailor Jerry because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile. We are not disappointments. We will never be the ones who gave up on hope. We will never be the ones who gave up on each other, or god, or our mothers. We will always be enough; enough for the ones who shunned us enough for the ones that cursed us enough for the ones the hurt us and destroyed us and beat us when we were covered in bruises. But you see, bruises fade and the scars of our flesh are only stories things we have overcame and there are things out there that we will overcome. When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong. I hid my vulnerability. I hid the parts of me that were true. I never told my mother about my girlfriend because I was afraid she wouldn't understand, kind of like all those people who never understood just how much words effect us. I can't say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore, because, well, I smoke cigarettes now. And I can't say that the nickname of my childhood didn't affect me. But I take that name now and embrace it. Because I am strong. I am the 'she hulk'. I am a mixed drink cocktail with three parts greatful.
It will hurt like a tattoo guns sting as the ink infiltrates your skin. Your first love will be like a tattoo on your heart, buried deep, always remembering the blessings and pain he gave you. Be with a person who fills you with fluttering hummingbirds even after the first and second and tenth kiss who drinks the nectar of your demons and sucks them lifeless. There will be men who you think will carry you forever but after so long of holding your feet above the water they will throw you down. They will not reach out a hand to pick you back up. They will turn cheek, kissless and forgotton. You will stand with dirt palms and fall back into his inferno. There will be loves like this, who convince you to prick yourself with safety pins, the ones who carry guns on their backs but never shoot to protect, only to hurt. The ones who drink all the water, leave you parched in the desert of his mistakes telling you that they are your own. The ones who shoot arrows in your lungs and you lye bleeding believing that the color of your blood is true love for him. The hour hand will spin around the clock too many times before you leave him. It will hurt. You thought it was true, but after the death of it you will realize you deserve someone so much sweeter than a bitter apple. Love the one who doesn't cheat you blind, but instead comes to you with truths in his wretched palms and waits for you to forgive, but never gives up and never stops wishing that the past could rewind that he could change the things wrong that he did to you. Love the one who feeds your heart warm apple pie, who cries in front of your children, who drives them to school and hugs them when they get home. Be with someone who doesn't ask for you to change but instead loves your mistakes cradles them within his fabric lungs breathes them in with a grin. Love is an interesting thing. You will be thrown out of a moving car to the side of the road. Some will come running back to you. Don't jump back in the front seat, just run and run and run and run until you find someone who buckles the seat belt for you. Drives five under the speed limit, takes things slowly and waits for you to be ready to accelerate. Daughter, I am here for you. Remember me, the one who loved you first, the one who will never stop loving you. Come to me after he breaks up with you. You can cry on my shoulder, and ill wipe your tears with my sleeve. Daughter, Find a love who loves you the way that your father and I love you, the way that your grandmother loves you. Find a love who already considers you family. Who meets you and looks into your ocean eyes and drowns peacefully into your heart.
Can you see them run to me – arms wide and laughing, calling me, Mama: keeper of the stars, moon and hearts? Can you see them kiss away my pain, healing every hurt that's ever marked me broken, dead or dying? Can you see them hurt me? When they curse me, flay me; ground me with their unformed anger and bravado-uncertainty until they fly behind doors, crying over what they've said – wishing they could take it back? O', does that pride HURT! It stabs the chest and holds…holds…holds. Can you see them behind doors and feel their wishful hearts burn? Can you feel them loving me through it all? Love is not something easily hidden. Love like that breaks down doors – sees through them. Can you see my tears; feel the weight of them on your cheeks? They are yours. Where you are (past the furthest/closest door) can you see me in them? Can you see the love I kept hidden in my dark and painful dungeon? You never knew what he did to me – but deep down, I blamed you anyway. There was only you left, you see; always you. Can you see, I'm just like you? If you can see me, you know. And if you can hear me crying through this God Damned pen (all those notes – all those written sorry's slipped beneath doors - you must have known that even at 37, I'd write you my heart in a note!) You, Gran/Mother, are my one and only regret. That for 7 years, I treated you like a burden, a bother, and a barrier. I treated you like you should have treated me – an unintentional intruder; like something taken, not given. But worse than that, I treated you like an acquaintance. Knowing how badly that must have hurt you, makes me want to be kicked in the face until I am unrecognizable; to the rest of the world, and myself. But life's not like that, is it? No. You knew that, too. My baby boy has your nose, ears, and eyes. Do you think that if I whisper in his ear tonight while he sleeps (between you and me – at the doorway), you could hear me? Tonight, I will whisper love in his perfect ear (pressed up against heaven's door) - maybe you will hear me say, "Indy…Gran, I'm so sorry. If you can hear me, please give me a sign so I will know you've heard me. I want to see you smile again – just one more time…please… let me know that somewhere, behind the door, you forgive me…" And in the darkness of his bedroom; the moonlight covering his small face like an angel's kiss, the baby boy in her likeness, smiled.
' '''''''' ' '' Somewhere a hand is reading out loud a Dickinson, a leather-worn journal recording daily life's soirees, memorizing rain and shielding little girl's eyes from the blasting words of the sun. Somehow someone reaches from darkness to drive the shadows that meet the body of her child: trembling with excitement or fear, sliding tender fingers on the back; parts the arms like wind that rushes in all seasons to reveal the lush, delicious landscape of summer ; then rubs the elbow down the forearm to greet the cheeks with a kiss and watches while the hands move back without help or guidance from the daughter sleeping. ~ Somewhere a mother, grandmother, godmother, stepmother, or mother nature weeps over love's broken child; uses her hair to bandage the wound on the youth's head …unfolds her hands from prayer to widen the window of angel psalms pressing her lips into alleys of the sapling's mouth: a tear transforms her from receiving to giving. ..and she feels without seeing the last light of the night; lit for the heart of those who witness its extinguishing * Somewhere death's chariot prepares for a long journey, away from the living: pack the roses from tomb to womb, remove the thorns for gracious sake, like knives that pierce the heart of loved ones who cannot move on, pulling the orchards over her head; a name whispered in every fireplace she flamed * * And somehow tonight, I hear her stir, still clinging to the waning voice of the hours; she bequeaths stars I will inherit until she, at last succumbs to wispy bliss. And I, a sighing child must tell her: " Wake up, you've been in bed so long, Mother, you should not be sleeping…" ~ © ........ .... ........ *with love to my Mom who had passed on* Gautami Phookan's Poet lll Contest by nette onclaud
A precious gift! Joy unimagined fills my heart She smiles! My heart races, leaping! And like a butterfly in spring, gliding, It dips among new blossoms Like a sweet melody playing softly in the cool of the evening, I soar! My baby, my first, like an angel sleeps Soft, warm and brown I stare in awe of this most perfect gift from God! Tiny almond-shaped eyes, sparkle- searching Nothing as beautiful have I ever seen! She cries and her teardrops like crystal daggers Pierce, my joyful heart! And like a wounded sparrow it plummets Free-falling, and I am left puzzled...confused Nervous, I gently hold her close to my breast I am sure she can feel my heart beating.. Suddenly our faces brush... she turns- Our eyes lock, and smiles ripple! My first born--all is well in my world. © 1992 ~*~
The light is muted, glowing ever so faintly and I cup my hands to shelter it from the harsh wind... It flickers, it wavers, and my heart does a triple dive then beats back to normal as I see that flame fight, become steady, and stand up against that wind. I've seen this happen before, but it always tries to shine forth with a ferocity that can only be fueled by love and faith... A different gust, another typhoon, yet still it tries to beam... This light amazes me with its tenacity. I go through life with only a mere spark of it in my heart But how proud I am to have been borne from it, to have it with me, burning in my soul. This light is awe-inspiring... with just a kiss from it and warmth abounds, never burning out, rather, sharing that glow to brighten lives. I fear though, for the light is muted, glowing ever so faintly and I cup my hands to shelter it from the harsh wind... Taking deep breaths, we search for ways to make that flame glow strong again, burning as bright as before A strike of a match for a candle, with its smoke weaving its way to heaven, to say a prayer for that light to keep on glowing The wick may be short, the wax melting faster than we would want it to... But the light is still there, and that gives me hope. 12272011238p322 Ilaw --pronounced 'ee-lao' as in 'how'; meaning "light" "Ilaw ng tahanan" is a Filipino idiomatic expression that refers to mothers; This phrase can translate to "light of the home"
Brother of the Quill Join me in a dance For mother sings nightly And father sleeps within a trance Deerskin feet they'll never hear our steps Through hemlock and the fields of wheat All night long we will dance Moon Mother lights our way And our ancestors shine as bright stars We will run as the wolves And sing from our hearts Brother of the Quill Join me in a prance We will shoot stars with our arrows And wish for another dance Deerskin tents They'll never hear the swish Of when we sneak back in And fall asleep before Father wakes again
Though many songs are written of angels I must add to the empire This small hymn to a woman, a champion of life Nameless here, but named in all things good and pure I'll stand beside her work, her artistry astounds the stars And all light that is given is humbled in her presence Every worry is smoothed away, all tears absolved God, let me take her sadness into me and carry it for her Until I am old, and then I'll have my chance to see her once more I am not a religious man, but she brings the divine to me And cradles me forever in her selfless, adoring arms I love you mother, I love you I will always love you
My one burning wish - I want not to fade away like rotten lace, dumped onto a trash heap and forgotten. I want to leave myself behind, for those who come after to inhale during breakfast. Not money, like my mother, who judged it to be the only thing of worth she had to leave behind, as though her love meant nothing, as though her virtue didn't count. A nonpareil pattern of motherhood, of personhood for that matter, written in permanent script, propagated in layers of goodness, flung onto her progeny with the glue of infinity. As long as I live, so will she. I want that, when it's my turn to go.
From a babe to a man, I needed your hand. Now I understand, it was part of God's ultimate plan. I was to be raised by another woman. Don't get me wrong, Grandmomma was something! She gave me all the love a child could need. She was always there for me. Truly a blessing! No Mother, you don't owe me a thing. Not even an explanation. I can't sing, so I wrote this dedication, tTo show my appreciation. Momma, Momma you're still #1. No matter the distance; rRegardless of what you've done. As God is my witness, I'm still your son. Yes I hold resentments, and that is hard to ignore. My hurt I can't hide. When you kicked me out. And out of your three children, why was I the one you let go? From afar you watched me grow. Did you worry about my well being? On the surface, looks can be deceiving. No, I was not well. I was actually a child living in hell. Easy for you to say "It's over, it's the past". I was forced to grow up too fast! Momma, Momma you're still #1. No matter the distance. Regardless of what you've done. As God is my witness. I'm still your son. I remember spending the night with you and that was such a treat, just to escape the hurt from being beat. Looking back it was a real tragedy. I felt you didn't love me. You were my Mother but you gave me up so easily. Grandmomma became my only family. The only person I could rely on. But now she's gone. Even now as a grown man, I feel so alone. If I could sing, this would be my song-- Momma, Momma you're my queen. For you I would do anything. I just want you to be proud of me. Whatever I've done, please accept my apology. I'm not perfect, never claimed to be. But I am strong. Especially dealing with this pain for so long. I just hope we can finally be a family when I come home. Dedicated to my Momma "Phyllis Ann Lopez" Note: Thank you Poetry Soup for allowing me to share another piece of my life. From both pieces "For Grandmomma" to this piece "For Momma" you can picture my relationships with both women. My mother was far from perfect...But no one is perfect and I love her all the same! Jimmy
Unsung Hero – My Mom My Mom has always been unassuming, never flashy, But her name deserves to be up in bright neon lights. My magnificent Mom, Olegaria, is my hero! In her eyes, no one is a zero, And she is a blessing to all who crosses her path. Successfully raising her own five children, She also helped to raise all the stray children in her neighborhood. Her guiding motto is "You can't believe in God and Not care about others - whether it is people, plants, or animals." An extraordinary human being, generous to a fault, She would give her last slice of bread To anyone who needed to be fed. Nothing, including her time, is too good or too precious To share with family, friends, and even strangers. Often she'd sacrifice her own happiness, If it meant that others would be happy. While Mamacita is very humble, forgiving, and non-judgmental, She is nobody's fool and can be a fierce lioness, Quick to defend her values and those she loves. Caring mothers like her are especially rare today, And should be declared national treasures. Because of her powerful influence and the solid values she instilled, I am a stronger, kinder, more conscientious, and better person. My Mom helped me to see life in a more positive And compassionate way – to treat people How I would like to be treated. Even though she is not a regular church-goer, She prays several times daily and her home is her altar. I thank God every day for blessing me with this wonderful mother, And for her continued presence in my life. Mom, you will always be my hero! Entered in "Unsung Hero Contest" sponsored by Carol Eastman (7-30- 2014).
I might make a noise right now There will be a time when I go silent Will you miss my racket? In those days of silence? I will no longer yearn for your presence Like I do at this very moment Will you wonder? Will you wish? For that good morning? I might be a nuisance right now I might ask you the same thing over and over One day Some day My voice will go silent All I ask today is be patient with me Please love me; with your ears Please love me; with your time Before all you will have Is my grave and the memories… "Thoughts of the aged - loneliness don't discriminate " ©134517022015
As I spoke of being walluntorspearsed*, He farlossteeled and I stumbled. Can't words return to their nest? Whispers I've heard of his moogsmoorwood* flight, Though from him I receive little but those looks that churn my loreeleame until I am soft. And yet, I am no different than he, Keeping tales tucked in a vault, My skirmish with the Wartanwusters* Who easily pried my closed carriage wide, And left me empty of sight and thought. Twice I have not spoken but lied, He thinks I'm like the fruit of the Kalamyreeno, Sweet and layered and unseeded inside, So I bury all those salty secrets deep ~ My battles with the Grimm-gloommers*, And my resurrection in the Valley of Forgetrampt. I'm like my mother and her mother before, The blade in my blackarath belt is tinged, And my soulcleave shield is singed by war. The taste of salt and fury urges me forward. How can he not see me, When I stand in his highleaven light? Does he not recognize the truth in himself? When will he tear open the door and cross the abyss to my armored side? He is teeming with answers, So refuses to meet me halfway! Yet, I carefully, quietly follow, Slaying Grimm-gloommers* and others, The Narkavenomites he hasn't noticed watching his drawn curtains at night, And I will guard him, though the world drops, For I will never stop walluntorspearsing* about him. …If he knew of my strength and the power I yield, He'd turn from me. For what is man without pride? *the words thus marked are the sole creation of Chris Aechtner and used (gratefully)with his permission. About this poem This a reply to Chris's brillant poem On the Wings of Moogsmoorwood. His poem was so gripping that I wanted to 'answer' it, as other poets of old have done to works they found inspiring. It is difficult to try to recapture a feel a poem has, keep its style, and yet still inject your own voice and nuances. I thank Chris for his encouragement and suggestions in this attempt. I really enjoyed trying his pen on for size!
We said our goodbyes in June, and the months since blur into mist. At unexpected moments, awareness of loss hits; tears spill unbidden. Family gathering, Christmas Eve as usual . . . minus one. We quietly exchanged gifts, found flowers from her funeral crafted into hand-made jewelry, kaleidoscopes, treasured mementoes. I cooked grapes today, dark muscadines. I extracted seeds and peelings, and measured life-sustaining juice through the metal funnel she used from the day of her marriage. It came to me dented and bent, like her body had been at 93. I still taste those fresh-from-the-oven chocolate rolls after school, garden tomatoes warmed by the sun, hot biscuits with apple jelly, squeezed from the peelings after she baked crisp slices in cinnamon-rich pie. I'm glad I didn't know then, about being allergic to Cinnamon.
May is Mother's Month May is green spawning inchworms. I nest too cleaning closets, busily morphing contrary to my wont. Even the slothful move, to her blossom song. In a whistling fragrance I recall how mother loved lilacs and wearing shorts to show a model's leg. This was her time, the spring. Oh yes, and summer, I guess. Fall and winter, too. Quick now, the cycle is mine to ponder; lo, youthfully to long for me who follows me and calls me mother. ©Kathryn McL. Collins
Its Raining… God's Cleansing Tool Cloud-Concerto… How Cool ! Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools… who, don't have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain… … I think I'll go Join Them… Again Amen
In an effort to immortalize you, I gilded ocean size frames in gold leaf and painted your portrait with peacock feathers dipped in oils. I spelled out your name in bumble bee wings still quite attached to tame bumble bees hovering in obedience and formation in the sky I built a piano from felled red wood trees and carved your likeness on each key which I then filled up with ebony and abalone polish I traveled to Old Russia to the Crimean forest and pulled every wildflower up by it's roots and replanted them just for you, on the cliffs, overlooking the Black Sea. I tamed a black leopard and rode on her back 'round the world, with a banner, a list of your accomplishments flowing in silk for miles behind me, past onlookers reading your life. I sang gypsy music, as a siren on the wind while I wept and flooded each street with the depth of one tenth of the emotion you harnessed and kept at bay in your infinite quiet. I started with one person, your granddaughter, with your blue eyes her sitting on my lap, looking at me with a maturity past 3 years of age, and imprinted every memory of you in the air, for her to grab. You are not immortalized in portraits, or wings, or notes. You are not immortalized in flowers, or banners or sirens. You are immortalized, forever remaining, in the humble prayers of this innocent child.
A solitary piece the diamond precious rare gem most treasured by those lucky enough to hold Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp Like the gemstone the mother requires very specific conditions in holding fast her (family/) childrens love Treasured forever in her heart she will go out of her way to preen and protect them holding them dear to her deep within her maternal safe – the heart closely guarded by the mind Her infatuation of all treasures to her are totally understandable especially when you think to the complexity of structure and process taken in creation Just as from the 'unbreakable' in ancient greek this alletrope of carbon with strength of bonding between atoms is representative of that strong love between mum and child The maternal being could be compared to the superlative physical qualities of the stone Even the characteristic luster of this gem so prevaient from its ability to disperse light and colour compared to the many strengths, roles and qualities of the mother seen by the many she deals with daily A most high pressured job versus the high pressured temperature within the Earths mantle that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to Infants delight and ignite the forbearer just as the jewel would dazzle the room a mother's love encaptures the magical luster of those she's birthed and nothing stands inbetween this richest of cargo's
To be called .. ~ Grandma is a Honor ~ I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren ~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~ ~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~ For he loved his Brother so much in the womb , he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin ~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~ Time passed another gift to see we are " Mickes" and Loved Our Dad held the title in Baseball ~ that's how we roll ~ those children are Grandmas hero's The Irish they love big and Family is everything The brothers will protect the beautiful sister ~ as many lads will be calling ~ Every time my Grandson hits a home run There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs ~no one runs faster then my Grandson~ either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given These children have been blessed~ ~ a beauty to hard to describe If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom That girl can stop Traffic after raising three and still~ "Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren " May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
Their tongues are laced with poison. They stretch and crane their necks, Trying to get as many licks in as possible. Their rule is unstable, always shifting. They licked the wrong person this time. She had beauty and power in ways they never could. Their lick did not make her scream out in pain, It made her roar with frustration and anger! She sat quietly, playing with the animals. She was waiting for her mother's return. Her mother's roar shook the very ground beneath her. The sky turned a foreboding gray as she raced toward her mother. "I will not stand for their ignorance! I have stayed in this land for too long. I will move to where their rule can't touch me." The mother, upon seeing the daughter, smiled softly. "You do not have to come with me if you don't want to. The choice is up to you, my love." With that, the mother went to her house to pack. But, she will not leave until the daughter has made her decision. "What should I do? The people here have been so nice to me! I don't want to leave them, but what about this ruler? Do I really want to support someone with no sense to rule? Maybe if I just live a quiet, reserved life here, I'll be okay!" Word had gotten around that she was thinking of leaving. The ruler decided to try to use her against her mother. "Why leave your MANY friends because of one person?'" Out of all the works she has done, this is the only one they commented on. They must think she's stupid. She never wanted to get involved, But they are trying to force her into this. They have over stepped their boundaries. The announcement about her and her mother had been taken down. After, an announcement was made indirectly saying that theirs were irrelevant. She had enough of this pettiness and had made up her mind. She is leave side by side with her mother.
Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two, and this story . . . Here, let me take your hand and I'll fluff up that pillow for you How odd that the wind is nowhere today- Whistle a happy tune for me, love Don't you always say that whistling calls the breeze, invites it in? It's never failed before, just as seeing you never fails to put a smile on my face ...I can almost forget the pain Whistle for me, and I shall sing for you This is how I've always imagined us, in a garden, the wind tickling the leaves as we both immerse ourselves in music and laughter, with the birds joining us in our song... Just hold my hands, keep them warm as we bask in the sun's golden rays... seems like forever since I've felt it Don't be afraid to close your eyes, love I'm just here ...let me watch over you for once You haven't slept for days, let me do this and sing you a lullaby Hush, wind, hush let my voice soothe his heart this time I can feel your pulse- it beats so much faster as mine slows down, slipping... much like the sun slips from my eyes, my final sunset. Forgive me, love, for leaving you this way I know you wanted to be awake when I go But you've been so tired, and I don't want to see your eyes' lights die as my own flicker and fade It's better this way, believe me The two of us imagining a garden, hand in hand As the wind breezes past, so shall I... forever in your breath, my love dwelling in your heart, fanning those flames and when you feel that wind has left you, remember what you always do... Whistle and I am there 08172011400p433 My maternal grandparents were my inspiration for this, so this holds a special meaning for me. This actual scene didn't actually transpire, although certain events inspired what happened in this poem. My grandmother was a soprano, my grandfather did always say that, to whistle to call the wind... Even if she was 11 yrs younger, she died 12 years earlier than he did. Theirs was a beautiful love story.
My Son Moon and Star ~ Approaching the celebration of his Birth cherishing the gift I received within weeks of conception I knew something amazing was in Creation ~ the Stars held a party sending me with one of their own Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky It was magic It was destiny taking its flight. In love with an October full moon drawing and painting I liked thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~ caught in a loss of time Hours going by as choosing my color a wittness to three falling stars A clear night sky sparkle's A once Famous Star was sent inspiring the tiny child inside ~ Never a doubt in my mind at all child bearing was worth any pain received yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~ one to cherish and hold My Son was born the following August ~ working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year as the set of Leverage for 3 years . Has done a Indie movie here In Paris it was seen and honored coming soon filmed in Portland ~ "The House of Last Things " awaiting the credits , you will see 1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant My Young Lion Mans dream ~ A proud mom I watch every show and the credits as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago My Son & Moon and Star A name you will all know ~ Happy Birthday to my creative Son you will exist in my heart forever~ and thereafter Mom
Sometimes, I cannot help but sigh and wonder-- wonder deep inside of me whether I could ever be like you. I riffle through the pages of my soul and find a lot of them empty Unlike yours, which seem to be bursting, blinding, bursting, and still continuing to burst with brilliance... So much so, that your soul's light has spread far and wide, very much like sunlight's fingers opening the morning sky curtains, touching and warming those who need it. Tanglaw Each step that you take, each breath that you exhale, each prayer that you whisper, each beat of your heart Tanglaw I receive a smile, and chat with that man who you've helped change... Because of you, the silent man now speaks, smiles. You sit down to rest, I see you talking to someone, and I am almost fooled, since you seem like old friends. Because of you, the lonely strangers become kindred. It mystifies me sometimes, of how you never seem to get tired. It seems like I am the one who gets tired for you, who gets worried for your own strength... Then I see that glow from all around, and I am reminded how you glean from this glow. I see you as this beautiful ball of energy-- Never static, bouncing from soul to soul, illuminating parts of themselves that even they never knew existed. It is so amazing seeing this at work, since the next thing I know, the place is lit up, Alive. ...and it is all because of you. It makes me feel unworthy at times, but oh how it also makes me feel so proud, that I am a part of you, and you are a part of me. I have a lot of catching up to do, since it seems I am lightyears from where you are But I will try. I will catch the tail end of your light, clutch to it with my life, winding it around me, let it embrace me--tight, so tight. And I will never let it go. Never. Until I also begin to glow. Until I too, become that ball of light. Hopefully when someone riffles through the pages of my soul, they will not find it blank, but filled with gilt pages of light. Just like yours. Bursting and brilliant just like yours. Tanglaw is pronounced "tang-lao" Where I live, mothers are said to be the "light of the home"...
I guess it's time to stop asking questions, and start answering them. Wipe away long dead evaporations; mined trails overgrown with new, more current vines. Time to remove the silver duct-tape from the face of killed memory; (the girl in the cavern who sits, wide eyed and bound at her skeletal ankles and wrists at the top of the wicked peak, looking for a way out – her green eyes wild and rolling like thunder and mustangs at the edge of the drop , looking for a way out of this buried-alive, hell) and replace it with white words whispered into my own children's ears. I cannot judge you. Just as I cannot judge her. We are all together in this moment. And although I'd love to be the high and mighty mother who says, "OH! I would never do that to MY kids – never!" I won't. I won't give him the pleasure. The one who turned you to glass; beat you until you were nothing but sunlight in your own mother's memory. She loved me as I love mine (including the young one who waits for her savior with the shining scissors; coming through the dark like rebirth and deliverance; like a cool cloth on a charred brow). So I will plant my Mother's Day lilac tree in her honor – burying the questions, honoring the love we shared and still share. We will leave our judgments at the door and sit beneath its amethyst blooms (my birthstone; your given gift of insight) exalting in the sacred heart of motherhood; laughing until we cry; feeding its deep roots with memory. © Kristin Reynolds 5 9 09 *Dedicated to my Mother this Mother's Day (I hope you are listening...)
Under canopy of majestic oaks, leaves swaying, gentle breeze, rustling of the dancing leaves, flying chirps, all species, joyous laughter, melodic sounds, like violins, bees abound, peace surrounds in backyard paradise. As I partake of nature's scene, eyes affix whites, magnolia high, reminisce of mother in the sky. Lessons of nature, she did give, exploration through wooded path, wild flowers we did name, birds' identity, toadstools find, love of nature by her design. Won HM in Mac McGovern's Best Poem Contest June 10, 2010
They fought the tide to own this land A fight I did not understand They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt But yet,…by God,……they owned the pride In retrospect, I'm still ashamed It was, my flippant pilgrimage I had come a stranger to this place About to step upon the moon, A cratered space of rocks and sage Of rolling hills, with no escape She saw it differently, of course Although her body weary, worn Her eyes were strong, ...she saw a home Her age was then, what mine is now It had been her home, and it had been her vow To come again, just one more time. I was thirteen, and dragged along I overlooked the great attraction I could not see the satisfaction I missed the light upon her face She saw the youth she left behind Her gray eyes drinking up the sun, I saw the dust, I saw the bones, Where she saw beauty, I saw none ..... Nothing more than a sea of weeds, the crumbling brick, A place to shuffle my restless feet But stories came, and they sunk in…. And now I view with wiser eyes… She told me all these things back then…but now, I smile,… remembering. They had to fight to own this piece of land They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt And yet,…oh yes,…….they owned the pride ~~ Recited on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAchI2nu9yY _______________________________________________________________ For Deb's Contest:....2nd Option..(With age comes wisdom, understanding and appreciation. I am never too old to keep learning and value those who came before and made me who I am.) ______________________________________________________________
Since first I saw you, it was your eyes, mesmerizing, your gaze transporting me to a realm, not of fantasy, real, where young men go when cupid's arrow takes root. Since first I saw you, it was your lips, captivating, holding me frozen in anticipation of our lips brushing for the first time. Since first I saw you, it was your voice, a crescendo, light, invigorating, each word you speak intensifies my hearing, enveloping each note, time ceases as I hang motionless savoring, memorizing. Since first I saw you, it was your hair, long, flowing, gently rising above your shoulders as a slight breeze passes through sending waves of your essence my way. The sun magnifying each strand, highlighting the minute variances of invigorating color, creating a halo effect, a portrait of your beauty forever imprinted. Since first I saw you, It was you, my love forever more for you, only you.
Why must the mourning come with every dawn? The sky is crying again today. I heard her sobbing as I laid in bed. She would calm down for a little while, then it would start up again. Did I do something to upset Mother Nature? I watched in solemn silence all afternoon as her tears streak down my window pane. I wonder what I can possibly do to comfort her. There are no tissues large enough to wipe away a streaming flood of sorrow. Maybe this is just Mother Nature's way of grieving, and soon it will pass. The newborn flowers open their blossoms to receive and embrace her gift. Mother Nature is so beautiful even when she cries. May 13th, 2014
My son, This journey begins with a step. always remember these words I told you they will be your guiding light in darkness My son, Do not slumber with your two eyes closed, When you own a pot of gold The eyes of traitors are watching. The storm might be uncontrollable But always listen to the desire of your heart, Its sighs are the ultimatum of success. My son, Do not yield according to the desire of the body It will take you to the highest mountain And thereafter, a big fall. Do not call your friends traitors You never know if they are truly for you. If the World turned against you Don't be dismayed hold on to steadfast love My son, Do not spit on those guiding hands that ratify you they are those sent from above to lead you Do not engage in a battle, You never know what will become of you. My son, Do not listen to the words of fools, They will sting you like scorpions. Do not yield to their advice, You will get drowned in their foolishness, And stabbed by their expectations. Do not accept their gift, You will get entangled in their deceit. Do not listen to rumors They are created by your enemies. If they ask for forgiveness, Always look at your back. My son, I have seen things, I have heard words, They were mine, but now your possession. Listen to these words They will make you grow in wisdom. Listen to the stars, The sky is more than your limit. Abide by these words, They will make you a leading light. My son, Cherish these words of wisdom, And you shall be the canopy of the cloud. Meditate on these word, And the moon shall be your stepping stone.
We were best friends, and I was so proud. She was my mother, and I was her child. Then fateful words were spoken aloud, diagnosis with dire consequences. Changes came day by day, remembrances lost, with pretend defenses. Simple tasks became great chores, challenges were impossibilities. Alzheimer's had captured her life, and I... unprepared for probabilities. Always searching for home, caused her to wander and roam. Fences, gates and locked doors, for her protection we had to condone. I was with her every day. I wish she had been there, too. We walked in her garden. The question came, "Now, who are you?" God needed her in heaven, but in his great wisdom knew I needed a while. He graciously conceded and gave compromise. He took her spirit, and gave me a special child. I gave her baths. I combed her hair, I clothed, fed, and put her to bed; God and I sitting till morning air. That fateful day sadly arrived, filled with such pain and sorrow. Goodbye my friend, my mother... my special child. I'll see you again tomorrow! Sweet memories I've treasured since that day, thank you for time to sort them in place. I am now more endeared to those times long ago when I was a child and she washed my face. April 2, 2010
One evening, much like any other striated feathers of pinks, and deepest primrose colored the clouds with facets of light tapering inward Traces of gold between each color as deep and clear as the sages A red sun overhead, grown weary with seasons, did not seem to notice that we were mother and child Whispering sounds of emerald breezes did not label me wise, nor her naive' We were two who walked equally side by side She lifted her voice, and spoke with an eloquence I had not heard before, and it was just as the twilight calls to the stars.... so that they will know just what to do Young spruces stood bolt upright, every twig stiff with interest, and with deep respect at her every word as if they were watching transformation in tandem, an exchange so delicately detectable That in one clinging moment, to the other, one of us was letting go of childhood, and one was letting go of the child Both of us looking to the sky for recognition I watched the sycamore shed beneath the load of spent yellow and gold Letting them softly go, without remorse while I did the same _______________________________________
Tender pats of a grateful mum Saved from deaths door and sure scorching The heat and ash were so close to overpowering When a savior reached out and lifted us to safety.... How can I say thankyou, you are my hero? I have not words but an overflowing heart I give what I have....a tender touch As I wipe the dust from your eyes **Written about a picture of a mother dog that was rescued along with her pups from a burning building by a brave fireman. The mother dog licked his face tenderly to say thanks for your help!
The moon so bold seems cold with a halo of midnight glow I sit mesmerized as the night grows old. I bleed still, even after all these years and I wait again through the night aching in the depths of my soul that no other seems to know the Loneliness that has become my companion. In the darkness we wait and confide in the other our deepest fears as memories fade in and out each season of change the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain this tempestuous foe of ours wails at the gates of midnight howling the warble of humanities last grace. How the comfort of minds and hearts turn from light to deep dark in the face of eternities long time clock... I ache with wanting, with need and passion it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar each night is fresh like the first when I faced realities shock. Who can wait with me? Who can hold this hound at bay? Who can cherish what little love left in me and make the broken whole? I ache to be loved again as the love that burns and waits inside of me. Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void that so many leavings have left? Cherish and love to honor and protect but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath? Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind and deliver my world to the gates of heaven with life, not death bridging the distance of pain? I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder, this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas with the brush held in your hand I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep as Loneliness and I keep each others company wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.
They called her Nell Her parents the brash rugged transplanted Irishman and the shy gentle Cherokee lady They called her Nell for it was a good solid name a proper name an English name They called her Nell The people in her southern Illinois hometown Not Injun or half-breed but respectfully Nell Miss Nell Said she was a right fine figure of a woman with her ebony hair and dark bottomless eyes Cheekbones towering over ruby red lips He called her Nell The rough unpretentious laborer who won her heart and her hand Called her the love of his life Teased her for her quick temper and her no-nonsense Southern Baptist way of living They called her Nell Neighbors with hands holding empty cups waiting for a little sugar or butter Waiting for a little kitchen conversation Calm soothing words without barb or bite which passed the lips of a woman unlike another They called her Nell The doctors in town respected her for she was nursing when they were still in knee britches and she never ever let them forget it They called her Nell Coal miners Hospital patients with burned lungs and broken bones waited to see her face each morning beneath her starched white cap Heard her no-nonsense stride moving through the wards Took comfort in her presence They called her Nell This diminutive lady who chased a little girl through the house with a fly swatter when she found me swinging on her four poster bed But couldn't bear to hit me when she caught me so she hugged me instead They called her Nell when she stood in her yard on a clear summer night and patiently taught me how to catch fireflies and put them in a jar with holes in the lid while hungry mosquitoes buzzed They called her Nell when she poured me ice cold root beer from a glass jug and served my favorite homemade vanilla ice cream while she told the most wonderful stories of my ancestors They called her Nell when she dropped everything to fold me in her arms and rock my pain away As her soft lips kissed my tears her voice whispered in my ear assured me that I would survive Told me to always remember what we cannot go through we just go over or around They called her Nell because that was her name and she wasn't to them what she was to me She was Nanny She was my grandmother who loved with all her heart
I am the woman. I am the only woman. I am the one woman. My name is Women. I nurse nations at my breast. Ripened bosoms set loins afire. Life spews forth from my parted thighs. Astride they clamp and drain desire. Lips, that part as seas once did, Guiding the yearning with silent voice. Plump and moist, they quench the arid Voices singing their grateful rejoice. My blood flows red, and rich, and warm. Tears stream rivulets borne of joy and sorrow. A rib once lost, hath given no reason to mourn I am perfected, I will lead all tomorrow. Woman, is my name. Woman, I am the one. Woman, I am the only one. Woman, the I am.
The amber moon, through window glass like time itself, looks much the same Some things have changed, some things remain Moonlight recalls... wind calls her name Her silken hair, her porcelain neck the strand of pearls, a diamond clasp I find them now, within my hand With envy now, moonlight comes in Covetously, it fondles rows of tiny orbs, which, one by one are miracles, with moons, within I hold the pearls within my palm and think of old Glenn Miller songs and mother dancing long ago She wore them like another skin back, long before my life began A grain of sand, then pearl becomes A part of her, .... a part of me So fragile, weak the thread is bare as if the sun might gaze too long a tarried glaze, the string would fray and pearls would fall and roll away Perhaps such things meant to be Each miracle, has just a while Glenn Miller songs have come and gone I'll put away the pearls for now so moon can own the night again ____________________________________________ Carrie Richards To hear Glenn Miller's rendition of "String of Pearls" click on the following youtube site:... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vY4gUhFVNfE
One night I was trying to put a wide-awake and unruly child to bed. She slipped, and slid, and giggled as she ran everywhere else instead. But then I finally caught her as she climbed upon her Daddy's lap. He ask her why she wouldn't go to sleep and monsters is what he got. So Daddy told her a bedtime story that calmed her down at last. His chair sat by the windows, where he could see the sky. She'd noticed that he sat there nightly starring at those stars. He told her to look for one that winked for it was Grandma saying good night. Another one would be Grandpa who would take her cares to heart. And one would be her Guardian Angel to keep her safe at night. But the best of all would be God who would be there to plot her daily course. Then look at all the twinkling ones…. They are the Angels as they rejoice. And the Aurora Borealis is the music to those stars. Now listen very carefully, and watch with all your heart… And you will see you're not alone in your bedroom late at night. For how can you be alone with so much going on just for you? Then Daddy gently picked her up and took her off to bed. Now she wouldn't go to sleep unless the curtains were open this night instead. Then years later I was listening as she put her own precious wee one to bed… And you will never guess… She said exactly what her father had said… I went back to that old chair and thanked her Daddy for his wisdom thru the years… And as I looked upon the stars… he winked good night to me, I'm sure…
UNGRATEFUL CHILDREN A parent's lament Children with Wings and Talons Pounce on the fleetest of hearts their Memories Soar over the Blood Transfusions Hospital frights of prematurity of EMS sirens HIV trembling tests Asthma Tents Breathless Worry atop cloud kissed Trees Sleepless Nights of bully battles Struggles with Education's foes Mad Escapes from Fathers of Violence The teary wave good bye for fledgling endeavors Day night day night day night…unending and Land on Slight Imperfections and Imagined Slights or the Shortage of Cash for Trips Technoshit New Shoes New Cars or other Dreams You Couldn't Buy.
Mom, Dad, How can i describe you? A friend of mine describes his parents as Clueless and lost Another said they are just mean and brat One who never wanted to hurt hers told me hers are Distant and lonely I met one who spoke in my ears That his mom is silly And his dad a drunkard Others call them evil, sinister, diabolical, and grumpy Though most choose to say it softly kind, giving, hardworking but unapproachable But how can I describe you, Mom and dad? Saying you are loving and caring Its an understatement How can i describe you? You teach me right from wrong, You encourage and support me , You laugh with me and wipe my tears away, when i cry Yes you are honest, You are wise, You are respectful, You are intelligent, You are a blessing, So warm, tolerant but patient, But that doesn't satisfy it all You're the reason why I'm so strong, Because you inspire You are the reason why am smart Because you nurture You are the reason why i believe Because you faith-filled When I need you, you're always there I hate defeat because you taught me victory Though today I have a confession to make When it comes to describe who you are to me I am just speechless Dedicated to my dad and mom James and Cinda Carter Like with every relationship, they have had their highs and lows But no one can rule out that its the best couple i know so far They love God, they love each other and them love me Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A Contest: A poem you have not entered in a contest Poet: Rodgers Roger Carter Date:7/18/2014 Time: 12:00:00 AM
Wise Grandfather Shaman, I am pure of Heart, I bathe beneath the Moon, and dry beneath the Sun, I listen to the Wind, I run with the Deer, I hunt with the Wolves, I fish with the Eagles and Hawks, I ride with the Wild Paints, And roam with the Buffalo, I grow with Grandmother Tree, Ever learning from her Wisdom, I am skilled in Warrior Ways, A strong Hunter, A compassionate Listener, A patient Tracker, I have gathered with the other women, Contributing to our tribes growth and strength, I leave no tracks of moccasins in the soft clay, My heart is pure, And I wish to continue my journy, Wise Grandfather Shaman, Allow me to enter your lodge, I will smoke from the sacred pipe, My heart is pure.
I must confess!! my mother was not there when i needed milk from somebody's breast Probably she was feeling stress - daddy used to beat her down living marks from the face to the chest Eventually mom left, living behind two sons; i must believe she thought it was best To do not worry about the rest - she kept on going forward and buildup a new nest I'm not writing this for you to criticize but rather for you to analyze That i had realize!! You couldn't ever gone back to get hurt and be utilize So you came to the deep south with only one purpose; not ever going back to the devil's mouth If i was you i would have done the same, but again, what about my sons you know what, don't take the blame Mother is alright!! I am very thankful for i am very bright Thank you again for giving birth two beautiful sons; worth introducing to the planet Earth
Once a place that sold cultivated pigment, the shop has become a catacomb, Windows entombed by cardboard boxes, deprived of the merest hint of life and I wonder if the gallery owner had intended a display of irony or focused rage. Gone, the watercolour weeping chartreuse, its soft backdrop of midnight blue, And the oil on wood with knife strokes applied so thickly, it almost moved, Charcoal sketches of thunderstorms hitting the shores of Port Elgin, greys loud. Dark now the halls that had sheltered dreamscapes, art of all disciplines and sizes, Squeezing themselves into corners and elbowing each other for my attention. I ache for that one perfect dove that called to me from an azure sky, the one who knew my name, but I did not have the funds to take him home to my little cage. He deserved a rectory or a view that would at least provide a kind of sanctuary. Oh, how his wings had beat against pulse points and one of his feathers tickled out a memory of a robin that had flown towards a cloudless sky, but instead had collided with a picture window; the contact point marred by a red, sickle shaped smear, and my grandmother had carefully wrapped the corpse in yesterday's news. I had trudged out to the garbage can, unseen, found the poor thing in its shroud, Snuck out to the garden and buried it amongst tall phlox and florid snap dragons, I'd succumbed to tears, wrenched by a world where beauty is fragile and disposable. Today people walk along the street, wearing blinders, holding devices that fail to signal that something living and real slowly starved to death, atrophied, and I watch a happy child point to a puddle, but her mother fails to see the large coin it holds. I recall a portrait that had enraptured like a sun shower, reminiscent of light and rain, A girl traipsing waves, almost overtaken, her footsteps disappearing under foam… And I silently apologize to those artists unmet, the ones who continue to meet panes. *Please click on the About my Poem link to see a picture of what inspired this poem... It has been closed for a while, but today, I walked past it and remembered the lovely art that I had once appreciated, yet was never able to afford.
One day I birthed you into this land We watched you grow as we held your hand You sucked your fingers during those years Then you brought your parents many tears I cried because I didn't understand All these hardships were not in my plan The choices you made were not just for you They affected the family too I vented with friends for oh so long One day I began writing poems Poems I wrote came straight from the heart I wrote about you from the very start Night after night you would stay away Deep down in all I could do was pray I would walk the floors night after night I learned my son was no where in sight What did I do to cause all this pain Why was my heart feeling all this strain Mom didn't tell me of these sort of days I guess this's the price that love pays
You were gone before my mind could grasp the brush which paints faces on memory's canvas. Vaguely, flashes of an open grave on a sunny winter's day - bare feet on my fourth birthday - and pitiful looks from unfamiliar faces. But I remember lonely childhood days when I would visit your grave bringing flowers picked from sandy fields - And other times I would just come and cry when it seemed I was the only child in the whole wide world without a mother. Poverty sent you to an early grave and was my childhood's constant shadow. Of all your children I was the lonesome one, always seeking solace in solitude, always wandering in lonely paths, an exile from embracing arms and motherly healing kisses. Through the years I tried to reconstruct you through siblings' tales of your mothering, Although heredity ensures that part of you will live in me and will continue in my off-spring I felt I needed more than scientific fact to find meaning in my sense of being. Death has stripped me of you but death has no power over love. I am a fruit of your love, and as long as I am able to approach someone in love, I am connected to you. You are long gone. I am still your son.
Happy birthday, Mom I wonder how many years have passed by Since I gave you my first tenuous smile Since you steadied my first faltering step Since the first time I called you "Mommy" You are the place I came from You are my first home You are an angel in human form Who lives inside my laughter And crystallized in my every tear drop I want to thank you For your heart, faith and hope For teaching me right from wrong For your tender care and warm hugs For all your steadfast love For filling my days with rainbow lights For all the times we have shared For always being there in my time of need For helping me deal with life's stresses For helping me accept my defeats For everything you have done For you made me a woman I am One birthday after another They seem faster each year I just want you to know that The years you devoted to me, You can trust, were worthwhile. Happy Birthday, Mom. You are the best Mom a daughter could have. ~For my Mom's B'day @July 12
She's the one who carried you in thy womb. Every day she counts until you grew. A happiest moment she ever had, Is when she first touched your little hands. She's the one in charged to everything. Twenty-four-seven,her duty never ends. Do the house chores,nanny and cook. Doesn't receive salary for her hardwork. She's the one who kept tears in the night. Just to assure a family will keep in sight. She endures all heaviness this life has bring. To keep her children away from fears. She's the one gives unconditional love. Forgive our sin, no matter how it hurts her heart. She has a bag full of smiles. A hug and kiss is all that she wants. As she gets old, please love her back. Repay her hardworks and multi tasks. Take care the way she did for us. We'll be a mom too,and do what she does. ~~ Dedicated to all Souper MOMs~~ **HAPPY Souper MOMS DAY!!!! **
'Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust' (No one is going to bust up MY insides, sew my eyes and mouth shut, drain my blood and pump me full of fluid then seal me up in a concrete drawer) Mama I was so young, so very young So very young and so very curious You were sitting in your favorite chair I was sitting on the arm of your chair "Mama what did they do to you in the hospital?" You parted your gown and I saw a flaming scar Something was missing… The lady with the bun on her head came into the classroom with an apple I was called out into the hall The lady with the bun on her head presented me with the apple I said "Thank you for the apple" She said, "You're welcome son" (Teacher had a grave look on her face, shaking her head slightly and muttering) The lady with the bun on her head said "I need you to come with me son" and escorted me outside where our car was waiting; grandma and grandpa in the front, daddy in the back with my two brothers. Daddy said with a wavering voice, "Boys, your mother has gone to be with the Lord" We rode home in silence… They even had a dresser with a mirror with plush carpet, end tables and lamps in the room we were escorted to They had you laid out in a bed with the covers folded neatly down but it was not really you… Someone had made a copy of you A life sized, porcelain doll image of you Grandpa went over and reached down "Look, she has her favorite earrings on Doesn't she look beautiful?" (Mama, I didn't think you looked beautiful at all) I remember asking daddy, "Daddy, how come, how come they gonna put mama in that drawer?" Mama I was so young, so very young I was at the ideal age of six mama Old enough to comprehend but too young to understand Old enough to hurt like hell but too young to know why I guess I miss you even now mama Mama, I guess what I miss the most is just growing up without you and that you never said goodbye… Oh mama... don't let them bust up my insides, sew my eyes and mouth shut, drain my blood and pump me full of fluid, then seal me up in a concrete drawer like they did you… 'Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust' (Cremation if you please)
"I only wish that these words could accurately paint your picture" Mother you are the description of beauty You're the definition of love. You are a precious gift sent from the heavens above. You are mountain peaks of picture-perfect peace You are grand valleys of valiance and virtue. With a presence so breathtaking, that lilies bow in awe before you. Mother you are graceful rivers of belief and refined streams of hope You are fabulous fountains of fidelity that so freely overflow You are the sun's radiance of courage. Your inner light gleams brighter than all the stars in the sky A sublime sparkle of strength and devotion is found in my eyes. You are my strong tower; you're my sanctuary of faith Mother you are a temple of wisdom, and in your heart I've found my refuge, My serene safe place Chiquita Chiamaka Baity Contest : 'Mother' Sponsor: Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
On a hill, by a pond, by a tree, in the woods, underneath a shining sun, tucked away and overlooked. There stood a line of ants that had come from far and wide, and with them each, a flower, for the Queen perched at their side. what a marvel to the eye, to see the colors in a row, from all creatures, save for one, who held fast close a pebble. The other ants were curious, and some questioned the motive, still, he had no taste for Daffodils, Tulips, or Roses. This pebble he clutched closely was by far the least impressive, no unique shape did it take, and not two colors caressed it. It smelled of nothing special and lay heavy in his hands, and the steps he took were short within the long parade of ants. But no regrets had he, and no doubt would strike his heart, for he would proudly shield his prize from rain, and light and dark. And thus, the day arrived when it had come, at last, his turn, so there, before the Queen, he laid his offering to her. The Queen looked down upon the gift, then quietly to him, she asked what had he brought to her and he returned with this; "My Queen, it is a symbol, and no ordinary rock, it is the ground, of which, I worship, upon which you walk. It represents the love I have for you in its stern face, though one color it contains, that color will never fade. It will not dry and crumple up or ever blow away, it shall stay for generations, and endure and not decay. -and I know I'm one of many, but I'm grateful just the same, my dear Mom, my Queen, my highness; have a Happy Mother's Day!"
A wedding is about the bride and groom So why does everyone jump to assume That they're opinions means the bible It's mothers and daughters that create this vicious cycle Moms want to throw their daughter the best day ever They're reluctant to think their dreams aren't the brides endeavor Its one day in life With all strings attached My energy sure feels the bite No matter how hard you try, People flake or become insane You begin to wonder, why? Then Eloping doesn't sound so mad All that matters is the bride walks down the isle with the dad The groom takes her hand A strong love is witnessed and spread across the land. Daughters keep your head and will strong It's about you and the groom, That's where the power belongs Don't let other steal your focus The moment you say "no" Treasured friendships may become bogus Everyone else, keep your mouth shut Wish there was a nicer way to say this, I'll just be blunt Doesn't matter what you think or do For once in your life, This day isn't about you!
The days pass from tea cup to tea cup in the peaceful silence of a solitary nest. From gentle easy sunrise through sheer white to the subtle fall of accordion night. The echoes of childish laughter tremble across the cracked surface of plaster walls. Random squeaks in oaken floors return the footfall of father, coming and going. Long lost cat's paw prints impress carpet dragons from Shanghai with ghostly ease, and every loved and loving one returns in peace, to rest beneath the tapping fingertips upon a porcelain cup of tea from China.
those days the sun flew like corn flour freshly ground at the millrace even in winter it was yellow when I pressed it down with my thumb like an unfastened button on my chest I hardly cut my way with a stick through the tall weed field until my knee high socks were filled with thistle tassels jumping over the fence like a thief into our apple orchard so no one knew where I was when the Big Dipper rose over the barn I slipped on the manger's opening inside freshly cut grass stealing my grandma's small chair for milking singing for the young foal with caramel skin those days all hearts were red and warm in the shape of a gingerbread heart each star was a story whispered by fairies in the daffodils' glade
Dear mum I'm sorry faith didn't give us Much time together For I long Every time I sit at a table For your delicacious Meals For every time I see A mother and child I can't help but wish It were us Every time I receive a hug I wish it was from you Every time I pick up A picture of you I wish you would talk to me Every time I pick up Your clothing I wish I could see you in them When I close my eyes I see your face Smiling at me When I look in the mirror I see you staring back at me When I listen To the song of the wind I hear a string of your voice Lingering Of course I love these things all And treasure them But I'll also like to Have the others I'm selfish And will love to have Them all Everything you is Always welcome I'll never run out of space For you.
On hearing your death What creep in my head was Akon's Pot of Gold Its melody within heart You have served your purpose So Rest in Peace Born to Love But it enslaved and betrayed And onwards you pressed Your foils nurtured your old age As strong as you were Your battle on the thin line You won hands down I admire You Last week I saw and greeted You were fit What an awesome recovery Indeed your Maker wiped your tears But now it is finished Well done As a kid I run onto your bosom on visits Then rained on me praises But I lost contact Next I saw you on life's field of war Then despised, not long I grew wise to know For with time all will grow Was in turn and showered care Hope you recognized Thanks for your Blessings My half seed of lineage May God lay you to a Peaceful rest Where Love will search to find you Your foils cry Swollen red are our fragile eyes Thousand thorns within our hearts Pain abounds here May your Spirit comfort us Smile down once again Smile down once again Memories well built would be well kept Strong willed, Religious, Grateful Lord we are thankful Yours forever A Single Parent's sweat lay to Rest in Peace. ©Kofi Asokwa-Nkansah
-to my mom... inspired by Nathan Fehr- I have to forgive you For what you have done For what you didn't do For leaving me in gloom Leaving us all wondering If you would ever return I have to forgive you Because you can smile away everything Because we need you And love you Sometimes I know That you would have stayed If it weren't for God's intervention You would have stayed with him If you hadn't been thrown out And abandoned We were your last resort I understand I do But that doesn't mean I am not hurt I forgive you For the worst and for the best We are blessed To have you back Though we will never truly understand What made you leave us all behind I guess you really loved him The loveless … I understand You wanted to make someone happy You wanted to fill that empty void But by doing so Others had to suffer But you didn't want us to suffer You were just tired of it Tired of doing everything We were your last resort We were abandoned And you returned With open arms And tears of bitter sweetness I have come to forgive you Because if I don't There you will go again Freed skyline pigeon And I love you So much Please don't leave us Let your wings rest
The highlights in your hair, so familiar Rays of sunshine, rays of love I can't remember a time without them I don't want to remember a time without you. The smile on your face is genuine, and Mother, I'll miss it so The smile of my own, quite similar; But I want you to know that I love you Just as much as I know you love me, So in the next year In the next two Please don't forget, ever, That I really love you. When I look into the brown of your eyes, And the soft growing wrinkles in your cheeks, (yet still that beautiful, youthful glow, leading people to believe you are my sister) Brings tears to the blue of my own. Mother, time is racing faster Though I'll miss you, I have to do this. I know in whom I have trusted I know in whom I'll trust forever. He looks over us, you taught me that, He will look over us, forever. I will miss your tan and freckled arms Reaching out to me before I walk upstairs, But for these next years, I have to do this. For these next years, I will be thinking of you. In the next year In the next two Please don't forget, ever, That I will always love you.
Eternally waiting for the second coming a mother's heart flutters weakly, slow snow fills the dreary sky the cars snake hypnotically forward twinkling red and gold lights the sky is full of travelers hoping for a soft landing mother's heart flutters slush streaked and faux-fur wet, bedraggled entry to the terminal obtained terminal, once inside the reality of the name brings clarity to the wait the stale high rise air twitters with sparrows, I perch as do they and wait plastic benches hold little Christmas cheer, the blackboard rolls flight 231 from San Francisco mother's heart flutters DELAYED Starbucks may be the only star in this evenings sky french fries grease the tile floor as a small child feeds the birdies Deck the Halls blares fresh from the can, a longing for cotton balls rises Soon soon I will see him again, the only egg we'd put in life's basket. The Black board cycles and flight 231 shows NOW LANDING a mother's heart flutters scarf and glove in hand the gate exit sought Like action figures each weary homebound traveler springs into the waiting arms of Mother or Father or the total gaggle of loved ones squealing and waving their arms mother's heart flutters home, home again, my son.
The man with the plastic bug in his head monopolized my dreams last night in the place that the horsefly of my dignity finally surrender to the impresario without a fight. Seven days and 7 hours transplanted in my memorabilia reminding the rustiness of the purple child flatterers danced beneath the clouds of melancholy and morality spreader the master plan inside my mind. The disinheritance of my immortality the final day discouraged my desire to see the forbidden love restored my will to escape manipulated the deep of the uncertainty above. Released from the plastic bug in my head try to cover my yellow child in the purple sky laughing,singing,whispering,playing seven days and seven hours before he dies.
they said when they found her she was frozen my god-mother who was a police officer told me they had to peel the ice laden sheets from my mothers face i knocked on the the door the night before when it swung open behind the iron guard gate i stared at champagne such an odd name for a pit bull having hated me for years he lunged at the gate why didn't i just leave? why? i ran to the back of the house and broke the window why was i panicking? broke the window to draw him to the back ran back to the front door and tried... mamma i tried.... to open the gate champagne such an odd name hit the gate howling and growling i wish i would have paid attention to how he looked at me i left defeated and asked the neighbor if he had seen my mom "not today" i found out the next day that my mom was frozen stiff on that bed all alone while i knocked outside
Entering the cave of a wide open mouth Pulling on the slippery uvula Reaching for the nasal cavity Taking a breath before leaping for the eye socket Where I view the world that plows the field of future Then taking dirt road veins to a house on 123 east Sycamore Where Under the bed in my room is a cranial box of treasure Opening the box exposes the parietal cortex A single mother loving four children A family of five on welfare A mother in and out of the hospital A ten year old boy visits mom on Sunday A confused orphan on Monday A mother enters holy sleep at thirty-five years of age I love you mom My son KJ often asks of you As I close this box and return to the dirt road of veins, now paved My moist cave will echo, only the love of a mother ======================================= I miss my mother on special occasions in my life, and often wonder what things would be like if she still lived? However I have been blessed to have known her and I live a prosperous life for which I'm thankful for.....
My mama, my soldier my comfort, my shoulder to cry on, my boulder I rely on I've told her Nothing can replace the person that created you someone there to help you no matter what you're going through Someone who formed the person you became someone who has sheltered you through waves and waves of rain I can't say it enough, I love you with my whole heart you're there to put me back together every time I fall apart My mama, my soldier my comfort, my shoulder to cry on, my boulder I rely on I've told her Mama I hope I forever make you proud but you know I'll always test your patience as much as I'm allowed I know that you've forgiven all the stupid **** I've done and you've dealt with so much stress to ensure my childhood was fun I'm forever grateful for everything you've sacrificed for me I hope I am that apple that didn't all far from the tree My mama, ya dove you put no one above you life might push and shove you but I'll always love you My mama, my soldier my comfort, my shoulder to cry on, my boulder I rely on I've told her
Long-stemmed Promises sweet babies need sleep, sustenance and love. Sounds easy enough. Ask the sleepless mother who feels the diaper rash more than the infant. Ask the mother whose child is the bully or the bullied or the social outcast. Ask the mother of the child Hooked on drink and drugs, the troubled ones. Ask the mother of the adult child growing her own long-stemmed promises. Kathryn McLoughlin Collins November 5, 2005
Sitting here knowing that you are laying in that bed Helpless on meds that you dont want to be on Not knowing were you are It hurt me to see you that way Mother Praying to the Lord that you are going to be ok Praying that he dont take you so soon away I hate this so much Seeing you in and out and its nothing I can do I just wish apon a star That all your sickness go away and you dont have to deal with this no more It sucks spending your Bday in that bed I pray that that you get better soon so you can come home I pray that all this go away and you never have to deal with this any more No matter what we go though I only have one mother and I dont know how I would live my life without you Please come home and get better So i can stop this crying Please all your pain and sickness go away So I dont have to worry about getting that call oneday and I am not there by your side You are my mother and I love you If you have a mother and you all are not on the best term Its best to do that soon Because you never know when they time is up I love you mother My one and only Queen Please get better and come home soon
You started as a droplet inside a shell, Warm, languid, liquid. Now that safe harbour, Has turned you into a sea. To create you, every wonderful thing I've thought, Every ray of light I've ever seen, Was harnessed in that single drop. To nourish...to divide, Cell by cell Pouring forward from me, Toward my ultimate worth. I didn't know it, But until that point, My world had been flat. You helped me peek over the edge, We looked into an unfolding universe, Then you jumped with me! A galaxy of light and giggles Radiated through me, To get to you. Spirit and Soul, Light and Hope. You are so much more Than an extension Of my heart or limb. I am, because of you. You are, because of me. Forever bundled in love, I get to be your Mother. © 2012 Ruby Honeytip
We were sleeping When the dirty water Came rushing down, Drowning our arrogance And releasing our fears Into the atmosphere. We were stunned. Ravaged by consequence Melting around our feet. Disorienting panic Was devoted to the air, Igniting exhausting anarchy. Pandemonium ruled This day While we were rendered speechless, Ruined by our own Inability to escape Such confounding spoils. The dirty water rose, Bringing indignant death And uniting a new breed, The best and worst Humanity has to offer To this brave, old world. Voices lifted into the molten sky, Crying for help Beyond comprehension, Catapulting an echo Even as it occurred Around the globe. Why must it be so That man's integrity Is tested by disaster? Why must it take Such extreme devastation To wake us?
I hear the siren of death whistling through your hollow heart. I see the lies fall so fluidly out of your mouth. Almost as if it's natural; a black gravity of some sort. I smell the genuine scent of decay, so unpleasant, so definite. You can't deny. I touch a dry residue; ashes of your guilt ignited memory. I taste the sweet flavor of revenge, as you perish away into nothing but eternity. I feel sympathy for your poor soul, like a child going off to school with nothing more than their name. Why is it that as much as I try to hate all I feel is love? It's like my emotions are trapped in absolute values. I'm dying to hate you, yet would so easily die for you. My contradictions take over; pulling as if I can be separated. I cringe at your voice. I smile at your calamity, even though your suffering isn't my credit to claim.
Eyes flared in agitation Damasked in utmost lament The tyrants laughed in vanity Remains of his mother lie still As if the winds were holding their breath The urn cracked and cold as night Alone, the eyes softened His heart a hermit of radiance Temples tingled as silence stayed The unprofaned laughter now ash-shamed Hot tears of fervor reduced their pig-headed ways He kneeled to his mother as they gazed In the urn she no longer cried Even in the urn did she not abide April 28, 2014
I was on the run from the sun. Unaware of the fact that WE ARE ALL ONE./ I'd forgotten where we all come from. And this pathetic writing fuels no purpose; an empty mode of expression...In and out are the same./ I learned that the day I came into this world. Out of one mother and into another. My mother earth. I thank god for my ability to give birth. To create a life worth living, I must get better at the art of giving. And lose my war against thinking. For only in true surrender does freedom live,/ and in that place lies my ability to give/ WHOLEHEARTEDLY./ I must continue down the path that my first sacred breath started me./ The moment my heart started to beat, I became aware of this thing called "me"./ And when my brain formed,/ thoughts clouded the lense through which I see. And still here I be,/ a walking manifestation of the fact that god means FREE.
I remember! Cranking that old wore-out handle on that ice cream maker, until I thought my arms were going to fall off. Having a big smile on my face, as I turned and turned, pushed and pulled on that old crank begging my big brother, the whole time to "Spell me!" so I could set on an old rag on top of the ice, using my weight (as it was) to hold that ice cream maker in place. I remember my grandfather coming out of the house, out on the back porch. To make sure my big brother and I was "Doing it right." as if, there was a wrong way! He made sure that we had plenty of ice, plenty of rock salt. I can still see him sticking his little finger in the weep-hole to make sure it didn't get stopped-up. That was most important to him, as he always got the first bowl. I don't know why? He clamed, he would get the first bowl, to make sure that salt didn't get into the mix. Funny to me, he never made a salty face as he was eating that first bowl. I remember, watching my grandmother making that "mix" she picked the freshest eggs, measured just the right amount of vanillin extract, I loved the way her kitchen smelled. I watched her chop the bananas peal the peanuts, stir it up with the cream and sugar. She hummed "Old Rugged Cross" as she made that sweet ice cream mix, it was as if she was having fun; like the turning of the crank for us boys, work for sure but still fun! I would eat light, as that banana-peanut ice cream cured while we had supper, waiting for grandfather to finish his third helping, we had to wait, he always got the first bowl, I don't know why?
A gift like no other gift, one that can't be bought a precious human being, deserving the right to live to exist as we all do, but sometimes it just doesn't happen that way, A baby of no harm, a baby of no sins a baby of pure love, and only innocence Tender moments, carrying wishes disappointments, everyday misses Sitting there all alone, even though I was surrounded, by others While wondering, why it may be that I am made to suffer, Wanting nothing more, but to die inside and out, Things happen for a reason, so I was taught I'll never know the reason, but I'll always feel the loss The loss of my child, my baby was taken away from me, and there is no reason I constantly ask myself, why did this happen? what did I do wrong? I asked God to save my baby, to protect us both I remain here, but my baby is gone It seems as if, my whole world, just fell apart and all I could do, was sit back and watch it happen I found myself, feeling lonely needing someone, anyone to hold me All I could do was cry, I had to cry, for the sake of myself for the sake of my baby, for the sake of my heart I had to weep I cried and cried aloud, hoping to be heard please father, I'll do whatever you want you have my word, just please save my baby I bled so much, had so much pain denied to myself, everything would be okay Crying and pleading, praying and weeping became an everyday routine, it was so hard to believe this was happening to me, It's not over yet, it never will be everyday and every night, it's in my memory... (March 1998) My sweet baby you will always be with me...
It is a house That was once a home. Now with its eyes boarded up, It has lost its heartbeat. No longer does he hear Her faltering fumbling with the key When he has to visit. Guilty memories are buried deep Within him,just like his mother. His sister tearfully packed the boxes, Precious few treasures Consigned to cheap oblivion. Soon will arrive the house clearance people, The necessary hyenas of a crowded modern life, To leave no trace of her story Save the little blot Burned brown On the third step of the stairs.
1. Mom kept the perch we caught in a bucket. And when we took them home She would clean and place them In our twenty gallon tank Where they bobbed in stunned silence Eyes watching for any white movement. Nobody cared when they committed fishicide on their domesticated tank-mates. Even the little beta fish Who had survived our six day pilgrimage from Florida, to find Mecca was a cool whip container. 2. Whenever we had guests for dinner, Mom swooned they were the smartest fish she had ever seen. She bestowed upon them names - Jed and Lucy tapping at the glass with one extended finger, feeding them fish flakes, like porpoises fed from the teeth of a trainer in Ocean World "You can't keep perch in a fish tank" the guests would say, but they lived for two years bobbing and staring in the vacant tank space. 3. One crisp winter morning Jed finished his breakfast of gold fish flakes, took one last gulp of slimy tank water then hurled himself off of glass walls. It went over and over, so hard I almost thought the glass would crack. 4. Lucy sat quietly and watched him. She too died a few days later like aged soulmates who often cease to be after their amor dies. When someone left the lid open, she plunged her blue green skin shimmered as she laid making fish O's in the dry air.. I often wonder if the air that morning smelled like an ice floe to a better place somewhere Jed waited with our beta and our angel fish a place of worms, kelp and dragonflies. 4. Mom emptied the tank of the murky filtered water. Rinsed the ultra neon yellow fish gravel, and placed the fake plants on a sponge. Separating air filter, from pump from clear plastic tubing and put to rest in a brown cardboard box.. She did it without a word.
It was perfect for any occasion, with the right accessories, like the traveling pieces Mozart carried court to court. No matter what style or instrument the reigning virtuoso favored, violin or piano left-hand, the master would have just the thing to sparkle an entertainment. Just so. One small stone would sparkle at her throat, or her left hand, to favor the violet of her eyes. A virtuoso she was, a Mozart in the instrument of style. Perfectly right, one dress would carry her, court to court, as she traveled through life on her accessories.
The father and son Inseparable relations Guiding the path of true faith Love of a mother Glorious pillar of strength Wept at the foot of the cross The Sedoka is an unrhymed poem made up of two three-line poems called a katauta with the following syllable counts: 5/7/7, 5/7/7. A Sedoka, pair of katauta as a single poem, may address the same subject from differing perspectives. The katauta is an unrhymed three-line poem with the following syllable counts: 5/7/7.
I know all the stories that she'd told she been livin in lies she knows shes doin wrong.All i know is she need to do right. I can't keep oncryin momma s do it just please no more fights. I tell myself that she will do better, momma we are a family ain't we supposed to bo together. What happened to our happy fun. Every since that doy violence but more guns. You used to give me hugs what happened to all the kisses, all the good times yes we allmisses.We can forget abut it momma thanks to you. You can't play me nomore i'm not a little fool. I try so hard but why can't you stop. One day i just wish you will and IT gonna drop.
Once soft meadows so full of life, now hold shadows, blocking the light. Words unheard, and dreams untouched, once your eyes laughed so much. Distant sounds, still call your name, within a body silenced by the game. Love can't touch, and tears can't clean, that part we know as self esteem. Yesterdays of you, bring me joy, recalling back when you were a boy. Shiny blonde hair, and smiling blue eyes, my heart forever hypnotized. As tomorrow comes, and life goes on, somewhere happiness must belong. My prayer for you I humbly ask, may light surround you within God's grasp. A blessing for me, when you were born, but somehow evil has sent this storm. Jesus You know him, but he has lost his way, hold him tight, don't let him stray. Bring him safely to me once more, as the waves get higher on unknown shores. Lost is lonely, and screaming for help, but I can't save him all by myself. I give him to You, as I sit and cry, a mother in pain, I cannot lie. Your mother watched, as you died on a cross, a mother in pain, for her son she had lost. You gave her comfort, You called her name, now I give You mine, my heart feels the same. Bring him safely back into the flock, as You guide a lost vessel from hidden rocks. Let him know joy, let him feel rain, as Your Love gently brings, my son home again.
Steel Gray skies with threatening rain and restless wind My breath gathers as mist on the inside of the window pane ...as I watched for the school bus A slender birch tree with spiral scars of flayed bark against its white skin like curlicues of sharpened pencil shavings Still clutching many bright yellow leaves, Some collecting at its base like a discarded garment Sunlight, just a small shaft flickers bright dapples on tiny dancers Ocherous curtains against the bruised sky Prodigious vibrant final act Just for me The tree manages a sly curtsey in my direction, Sacrificing more of her fragile costume My beautiful rosy-cheeked child kicks playfully through the saffron sea of discarded programs "Here are some for you Mama" he says as he bursts into the kitchen smelling of peanut butter and early fall There he deposits a chubby handful of my regard gently into my apron pocket And into my heart's hiding place as well Perfect poignant performance; Beautifully done slender birch, Most beautifully done
A figure in darkness Cradleing a small package Trots up the stony ridge of stairs In the night clouds cover the horizon No stars can be seen from the gloomy street A single lantern is lit and the only light A woman with the hood drawn above her head Lays a child upon the doorstep of a lonely family She touches her fingers to her mouth Then to the child's forehead A tear filled with happy memories Lands upon the baby's hand With one last look The woman disappears into darkness As swiftly as she appeared And the baby gave a cry of sadness Then all became silent
One, two, three. Three little boys I see Each so very special So different, yet so alike. In all three I see me. One, two, three Three little boys I see. The first one with eyes so blue that shine so bright With features fine and a brilliant mind; One sweeter and wiser would be hard to find. One, two, three Three little boys I see. The second one so witty, warm and smart Handsome, dimples, a true work of art; He's certain to steal any girl's heart. One, two, three Three little boys I see. The third little boy with unruly locks He's clever and a devil-dare; wild like a fox. But, his hugs and kisses so meant and true, To hold him is so simple-sweet as he whispers I wuv you. One, two, three Three little boys I see. Sleeping in their beds at night Angelic cherubs sent from God Resting so peacefully. One, two, three Three little boys I see. So familiar were they Even before I saw their faces, I knew they were part of me. One, two, three Three little boys I see. Growing up so fast each day Taller, faster, wiser, true. What kind of men will they grow into? One, two, three Three little boys I see. I know the day will come, They'll be grown and gone from home, But never really far from me. One, two, three Three little boys I see. Three little beings so entrenched Deep within my soul and heart Always my three little boys shall be.
A yearling asleep When its mother arrived She knew it was time A green meadow, the best place It was time to say farewell to her fawn For he was a young growing buck She wished him good luck He would miss being A small spotted fawn Who Waits patiently for mother While gnawing the grass Oh, he would dearly Miss those wonderfully Glorious days
the soul of the child is forever scarred with hurts from years ago. The soul of this child knows not what inner peace feels like. The soul of a hurt child wants the love of a mother who is only a dream in her heart. The soul of any child deserves nothing less than a lifetime of hugs. The soul of the child I once was would rather close her eyes forever than continue waiting for someone to be my mother.
you tell me i am precious to you. i am not your currency. you tell me the circumstances are beyond our control. but i control everything, every breath, every word that leaks from my mouth. you made me this way, shaped me from wax, using knives and tears to make scars in my form. you tell me you have loved me, forever, and until your dying day. these words slither from your tongue. you could never have loved me, its not something thats easy to do. you dont care what path my life takes, you dont know what i have been forced into. you dont want love, you want control. you don't want a daughter, you want a follower. i have accepted that i have no mother, that i was created by life's sick fantasy. i wanted to love you, when there was still a chance. so don't lie to me anymore, don't tell me that it doesnt have to be this way. it does. dont thank god for me. there is no god. and i am just a curse, because i hurt you. you preach that you have room for me in your heart, that you think of me everyday. and i think of you, in the morning when i wake, and in the night when i rest my head. nothing can ever be easy, or understandable. in my heart, there are only cracks and cobwebs where you might have been before. it throbs and convulses, refusing love. i couldnt love anyone, not if i tried. not if i wanted.
She plunks down a plate of egg rolls Man, oh man, do these greasy pieces of heaven take tolls On my heart, dear Mama Shows me love with food piled on tables that never end Iced tea, Pho, spaghetti, rice and pork chops Sternly setting bowls down in front of you and encouragin' To take pieces of buttery garlic bread and mop it up Love, bestowed upon us in showers of peppered chicken Spending hours in the kitchen To prove some affection In saucers of soy sauce and dumplings that went on for miles She'd put adoration in soup, spicy reflections Of passionate motherly love Mama, she never smiled Unless someone complimented her style, the swagger Of her intimate cooking skills, the way she swung her dagger Of specialties, killing hunger, cravings All her meals ending with ravings Of the best kind Scraped knees and broken hearts are cured with warm chocolate cake, suede Smooth, mending them better then when they were made Mama shows fondness through ice cream and steak Warm dinner plates Her "I Love You" was a big portion of lasagna Nobody says "I Love You" better then my Mama
I am unable to comprehend How your physical remnants were found With a stately essence of womanhood A mother's end.
Caseworker Determining Eligibility Cabrini-Green Projects Chicago The child, age two, hammocked in the half moon of his mother's arms, is locked in palsy, yet moves an eyelid as I ask, moves the other as his mother answers, application form interrogation. The father was a white policeman. "Curiosity," the mother says. "No more. I didn't go with him for money." Donal Mahoney
To my Mother's Grace The world and skies are not equal To the grace of my mother The heaven and paradises are not equal To the love of my beloved mom She guarded me as a pearl in the oyster Her words and love will enough to live here She fed me with her blood and Gave me a life and soul here My every pound of flesh, My every turns and moves Are her precious sacrifices in the world The God and fairies will never be equal to her She is my mother.I love her forever SAKTHI RAVICHANDRAN AN INDIAN ENGLISH POET
Mom... words cannot express how I feel right now.... I just want to thank you for all you have done for me.... I do not know where I would be today.... if you where not there as my crutch when I needed you most.... you are the most understanding & caring person in the world.... to have and to love as a mother.... I thank my prayers from the good Lord up above.... for the prayers that were answered for the man I have become today.... I wish all parents were as supportive as you have been to me.... to talk when we need too stay quiet when we need too.... thank you for the life you have given me.... and the direction that you have led me in.... I will cherish all the memories, advice, & love you have given me.... forever and always.... Thank you I love you Mom. I love you. Kevin Ryan Hansen 11/07/98 Revised 10/12/06
tiny lass who graced this world joyfully brightening her grandmother's life less than 12 short years smile so angelic, it could crown a Christmas tree never seeking sympathy Joycie's zest for life drew admiration leaving her gracious memory in her family's hearts much we can learn from Joycie who never succumbed to self-pity each day, a celebration of life albeit far too brief her smile still shines in heaven glowing beacon in the night sky her grandmother finds comfort seeing Joycie's face -- a glowing star Dedicated to Joyce Johnson and based on her poem "Joycie"
Pretty princesses Dancing all around Frolicking through fields Very beautiful Just like you!
When I looked up at you the other night I saw you coming through the door Framing it with your amazing smile steadfast, self assured, a happy man A happy Dutch life with Irish sea-kissed roots Not just a European but a world class man As you stood before me, I felt such pride. When I think of you, I see my little boy blue Forever young, blond mop, those winsome sky eyes my spry child, intelligent, forever questioning hyperactive, mischievous, a little dare devil your smile, a mile wide in times of trouble I see you holding your teddies Ruby and Rupert Tractors, diggers, broken engines brrrrrrrmm. Your love of engines, paid off after all as you shifted gear to driving instruction For a guy who showed no interest in being a scholar Now you are the teacher, with a flurry of pupils I think it works better, this way around. Your greatest gift is your love for people Your greatest asset, your winning smile Keep on living and loving as you do You view life through a positive lens Becoming a mother hit me with a new perspective An appreciation of life, when I gave you yours Together we grew, and continue to grow In love and respect, now and forever.
I Remember last Wednesday, I can see your smile, your eyes. If I only knew it was the last day I would have only stared into those eyes. Where are you? If I only knew You used to visit me one day Every week after school, Always on Wednesday, That was a Golden rule. Now I know you rest, And I always keep in mind: to me you were the best.
There's a little history to this particular poem. I know I wrote it when I was 11 or 12 years old. I wrote it for my Grandma Dorabel, who is today 90 years old. I also wrote it for my uncle John who had been taking care of her at the time; I didn't want to leave him out so I put on the letter: For Grandma Dee and Uncle John! I wrote this short little poem along with a drawing of a cat and some flowers. However, I actually never sent the picture to her! My parents and I must have forgotten to send! To me that was unacceptable! I thought to myself today when I found the picture, I must send it now! The picture is now on its way to her, so I am happy she will at last receive it. ---------------------------- You can send me a bouquet of flowers, You can order me a box of chocolates, You can buy me a fancy outfit, But flowers don't last, Chocolates eventually disappear, Outfits get out of style, Yet Love never fades, And it's the most precious gift of all
A pinch of salt, a dab of pepper, a spinkle of Mrs.Dash Lets mix it all together Gifted hands starting at the age five Helping grandma in the kitchen all the time Choosing to say in the house to learn all the ingredients Instead of going outside to play hide and seek Grandma always told me my hands are special, You wait, watch and see what I tell you Gifted hands is for certain people only The miracles that you will be able to do Don't forget what grandma told you 6 bars of 10oz cracker barrel cheese, eggs, carnation milk, seasonings, salt & pepper When you put it all together, this makes macaroni & cheese One of the gifted hand's favorite dishes It will melt in your mouth like a piece of candy Grandma always told me my hands were gifted Now I cater for a variety of people Gifted hands is one of my best qualities. Nerrissa Jenkins Contest-With these hands 12/17/13 Visual #2
With the gentle touch of hand She brought feelings of peacefulness Her smile lit up the world Love radiated from her heart You found peace and contentment in her warm loving arms Compassion in her smile A gentleness of an angel in the midst of her own suffering In all her trials her spirit was not broken It was God's strength that carried her through The precious moments spent with her Brings loving memories of my dear grandma.
Every Child Has a Dream… They want to be a "grown up"… They want to get married like mommy and daddy did… Become a "mommy" or "daddy" as a young child would say… Become a doctor, firefighter, or ballerina… They want to be like mommy and daddy… They want to marry their mommies or daddies… Become the president… Become older, (like their big sister or brother)… They want to live and see the world! Every Child Wants to Be Loved… Not every child does… Not every child has a mommy and daddy… Every child wants love… Every child deserves love… Not every child gets love… Not every child gets a chance to live the life they want… Every child knows what love is…. Every child has someone out there that would love them… Not every child knows there is someone that would give them the love they deserve… Every child has dream… Every child wants to be loved…
Priceless pearl my hidden diamond love's sweet jewel Heaven sent Angelic countenance Beauty so pure Lovely daughter your character delights my devotion forever Heartbeat on screen My unbelief ceased the moment You first squeezed my finger
I saw a picture just once a long time ago I don't know the artist's name or from where he came But the image I'll never forget, that much I know I hope its beauty to you I can explain A small child's hand reached up so round and small Bashfully grasping from seemingly no where at all Towards what appeared to be his grandmother's hand Weather worn and wrinkled hanging down Tattered clothing and swollen knuckles, calloused palms Yet still reaching Reaching to guide and help yet another young life Who still needed her strength Their fingertips touching, left me wondering Would she live long enough for him to grab hold? ©Donna Jones 2-25-2013
How many tears does a mother cry? I think too many for anyone to count. A mother cries when her child is born. She cries of joy, because now she has someone to love and someone to hold. When that child gets sick, a mother cries until that child gets better, that aliviates her heart. When that child grows up and goes wrong, a mother cries tears that come from the soul and heart. Does a mother ever stop crying? No - a mother will cry through out her life. She will cry for that child that has gone worng. A mother always wants the best for her child. Sometimes it dosn't happen and a mother cries in silence. Her soul is wet from tears that fell like rain. She has no rest night or day. Sometimes a mother cries of joy too. She wants to die before her child, if not - a mother will cry more tears until she leaves this world. This time - she has no more tears. Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
Mother's are most special Their Tender Touch And Loving Care Is more than a Father Could even Bare Their Magical Boo-Boo Kisses And Bright Sunshine Smiles Takes every bit of Heartbreak away Even across the Miles
There's not much to say. I knew her, know some things, but certainly not all. I know how little she put up with fools, how her cooking surpassed so many others', how simultaneously sweet and hard she could be. I know about her smoking, about her jewelry, her faith, all these I'll hold close to me. Every single spark, every star, shines with such a glow, such a marvelous radiance, that we can't gaze too closely at it, lest we cause ourselves pain. And yet, despite ourselves, again and again, we do; because it's not within us to resist the sheer beauty of it all, of stories and of life. A bouquet of tulips for you. We all miss you already, Grandma. I miss you. I know Heaven's got you, taking no guff as always, making sure we're all doing alright. I love you. Andrew James (McGillicutty) Sprouse
Hot jasmine tea My grandmother liked to drink Everyday at 10 While tending to ancient herbs and oriental spices Before Day's of our Lives She never understood it but she liked it anyway And after her afternoon nap She always had an aroma like that unforgettable liquid In the green bottle by her bed While the rice cooks Steaming white fluff That chokes your throat when you swallow too fast Floating along the rice there's green things I learned not to ask You must clean your bowl She said Otherwise you'll end up too skinny and get sick When the sun hits your head Eggrolls, plump and short Loved to waddle around in fish sauce before it jumps into mouths Just like the chickens with the head cut off that Bac Phoung Plucked the feathers off accompanying that sticky sweet smell of death Like sweet cake and dumplings Stolen from the wrapper Left on the table that grandpa forgot to put away Cousins come and go Hugs and kisses, fights and shows From 36 of us We hold games and play with the hammock Disciplined with chopsticks We knew better then play Street Fighter all day Though it's happened once or twice New Years is the best however A dollar from each aunt or uncle Lasts only but a day Until the icecream man comes and we spend Each and every dime On Bullets, Tweety Shaped Popsicles and Lucas Ninja turtles and Daffy Duck with bubblegum eyes
Warming lights surround you Quilting the sharp silence Outside dawn begins Earth starts stretching Straightening out the knots Caught from hours of slumber Night moves on to blacken another sky And Calmness stills the room All is as it should be As you drift in an endless sleep I know not if you'll wake Or lay your eyes on me once more Softening my heavy heart As death appears, he waits by your side Head dipped in respect White and gold robes I study of him I beg him for more time An hour, a day, a second His comforting eyes say no It is your time and my heart stills Now I must let you go Aged hands under silken skin Once tended plants and raised children Loose their warmth A last breath escapes your lungs I look at death pleadingly But nothing can be done I have to let you go now You must do this alone Death picks up your soul up as an orb Glittering like a large diamond To ferry you to your kin I see them through the void I see them waiting never again will we sit on the porch As dew wakes up the grass Trees shacking off the night before Us, just being us I'd soak up your wisdom That resided in your soul Every snippet a precious gem to me Id bury them within Where no other could reach them Where no other could steal them I show no tears As they only fuel pain From a young age You taught me to be brave Knowing my life would shatter me Often I'd feel pain So your compassion carried me Over potholes and rocky paths Your soothing voice steadied me Till I made it safely past Now Laying out your body Ready for your last journey I wonder if I told you enough The love I have for you I was blessed everyday You were in my life Things seemed easier With you at my side Life was not so daunting The hill was not so steep Now you gone I'm shattered Watching an endless sleep Time with you was precious For this truth I smile The mirror reflects parts of you Placed in this heart of mine Happy you left peacefully And I was at your side Inner gladness reigns As not just your jam recipe Was handed down to me
My grandma I see her Seating on her bed Pillows propped with cotton Circling her like witches Around a cauldron pot Her skin glowing From her light within.
Grandpa's collage holds beloved memories. Black-and-white photographs of long ago strewn with tape and paste amid the glossy snapshots, shaping a man's love of family. At first glance, one would think he created his patchwork of pictures in haste. But come, look closer; no image is placed by chance. Each scene shares a story his hands retraced - a joke, a kiss, a tear. See the toothless grins of growing grandchildren with playful eyes, the knowing looks of elders and the effortless laughter of generations, dear faces missed. All familiar faces except for only one - the intruder with graceful features. Head held high, she wears her smile unfazed. I search her dark eyes for words unsaid, dazed. She is the grandmother I never knew. Her portraits are puzzle pieces that will never fit, but ones I cannot unglue or ignore; my grandpa's attempt of tying us to a stranger. I love him more for trying… For Craig Cornish's A Collage Held Dear Contest, 10/22/13
My Sarah When I looked at you last week trying on your new boots Those almond eyes sparkling at something new, a gift I saw my little pink girl, a princess, playing dress up again Your long hair draped your high cheekbones Life still a game, tinged with drama and theatre As you look for fun in all your pursuits! A player in life with a passion for cooking and music You have become a kind, loyal, vivacious young woman Self assured, grounded with a love of tradition I looked at you and felt an overwhelming pride. Sunday's child is ' bonny, blithe, good and gay' they say Befitting my Sabbath girl, a model child of few demands Your bedroom a vast sea of Barbie and friends A Passion for story-time and books Your Dutch life with Irish sea-touched roots, You are a real continental A great scholar with degrees in Law and Psychoanalysis You have found your true love with Luis, a Spaniard As you both prepare to leave the Emerald Isle I wonder at the achievement of you!
She's walking past the tombstones, Just came from her mothers grave. As she passes the last stone, her hand graces the top, A chill shoots down her spine. The wind is blowing her hair in every direction, While the leaves dance around her ankles. Tears are rolling down her cheeks. She'd just been talking to her mother for hours, Longer then she ever had before. She explained to her mother how her life had been tumbling downward, Her boyfriend for 5 years had just broken up with her, When she thought he was going to propose. Her best friend since kindergarten had just embarrassed her, in front of everyone. Just to take her spot as Queen of the School. She hears the train coming. She'd been looking for an escape, An escape of her sadness, Of her embarrassment, Of her LIFE. And here is one, just being given to her. Without even thinking, She runs onto the tracks, The engineer slams on the breaks, Honking the horn all the while. She grabs her phone out of her pocket, Begins to text her father. Just 5 simple words. that will mean the word to him. I'm sorry, I love you She looks up at the stars shinning down on her, then at the lights on the train. She just keeps on staring, Without even thinking, Her mind goes blank. The horn is honking, While she just waits. Her mind is beautifully empty, While the train comes closer. She stares down at the train from above, While is halts to a stop, just 100 metres away. Her lifeless body now mingled with the tracks, Just lays there, Motionless, Breathless. She begins to regret, what she had just done,. Her father wouldn't be able to go on, Her sister would be scared, Her mother, if she were alive, would be ashamed. To take a life, let alone your own, Is a crime, that can never be undone. There is no punishment great enough, To serve justice. She wishes more then anything to just turn back time, To just erase what just occurred To pretend it never happened. But this is not like a simple fight with a friend, Or a bad relationship, This can not be erased. Death is not that simple. A bright light comes from above, A sudden rush of relaxation shoots through her, Calmness surrounds her. And then she lets go. Her soul floats away into the night sky, And it's over now. By Sierra Cowan Written the Summer of 2009
The bark worn smooth, a scamper up. Looking down takes my breath away. Leveling off, I'm safe in the cockpit. Flying the Iowa skies, way above the tassels, Control panel at my fingertips. Spreading my wings and charging the clouds. Birds skimming by. The branch cradling my adventure is broad, back firmly against the trunk, sun over my shoulder. Apple blossom shadows on my arm. Between petals and freckles, bright spot lights of sun sparkle on my skin. The petals are so pretty. I pick a bouquet, shinny down the tree, and bring apple blossoms home to my mother.
Grandma passed along her string of pearls to me. I knew I've been entrusted with a special gift from her. Nothing but pride crossed my mind that day. Taking her pearls from its box, I still feel her love, Whether it was tender or tough, It was done with the intent On making me feel pride within myself. Grandma cherished her pearls for most of her life. This was her 'Pearl of Wisdom' she passed down to me, "Pearls are classy enough for a fancy affair Or just a simple dinner out. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, But don't get between me and my pearls. The attachment is for life, it's beauty knows no age." Every time I put on her string of pearls, I still giggle. 03/12/2013
Hell hath no replete replica like an Ohiohell memom memoboys dispelled with lovelessloss lorn laments measured in misgiven gravid neutral grautities of cool compromised cruel capsid cascades of dreary demented drowsy dump deep demented deny desires with wilfull wallowing in unsupposed not to be here herein two boys born to a numbnuts army husbodad and a WTF what is happening in/outside this family 50's acircle what comes next in the uneducated female nonintuition of a deaddad accidential with a pity piss payoff and a whatdoIdo anal attitude totally in reverse of an arkansas hope of upheaveal. GDMFSOB, who could I/we haVE BeeN in the assinine scheme of things with someone in an intersomewhateducated semistate of minimal MFconsciousness. We play the hand we are dealt in the vast unscheme of unness. WTF, and where/why does God take part and lessen a small boy's dream of donated dadhood by taking it away and leave him left to faulterflounder in a boyhood abyss. Dead, devoid, denied to the manmale circumstance of what the future folds to be delivered to doting descendents, like my three sons. with whom I struggled to shower, impart, enable, enbibe, instill, foster, enliven, and all that I did not experience yet faux provide with an inner soulsense to a measured milestone of mannered man manufactured love and tendered texture of all mine to give with that that is mustered macro from a micro counteanace of humocapped coperal deliverance. All's fair they say unless u have been there and then it's every man for himself---and then, I dare u to get in my way---------no holds barred, look out for I am a survivor, all the way. Hi, my name is Dave, and according to my grandparents, I wasn't supposed to live to be raised. Go figure.
I trust my mommy, She never leads me wrong, At night she sings me A go to sleep song. I love my mommy, She holds me when I cry, She tells me not to go to Strangers and say, "Hi". I honor my mommy, She's done so much for me, She teaches me to help My enemy's family. I respect my mommy, She teaches me right from wrong, She helps me go through Nights that are long. I copy my mommy, She does what is right, She helps me see The world in a new light. I pray for my mommy, She is humble and nice, She does things for others Not once but twice. I love you mommy, For everything you've done for me, You've taught me that the world Is a ginormous family.
With one stocking up and the other rolled down the old lady waddled her way to town. Her flowered dress sported stains of breakfast. Her hair was matted, like a birds nest. Lipstick circled her lips, like a circus clown. The painted smile veiled depression and a frown. While quizzically looking up at her face, the small boy clutching her hand tried to keep pace. As she shuffled her way down main street, she chatted with anyone she chanced to meet. Often she would point with pride to small boy by her side As the boy grew older, he began wondering why she couldn't tell they were pretending. Couldn't she hear their humoring lies? Couldn't she see the laughter in their eyes? Couldn't she sense the embarrassment in the air? Perhaps she couldn't care? Perhaps she wasn't aware? Being locked in a child like state may not be the worst fate, Because children can make up places where there are no staring faces.
Final Adieu Let another sun set, Let another flower wilt, Let another autumn cast its gloom, Let another tear role, As ye part, and bid The final adieu. Suyash Saxena St. Stephen's college
Your strong hand beneath my head my Love in your Blood turned from friendship did spread into More the first time you took my Hand and traveled every line, of my Flesh land the way you reflect your soul Into my Eyes, makes me forget my small stature shape, size in this world I wish to carry your future child be it boy or girl be them strong of spirit Smarts of street and class leaders of Eminence Sweet mixed with Sass I see this future as I fall head first, spilling into your secure embrace like a single bottle of Rose Wine Down to the last Taste
I wrapped all my tears, to see you smile. you are the best, always by my side. I tell you my feelings will get you crying, you must think I'm out of my mind. You don't know, what I know, all the angels let me go. We were born to teethe and die, you will grow to be so fine. Fall in love, feel your softer side, Remember me when life is kind. When you go, let me know, don't walk away like the world and go. Life is rough and the world unkind, fight them down and you will be fine. The truth of live is a brutal sight, make no mistakes, you can learn from mine. You have a strong heart, you are unique I treasure times when you smile at me. Live the life, I could not find, be there for me, when I say goodbye.
The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time when he was needed most. A time that is now gone forever. When men believed and sacrificed, when hero's walked the earth in mass. When patriotism was not just a word but, by what men lived and judged the worth of each, a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour, we salute you. What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood and men were made of steel. The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. Those of us who remain behind, remember, and will continue to remember, because he now resides forever in our hearts. As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt, a beret draped just above the eye, as he draws upon his pipe, quietly he waits. The guardian of heaven's gate.
Mama you did not tell me…. I would be faced with days like this. Raising teen-age sons whose turning into thieves. Mama you did not tell me…. As I am fixing up my house, Things would disappear all through-out the night. Mama you did not tell me…. There would be knocking at my door. Detectives standing tall and looking for my baby boy. Mama you did not tell me…. I would be faced with sleepless nights. Tossing and turning and wishing things were right. Mama you did not tell me….. One day that you would be gone. I would be faced with life situations and feel so all alone. Mama you did not tell me….. Facing the anniversery of my parents death. Packing up and finding so many things missing. All I could hear is...Mama you didn't tell me....
I rushed into the world a bit too fast. I was the first and only child my mother bore, so this was big news for her. I was not big, got room in a hand. A loving hand that gave me confidence, strength and love. Confidence, strength and love only a mother can give. I was little and weak, but I fought hard. I was able to cling to life and grow me big. But this is thanks to you my mom that gave me confidence, strength and love. Dedicated to my mom
I am a seed which From you germinated And you a place Where I was sown Grew and firmly rooted I am a flower which From you sprouted Grew well in the comfort Of your cosy arms Which like sepals to petals In a flower wrapped Me with tenderness Your love was A fertilizer for my growth Food for my hunger My warmth in coldness It was Like water, Air and sunlight To a germinating seed
Through veils of bright red pain They bring us to this life; Through tears and laughter They love their small pink wonders Through all those gates they must pass On their way to full humanity. They are lilac-love and discipline Navigators of our stormy seas Heedless of themselves for our sakes And they bring us all the soft sweetnesses of home and hearth That ever call for our return. And so from every tongue There falls the sacred one-word prayer When the wide cold world affrights us When the hand shakes, palsylike And the heart beats hard against its cage: In deep of night When something unseen stirs The whispered hope is "Mother". When the flat grey weight of grief Lies hard across our shoulders The word that lifts the stone is "Mother". For scorch of stove, for frostbite sting We conjure cool and warm with "Mother". In the place for giving birth: "Mother". On the battlefield: "Mother". Whatever pulls us to our knees To rudely remind us how small we be In the Grand Scheme of Things, The idea of her pulls us up again For we are hers entire In a way unique to her - And things will be alright Because she says it shall be so, And one may never never Never Disappoint that Sacred One: "Mother".
You wake up to your mother's loving voice. She has a gift for you that she knows you'll love. You close your eyes and hold out your tiny hands. You feel something soft, but cold to the touch. At the sight of it you let out a squeal of delight. A pink ribbon. You wake up to your piercing alarm. It's your high school graduation day. You notice your mother smiling in the doorway. She has a gift that she knows you'll love. Eyes closed, you feel a familiar sensation around your wrist. A pink ribbon. You wake up to the soft sound of weeping. You find your mother downstairs, heartbroken. She was clutching two things in her hands. The first was a letter from the hospital. You saw the other and knew it could mean death, A pink ribbon. You wake up to a methodical beeping. You're in a hospital room with your mother. She runs a hand over you shaven head. She has a gift for you that she hopes you'll love. Eyesight blurred from tears, you know that feeling. A pink ribbon. You wake up to your mother's loving voice. Someone's at the door for you. At the sight of them let out a squeal of delight. The march has come to you! Every person has what you love. A pink ribbon.
If I Could Have Gotten Your Embryo Before You Were Born I Would Have Sheltered You Safely and Protected Your Form ... I'd Have Put You In My Womb & Flowed You Knowledge Like In A Tubric & Patted My Expanding Belly As I Played You Music And As You Got Ready To Arrive From The Birth Canal You Would've Known My Breasts Would Be Ringing Like Welcome Bells! ... Eager To Suckle You Breast Feed My Own Flesh & Nourish So You Could Grow Strong ... In Love's Encourage I Would've Held You In Wonder & So Close Tenderly Amazed At This Little Bundle, Breathing, Piece of Me ... And When You Turned One Or As You Sucked Your Thumb Or Eating Baby Food Jars of Plums ... I'd Have Given You Trumpets & Drums ... And Building Alphabet Blocks & Superman Capes & Stuffed Teddy Bears & Oatmeal Cookies & Grapes I'd Have Read You Stories From Capt. Adventure Books You'd Have Known You Were Loved By My Proud Mama Looks I'd Have Spent Time With You Showing You How To Tie Your Shoe Rocked You If You Caught The Flu or Any Sniffles You Went Through ... I Would Have Played With You & Prayed With You From Crawling To Walking Paved The Way For You Yeah, I Would Have Fussed At You & When Needed Even Spanked You Too & I'd Meant: This Hurts Me More Than You 'Cause You're The Little Symbiot, Mama Grew So, You Would Have Known You Were Loved & Treasured You Would Have Known Your Worth Couldn't Be Measured Nor Compared To Anyone Else At Any Point In Time 'Cause You Are The Best Because You Were "Mine" * * * * * * * But I Never Knew You But Believe Me If I Had ... I'd A Made Sure You Had A Loving Mom & Dad And You Would've Never Been Abused Or Treated Bad ... But From Now On Find Your Joy To Replace What's Sad Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/12/2013 by: MoonBee Canady
I cherish you, If you cherish me. You brought me to life, We began to meet through time, Even though, Sometimes you don't comprehend me, Sometimes you don't understand me, That sometimes time isn't enough, That sometimes instincts get uncontrolled..., But still, You were designated for my life, And you profile my living... We share lives... Although, Time brings maturity, And time doesn't last forever, As well as we don't last forever... There is no such thing, As total perfection, Even though, Thank you...
My mother worked hard in bed. She would dig herself out of men's pockets like a miner. Every man was a mine shaft; she always knew what she was looking for. My mother always managed to pay for my school fieldtrips just like all the other mothers. I liked her for this. The night before the zoo my mother told me to lie quietly and fall asleep. I listened. I slept on the edge of our bed like a wrinkled quilt. I could hear them: thick gulps of sweat pounding like a galloping horse. I remember the bed quaking like the broken engine of an old car, the sound of grinding wood and chipped teeth. The room started to smell of burning wax. Shadows of two bodies melting into each other. I would close one eye. My mother's legs stretched above his shadow like the reins of a horse. I could smell her unknotting her lungs under this cowboy sweat, gripping his knees on her hips for support. It reminded me of the movies, how cowboys ride horses. I could hear their bones echoing through the mattress: frenetic, resilient, and faceless. Their bodies tangling like grapevine. The next morning, the sheets were damp like wet grass after a shower. And my mother wore her purse like a saddle
Mother Earth An ancient, elegant – once jolly – old Lady, deserving of so, very much more then the rape and pillage, the destruction and pollution, the chemical alterations – poisons, the theft of, the abuse of all her innocent, naked, natural beauty. This old Lady, who has been – who will again – as self-destructive as any of her daughters – of man kind – and without the help of man kind's selfish, inconsiderate, thoughtless greed. Will She, ?, will we ?, survive the turbulent throes of an uncertain, an unpredictable, veiled future - even if we ( as capable human inhabitants ), even if she ( the energy, mother of us all ), - are able ?, to curb our insatiable appetites, are able ?, to thwart what may be inevitable - change and a world, - her life time of changes. Is her ?, is our ?, relationship to this universe a foretold tale of unavoidable doom. Is our evolution ?, life ?, destiny ?, our development ?, upon the breasts of Mother Earth, to come to an end in a daze, a haze of gloom ?, as we all ( Mother Earth, Life, human kind ) are destined to become ( once again ) cosmic dust blowing in the winds of memories hoard, of time – passing into - becoming spirituality adrift on cosmic winds – ghostly souls, spirits - once again sailing, searching, seeking solidity, - once again - of visible form to walk upon the surface of a much better plane, better then what has become of what we are now ! Next time around, will thoughtfulness ?, be the tought ! It has been thought of more that opened the door, that – if we do not, soon change - will be closed – Forevermore ! B. J. "A" 2 May 23rd 2008
The whole idea of it makes me feel Like my childhood is over That I will walk into the world, Empty-handed Maybe I should just give up And never get to be a kid That small slice of hope Could save me from ever having to mature And be my own person No longer attached to my mom Like she is my charger And I am a phone and I would die without her You tell me what to do, But that is because you have forgotten That I am eight And you can't control me But I can lie in bed and remember every digit At four I was a woman, I could give birth At two, a cat Prowling around the house At six, a wizard, The best one around. But now I am mostly staring at that little LED Screen of my phone. Back then, I played outside And my book never sat sadly, On my desk, As it does today. The small words, fading into black. "This is the beginning of responsibility" I say to myself, as I do my chores. Time to say good-bye to sleeping in Time to get good grades It seems only yesterday I used to Make forts, with sheets, Protecting them from monsters But now when I make forts, I watch them crumble, At the monster's victory
DEAR MOTHER Dear Mother of all Sweetest mother of all Time Queen of the world of women You never aborted me You raise me with your hard earn You teach me the way of the righteous You Bless me with the blessing of your mouth Who will I praise if not you Who will I believe if not you Who will I trust if not you You that carry me for nine months You put me to bed on the 17th Day of the Sixth Month of the Glorious Year You breast feed me till I am fit for the race You put together your earning for my first birthday You work under the sun and the rain just for me to be among equals I understand it is not easy in this part of the world Yet you gave me a reason to live And even though I heard I use to be stubborn when I a little kid Yet your love for me never ceased Memories fade me not of my past failure You hold me close to you and whisper to my ear saying "Foluso The sun still shine, you can still make it" No wonder I am reaching my goals now because your Sweet words still live in me Words are not enough to express how I feel But I have to tell you this Sweet mother Ain't a woman alive that can take my mama's place
A scream stretches out into the night A desperate call heard but with guilt ignored An echoing beacon of another battle commence As neighbours run to their bunkers to escape its call As blood drips from walls In separate tombs Two children wait in line Hoping and praying they won't reach the head this time Dreading what raised voices and familiar shouts will bring As they desperately hide beneath timid sheets That had always failed to provide cover they need As blood drips from walls A mother throws herself into the line of fire Desperate to protect her kids from his fists full of anger For she knows if she's not there where next he will turn As her blood drips from walls Plates, cups, glass become the bullets In a battle for the kitchen door Whilst trapped inside for now her children's safety she is sure As blood drips from walls Drink the finger on the trigger held Cruel words the shrapnel that went so deep Every punch of his fist the mighty bomb That tempted fate to end this once and for all As blood drips from walls The excited barking dog Becomes the friendly fire As her arms try to block the punches The dog bites into what he doesn't know A scream of pain for a moment sets still time As blood drips from walls Two children shudder as the ambulance pulls up outside The flashing lights a breeze of hope dancing on their bedroom ceilings Just maybe somebody might come and take them now Guilty in their selfish need as they feared for their mother loved As blood drips from walls But as they drifted into exhausted sleep Freed for a night from his rage as he sat and feared losing all he controlled In a hospital room their mother retreated into a lie Surrendered all of them to many years more Because more than she feared the war She was terrified of the loneliness from losing his love Believing every time he told her you're not good enough As blood drips from walls
God bless little angels brought unto me, Watch over them beneath heavens grace. My first of seven blessings most precious gift, Treasures hearts keepsakes. Number one the oldest, my rocker baby, Dancing away with musics sweet lullaby. The lyrical light of brilliance's, a shinning note, That strums across grandma's heart strings. The second child is a testament to patience, No instructions came with this wonder Or warning labels tattooed upon her backside. But she has the eyes of an angel and lord knows, She try's my beliefs but I'll never give up the fight . I love my problem child just the same. The third times the charms, she is that for sure, With brown eyes and a kewpie doll with dark curls. Our grand daughter bubbles, whom can light up the Darkest moment with just a simple smile. The fourth grace is he, full of strength and daring, A future NFL first draft pick this is my little RJ, Patton had his tank and believe you me, Me maw Has hers. Diamonds are the hardest stones known to man, But this boy sparkles with a shine more valuable, Then gold. Fifth in line is wisdom and charm, explorations Future astronaut. With curiosities wondering eye, but ahead of The pack in any game of life. My youngest grand son Issac his name means, Laughter and joy and in this it is so true. Tiny but mighty is my little Bella, With dark raven hair, she has her fathers eyes, And mommy's brave spirit. She'll take on the world someday. And win by all hands clapping her on, Me Maw's future Mrs. America. Seven was born on grandma's birthday, A special gift given unto me is my darling, Trinity. Who knows what the future will hold for thee, But seven has always been my lucky number, So sky's the limit with this the youngest blessing, In my life. 1. The blessings gift is music. 2. The second blessings gift mischief and curiosity. 3. The third blessings gift beauty's sweet smile 4. The four blessings gift strength and endurance. 5. The fifth blessings gift wisdom and charm. 6. The sixth blessings gift is a brave spirit. 7. The seventh blessings gift is lucks true fortune. And when you add up all my many blessing, What does a grandmother receive a full heart, Hugs and kisses at bedtime. Good night my little angels and sleep tight. I'll re-sight my many blessings in my prayers, Tonight as I lay myself asleep and dream of thee. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Outside the sterile nursery I stood, looking in. So many snuggly swaddled newborns asleep in little plastic cribs; my eyes hungered for only one . . . A nurse was bathing you, removing the remnants of the nest that formed you. Her face filled with wonder and adoration. "Is this one yours?" Soundless question behind glass . . . "So beautiful!" I had watched your head crown between your mother's legs; rapt . . . awaiting the first glimpse of your face. A mass of wet black curls and then your eyes; you were born and I was smitten! Unexpected, the rush of brand new love I did not know existed. First grandchild! You opened the door to a different world, love wild and fierce, protective and totally absorbed. Four more times that door has opened, love's arrow piercing my heart . . . when you hurt, the pain twists within me. You are the soul sunshine I crave, my grandchildren. September 18, 2014
...and how lovely to sleep in the womb of a bird that caresses silk like skin and sense all things around are being taken care of as sugar coated thoughts begin to traverse the twilight sky of a summer night when misty mist comes, sounding on your jovial, pink lips
She was a tappin' to the tunes... of those Mississippi blues... step-pin' out, in her white... Pat-en-leather shoes, We were a watchin' her a prancin', all through the kitchen, dancin'... for she was so...hot & sizzlin'... hummin' to those Mississippi tunes... Funny curlers too, upon... her head...for a new... Hair dew,... she was, a swirlin'-in that bakers apron, when her head...star-ted a bobbin' to... those Mississip-pi blues, 'Pots were a knockin'... Grandma a sockin' down all she brews, while that kettle there was whistlin', in har-mo-ny, with them good ole... good ole...mississip-pi moves,' That floor there, was a bouncin' holdin' hands we were a jumpin', an-a hoppin' In the kitchen, to those... sounds ... Where Grandma's feet were a stompin', In her new...New-white-sexy-pat-en- leather-shoes... (ya hoo)
She's gone I miss her so And yet, I connect with her Every time I touch a flower... She's there When I read the classics Engrossed in the pages of Lorna Doone... She's there When I breathe in the pine scented air Of the hills of Lebanon, The land that she loved... She's there When I sing the alto part of the hymns she adored Trying to fit my voice to her glorious one.... She's there Teaching me how to follow the notes "It is Well with my Soul." When tears spill out of my eyes In sympathy for another.... She's there Her sensitive soul pouring out from my eyes When I tease my students and hug them tight Trying to make them fall in love with words... She's there The well loved teacher When I write my little rhymes... She's there Still believing I'll be famous one day When I drop something and it shatters... She's there Worrying that the same disease Will touch her only daughter And turn her life to hell When I look at my black hair Beginning to show the white Thick and luxuriant... She's there With a knowing smile Happy she's passed on her Her crowning glory to me Between the lines of the poems I write... She's there Her romantic heart beating loudly ALIVE She's there…… She's in me How I wish you knew her Before she was ravaged by disease Before her spirit was crushed And her smile became lopsided And Yet…. And yet she didn't stop smiling Or reaching out to touch a loved one But I had to hear her pray for death The confines of the wheelchair too much Unable to care for herself Too ashamed Having to have my father bathe, change, and feed her Too much for the free spirit that she was The one who had climbed trees while pregnant And smiled at the sun I tried to heal her I prayed and I begged Testing my faith "In the name of Jesus...." No healing came No cure for MS And I hid my tears, crushed That this vibrant ray of sunlight My MAMA The one they called Sunshine Wanted to leave my world in in darkness I had to let her go And it was only when I changed my prayer And asked for His will to be done That she fell asleep And got the release she So desired. I miss my MAMA I'm crying tears she cannot see For she is sleeping Waiting for the wake up call Of Jesus whom she adored My heart bleeds for my MAMA Life is unkind To take her from me But I'm my Mama's girl An extension of her heart and mind and soul A helpless hopeless romantic Who loves the rain And the wind in my hair And Little Women And singing And LIFE. Eileen MANASSIAN I Thessalonians 4:16 - 18
I remember the day Trixie died, Sinbad staring out upon her grave. No crying, just day after day, homage. I couldn't stand seeing the pain, Nothing I did, petting, holding, Could bring him away from the grave. So down to the pet store I drove Hoping for a partner to please And found a pair of cuddles, babies Arms wrapped together in play One black one orange which should it be? Orange like Sinbad or black? But how could I take one from another Leave another hole, so black and orange Babies two, drew Sinbad back over To sleep the peaceful sleep of cuddles Warmth from another, held like a mother Or held like a father, Sinbad was mine Once more we could live in happy cheer Death deserted from our midst When the wonder of youth appeared.
Grandmother pointed out warning signs on the apples. Her strong voice resonated as she referenced bruises and marks. Her wrinkled hands brushed over minute holes and obvious incisions. She clutched the apples in her weather-worn palms without uttering a single word. She carefully lifted each apple to her nostrils and then began discarding them respectively into the two bushels. By days end, both bushels were full. I softly said... "What shall I do now with my bushel, Grandmother?" She laughed and kissed me on my cheek whispering... "We shall bring them back to Grandma's kitchen. We will then transform these delectable fruits into an exquisite pie. A pie pleasant to the nostrils. A pie warm and sweet to your tongue. A pie brilliant to behold and soothing to your little tummy and giant heart. A pie that will make my grandson feel happy and content inside. A pie baked with love and truth and honesty". And I replied..."And what are you going to do with your bushel, Grandma?" "Well, my dear, I will OVERTURN my bushel and THROW these apples OUT!" – she dramatically replied. "For they are bad and serve no purpose in my kitchen." It's been many years later, my dearest one. And late this evening I have been reviewing our union. I fetched myself a writing tablet and a pen. I leafed to a clean page where I then assembled two bushels. To the left hand side of the page I situated your Advantage bushel. The right hand side of the page underscored your Disadvantages. I began to think as Grandmother would. A keen eye for detail and clarity whispered her loving observations into my ears like an invisible windsong. By midnight, the blank page was now devoid of it's once white canvas. I looked at the bushel to the left - then quietly stared at the bushel to my right. The bushel to the right was sated whereas the bushel to the left was sadly barren and almost empty. I reviewed the two bushels a final time. I took a deep breath and gently placed my pen and tablet atop my writing table. My dearest one, although you're not here tonight - I realized my life needs to have the bad apples banished. I silently apologized to you as I picked up the bushel to the right and without uttering a single word - I finished my last fork full of apple pie and switched off the light. I shed a solemn teardrop that bore your name puffed up my pillows gently overturned the bushel and contentedly threw you out.
10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life. Every day she will arise to go to work 9-5 flipping burger's and dunking fry's. 10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life. Every day hold's a new surprise from those 10 little fingers 10 little toes and 2 little eyes. one day shell realize 10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes are not so little any more. Those 10 little fingers get bigger and one has a ring on it. Those 10 little toe's get bigger no longer barefoot a boot on each. Those 2 little eyes no longer so little looking strait up the middle ready for combat. 10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life. Her 10 Little finger's 5 little toe's 2 little eye's finally come home. and like I said 10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes saved Their life.
Up in that old attic are an antic Raggedy Ann Doll and a rocking chair well used by my grandmother. Grand she was and as great as she to be; she instilled value and principality. Up in that attic is an old Raggedy Ann Doll and an antic rocking chair my great grandmother rock from. Short in statue but tall in her stance, my great grandmother guidance departed wisdom. In that attic is all kind of memories of how my great grandmother and I loved each other as family. Friends bonded and she as a life-long mentor, in that old attic resides expressive art. In a far corner that was east to the sun stood a portrait of my great grandmother. Knowledgeable was the face with eyes of hazel brown painted at the age of seventy-five (75). The reminiscence of youth is a mural seen as I sat down in the rocking chair thinking… ("Mama, let's read The Bible together.") In this old attic is love unknown because of the time I had with my great grandmother before she was beacon home.
My dearest one - you oft traversed my well tended garden. A panacea I personally created to massage your ailing id. A garden similar to the wondrous patchworks found in Eden. A recreational playground of neatly lined tree varietals. Peach, fig, pear and apple trunks - are surrounded by the glory of lilac bushes scores of majestic dahlias, and a plethora of multi-colored hibiscus. My grandmother taught me many things, my dearest one. When I was knee high to her apron hem - she wrapped me up within a hatful of stars - sprinkled with magic and miracles and morals. These were her gifts to my soul, my mind and my heart. Without ribbons or bows, she filled my senses with a cornucopia of brilliance and logic. She passed unto me the precious gifts of observation and decision. She taught me about apples. Grandmother guided me through her prized orchard one misty morn. She held two bushels in her trembling hands. She extended one of them towards me and said - "Take this my sweetheart and follow me for you shall learn something very important today." She lovingly cooed..."We have two bushels. One is for Good and the other for Bad." She continued to liltingly sing..."Apples are like relationships. There are Good ones and there are Bad." "However, one should understand and determine the signs between the two and separate them accordingly."
Killington Mountain, one of the largest Ski resorts in New England. With its webbing of trails, dotted with colourful kaleidioscopic ski outfits; racing to the Castle they call a Base Lodge. My Cabin is atop a mountain across two valleys from Killington's backside I can see the untamed, wild and free side of Mother Nature's: True being Where deers have no fears, and the Bald Eagle soars Free I once did a recue mission there, and when all were safe, I walked Into the forrest of Nature,where mankind had never before intruded I walked where the Deer, Bed. where the eaglets squawked for food I saw the Black Bear awake; "Good Morning Mrs. Black Bear"she Yawned And walked away.I heard the Evergreens giggle as melting snow ticked Pines The Serenity,Tranquility,enveloped me in Nature's Wonder of the World. Inspired by Linda(PD) with her Contest: 7 Wonders of the Ancient and New World. This POEM is one of my 7 Wonders. This is Dedicated to all POETS who have written about the Autrocitys of Mankind to " Nature or THE Beauty of Mother Nature in Rhyme " This is not a Contest Entree
When my mother moaned As she witnessed her daughter depart this life I was touched by the glitter in her tears Tears of emancipated love, The sort ordinary in a woman That is not faked or imperfect; But my father admonished me That her tears were psychologically adulterated, That her tears were meant to delude me- After all fatality of a son is more devastating. I did not accept as true what father told me For I knew the lie in male psychology So I ran from him without looking back And followed mother to her bedroom And I wiped away the tears from her face: She was my mother And I was her son I could not let her cry alone.
My golden dog, two days after his death I can still smell his fur in my nose, in my brain. After frantic efforts, we shared his last breath. I watch the life leave his eye. His name was Cosmos and I think there is a switch on the spirally DNA that's turned on more for some than most. Those that have it must beware that it can take them to their deaths. Those that love them must be aware that it can take them to their death. Cozzie's mother knew, it is typical of the breed to have the switch turned on. She always held back a little perhaps knowing where her genes could take her. I always sensed a certain sadness as her doofus son bounced around trying to please her, please me, please everyone! Lick,licks, licks, a thousand licks, even for the cats he shared a household with. I think that his mother knew where it would all end, out on a walking trail on a beautiful day, doing what Cozzie love best, pulling us all down the trail, determined always to be first, dutifully stopping at stop signs, ready to take off when given the "O.K". There came a time in every walk, that I didn't take seriously enough, when he would say, "enough!", and lay panting in the weeds, embarrassed to be seen, and we would wait, until he was ready to resume the lead, apologetically wagging his tail, for the momentary delay. This was a normal day and I trusted nature to set the boundaries never suspecting that Cozzie's switch was turned too high, pushing him beyond endurance, just to please. The day came when his big body collapsed in the weeds, and he could not get up, panting for his life, and apologized to the end, for his inability to please. If only we could hold back those with the Cozzie switch and make them understand that half a big heart is enough.
In LOVE she conceived of you. With JOY carried you. And with PRIDE birthed you. In LOVE she always conceives of you. With JOY carried within. And with PRIDE born of who you are. In LOVE always conceive of yourself and others. With JOY be carried through life. And with PRIDE in who you are Be the true expression Of this mother's heart. for SAMI AL-KHALILI-contest Heart Warmth
~ Unrolling the fabric by the yard I could see a light behind her eyes The wheels of the old Singer sewing machine Had come alive in her imagination Spinning furiously, Long before she paid the clerk And gleaming tiny roses, of pink, and blushing bands Would take her for a lovely walk Into the magic land of thread ~ I remember how the floral fabric, spread out before our eyes Was a garden in florescent light This fifty two inch wide bolted parade of blooms, Selvedge seamed, of gleaming polished cotton Waited to enhance my first dance ~ Before she even picked out a spool of thread The pattern was laid out in her mind It was almost as if the springtime dress, Could magically make itself ~ She had held the pink against my face, Then draped some around my shoulders I felt myself float off the floor, And in my imaginary dream, I was Cinderella... It was as if little bluebirds were wrapping me in garlands of love While mother's gentle touch So lovingly, and skillfully….with her motorized magic wand Was determined to fulfill my dream ~ She would know, just the perfect touch, to make it divine Just how it would gather around the waist With a sash of blush, with a bow in the back A neckline of lace, in a sweetheart design ~ And I think that she also knew, when we made all those plans How love could last in each stitch, each thread of time ~ The love expressed....in that rosy little dress With every stitch that she sewed... Would be part of the fabric of life that I knew My very first dance dress…. ... a rose covered sun dress, sewn from the garden of love ___________________________________________________________________ For Anthony's Contest: "Think Pink"
NOTE: This Poem is dedicated To all those mother and fathers Who have lost Their dear little ones In he recent US killing. Ravindra A Poem for US Citizens & Politicians No words can console The grief stricken hearts of those parents And of your people Who have lost The pieces of their hearts in the killing. No remedial measures Can restore those lovely words Which used to pour honey In the ears of their loving mother and father. When they were live The smiles of these ill fated children Used to fill the hearts of their parents With strength, kindness and love And faith in God. Now since these angels Are no longer alive O' Almighty God Kindly strengthen their shaken hearts O' God As they have lost The most valuable part Of their life, love and happiness Their dear loving children. Others can only express their feelings For the tragedy in which these small children Have lost their lives By the merciless insane killers Who are the outcomes Of the gun culture only. Every sensitive heart in world Would pray with wet eyes For those sweet little boys and girls, Who have lost their lives for no sins of their own. Let the wise politicians and law makers Poets, writers, Painters and Musicians Social activists and thinkers Of America Taking a lesson from this incident Should change those laws Which give birth to such heinous crime makers And mad law breakers. Ravindra Kanpur India 22nd December 2012/b>
15 years old. It was a brain tumor, they'd said. Holding past the current; undertow of reality slapping my fragility cold – (steel bars won't hold water – movement always finds its way) O', how the lies twist! Twist like the dusty branches on an old, gray apple, holding appraising rooks from another's waking nightmare. Suicide, they tell me now. A menagerie of years too late. Oh…and by the way, he's not your real father; your real father was dead to you the moment he found out. This guy's just The Black-Maker – (mother stealer; innocence taker) a mass of dark waiting to fall; waiting to burrow beneath light skin (so dark, even the sun lost hope) exponentially surrendering - stuck on repeat. The temper of blood lost, melting my thin ice – can you sense the coiled, un-leashed? Like a waking May snake tasting the indifferent air for the first time since snow; out of its burrow, and striking its own skin ripe; bleeding my vinegar still, sweet; distilling a wicked brew (a science experiment gone bad) until the steel breaks and every molecule of unoccupied space is reduced to motes; unseen in the shadow of its dying host. A ticking time-bomb: Sex, drugs, drinking – all manner of loose cutting; memory re-making, recapturing of her long dead ghost, exhumed from its protective bed of lies – and how that double edge twists to this day. Only now, it twists in wind through my reclaimed space. The sign across my chest reading, OCCUPIED, instead of SPACE FOR RENT. 37 years old. It was suicide. This I know – lies all told. But, it was also her greatest gift – her young life tolled; my life, paid in full through the tears of time. (dried up like an ancient river still baring the scars of once was…) From one parent to their child, the gift of life remains the greatest gift of all. Nothing was ever taken from me. No…only given - un-leashed; un-bound; un-coiled. My own struggle baring weight - her wrongs come to my light - I am the Light-Maker now, and as straight and long as the journey from one star to the next; and the next, and on. I have stopped fighting my past and embraced it. Thanks to all, (life/her/them/Him) I am learned and open as renewed hope from the heart of God. *For Michael's Un-Twisted contest. This is part of how I un-tiwsted what came to me twisted; how I un-did my knots, and gave thanks for those knots instead of trying to fight them.
When i was about 5 i was put in to a SRS. I was there tell i was 7 and when i got out i move to my grandma and grandpa. When i was 9 my older brother started to beet me up every day and all day long and then when the beating he was giving me stop working he started doing other thing to me. When i was 12 i losted my grandma and then my grandpa didn't want nothing to do with use and still don't. i took my brother *****tell i was 15 then started to beat on him. My brother put me in jail for a few year because if the *****he made me do now i am 21 and have losted and got back the girl that i love and care about her name is Holli Sczenski. Her family don't want use together so they are making her choose between them or me she dues not want to have to choose between use she loves use both and i know it and her family know it but there still doing it. On top of all that my own family is going throw somethings as while my mom is not doing vary good and we may or may not lost her in the next few years.
~ Letter to Mother ~ If I die before I wake To my mother I would write I never understood why you were so cruel ~ or why you had an iron fist rule Why you beat me till black and blue ~ for something as simple as not tying my shoe Why you were always enraged ~ why interest in my life you never engaged Why did I get the worst of the abuse ~ when I was the best behaved and did as you told me to Why did you fight to win custody back ~ when maternal instincts you knew you lacked Your torment instilled in me ~ fear, depression, insecurities, and anxiety This is the reason my judgment was flawed ~ mother you should be appalled Even though it was horrific living through this ~ I love you and for your pain to be healed I always wished Even though my body will be gone ~ Even though you may morn My heart is no longer scorn ~ I thank you for being born My life resulted in the lives of more ~ Lives that I love and adore This is the greatest gift you have given me ~ I don't want or ask for more... I'm FREE Lay
Oh, how we keep adjusting the level of our expectations as, age, sickness, and loss of dreams take their toll. You ask what it matters, if you do not graduate. Truth to tell, little, in these times, in this society. School is only one small measure of success, imperfect at that. But for a mother, whose life has been a weary negotiation between poverty and expectations, the apparent success of her children becomes the last measure of a life's value. You, in your determination not to have anyone judge the value of your young life until you hit your high expectations refuse to give one small gift to one that has lost hers
Thank you dear God, or whoever it was, which gave me just you as my mother! Thank you dear God, or whoever it was, who gave me the nicest mother anyone can ask for! Thank you dear God, or whoever it was, who gave me a mother that took care of me! Thank you dear God, or whoever it was, who gave me a mother which is always there for me in the ups and downs in life! Thank you dear God, or whoever it was, who gave me a mother I can laugh and cry with! Thank you dear God, or whoever it was, who gave me a good mother that I can share my life with. Thank you dear mother that you are who you are! ("v")("v") Love you mom! `v` `v` Deticated to my MOM on mothersday 12/02-12
It was a tin-roof wooden house standing Across the red brick cobblestone street Adjacent to a wide open field full Of shady live oak and sweet smelling tangerine trees where My father's boyhood home was nestled Quietly in his home town. Often times we'd travel to visit The grandparents still living there In that Americana corner of our lives. We didn't know much of anything at all except The sky was blue, love was true and we Youngsters were the apples of the old folk's eyes. We'd sit for hours in white wicker rocking chairs I helped paint one time with newspaper on the floor And a horsehair brush grandma gave me To teach me that painting needn't be a lesson In staying between the lines. "Sometimes," she'd say, "It's better to let the paint flow And speak for itself in time." And granddad liked to watch the sky – especially at night When stars were burning bright and would point towards Polaris and say: "Heaven's over that a-way." And during daylight hours When storm clouds appeared and we could hear Thunder and lightning all around, he'd laugh and dance As if the circus were coming to town. We watched mocking birds and blue jays flying in and out Of all the tree top branches and leaves singing Their love making lullabies to us and one another and then As quickly as they arrived, Disappeared into the wind. It seems we're not much different Rather family, foe or friend. Accordingly, the old house still stands today But the dear old folks have slipped away. Perhaps to the place once pointed to High above that night sky view Where comets roam and grandpa liked to call "Up yonder," Leaving me with thoughts of gold And memories made to ponder.
She went up to heaven, holding the angel's hand My great grandma Hajia Died and went to heaven She is watching over me With the weariness of A mother hen watching Her newly hatched chicks She likes it up there She is having fun With all the people there She misses the people she Left behind that day In the room The angels took away Something I treasure so much We miss her I miss her I will always love her She went up to heaven Holding the angels hands.
My Darling Girl, your big dark eyes met mine against your pale skin and yellow hair this name sang in my heart, Susan, my Black-Eyed Susan. A wild flower you'll be, you'll be a kind friend, loving wife, strong mother, sweet grandmother and always you'll be my darling girl, my Black-Eyed Susan
Upon his grandfather's rocking chair on the porch in the cool crisp air sits a man with a special gift. For he can see the soul of a tree within a piece of wood upon his knee. His pile of cedar gives off a sweet smell. He picks through the pieces, eyes closed, his touch feels what is enclosed. As if he were to reach within the wood by pulling it apart from its protective bark and removing what's inside from the dark. The Whittler will release this soul from its cage! Each meticulous movement of the knife in hand is meant to bring out something so grand. After hours of work, fingers cramping into knots the soul held within in this piece arose to be a magnificent fully blossomed rose. Beautiful just like the ones his gram planted beneath her father's old cedar tree, by hand. Adam Hapworth, With These Hands, 12/13/2013, Image #3
I kneel in front of the alter praying the rosary and asking Dear Jesus our Father to keep my sons protected while they're serving their country to keep us safe. A son in the Navy, station in Bahrain in Desert Storm. While the ship is in close fighting and providing navel gun support, the men are inhaling the smoke of the Kuwaiti oil fields fires. Saddam Hussein ordered the wells to be blown up and set a fire because he knew the war was over and he didn't anyone else to benefit from its riches. While the oldest son is stationed in Washington making bombs to support the bombing campaign in Kuwaiti. By Eve Roper 11/12/2014
so this is the way the night tastes... looking back I couldn't tell, in pencil at the beginning worn flights of steps, from before the war smaller, until they were gone but in the mirror, my hands gold rims, bare here and there out of an echo, knowing not long after flecked with red, blue in the depths, and polished... I see clearly all the pieces of the flower it was late when we started plates stacked on shelves next to the questions one at a time once there was a horizon no color except for gray at a perfect distance from each other almost a thousand years later almost in plain sight in the summer fields waiting it would climb up as a shadow we planned to wait and to whatever is still standing the eggshell of light before dark what was there before remained closed on its own along the ridge of the barn roof only she had forgotten her name a dried branch of bittersweet lace on drop-leaf tables I could not remember part memory, part distance leading me to the lake shore invisible under the hood _______________________________________________________ Inspired By Charlotte's Contest: "Cut-up/Collage Poems" and randomly "snipped" from a book by W.S. Merwin 2/27/14
To my girls I want you to know That I see you As equals on every level Not just my daughters My little pink princesses I see you as young women Powers within this world With oceans to offer A lifetime still to learn. Live your lives As though I was still with you Be free and fearless For you can see Life is so short Take all opportunities And shape them to your dreams You have all the tools And I will be watching over you Be good to one another There are only two of you The strength between sisters Is a bond for life. Your analytic minds Will help you make good decisions Fair and just rewards will ensue. Your radiating hearts Will gift you many friendships Maybe special love All in good time. You will never be alone For you have a deep sense of self This will be fortified With my passing Your feet firmly planted Will serve you well Balancing the ups and downs because that's how life is. Always be true to yourself Life will be true to you too. Do not mourn my death I am not going far away. My illness has progressed My time is nigh There is a greater plan One we cannot see But we have had a great life As mother and daughters Our journeys together live on in our memories. My loves I will hold you safe In my heart Now and forever I will always be with you.
Will We Know Him? Will we know Him if He stood in front of us? If He walked by us on the street? Will we know Him? If we have a chance to meet Him in our lifetime? In that split second that we meet Him? Our eyes met for the first time? Will we know Him? Yes reading the moment we stood side by side? Our smiles are very clear Our heart jumps around Yes we do know Him? That look, and that feeling When we know we've found our home Yes we do know Him Yes we know what to say to Him As we walk away together Yes we know Him as He knows us His children We are finally together Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS Copyright 2013 http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com
Written by Gail DeBole on January 26, 2013 Portrait One You thought that they were crazy. Watching the news each night. Your explanation was simple. Crazy. The killers, the liars, the cheaters… And I snuggled next to you. Thinking how overly-simplified your conclusion was. Your shoulder making an excellent pillow. Your apron always on. And after the news was over You were back in the kitchen taking care of… Everything and everybody. Portrait Two In the video…old video…it's now a memory. You and your sister Talking and laughing. No sound video. Can't tell what you are saying. Can only see the love between You and your sister. That will have to be enough. That's all that matters. Note: Part of the Portrait Collection
Psilocybin psychotropica, you are a gateway to immortality, a gateway to angelic states of euphoria spreading open the wings of our glands, breaking the bondage of mind-ego, pushing thoughts closer to God. Ah yes, flies lick the cap, then they dance in drunkenness, making them so much easier to crush. Blast those dirty flies and the plagues carried upon their tongues- miniature horsemen galloping forth from the saliva of these vile, winged beasts. -Thou shalt not kill- But kill only those disgusting flies, please, kill them all! Yes, kill them all! Everything else should live. Even inanimate stones breathe, just as trees can hear us passing by. Atoms waver, pulse, twisting all about, until reality can be seen as a gigantic interconnected organism, constantly moving and breathing. Breathing. Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer showed his patch of magical mushrooms to the rest of the gang, sharing the secret of flight, enabling dear Santa Claus to fly around the world, spreading the joy of psilocybin psychotropica with everyone else. Oh, the wonders of Christmas! Lights and sounds warping, morphing into scents and colours. Rascally little elves causing havoc in the kitchen, spiking the eggnog with spores- and we grow tall, we grow small, we are having a ball, jumping through mirrors, flirting with Alice, exchanging recipes of cookies, cakes and brownies, visions of sugarplums dancing through our heads. Never want to go back, the rabbit hole is st r e t c h i n g, exit seems so far away as angels fluff pillows for our sleepy heads to rest upon. We dream, talk with the dead, watch spirits enter wombs at the point of conception, so that Grandmother can be reborn again. And again and again and again- an infinite string of galactic spirituality waiting inside of this manna, eternal life found in the spores of the Divine Mushroom of Immortality. *I do not advocate substance abuse, instead I am describing a Shamanic vehicle of spirituality. When ingesting magic mushrooms, especially potent strains like Muscaria Angelica, make sure to be around people who you trust and stay away from artificial lighting and television....
Beneath my tendrils, Hidden by waves of despair Lie Souls lost in storms nightmare No cross, or family visitors, Except crabs and eels And curious seals Picking away at the last semblance That made them once human The seas sermon, their last chaplain A sunken boat, company for the last captain The sea has many secrets And I know her spirit well For I am the last witness To ships that sink To gulls that die To hear the whales that cry To see the births, Far away from man's eye I cast my shawl Up mountains hidden By current and canyon I watch with my many eyes The dolphins panic caught in trawlers net Whose whistle, the final lament Asphyxiation the cruel torment The finless shark, the once proud ruler of this realm Writhes in clouds of blood, while enemies swoop Victim to another's, gourmet soup All is secret, for the sea hides many things Her coral cities and sea horse prairies But locked away in Davies locker Oil and gas, The treasure and the waste She is the mother of all, And the reaper of her domain And I am left to wonder For her embrace is mine to share For I am the jelly fish, and I am a witness To all who have wronged This place where I belong And now I see the virgin iceberg A last paradise where man is not welcome Leave my mother be, and leave her children's kingdom Let the cold be her knight, Let the bears rule the night And let nature be the light. For I am just a jellyfish Wandering my home, the sea, You go to yours and let mine be. For the sea will always be a part Of you, and me. And that is how, to respect my home, the sea Footnote: Thejellyfish has over twenty eyes, more than any other creature on the planet
i prefer them bitten off =center (a slow lick on a hard knife edge) a shecat sparkling like pinwheels on the silky hilltops of waterbeds.. the ones that make you obsess -why they're one hour -five minutes late why their mascaras messy, making you waife their cologned necks, checking for that strange strong scent turn you into some kind of burning,paronoid jittery flake. i like'em a little mousy,a little off the beat a chick that can spit with class kick the living MAN outta me... A fireball that contorts and concocts, attends to every want and need... (ya know what i mean?) hum-ta-dum...ta-dum... ta-dee but in the end what I really need what we all need is periwinkle predicatability a crisco oiled apron the one mamma used to don a lullaby in the quiet cove of a racing mind reminding me of {dead} mother's... undivided attention... way back in Crayola Crayon time
Patradoot or the Messenger 35/Many………. English version by Ravindra K Kapoor Originally written in Hindi by my Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor The moment she would notice during her plays, She would shout 'ltter' 'ltter'* in her broken voice, Showing the expressions of amazing happiness, dear letter, Because you would be arriving, from her father's place, dear. Her innocence would come out from her expressions, And from the melody of her broken words, dear, When, she in her lisping sweet and broken voice, Would express her affection for her father, dear letter. While adoring and loving you in her sweet little mind, She would take you towards east, dear letter, To tell her mother that you have come, she would, Convey that in her broken sweet words to her mother. Filled with the happiness given by the girl child, In the garden, you keep moving towards the door, Till you reach and see my beloved sitting there, Singing a lullaby for her darling child, dear letter. Keeping her eyes on the front door with hopes, She was praying for me from police atrocities, With wishes and hopes in her mind, dear letter, She would be waiting with love in her eyes for me. Ravindra Kanpur India Sept 2010 continues in 35. *Ltter. Letter. Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections Note: If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup Has any question or queries, they can Send me an email on email@example.com Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter. He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned many times during 1920 to 1947. After India's independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics. All his other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. He left this mortal world in 1994.
Born into a life of poverty crime and squalor where hunger and cold winds bite and disease is rife and it was a daily battle to stay alive and find some food to stay alive. Uneducated illiterate caught in the poverty trap drinking polluted water from the same polluted cholera riddled tap. An impoverished woman sells her body for a cheap bottle of Gin and a lodging for the night while a pickpocket and mutcher ever watchful look for a pocket to alight. The deafening clunk and clatter of horses and carts on the cobbled ground and shouts from the street market traders echo all around. Children play and run through the narrow crowded streets dressed in rags no shoes upon their feet The putrid stench from the gutter and thick choking bellowing smoke from factories make one heath and make it hard to breath. Dilapidated hovels and buildings covered in black soot horse manure and raw sewage under foot. Beggars with large mournful eyes reach out pleadingly to the passing gentry to fill their empty bowls with plenty. A peeler pins a notice of a forthcoming hanging at the local Gaol for the few who can read upon a rusty nail. A Mother desperate to feed her hungry children steals a loaf of bread from a market stall but is soon captured in the sprawl. The judge sentences her to 10 years penal servitude far over sea in Botany bay but she dyes aboard the ship of fever upon the way. Her 9 children are sent to the workhouse for the poor to gain some education and work hard behind it's hellish door never to see their Mother or escape poverty ever more. Peter Dome.copyright.2012.
My mother's cry is a long hated diary. Loneliness is the cause of her nightmares. My father was selfish with his needs but gracious with his wants, my mother's anger is deflated by her mistakes. She smiles at the soiled sweetness of her story, her carelessness is distracted from her truth, her punishment is her steps drifting toward the same door. My father's care is sequestered by his lack of loving. My mother needing his love, and my father never willing to let it go from his side.
The black cloak wrinkled from a restless night Worn that day despite its negative appearance Deep, deep black eyes look darkest from grief Time only wears away the cloak's black color Washed to a dull gray-black lacking luster The fabric worn nearly through from its constant use Each night's journey into the land of terror Accompanied by the cloak so real that coated every dream She would sleep, rest, and dream of reaching for her baby girl Relive the horror of those black eyes a mirror image of self Staring back at her set in death's grip, wide open and black A dream that never went away for it was real life event Dead at nine months old from pneumonia Found by those living, deep black eyes that never lived again My adoptive mother and father had a baby girl who died at 9 months old from pneumonia..My mother fed her at 2 A.M. and when the baby did not awake in the morning as usual mother went to see about her and she was dead..
The phone rings innocently. Who is at the other side? Could be no one then yet a peculiar feeling tells me it is the bearer of bad news. Still I answer hoping I am wrong. My mother is ill, trapped between two worlds; the worlds of fear and courage. My ears hear every word but my mind has created a sudden barrier that nothing seems to penetrate like some sort of steel web of unwanted denial. Fear floods my body like a torrent river flow, eroding strength and stability. How much longer can I bare it? Never it seems but hope still glimmers regardless of how dim. Miles are between us, I feel numb and unexpectedly lost. Where am I? It's certainly not here in the presence of fallen angels. The bell of hope strikes a sharp note creating a gentle chime awaking my senses to the news, they are sharpened making the fear of loss suddenly commanding, corrupting my inner strength making it weak. I continue to listen all the while my body is screaming in protest. The voice stopped, I hung up, the pain and fear never lessened. Time went by all the while my mind was constantly in a state of anguish and grief. Endless stories were created, each one worse than the last. My family begun to shatter like a broken mirror, reflecting only the scars of misery and needless hurt. Hope still glimmered but appeared distant and out of reach. My mind grew tender, endless misery has eaten away at my last thoughts of happiness. The sting of fear created heartache for the bond between mother and child was nearly severed, severed by the hands of an unwanted deity. A deity of life itself.
The gracious woman grows through her own self-reflection Everything she goes through in life is a lesson Her beauty is of essence such as her presence Full of integrity, compassion, and optimistic guessing The courage that she brings Screams a strong woman destined With the passion of a soldier at war She is honorable, respectful, worthy and more Qualities that must be adored
Many tales encase mirrors both glittering and new, still the reflections portrayed may become distorted by a single crack thus one becomes many. Light absorbed and then broken in to an array of colour; many smiles surround the boundless room of Mother Nature's good will. The purest of white floats across the bright blue sky, like magical boats carrying the very essence of innocence. Then yet human nature is selfish thus reflecting a darker side; we all harbour inner demons that manifest themselves, like the sly virus created by man that leaves a path of destruction across and within nature's niches. But still Mother Nature forgives for her resilience is beyond the claws of man; She will remain even when we are gone for day and night are locked in an eternal cycle for ever to be the mirror in to which we peer in to her world. Regardless of our selfish nature She will always be heard whenever we need teaching from wrong to right; her voice is always there in the form of eruptions from her fiery belly, violent quakes from within her soul and almighty thunder from within her powerful lungs creating tornadoes and hurricanes alike. Still Mother Nature is forgiving but our inner demons continue to shadow the mirror in to her world thus we are destined to overstep our limitations and end up trapped in a whirlpool of denial and false hope.
I'm very young, mother reads her voice leads my imagination romantic, fantastic sweet, like cake I'm twenty-eight, hold my son and read familiar poems, tales from an orange book echoes
she's beautiful, with hair dark and deep. i imagine me running my fingers through it. i imagine kissing her cheeks. ive wanted her forever. i need her right now. but she's like a bird nobody can tie her down. i wish i had her with me. so i can tell her these things. and i also wish i could tell my mom, who would be so disapointed in me. i only wish i could come out and scream to the world. "I DON'T CARE I'M IN LOVE WITH A GIRL!" i only wish that my mother could see, that even though i might be gay, i still want her to love me. so tonight ill call her, my lover (if that) and fight with her when she ccalls herself fat. i laugh along with her, and talk about her day. then my mom will burst through the door crying. then i'll tell her, im gay.
Once there was a marksman He was in the woods to hunt He met a snipe as he was on his way. Snipe said "don't hunt my kids if you confront them" As they have gone in the forest to play". The marks said, " Alright" He took a few steps and came back He asked the snipe, "But how shall I know they're your kids? Tell me something about what they look like?" Or any other marks on their bodies? Oh, Marksman, they're the most beautiful kids! Nodding not to shoot them, went on his hike When he returned to the same spot Where he has met the snipe He held a string of young snipes Looking at the string holding her own kids The snipe started crying looking at her dead kids. Oh, why didn't you shoot me in my kids' stead? I've shot the ugly I could find instead. The snipe said "Woe to me, don't you know" fool"? Moms think their children the most beautiful". +++++++ June 21, 2014 (Originally posted on 11/23/11) Form : Free Verse Dr. Ram Mehta Second Place Win Contest: Story poem by Carol Eastman
While flying from Uruguay to America, I experienced some fearful problems, Some were real and some nightmares. I was tossing my handbag left and right I heard a sermon my mother used to sing I was quite engrossed for a few minutes Forgetting all the problems I was worried about. Hey, my co-traveler said, "your tape is running" I remembered recording my mother's voice I think my mother came as protecting force Giving an edge over my imaginative problems. A mother is next to godliness, God personified. An event of March, 2010 confirms my belief. An Australian mum brings her premature baby son Back to life by loving cuddles when chances none. The doctors battled for twenty minutes gave up Of saving her lifeless baby boy of 27 weeks. Doctors gave the child to the mother to say goodbye The grieving mother cuddled him tightly two hours Bringing back her son to life, weighing 2 lbs. Twenty minutes of science, two hours of love. I bet it is nothing else but divine intervention +++ September 19, 2014 Form: Free Verse ***Second part of the poem relates to a miracle happened in Australia. Anyone interested to read more, here is the link*** http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/search.html?searchPhrase=Miracle+mum+Kate+Ogg
Just when things are about to turn ugly Just when things are about to go wrong You make things right, oh Mom You protect your loving son. Just when I am about to cry, Just when I am about to lie, Your love gives me a reason to fight, You make me stand upright. You have been my guiding light, My savior during those devastating storms, You have kept my raft from sinking Oh Mom, You have been my urge to smile when things went wrong. Sometimes things go bad, I fight with you and make you sad, I made you cry so many endless times, But still you have selfless love for your child. Oh Mom, will you forgive me for the mistakes I make? Will your love for me always be the same? You know I am the most stupid boy in this world. Your only stupid child. So many I times I wanted to say, Hold you tight and never let you go away, So many times I wanted to confess, You are my God during my distress. So many times I cried, Thinking about the days I shouted at you and went by, So many times I felt in my heart, You are my truest love, My only love for life.
She is the Mother of all that is, and I her child. She is the gatekeeper between all that was and all that shall be, within the mystery of the known and unknown, and the time between everything and nothing. She is the cauldron of power, the inspiration offered to seekers of light. In Her breast is the key to the hidden secrets and I have returned to Her domain. In her temple She waited for me as I drifted through time, she waited, in the certainty that I would remember and in Her temple She awakened my soul. In Her embrace I relived Her ancient secrets and recalled the mysteries of creation in primal instincts of mother and child. She is the creator of all and I am Her child. Yet I had forgotten my mother, lost in the maze of life I searched for the light, the truth and she found me. She knew my name before I was born, and when I called Her name, She came to me. I am born of the Goddess, and the Goddess is within me.
To the woman who loved and raised me To her who brought meaning of life at home A queen who reigned supreme without a crown She cared and valued mine life as her own Willing to give up her life for mine sake For nine moons her life was at stake She was the angel who sang and smiled for me She told me the sweetest and most beautiful words That I will ever hear She raised me without fear She taught me to speak and listen She showed me how to bow and pray Her arms were always open whenever I needed a hug She understood when I needed a friend Her strength and loves remains even today guiding me Lastly she gave me wings to fly Thanks mum
Perhaps you see me it may be your gift to see or merit for hard work or maybe you paid for it with the lashings you endured but surely it is now your inescapable wretched curse as the truth haunts you but you cannot close your eyes like me. It is my fault I am as this to be as false as I am false is my name I cannot love that I have buried it inside and run away because it is too ugly easier to smile and pretend. My grandmother saw it in my blackened soul clever and easy to lie she hurt me made me ashamed and broken to protect the world and even me but her tricks did not work because I have killed too many hearts and poisoned those that survived even my own. I am cold and it is right I have suffered so because I lost my heart and replaced it with a ticking clock that pretends to beat like a happy butterfly and tries to convince me I have feelings that I cannot reach I am a masquerader of abundant hollow emotions that laugh and smile and cry but I never face myself in the dark alone because there is nothing to see without a light my flame has no fuel unless I suck it from another's bloody neck. I do not know myself because I cannot bear to look but I hate myself as much as you hate me and you should because every love I'm given is less for the world I am a black hole I give to get like Hansel and Gretel's keeper I only give love to fatten up my lover and open her precious tender trusting heart so that I can consume it in eventual flames and steal all of their future hope and faith in humanity. And I don't know how to stop and am too afraid to stop myself with the knife I keep hidden but never have the courage to use because I am a dark monster that pretends to be inviting like a pristine beach on a boxing day morning beckoning humanity to my shoreline so I can consume them with my hungry tsunami and leave them writhing in pain with all hope in shambles. Rescuers arrive in love one after another I greet them with open arms as if I am deserving needy blinded behind my veil pretending to myself until it is too late and just as they almost open my heart I swallow them under my next crushing wave.
I hear my mother's voice among cracked eggshells and broken dreams her tears flowing quietly with acceptance upon my cheeks as I strive for a different lot than the one once allowed I hear disappointment in the long pauses of her sighs with just that ache that always yearns for so much more I hear the excuses tripping from sullen lips trying to curve into a smile but denial weights it down in corners where she was pigeoned holed I hear my mother's voice as I speak in words I don't wish to hear with inflections I don't wish to feel and with outcomes I never wish to realize and so I strive to find my own voice among the constant clatter of memory and probability searching to define myself separately with her voice to guide instead of control my destiny...
I kiss her goodnight, two months to the day, and prepare the van, for an overnight stay. The plan is, a family trip to the shore No thought of regret, can't open that door Hours had passed, when I heard my wife's cry, I rushed to that cry, so to nullify The fear in her eye's, I saw from the door, directing me toward, the horror she saw Then I'm inside, on my baby's right side, I see she's blue, and I know what to do The soldier inside, is trained to save lives I pumped her chest, and gave her my breath I got on the line, all while keeping time, rescue arrives and, I hear SHE'S ALIVE! We fly outside, to follow her ride, lights flash emergency, on the outside There is no time to spare, when we arrived, we rush through the door, to be by her side I Pray that my daughter, fought and survived, no words spoken, I can see from Doc's eye's My heart hits the floor, and breaks deep inside, facing my wife, I can tell her no lies We dropped at the door, our daughters no more, for she didn't survive, this ambulance ride Now she's our Angel, we know this inside My family now four, will have to abide For picture frame contest
It was always an ugly robe from the first stitch through every seam of its existence The background color a bold red of cinnamon and cayenne meeting in a frenzy Blue tulips frazzled and frayed as though from an acid trip lingering too long Yellow and green prancing poppies stared from only one eye blackened by an attempt to escape the garish landscape of the robe finished quaintly kimono style I told her when she created it that it was horrid and thank goodness she would not be wearing it in public But my mother had her own sense of comfort and style and who was I to criticize I was just her thirty-something year old child She loved it and made it to please HER Four years later the robe looking slightly worn and fraying lay across the foot of her bed where she lay dying It had warmed her body through cold Midwest winters for too few years Now it warms my body and keeps her near Seventeen years later the poor robe is frazzled ratty and worn The belt disintegrated long ago Replaced by a dark green sash for studied contrast I think she rubbed off on me A hole is melted over the right side cheek where I backed into a wood stove seeking heat Seams are exposed The hem now frayed One sleeve is torn But I am not ready to give up the robe I may never be ready to put it to rest I've found a strange beauty in the twisted tulips and cyclops poppies which cannot be found anywhere else And I swear after all these years her fragrance from four-years worn lingers lovingly once again in my heart
It turns out, I'm still a little kid. The little kid who cries. The little kid who's afraid. The little kid who clings on to mom. The little kid who falls every time he runs. The little kid who gets bruises, wounds, scars--- patching band aids over it. Now I understand. I understand why She would leave me, while dropping my siblings off to school She didn't have enough. She would come back and bring Champorado. Spaghetti when she has enough. She would help me dress for school: putting socks over my feet, fix my imperfect uniform, give me kisses for luck. At times, I would cry when she drops me off. At times, I would cry with them, every time their parents drop them off. Most of the time, I would be very happy to see her there, standing, waiting for me. She would carry me when I didn't have the energy. She would carry me whenever I'm sick. She would carry me to show affection. She didn't have enough. She works hard every day. She works hard to keep the house clean. She works hard to keep the fridge full. She prays hard to survive. She prays hard for guidance. She prays hard for strength. She raised us with her own bare hands. She was our father. She is my Mom.
When little CJ comes to visit She asks me for her "colors," The bright, fat crayons that "nanna" keeps In a recycled butter tub. We share the color book; CJ scribbles on the left, the crayon squeezed tightly in her tiny fist. I color on the right, carefully converting the puppy outline into a masterpiece of paper art. The puppy must have chocolate brown; The grass and trees need green, of course. I stay within the lines, modeling correctness. CJ helps me--smearing first a purple nose on her kitten's face, trailing to my page to add a purple splash to the tail of my puppy. I never am quite finished when she decides it's time to find new pictures and begin again. I doubt we'll ever finish those we leave behind, but I haven't the heart to tell her she might be wasting pages or coloring them wrong. Mayhap, our lives would be none the worse for errant purple outside the lines or a few pages left unfinished.
could we put the worry and sadness of every mother in a pot of gold and send it to rainbow's end, only blue would lead us there. ©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins October 10, 2012
PRELUDE The song expresses the feelings of an Indian village girl. Her parents have fixed her marriage (It generally happens in the rural areas of India, even to-day). She is about to leave for the first time for her in-law's place. She do not want to go to her father in law's place leaving her parents, her soul mates friends the animals and birds. The song sketches the tender feelings of her heart for her Mother, Father and Brother & for the animals and birds, whom she used to look after until now as her most precious friends and who taught her how to sing a sweet song. Song of a Teenage Girl 1/2 Why you are sending me to an alien place, the place of my in laws, O Mother dear and Father, I played and enjoyed my child hood and youth, in your courtyard O dear Mother & Father, You always kept me on your eyelids like a pearl of tears, O Mother, you always kept me close to your bosom, like the beatings of heart, where I laughed and bloomed. O Father, after quarrelling with my brother, I used to weep for hours, Whenever you call my name, I used to be so proud of you, O my dear Father. O Father, by seeing a smile on your face, we used to bloom like a flower. Then, why you are sending me to an alien place* O My Mother and Father *, Please listen to me, O dear Father & Mother, if you have already decided to send me to my in-laws, -Now you have to give food and water to the Parrots on the Tree. -O, Mother you have to give now fodder and water to our Cow in our courtyard. -And do not forget to give grains to our oxen Chun Mun, whom I look after in our fields. -My melody singing Koyal* would be sitting and waiting for me on the Mango tree. O Mother, it is Koyal, who taught me how to sing a sweet song, Please do not forget to look after that lovely singing bird. Listen to me, O My dear Father & Mother, if you have already decided to send me to my in laws, All my birds, animals and my childhood friends would be waiting for me with tearful eyes, O Mother, Please tell them your daughter has left this place forever and has gone, To her in laws, a place so alien to her. .... concluded in part 2 Ravindra Kanpur India. 17th October 2010
I cried for them this afternoon Knew them since the matinee started Saw them fall in love At first sight, the world stopped Everything was silent at the sight of it They looked and were lovers Later that day on their knees Repeating vows that till today They saw only in throw away plays I cried for them, their lost love But not for mother whose long life ended By the Yankee Sluggers creeping disease What was there to cry about? As the blue ice calved from glacier slabs Creased iron plates, made orphans, widows And most aboard but not me or my mother Or the yet unborn twice told tale Tony was told she died, frantic with fear He called out for her but got Chino instead Saw her running to him, delirious with fear and joy He got a bullet instead, tearing threw his back Breaking his heart in half he fell into her arms She covered his face with kisses and tears And I too wept again for what could have been What should have been for mother, died without my tears For I knew not how to give! Instead to those I gave tears so freely But I knew them since the matinee started Who cried for my three brothers Charley, like Marley dragged his chains around And spent a life time sawing them off, Michael who fell From heaven one day, curly hair and welcoming smile Orphaned by mother who just gave him away Brain dead one day in June, the rest followed six months to the day Brother Tom, large lonesome eyes never saw what the world wondered. Water boarded at age five, he left and never returned Last month got cancer and died exactly one month later. I cried today for the matinee lovers, When I should have cried for them.
WHISPER'S April rain fell like whispers on grass, Soft and light like a half felt apology. Dark clouds wafted overhead in shamed silence. Distressed by a cold winter's return. Daffodils wept and bowed in fading despair, My Father's favourite plant was slipping away. As my Father had done and now my Mother too Lost to a world of cold whispers and sorrow. Dead flowers I had placed on their grave so light Were fading like a memory, a star un-bright. Still the rain whispered but failed to cleanse, The grit of sorrow that inhabits my heart.
You have the eyes of the innocent I can see that your heart is pure Which means to me that I shall Follow you all the days of my life And copy in all that you do I shall mimic everything about you I should wear my hair like you do I should wear my clothing as you do For my mother once told me If I want to get to heaven Then I must be more like you Does this mean my own mother Loves you more then she loves her blood If in fact this is so then I should follow you All the days of my long , long, lonely life Yes, in fact, I should want to be you Now I will sit, think , and plot to be like you In fact I will put a spy cam on you to know Just exactly what you are up to when alone I must be careful that you don't see what I do There are those who take it the wrong way Then in fact one day I will become you Then my mother will love me too ! Sept. 9 2010 Monday 6pm
"This is now bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh; She shall be called woman because she was taken out of man." "Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother and shall cleave onto his wife and they shall be one flesh." (genesis chapter 2 verses 23 & 24) One flesh, one bone, all one body and soul, onto our lives it is now just you and I, my wife. All my pride comes from you, boo. You complete me!! Baby, we are meant to reach the heavens together. Meant to hold our vows well onto our spiritual journey. Spread your canvas let me paint our love, open your mind, what I know is not enough. Everlasting devotion, is the meat of my vow. I'm am yours for eternity, if you'll allow Long walks on the beach, our picnic under the willow tree. You're the inspiration behind so much of my poetry. " And Adam called his wife Eve because she was the mother of all the living." (genesis chapter 3 vs 20) Jared Pickett 2/28/2010 Asavvy1
From a tender age I felt a strain with my mother She labelled me "highly strung" I irritated her! I struggled through life, desperate for her affection The harder I tried to please, the greater the divide. She loved my brothers, I could never understand Saddened, I turned to my father, he was my rock. I chalked it down to not meeting her expectations. Years passed, I ended the struggle with mother I married and was blessed with children of my own. Realising that each child is unique, so different I wondered for years how this could be so...... They were both born from us, the same parents We raised them with the equal values and norms The opposites they are, never ceases to amaze me. I love my children, embrace their individuality. Encourage them to be free, to be just as they are. My children will always be treated as equals Loved unconditionally, I have no expectations Forever proud of these two powers in my world I remain in awe at the achievement of them!
============================================================== ~*~ " one blood's flowing in veins ... one heart's beating in rhythm - a MOTHERLY LOVE " thirsty? blood is here to quench my thirst hungry? starving? body's here to fill my tummy life is here to sacrifice breath is here even its very last tears fell in melodious harmonic beat laughs jibe in embellishments of lyrical blithe cries mourn in echoing hymn of woe words sounds in profound cyclic tune love flows incessantly ... my queen, owning the golden crown of my life's honor my sculptor who shapes and molds me up my painter who puts the ravishing spectral hues in my flawed life my architect who builds the home of my life's essence my doctor who cures every imperfections, weaknesses and frailties and my number 1 fan ... who's always there to be proud at my BEST . thank you for what you do unconditionally~~ now, when you're at thirst, my blood is here to quench yours when you're at hunger, my flesh is here to fill yours ~~you and I as 1 ... one blood's flowing in veins one heart's beating in rhythm a motherly love that keeps me breathing in life~~~~ "I LOVE YOU MOM" ~*~ ============================================================== *-* JUN-JUN VILLANUEVA *-* "MOTHER" contest by A Rambling Poet
Whole night you were in my musing Everything forgets except your face Today I'm late at bed No one to wake me early When i saw you in far Corner of dry, dark sky My heart gets torn, Eyes can't stop flowing We are missing you "Mom"... He left the world you leave Don't talk, Rough movement and even His smiles erased. Still waiting for you every eve at the gate The old breezed love Can't take the pain. My small brother asks me When you will come? Your daughter loss All her faith and joy. I can't see their faces It's remind me you, Your love Babbling Chattering before bed to rig up mosquito-curtain Run after me while going to work! My heart seems to burst And blow up with grief... I miss you at my every step,"Mom" He was empty before you Again fall into nothingness They lost their playmate I lost my best friend ! Nobody forbids me, No one says don't do this The call from back to return soon is vanished Sometimes i feel so lonely, My soul intends to cries out Like a simple child And pray to you,"Please come back Mom" If not possible to punish me Make me cry once ! Aaborta Dey This poem is based on death of one of my friend's Mom and i feel more love to my parents when i read this.
Month one Mommy I am only 8 inches long but I have all my organs. I love the sound of your voice. Every time I hear it I wave my arms and legs. The sound of your heart beat is my favorite lullaby. Month Two Mommy today I learned how to suck my thumb. If you could see me you could definitely tell that I am a baby. I'm not big enough to survive outside my home though. It is so nice and warm in here. Month Three You know what Mommy I'm a boy!! I hope that makes you happy. I always want you to be happy. I don't like it when you cry. You sound so sad. It makes me sad too and I cry with you even though you can't hear me. Month Four Mommy my hair is starting to grow. It is very short and fine but I will have a lot of it. I spend a lot of my time exercising. I can turn my head and curl my fingers and toes and stretch my arms and legs. I am becoming quite good at it too. Month Five You went to the doctor today. Mommy, he lied to you. He said that I'm not a baby. I am a baby Mommy, your baby. I think and feel. Mommy, what's abortion? Month Six I can hear that doctor again. I don't like him. He seems cold and heartless. Something is intruding my home. The doctor called it a needle. Mommy what is it? It burns! Please make him stop! I can't get away from it! Mommy! HELP me! Month Seven Mommy I am okay. I am in God's arms. He is holding me. He told me about abortion. Why didn't you want me Mommy? Every Abortion Is Just . . . One more heart that was stopped. Two more eyes that will never see. Two more hands that will never touch. Two more legs that will never run. One more mouth that will never speak. .
"I have forgiven mother" She tarries with hope that the good woman will pray her clemency for her own sins, but that hour is expired; Gee grew a strong wit "Mother is no longer my burden" Jesus came from hard conscience to corroborate her lies The WORD written in black and white: "Us twain is now one; for this reason I depart from her" Three moons less than time in the safety of the womb is slight In the past mother was necessity, but she grew weary of the pace; her birth city received her The old Jewish woman was left with stage three pressure ulcers while the twain bender in Atlantic City Their backsides were not masked by mother's conformity My mother's now defiant fingers work dutifully in another excrement, goat stool in her callaloo garden Before the recession, money was tossed in all directions; I took hold of a few green ones. She lived to outdo her alliance, but high seat killed Miss. Thomas' cat Mother watched her outshone the Jones The recession was never her downfall; immorality got the better of her. Jesus was overlooked "put the WORD to work, compensate the guardian of your youth" She had to let a nation know how well off she was Her enemies know her silver spoon was achieved Her splurges buried ethics, and smiles were wide as graves She let me know in scripts: "A new being I am now; My shine is unlike years ago" Vanity is not here in show, but her heart remains the same Like the Jewish elder, mother is spurned with bruising on her heart.
How do I describe such distress? A squirrel sat on a lower limb, His mother had chased him from the nest. His heart was broken, in upheaval, a mess. His home gone. His mother turning her back so new. Oh what, oh what will he ever do? Each breath he takes is a mighty gulp, Then the sound so soulful with every shout. Cries of pain were so deeply felt, That every bout rips my heart inside out. It renders me tearful to hear the sounds flow… The need to help him drives me so, How could his mother yield such a blow? But he is wild and won't let me help his woe. A human I'd hold so warm and tight. I'd build a nest for him if it were right. But I know he won't accept my help, As he cries on and on in his plight. For an hour he tore my heart to shreds… Then finally a young squirrel came from another tree, instead. Together they ran off fulfilling his needs… His cries stopped. He'd found what he wanted with those pleas… Now if mankind could only help those in need, with such simplicity.
Times were lean but life was good When waste not, want not we understood In the refrigerator all leftovers would accumulate Come the weekend Grandma scraped it all onto a plate She really cleaned it out; nothing was excluded All were mashed and diced with sugar and spice included Beaten batter with raisin thrown in; placed in the oven to bake Thick butter frosting placed atop surely completed her refrigerator cake All the grand kids now gathered about; to taste a slice so savory Not only did we each get a piece of cake; we also got a memory
How do you say you love them? They declare they don't need you. Then they ask if their clothes are clean. You fix their lunch, and then they tell you to go away. You give them lunch money so others won't see you've fixed their lunches. You give them the car, yet they won't call to say they've arrived safely. You tell them to pay attention when driving, but learn with the first real scare. They say they can drive, then will wreck the car in the first year of solo driving. They hug their girlfriends, but don't want you around. They need you in troubles, but can't stand you in peace. They go beyond the limits, then sneer at your demands. They need help but won't listen to your advice. They need help but will try to do it all alone. They want to be on their own, but depend on you. They go off alone, but will keep coming back for yet a while. They love you but will never say so. They hate the situation they're in, but aren't ready to leave. They think they're ready for everything, but they're not. They think they're ready to be alone, but the world won't let them be. I love my teen and will worry when he finally leaves. His relief will be tinged with fear. He will always be welcome back home, but may not come. I will miss him and he will miss me, though he will never admit it. He thinks I don't understand how things are today, because I'm old. Technology changes, but the emotions of growing up are always the same. Needing to go forward, but feeling trapped remains the same with each generation. Being held back by time, conventions, laws, and rules never changes. I understand, they're just too young to realize that I do. I do understand, because I'm already standing in the world he wants to enter. You will know they care after they've left home and call home to hear your voice. Someday they may even come home, kiss you, and say thanks. Contest: Coming of Age 2nd place
They Are Among us. Not alien But more Like us than You will ever know. They are Neighbors Dying Of Disease And Hate And Grief. They live Next door Behind walls Built Not of stone But of fear. Hungry Penniless Alone. They are Stereotypes Birthing Children. Ad dictions Carving Flesh from Bones. They are Sold Into Slavery Beaten By Other People's Philosophies. They are Invisible. But not To Me.
An unbreakable bond is what we share Our love is genuine and rare Beautiful memories of you and I Laughing, smiling and joking Unafraid to be ourselves We are mother and daughter Openly talk about whatever is on our mind We fully trust one another with our deepest thoughts We are best friends How awesome is that?! Never have to pretend We can just be ourselves We love each other unconditionally Occasional attitude Moody ways And those not so good days, Will never change the way we feel Our love is one of a kind We don't always see eye to eye But we communicate to make things right Never stay upset with one another for too long For our love is much too strong Togetherness An undeniable bond You are my daughter and I am your mother Always there for one another Fully supporting and encouraging each other's dreams Uplifting, never discouraging We are each other's biggest fans We are one Kiss and hug each other on a daily basis Show each other love and appreciation I' m an image of you and you're an image of me We are very special to one another Mother and daughter is what we are We Are Each Other's Heartbeat!
A Mother's covenant with her creator Spoken in depths of breathless silence Bids her bear and nurture fruits Each with free will and a given purpose Assuring the existence of our race Each comes with a gift to benefit the whole Each a member of God's body here below His spirit imparted; a blessing, each one is Sent to a world groaning, longing for peace Mothers are special; vessels of His providence Honor for self-sacrifice; honor for their pan A Mother by natural birth or by an adoption Glory in your humble station Teach the basic truths Expose the layers of lies Shed the meaningless disguise Realize the power within your grasp Help make our world a better place. HAPPY MOTHERS' DAY! 5/12/13 ~*~
This morning bells toll a trumpet sounds but refuses to blare it just doesn't know how to harm what it takes to infect the living trees earth and sound survive sadness out last the past bond brothers and sisters of sky air mud and water as it loses to a force some days... this morning it wins because the vibration knows god and is ONE and though human imperfections sit in the shadows of it's path perfections will and forever will prevail people so arrogant we choose to destroy but how can we concentrate on methods of malcontent when god sits at our breakfast table? urging as father urges child "get up!" "move on!" "stand on two feet!" "breath child!" he tolls the bell as we lay on deaf ears he loosens ties with anger as the path warns and wears thrusting driving this cosmic ship of no loses only tiny arrogant setbacks and he smiles for he knows what we yet have to find... and all is well.
One voice for me Stands out like a mountain, like a song sings, holding the ears beautiful Like a host of angels when hurt Kind and loving, gentle when I am sad I love her voice each day i carry My mountain when I am weak, my love for this woman Is light years away, a blessing Never ending In your distant mind A woman of substance, the treasure is mines, now this voice in pain I would weep with her Bound by my heart Now that's a voice I would surely listen My action in words the loudest voice for me My mother's voice, to mum with love
Billy Buttons under the Celery Pines free verse Billy Button's downy foliage Burst open with large gold blooms. Midst thousands of dandelion's green Above, celery pines tip their plumes. Grasslands wave contently in the fields Missouri golden rods climb the hill. Broom beard grass and buffalo clover Send subtle earthy scents, cross my sill. Mulberry's beckoning to the blue ash, Creeping soft grass hides the jasmine crepes. Water pond seeks dry nooks and crannies As nature swags her majestic drapes. All of nature is alive and full of romance Kissed by morning dew she opens her buds Her long silky fingers rustle all to wake Bejeweling earth in vibrant colored studs. Carole Cookie Arnold 2010
Ravaged by progress the Mother's bones lain bare; scar tissue acting as back drop for the architectural blight of man. Ravaged like the Sabine women, the Mother's blood and tears corrupted mined by the mindless, careless, heartless, pillagers, born. Sickened, the Mother fumes, spewing lava, and ash to cleanse. Raging the Mother's oceans recoil ferociously drowning, purging cities. The Mother screams whirlpool destroy ships at sea whirlwinds erase the plaque of man. One wonders, at the audacity of the child who ravages the Mother. No pity for their souls will be found.
the smell wafted like a dream. charred wood and red smoke. "benjie!" she yelled as i ran away down the hall raising my arm against the flickering heat. "benjie, come back!" she pleaded. "leave him alone!" i stopped and coughed. hot air rushed across my face. hearing nothing but the roaring smoke i froze-up -- torn for the first time between Comfort and Knowledge. then slowly out of the choking haze came a whimper and a scrape. and a punch shook the wall. i peeked inside the sizzling arch. hot pitch oozed from an overhead beam caught fire and dripped tiny flamelets onto the hardwood floor. he was there alright. shaking and sitting on the floor in the corner. i whispered: "what's the matter daddy?" he looked up through crazed eyes of fire and hate. "go away boy". then he cried and hugged his knees.
On Memorial Day I am haunted and flooded with so much grief. My Mother lies next to my Grandmother and they next to my Great Aunt. My Fathers name is there, too, but blessedly he's not there yet. Such great memories are restored as I look at each stone. Once again I'm a rambling child with no kids of my own. I remember the safety they afforded me, and all the treats and their love. All their little sacrifices they gave, when I was still too young to know. Why did I chase after a kitten when Grandma was so close by my side? A simple tug on her skirt and she would of hugged me and smiled with pride. Why was I discovering butterflies, when my Great Aunt was close there too? She made the best pies EVER from scratch while I played in another room. Why did I take Mom for granted… when as a child she gave me so much? What I wouldn't give for her gentle touch… and another soothing hug… And Grandpa lies by Grandma… he was always repairing something or by her side. And now there are all my aunts, uncles, and cousins that are all scattered around. They made Christmas my favorite time as their talk and laughter rang out. They'd laugh, talk, and enjoy each other's company, as I'm sure now they do. I can't imagine them in any other way, than at my Grandma's on those wonderful days. We'd sit down to a holiday feast with everyone all around and it all seemed like play. Were they then thinking of others that they knew from long ago? As I walk around the graveyard picking out old friends, I remember their wistful looks… They did the same each year, as they talked about the past even back then. Perhaps its time my stone goes there, though I've a few more years to go. That will help my children when it's also my time to go… And surprisingly it makes me feel I'm not leaving the older family alone. It's like a kiss, and a tug on a skirt to leave that something behind. It's a promise… they'll be remembered until it too, is my time… Until then I'll bring my children and tell stories from long ago… One day a year can't be too much since it's memories that I bestow. And they all simply add up to the life that I have known.
Again death swirls its black finger around the aura of pristine ponds. That now sprout the stoutest weeds where sleepy lilies and emerald songs used to breathe where souls once rested so naturally. Again it swirls its black finger leaving me slightly paler than life never quite as fleet as death, (the cigarette popped party balloon, the darkest swayback horse..at best)
happy (dead) mothers day a fistfull of flowers for your resting place didn't have time to know you you were far swifter than your time, just a few clips from an ancient reel my your smile was sweet and wide don't feel much anymore time is fond of sweeping heart and mind under the floorboards a piggyback ride a cat named blue a silver music box is all there is of us
Maybe the guff was empty—Cancer full moon eclipse Left field call on the black wall phone faint cry from the distant end spoke with throat lump of capital disaster and a troddened womans most everydom—lost before found—somehow Jan knew and put forth a celestial no comment with I-hope-I-am-wrong-love gesture for the love torn bull awaiting a cancerfold friend offspring no spring-perhaps next spring. Anna soild Anna so poised of classic stock sometimes never bending to an antiflexible Taurus mood was caught in a never place, why of questions- depleted character strikes. Will the blood hordes rally for the fallen "fetalrade" and heal the internal emohurt temperature inferno of unknown bliss. Does it ever come at the right instant? Like where's a cop when you really need one—maybe 7-11 therapy would bring solice and peace. Forgive the forgiver and pass your sense into another ability Keep your mind and your soul for the little lost egg. I don't know know or could never compromise no more of a complex juxtaposition of life and death than that of biobeings so closely connected that share the same existance, one within-one yet percent infinity bonded in a tidewater liquid symbiosis that no manbeing in time past or future will hope to match let alone entertain. Be that as it may, you've felt the sting of life and the creation of flesh for a brief moment of time in time and time is that holder of all events we hope to achieve—your time in both will come to be—you will share and create from within, and not waiver about the fallbacks we run down for no explanations from anyone will suffice or reason to make a whole sense of such a fathomless inconsistency. I felt your loss deep in my knees and thoughts flew to your little soul upstairs. There are words and there are no words—my deepest senses to you and Dana—I know it will happen for you as all things come to pass for those deserving dave collins
This story is about a young girl named Sapphie Smith. Her parents were poor, so they lived in a small house, And Sapphie had only three toys, An hour-glass, a spindle, and a doll. The hour-glass had been her father's, The spindle her mother's, And when she was younger, Mother had made her the doll. Sapphie had known no other life, Therefore she was content with her toys and her small little bedroom. She slept with the little rag doll every night, Playing with it so much that it was frayed. When she was about six years old, An epidemic swept through the land. Her parents wished they did not have to go to the village and work, But they were so poor, they had no other choice. Then, one day, Sapphie's parents did not come back; Her father found good pay as a shepherd in the distant hills, Where he would not see his family for a long time, And her mother knew one day in the village That she had the dreadful sickness. She did not go home because she loved her little daughter so much That she did not wish to risk her getting sick. But it tore her heart to pieces, knowing that she would never again see her beautiful daughter. Sapphie wondered why her parents did not come home As they did every evening. It did not bother her much as she played with her toys; The hour-glass, the doll, and the spindle, Crawling into her little bed when she grew sleepy. The next day, Sapphie was getting lonely without her mother, So she went to look for her in the wooded hills around her house. She soon grew weary, not having thought to eat breakfast, And laid down to rest by a stream where she drank. A kind woodsman found her and raised her like his own daughter, But as the months passed, Her father came home, and found it empty, Save the doll, the hour-glass, and the spindle. He set them on the little table with three chairs, Crying when he woke up and saw them every morning. Sapphie found her father years later, Which was the happiest day of her life. Whenever she was sad, she looked on the mantle where the toys were And remembered how wonderful it was to have her father again. # See About Poem #
In a corner of the town, stands a building of antiques. Not an ordinary building but one that percepts the imagination; sense datum begins and a scene takes place. I am transpose to my great grandmother days. I see the rocking chair that she owed and the Raggedy Ann Doll given to me by her. She is telling the store's owner about his antiques that this rocking chair was her favorite piece. Oh, and she would like this doll for her grandbaby. She said she wanted several rooms of furniture. All must be vintage like her. However, do not think of her as old. She was short and plump with olive skin. Her hair radiance gleamed. Her smile meant everything. She almost forgot my small gift that is when she shouted Lagniappe. _______________________________________/ Sponsor: Black Eyed Susan Contest Name: Antiques
A sword of ice stabbed my chest My nails blackened, my nose bled. They're chasing me, wanting to devour my wholeness. Until a gentle arm pulled me up. Mama! Then I felt heaven. Her face, her eyes, her smile, her breath. Everything of her is a therapy— Fragrance of roses, soothing massage, beautiful music. Mama, let me hug you so tight so that the coldness wouldn't come back. Mama, let me kiss you so that heavens would stay. Mama, hear my wounded heart saying I love you. Mama, I love you more than very much. (An entrant into a Regional Press Conference back in college days. Adjudged 2nd Place.)
I was in a big world wherein there's a crowd in every place I can go on my own yet, I go to the repeated phase There are two most important face that might makes my life's craze I might see them as a King and a Queen in a home where they conquer It's hard to set aside their commands and demands even if it is too much, their authority is a must whether I cooperate or disobey their remarks they're still around, somewhere, to still keep in touch so even if those Christian people keep on telling humanities about how God created everything I will always owe my life to my King and Queen, to my dearest parents.
to cherish one moment is to hold something so dear in your heart a golden treasure like in life it lives with you the angel whom i cherish is my mother who in every day she believes in me no matter, what wrongs i do this angel lives with me all of my life in the heart my mother
A mother's love: is a warm embrace. It is bed-time stories, and pancakes for breakfast. A mother's love: is kissing a boo-boo, making the hurt all better, with a cookie and a hug. A mother's love: encourages what is good, discourages what is bad, and always forgives. A mother's love: is unconditional, unforgettable, neverending. A mother's love: is all encompassing. It's a cozy snuggle, on a cold winter's day. 2/19/2013 Kim Merryman Entered in Leonora's "Write me a poem (picture)" contest
Her thoughts drift out the window on the cool autumn breeze and a smile creeps upon her withered face as she remembers the first time she saw this house This house that is so old and worn like her heart and she sways to the music in her mind as a tune tumbles from her memory she dances and twirls across the floor as the melody carries her dream back to the days when he was still alive and would sweep her into his arms and kiss her wrinkled brow she stops in mid-stride and a tear rolls down her leathery cheek and she smiles a smile for the love they shared when they were caught up in their dreamers dance.
I journey, with my pen in hand, To genuine and unique places… To the heart of a lily, The inner side of a turtle's shell, Behind the eyes of a gentle hare. I travel to the forest edge And out into the pastures I listen for the rustle of grass Amid the meadowland's prairie I swim the clear streams, splashing… Beneath the soothing sound Of water's rapids falling all around I write the words of life and love Penned from the heart of nature's terrain About the rain, the sky, the sun… Anything that touches me with the satin hand of Mother nature. ©2014 by Regina Riddle Contest: Wanderlust Date: August 11th, 2014
Many gods and goddesses may exist, however, each one only portrays the many personalities of one wholly being when combined. Our Mother cherishes us all but still our inane habits inhibit the possibility of a peaceful planet. We take everything for granted not thinking of the consequences of our many selfish actions. Our Mother exists in everything we see and do, still life displays a certain essence to cause destruction, extinction or simply evolution. Each of us behold the ability to change but our stubbornness creates a false image of security, wrapping us all in a thick layer of cotton-wool. Pagan faith is a way of becoming one with nature enabling us to see how precious life is. Sadly, our subconscious makes us blind to the fragmented forms of how life behaves; life can suddenly become dark and flooded with fear and melancholy making us see life in a different light making many bitter and scarred. Nature is the centre of pagan faith thus it is seen as precious and is thus treasured and deeply appreciated by all followers. Many of us learn life's most important lesson at a turning point in our lives: life can be altered in a blink of an eye, like day surrendering to the night setting free the all seeing eye, it provides the only light through the darkness. As inevitable as it may be, darkness has to submit to light releasing the slumbering spirits of life.
A modern trimming, Grin and bear it. The slap of a buckle, Reminiscent of the squeeze. Laces bloodied, From a prayer of acceptance. Breathing is optional. The shove to a corner, Start early for pattern recognition, Bind the idea prematurely. Numbed pain, Limited motion. Embrace wind through the long locks, It's only an illusion of progression.
We saw the ultrasound of your unborn child Early this morning, still awakening When at the speed of light It raced across the internet finding its way Into our home and hearts. Your mother began to cry and I Was stunned and stupefied At the reality of it all, remembering when You were one time just so small. I wondered about all the unseen and inexplicable forces Conspiring and converging to create this new life Inside you now. I wonder how Time could have raced away so rapidly leaving All those yesterdays turn to dust While you grew up in front of us. Thankfully, as the infinitesimally small Photographic figure in this ultrasound shows, something Of our hopes, dreams and love grows Like fruit of the vine and nectar Of God's eternal sea of goodness and grace shining Down on our humanity. This evening when the sun sinks low We'll still be aglow with thoughts of you No longer one but two Hearts beating together In rhyme and rhythm. Your mother and I Could never be happier for you and this new found Miracle we've been given.
A Mother's Love For Her Child Is Unconditional The love a mother for her child doesn't measure To the glorious life in your arms you shelter Being held in mama's loving caress Soft touches and kisses Lay upon her brow Nothing can compare to her laughter And wonderful feeling of love you share Never loose those moments With God's grace and never His absence My want for you is the love of your child, you hold so dear 12/30/2014 By: Eve Roper
Her letters came with regularity, full of news and everyday ordinary things. "I love your letters," she said. "They're just like talking to you." I wrote to my grandmother, for all of her days. My missives spelled graduation, my first job, our hurry-up wedding, your mission in Japan, the move out west, return to mid-country, and the birth of each child- everyday ordinary things. I think she hovers over my shoulder as I write to the grandchildren, those chatty emails full of news and everyday ordinary things. No stamp required, say what you want, press send. They'll read them, perhaps, and hit delete.
Hush child, wipe those tears The demons are away They're not after you, I promise It's just the cold weather. Hush child, I hear you sob The monsters are gone They're not after you, I promise It's just shadows in the dark. Hush child, I know, you're hurting These demons and monsters are mine It's just me, I promise And all my cold shadows.
If I be the future, where do I leave the past? All that these old eyes have seen and weathered ears have screamed; A mind that has gathered its rage. A heart that has harbored its hate; The white man with a black belt that never kept anything up, serving only to keep me down. Of words and hands, too harshly felt; The shadows of feet-- from oak trees, still swinging. The fear of sheets that silently shift on soundless Mississippi nights; How do I sleep on cotton and not feel the sting of its sweat? Will you now give me a silken box to bury all along with me? Will I suffocate under its weight forever? While you shovel light onto darkness, looking for absolution-- in the blending. Will you auction off my memories, like tiny babies so they can grow up without any; How can I be the mother of the future, when I am already a daughter of the past? And how will my sons come to forgive, when their mother can never ever-- let them forget…
My name, Bojosi Is a fire which started In my mother And consumed Her inside When she delivered Me to this world She says " When I was imprisoned in a maternity ward at the hospital at the time of your birth son I was alone, none of them I call my relatives I call my friends visited me when I needed their love most and when they asked me, the nurses in white what name I give to you I called you Bojosi " my name, Bojosi short as it is is a poem that my mother composed when joy and pain of giving birth prevailed in her life my name has a meaning….. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bojosi is translated loneliness **10th place winner on the contest " April Poem" sponsored by Destroyer Poet**
Destiny ran into my room today "Grandmother, we had such fun Swimming and playing in the sun" Her hair a wavy asterisk Her lips expounding joy The burnished bronze of her suntan The skip in her walk I relished her swimming pool fun and her commitment to laugh so simply felt I saw myself in her decades gone and then I burned her joy in my eyes and cherished that she came to me to share her moment's delight
My Mother Was Love My mother was love Her love spoke soft and gentle with words Loud and fierce with her heart We knew her grace and patience As a mother, daughter, sister, wife and friend She loved the parents who crossed an ocean To make a better life She loved her brothers and sister Who kept her young in laughter She loved her children Who she didn't always understand But still accepted and embraced She loved her husband Who took care of her And she, him until he left this life She loved her friends She loved bingo, even though she seldom won She loved doing puzzles, reading and rummy She loved to sing Whether standards, or The Beatles Singing moved her, and we smiled When she lifted her voice And our spirits, in song She was glamorous and beautiful as a movie star Yet wasn't above making funny faces She bore emotional and physical pain With dignity and quiet courage There is a picture of a waterfall With a quotation from Corinthians That hangs in the room I slept in last night That says what I've been trying to say here: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast It is not proud" So I say My Mother Was Love November 1, 2009
"Art creates the dream of life" Is that the season? The leaves are hitting the silent windows and some roots of trees are creaking, but I am a dream. I do not recognize the colors, when the sun of that town without time shelters me like Mum. Which flowers shall I gift to you? I am not a saint - I cannot revive you. I cannot even grief. To gift to you - a last flower. "Mother" Bozhidar Pangelov
She saved herself from pick up lines though she looked vulnerable She's sooo lovable her heart definition could ruin my poetic abilities You cannot put a price on her she's not billable If only her lips where adjustable my soft poetry would define her inabilities and weaknesses for the mute to scream happily ever after She's untouchable i O you an explanation Her tears tattoo broken spirits uploaded on instagram She's no twitter baby though followers invite themselves its unbelievable I could throw nice verses in our conversation but i'm afraid i'm love blind I'll tell you more about her if you ask me....ask me nice
I miss... taking care of you. making your meals and snacks for you. telling you " Good morning ", each and every day. taking you to school and wishing you both a blessed day. picking you up from school, asking how your day went, and what interesting things did you learn. making your nutritional assessments, and trying to introduce good foods to you. hugging you both, and both of you hugging me. taking care of you when you are sick, comforting you when you don't feel good. trying to make your ouwwies not hurt. the time that we should get to, and should have gotten to, spend together. the quality in living, that we are suppose to have together. just holding you. the tickle fights when you would both tickle me at the same time. watching and helping you both make awesome artwork. you both singing, with your beautifully flowing and innocent voices. tossing you both in the air, only to catch you, while singing, " I got Aubrey, I got Aubrey, my baby girl " and " I got Micah, I got Micah, my baby boy " seeing you both play and invent and build. watching you ride your bikes. helping and watching you skateboard. playing catch with the football or soccer ball. watching you fill your buckets up with innumerable worms. just watching you try to catch those slimmy worms. listening you you both have a belching contest. listening to you belching the alphabet. watching you make the armpit farts, and laughing, just like your Uncle Eddie used to do. taking you both to various places, and to see the natural beauty. taking you to the Ouachita river to throw rocks. taking you fishing, and putting the worms on your hooks for you. watching you hold on to the bobber while you throw the stick fishing pole into the river. getting you both chocolate covered donuts at Jimmy's Donut Hole. getting to teach you both good things. mowing the grass for you to be able to play safely outside. telling you to pick up your rooms, and to put your clothes in the hamper. cleaning your rooms for and with you. organizing your good toys, and throwing out the broken ones. buying you new clothes, and giving away the ones you'd outgrown. telling you that I love you, before you go to sleep. wishing you blessed and peaceful sleep, every night. But most of all, I miss you. Each and every day, I miss you. May you both be blessed, by The Holiest of Holies Himself, in every area of your lives. Love Mom
To My Mother On Mothers Day I thought and thought What gift I can give, to my late mother On this auspicious Mother's Day, A gift for my Mother, Who passed away from this world, Many many years back, on Mother's day. She must be living in peace, While living on earth, She was my inspiration and my precious teacher. She charmed everyone, who got a chance To meet her, By her simplicity and love and selfless devotion. Her melodious singing and playing of Violin, Defused the gifts of poetry and writing in me, Because of you perhaps, O Mother dear. She taught me the lessons of Music and Poetry, Of life and its duties, not by taking my classes ever, But by teaching me and others, what actually was our real duty, She silently taught, the lessons of kindness and love, Of facing the ups and down of life, Without being sad and disturbed. She taught me to be firm and sturdy in life, And to never feel forfeited and disturbed, Even if, success was no where visible. How great was your greatness, we could not know it earlier, You gave your precious years to my motherland, O Mother Sometimes directly fighting for our freedom, While in your remaining life, you cared and inspired, Even my father, to not only sacrifice his entire young age, For the cause of India's freedom, But also to write books and create, poetry likes Patradoot, Which father wrote in Faizabad jail*, And dedicated it to you, O Mother dear. Many decades have passed, when this great book, In Hindi was written by my father, Depicting the India, as it was around 1932. O Mother, to day, on this great Mothers Day, I am dedicating English version of that great epic to you, So that the world may come to know, The real life beauty of this great story*, And the beauty of this gem of a writing of my father, Which shines once in a blue moon only, On the horizon of poetry. Ravindra Kanpur India 9th May 10 * Story. Hindi name Patradoot and in English 'The Messenger' * Faizabad jail. My father( 1899-1994) late Dr Amarnath Kapoor devoted almost his entire young life 1920-47 for the cause of India's freedom struggle, as a follower of Gandhi. During his long imprisonment in Faizabad jail, he wrote 'the Messenger' as a unique story in poetry in Hindi & secretly sent it to my mother, The Messenger was published and circulated in Hindi around 1933-34 with the result, the British rulers confiscated my father's printing press for ever and its publications and again put him to jail.
God looking down on all his loved ones Said, She is the prettiest of all So small, so soft, so delicate, so pink Innocently she slept beside her mom Close to that tender heart The wind gently caressed her The morning dew tenderly bathe her Every passing butterfly Stopped to admire her The mother happily looked on Secure in the knowledge Of the happiness Of the tender bloom Untouched and pure She danced with the wind And slept on the mist The mother swelled with pride Feeling the love flowing from her Encircling the tiny bloom And keeping it safe God looking down Sighed happily And gently whispered "Mother and Child Dedicated to Ezzelle with all my love and best wishes.
I wanted you to love me, I wanted you to see, I wanted you to know all I felt inside of me I love you more than you'll ever loved yourself, Watch you tear apart until only pieces are left, I'm letting go now and I'm not turning back, Far distant memories is all that are left, I hope you know that there are people that care, We may be far away but doesn't mean we aren't there, Tired of this never-ending circle, Live your life without your true purpose, When will you see my torment and pain, Wondering if you'll live to see another day, You can be selfish you chose your path, Now it's time you deal with the aftermath, You break my heart again and again, Just leave me incomplete until I'm not whole again, I love you more than the air I breathe, but you rip me apart until nothing is left of me, I'll leave you to your torment, pity, and shame, I just wish you would just only forget my name, Can't let you break my heart in two, The heartbreak I feel I wish you only knew, I'll love you until the day I die, I won't let you be the reason I continue to cry, Hope you're happy and I have all that you want, but I'm no longer here to rest your problems on, I hope it changes I hope you see, You are my love and always a part of me, I'll always be here right by your side, but I won't watch you self destruct until you die, Think about us and how much we love you, Turn your cloudy days into beautiful shades of blue, Remember one thing and that's all that I ask, Please quit pretending and take of that faulty mask, You say you're alone but that's a lie, There's people here that for you would give their life, Keep me in your heart I'll never fade away, I hope you'll find your meaning; someday, Love you forever but that's all I can do, No longer a prisoner to what you say and do
I see a lady walking down the street Two children in tow, looking so sweet Looking like the perfect family we know But they have no place to go Her lips are bruised, and she has marks on her pretty face A face so battered, still trying to maintain grace Walking away from her pain into the vast unknown Away from the violence and humiliation she has known Tears stream down her face, while she curses her fate No one to help her in this land of hate To feed her children she raises her hands to beg All the while wishing that she was dead The children look bewildered, trying to figure out their ordeal Looking hopefully at their mother, little glances they steal Trying to gain strength, to face a world full of deceit But all they see in her eyes is defeat There isn't a living soul to help you, oh! Mother People don't care, about you they don't bother All the world does is make you and your children cry Even if they could help you, they'd never try The world watches as you go by Looking determined, with a glitter in your eyes As though you have a solution which you will try I pray that you fight to live, and not try to die The loud noise of a passing train breaks the silence I run towards a gathering crowd, and I am stunned by the vision Three faces, six limbs, scattered guts and blood Eyes staring into eternity, looking alive though dead I see a small smile chiseled on your face, oh! Mother Your children will never face any evil, ever I have lost direction, my sanity, my health Seeing you and your children, sleeping in the arms of death
Oh Mama, Your passion and your courage, Are flowing through me. Your love has traveled across eons, And I recognize you as my mother, So gentle and so kind. My heart aches to you, I feel as if you've always been there, Oh Mama how I love you, This distant just aint fair. As tragic as a treasure, Lost in sands of time, The Fey would bow before you, And recognize you as one of their kind. Oh flower Mother, I see you in my mind. I meet you in the fields of wheat, You teach me beauty with your mind. Fragile mother, I protect you with my life. Moon giving Goddess, Heavenly Saint. So pure, My Ancestor Joan, Would bow at your feet.
I cannot get into heaven God I have tried! Suicide is a double edge sword Especially when you survive! Walking the streets at night Dazed and confused Longing to be loved Wondering... When is Mum, coming for me? "Does she still love me?" "Does she still care?" "Does she still think of me?" "Does she wonder, where I am?" I want her to come find me I want her to say she 'loves me' I want her to comfort me I want her to take me home And keep me safe And not forget hat I exist Like the way she treats me now I wish God Could make my Mum Magically appear Making this hellish nightmare On the street Disappear! "Send my Mum please!" So, all this can end! Before this last ray of hope Diminishes for good! I don't want to become The walking dead Forever forgotten as if I was never born! For this is the cruel, harsh reality Of living life, feeling unloved Uncared for, abandoned, Left to fend for my own A dangerous killer inside me Eating away, at my soul Something, no one can see As I suffer in silence My insides crippling! Lost, alone and frightened Weeping on a dirty Graffiti park bench Dirty tears Rolling down my cheeks Stuffing newspapers under my jumper To keep myself warm "What am I going to do?" "Will I make it through the night?" "Will I get raped and beaten?" "Will I be left for dead?" "Will I survive To see another day? "Is my life worth living?" Please God, I beg of you Have mercy now Please show me the way!
Raintears run down the cabin window, and the lights go dim for departure. It's twilight here on the ground and the sun has just set behind the western mountains. The plane taxies around in the rain for its takeoff run. In a few minutes we will be up there in the pearlescent clouds attempting to catch the sun with the same success I had catching memories the last two days. On down the runway now, a little hitch, and we've left the ground, good-bye, my mother, forever. We fly over darkening roads, lights just turning on, that I had traveled earlier in a groundling's stupor, filled with the images of a slow morning on the porch. The air was cool and the sun was warm on our faces as we sat there, you and I. I knew it was the last time and I think maybe sometimes you knew it too. We watched the world go by and you tried to remember from moment to moment who I was. So I made one last attempt to grab some memories out of the deep, and place them at your feet. Shared moments, shared jokes, shared times and places, some you fumbled, but, for awhile you began to make connections, and remembered and I was ecstatic that you were still there. I held back my tears so that you wouldn't see how hard this was for me. Yet, I could see the strain on your face as you fought, as you always had, to give me all your best. I knew then, I had to let you go. It was selfish of me to hold you in this world, that you would not remember in an hour. I sit here safe, flying into a storm. And you down there, head into the unknown. My plane races into the light, just ahead of the night. Good-bye, my mother, forever.
Hundreds of eyes saw the sacrifice you'd made Back from the eon days, the anguish You let them stamp you by words and harmful deeds They mocked you totally by fullest I recalled the last, the last word that you said "Mom is here loving you" with a smile Opening your fist It made us in trouble We all hugged you tightly with deep cry! Nothing more to say but giving thanks for you The days that you were here God blessed you! 5-6-6-3 SYLLABLES
My Granny My Granny's name was Edna But no one could say it So they called her Bonnie And she was My Granny watered her ferns with Disprin Every Saturday morning She said it made them flourish And it did My Granny slept with four pillows Every night She said it stopped her snoring But it didn't My Granny drove a yellow Anglia to town Wearing her best hat She said it went too fast And it did My Granny loved her Sherry a lot All the time She said that she didn't But she did My Granny only saw happiness in the world She took me everywhere beautiful Whenever she could And she did My Granny lost her husband at 44 She never remarried She said she wouldn't And she didn't My Granny loved me very much And told me all the time She said I would be a writer And I am My Granny died in hospital From Pneumonia at 84 She said you've been a brick Darling And I was My Granny was a special person She was kind to everyone I told her I loved her whenever I could And I always will
It's been nine years, I have counted the tears- they have made trails of guilt worried into my heart then filled with loneliness and bitter despair but by your grace I have been shown... For the first time, in these nine years, I have not wept nor held a vigil to honor our grief though the loss still burns, this time it is transformed Peace from your love still reaches through death and through your eternal love I am reborn It is Good Friday. When God took your spirit home and left me dying to know, how to love him for his sacrifice when he asked me to give up you? How do I heal this death and rise with you in his arms? Through your love I was born, and in your arms I grew and it has been your love the kept me whole that taught me how to be reborn for even though your body has gone your words lost in the wind and breath no more The essence of grace and strength you lived - it grows still in your daughter soul My being and existence came from your womb my heart and mind shaped by your enlightenment I have lived a life you gave me and for once I live it in pride to honor your sacrifice your words giving me the guidance I'd lost nine years ago. Alas, I've come to know, that as you died and went home with our Lord, you saved me from my death not in your dying, my grief and love can attest, but in your living strength and loving example you showed me how to live a life open to our Father's gift We knew it would not wait, but the parting was too fast. I sat in thought three days before your sleep and asked, "In three days time my savior died, I wonder hence what of my soul will rise with his?" And now sitting Easter morning, holding my sons candy-filled basket, I realized Three days passed. He took you home Friday morn, but left me love, that eternal love that never dies whose comfort is unending I honor your love by giving it to my children and Easter morning I felt your hug, your kiss, and knew you have never left me . Though God took you home Mom I know you have never left me for as our Savior died and rose you too still live in my heart, showing me proof our Father's blessings because you, my love, are my soul and all ready there there fore I am strong enough to give this pain up to honor his sacrifice and transcend, to be humbled by the grace and mercy that could forgive such lost lambs as I
Beneath the deep furrows and the facial lines clear sparkling cheeky little girls playful eyes still smile and shine. ''Many a time when I have talked to old people who I love, about their childhood, suddenly something magical happens. Their eyes sparkle, and they become children again.'' Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Dec.
she waits patiently for the ones sheee loves but CAN NOT touch once they were small with mittens red and boots rubber that waddled through the snow now older - with life's crest on each jowl she stitches her ghostly fingers that shall catch no more tears watching their every bow
Our Ancestors fought to the death, Just so we can live a brighter day, So before you light up that blunt of meth, Think about what you're giving away, It was a glad day in history when Obama rose to victory, The first black president was all we knew, Dark skin is in! Haven't you heard? That even in our community, You can get burned, It's a sad day when people would rather stay home and "Crank That Amber Cole", Than get up and run to a poll, In our community, Rockin' Luis V is better than having a college degree, And teen pregnancy is not only a trend, But the single motherhood that follows should end, Young girls learn of a wonderful prince to take them away, Nothing should change thought their mothers prince didn't stay, And as the tears fade away, She grows stronger every day, In our community, Fighting is no longer a word, You argue with someone and shots are heard, Girls showing places the sun don't show, So how do they expect the community to grow? Where love is a figment of imagination, Making a young child question her creation, Young mothers would rather buy the iPhone 5, Then satisfy her baby's cries, While her new man's eye, Wander up another girl's thighs, In our community, Where #team dark skin vs #team light skin, Makes others not love the skin they're in, Love, lust, hate, and trust, Giving a rose on Valentine's Day is no longer a must, Where bad is good and good is bad, Who would think to see their grandmother sad? Her hurt and pain, Shows how our community has lost everything her parents fought to gain.
I am all alone in this great big world My destiny is being unfurled I am responsible for my plight And what I may do tonight There is no one else to put my shame Only me, myself, and I to blame What did I do wrong you may ask Only I can unburden my task She is gone so you maybe you can see Her lost dreams are my reality She passed on an October day Leaving my boy behind with me to stay It is a daunting thing this boy of mine Looks like his mother time after time I love my boy he is much like me I just want him to be happy I have been told time and time again That I need to reel my boy in I don't see that he is doing any harm He has gone through hell, that's his yarn His mom's dreams were so easy to see She wanted the best for him and me. I have a big guilt because she is gone And left me the ability to carry on I only wish that I would have done the same A love like hers was hard to explain I left her for another a long time ago Before I knew about the cancer so you know When the news came that she was ill I really wanted to take a bunch of pills Pills to ease my guilty pain Of leaving the woman I loved out in the rain. To my son, if you ever read these words of prose Please take the time to ensure that everybody knows That I loved your mother very much indeed And you were the product of love not a misdeed I sit here with a tear running down my face Trying to find another to replace The girl I loved more than anything at all Except you my son, you are the apple The apple of my eye the fruit of my loom My entire existence is for you to bloom Your mother and I are proud of you And are happy you are succeeding in all you do. Son I hope you will forgive me for things I've done I have one life to live and mistakes can't be undone I hope I will be forgiven in the afterlife And be reunited with your mother and my wife. I hope your pain eases as you grow older Never forget, but get bolder You are almost a man in this big world Please learn from my mistakes before you unfurl Your mother and I will be waiting for you With our arms wide open to rescue Rescue you from this world of pain To come live in heaven with us again Duane LaChance Sr. - 2012
He passed away this week Brain tumor, are there any others? Join us in a spirit of prayer Gracious Lord. . . . . Beyond the walls of this church Who speaks for him, For all the families? Do not abandon us The organ plays softly, gently Soothing as a mother's touch Blessing the newborns Streaming through rainbow hues Tongues of fire descend Precious gems of belief Praying for me Is there something here, Is there really something here?
rocks in the rocking chair with her granddaughter by her side, she's grown into an ambitious young woman, she asks nana how it was when she was young & wondering if so many people back then were so disillusioned with the way that things were going in their country--- grandma asks her to turn off the tv., grandma turns to her to say, "when i was younger i had hope that things were gonna change, i stood in the streets with my friends & family--- we fought against the police & we all went to jail, because we didn't believe in the wars that our country was waging, we didn't believe in the way that our country was treating its own citizens & we didn't feel that things would change unless we ourselves did something…" and then there was a pause & her granddaughter smiled anxiously, because she always looked up to her nana for guidance, advice & wisdom--- but her grandmother didn't say a thing after that---she just looked out the window & kept rocking in her chair.
You are embarking upon the journey of 1000 lifetimes… Inner stirrings are the awakening to soul's feelings… Evolving into the highest level of being… You are not becoming something… Merely remembering that it is you; present within the atomic structure… Release grasps of identity and fear allowing Auric healing… Feeding fire lavender laced copal extending energetic dexterity… Smoldering sweet grass with sage reaching higher mind clarity… Summoning soul guides; invoking dharma communion… Connected to mother from my root chord below sacred this linear union… Dangling in gravity; attached to sky my crown beams of light… Erasing brevity; connected to the trinity, Indigo Crystalline rainbow might… Existence is continual; just as perpetual motion… Significance within decisions unto what this powerful mind envisions… Walking hand in hand as one; grandest loving you smiles into the angst filled eyes… Of the you walking alone blinded by believing fear based lies… Reaching out to yourself in compassion, love and presence to take immediate action… Heal this part of you learn to live from soul's love of passion… Conflict and confrontation on the earth stage… Splitting us apart using fear with rage… The confusion wedge of existence; separation illusion… Outdated is its intention; now divine is the intervention… Empowering one, then to another choosing the path absent of force… Here now to feed observation of creative knowing back to divinity… Allowing the god field of potentiality to know itself as we know ourselves… To be itself manifested through all of life… For within entanglement of electromagnetic fields; one Family of source… Knowing our real identity; spirit co-creators… Feeding fire lavender laced copal extending energetic dexterity… Smoldering sweet grass with sage reaching higher mind clarity… Opening to the heart; invoking dharma communion… Connected to mother from my elemental construction releasing energy obstruction… Dangling in gravity; attached to sky my crown beams of light… Erasing brevity; connected to the trinity, Indigo Crystalline rainbow might…
**~** My heart is fierce in its longing for you With thoughts that mimic flitting butterflies Like stars chasing the moon in the black velvet night And every time I close my eyes… It is you whose face I see I ache from deep within my soul Wanting to feel my fingertips trace the soft texture of your skin Run my fingers through your soft, chocolate hair Longing to see your smile - beaming radiant like diamonds in the sky Lying in my bed at night the fingers of darknes touch my skin The moon quietly tiptoes through my window As silent witness to my bleeding heart Closing my eyes… Brings your image closer to my mind For you... are a violet glistening with dew to my longing heart An angel - in a spider's land Where they deceitfully weave their web of lies Unwillingly... turning your heart against me... The mother who loves you so I drift away into a restless sleep dreaming of you- my girl As the early morning sun creeps through my window I awake... with a heart that breaks all over again I am a prisoner held captive by my love for you My precious, little porcelain girl My love for you will never end I pray for strength to see us through For someday we will win this battle And the love we share... Will lovingly come shining through **~~**
My heritage is a mixture Of backgrounds. Let's start on My Dad's side of the family. My Dad's mom is Irish and English. My Dad's dad is Irish and German. My Mom's mom is Scottish and Irish. My Mom's dad is blood Hungarian. So in other words, I'm a mutt! or as others say, "Heinz 57!"
Every day is different but the cycle of day and night remain the same. Some may say that happiness is made and not given but many are deprived of this emotion. Seas and oceans are both dominated by moving energy and thus waves are born, but stillness is never far behind. The very essence of life itself is some times masked by our selfish nature; we take but rarely give back. Regardless of our very nature life continues on even if we are gone from this earth. Some say death is a burden but it is part of life; we are born and then taken away however it may be. History repeats itself, like a broken record unable to move on to the next chorus of song. Still words are eternal however how it is done; songs, writing, hieroglyphs or even prehistoric art, they all project meaning and one of many may become part of the puzzle still to be discovered for life has many secrets yet to be shared among the souls of this earth; eternal and alight like the sun and stars held by the invisible hands of our Mother.
I remember the smell of the polish The hissing of steam from the pots The songs on the radio playing And my nose dripping with snot Mum would grab me and wipe it With a dexterity practised before Leaving my nose like a beacon Me screeching as I went out the door My older sisters were singing As they , the house chores fulfilled The sun cut a beam through the window And there on the Lino it spilled Dust particles in its light they floated Not seen when its power was gone Yet they danced to the radio music As the sun through the window it shone These days are now but a memory But oh what a treasure they are Nothing I have can replace them Neither jewel nor silver nor car
I left Ireland in the 80's with my husband and two babies for Holland. In 2003, we returned so that our children could have an Irish University education. Dublin was buzzing with life at the time, it was very expensive but we were home. Now in 2011, my daughter is emigrating, back down the old ancestral path, she is going to Madrid to teach English there. Our country has collapsed so badly, there is no employment here so we are exporting our young, educated children by the day. A sad day for me as my daughter leaves tomorrow. I wrote her this poem. To Sarah On the wave of emigration I want you to know That I see you, a fellow female An equal on every level Not just my daughter My little pink princess I see you as a woman A power within this world With oceans to offer A lifetime still to learn Go to your new life A teacher in Madrid Be free and fearless Spread your wings and fly Take the opportunities Shape them to your dreams You have all the tools You can use them now. Your analytic mind Will help you make good decision Fair and just rewards will ensue. Your radiating heart Will gift you new friendships Maybe even a new love All in good time You will never be alone Because you have a deep sense of self This will be fortified With this new tide Your feet firmly planted Will always serve you well Balancing the ups and downs of Libra Always true to yourself Life will be true to you too. We live in a new age today This global world is small As we email and skype Fly back and forth to visit We will continue to love As mother and daughter Our journeys through life Shared Forever together My love I will hold you safe In my heart.
There was a baby happy and free The apple of the eye of his family Playing around and hiding in the trees Whoever thought it's his last smile they see Through the darkness of the jungle came Man-devils whose creation God is to blame Cut the kid down with lethal shots His body ripped like a shattered earthen pot I was the one who led those men Swooping down from our mountain den Snuffing out the little flame of his life My mind, since then, is full of strife The mother came with her eyes in tears The sight sent my body into shivers The boy in her arms looked full of life The hole in his heart told me it was a lie The mother laid the baby on my lap and cried Is this my baby, the one who died? You're the one who killed him, you devil in disguise May Gods curse you, may heavens you despise Lord! Why did I make this grave mistake? Why was it this kid whose life I had to take? Why did I take a life when I cannot give? Do I have anymore right to live? I cried tears of guilt and pain And gave the grieving mother my gun I told her relieve me of my misery Kill me before I kill again The mother said with a sad smile on her face You have sinned and punishment you must face But killing you would only set you free And I will be the culprit to your family You will suffer everyday of your life You will bleed lots more than my little child You will burn in the self hating fire of hell You will die everyday and live to tell That day on I've cried a million tears Hating myself for all these years There's nothing I can do to escape this hell I feel I am falling into an endless well God! I cannot ask for forgiveness please I cannot ask for salvation All I ask for is to set me free From this dreary life full of misery
Modern Day Slave ( Wife and Mother ) Not one single holiday Three years have gone their way Cleaning house Changing diapers Preparing meals That are eaten in minutes Not one single holiday Four walls the only room to play Ironing shirts Washing clothes Cleaning dishes That get messed up every day No Not one single holiday Mother's life is meant to be this way Surgical implant for the kitchen sink She isn't even allowed to think While husband goes out on his hunt Husband goes out for a beer And eyes the other women who are there Not for one minute does he think Of the person at exhaustions brink Robot wife she stays at home Robot wife in her prison Not one day off in 1095 days Just a nigger Just a slave But mother hood was meant to be this way Husband goes out earns the wage Comes home tired and wants to rest Complains that wife has not done her best She hasn't the strength to argue back And she should be grateful There is no lack Diapers are always replete There is always enough to eat Husband has done his job Full time employment Is his choice But wife and mother she stays at home Constantly on holiday What holiday does she need And we won't mention driver fatigue She takes all the responsibility In bringing up their child Husband never changes a single diaper All he has to do is yell at her Not one day off in 1095 days Just a nigger Just a slave Never falls asleep at the wheel But its ok she doesn't even feel Husband goes out to see his friends Husband goes off on weekends Husband never stays at home Or lets his wife go out on her own Husband is happy with his slave Mother hood was meant to be this way Working every day House is spotless House is clean Husband has no reason to complain Unpaid worker she stays at home Gets her meals And gets her roof And does everything on her own Happy day for husband today He gets the chance to go away Maybe some pretty girls will be there So he can stand and stare He's so fed up of the tired dishevelled one He finds at home When and if he is ever there Three years without a holiday Does the law of Human Rights say its ok To be treated like a nigger An unpaid mother House maid Like a slave Another stuffed dead head Above the fire place
I learned from my grandmother To dry roses in windows Hung, upside down, from a string- Maybe because that way All the red would flow to their head Like when one does handstands- Handstands are never something That I learned how to do Particularly satisfactorily... I've always been a bit too- Off-balance- I learned from my mother Not to hang around windows, That I am not a rose To be put up to dry... When you spend so long Leaning over windowsills, You can only ever be- Off-balance-
she was not such an old woman then when she tended to my tears and as always said "be still or i'll never get the splinter" and "how is it you always get these things in your feet" i didn't know the answer then anymore than i do now though i went barefoot all the time and never do now but things were different then i was young and careless still believing in her bigger than life image no, she not such an old woman when i cried over the simple truth that she would grow old and cut off the coal black ponytail and her skin would wither as all women's will i somehow half believed she would stay young forever then one day everything about mother changed except her role
See problems they no worry Timothy He was raised by his Great Grandmother One day she taught him Miho you can make life beautiful or ugly Work hard, find a woman who has a strong back Beauty fades it doesn't last long Now let me tell you A woman with a strong back may not be your perfect companion Times are changing, I think Faith is more important these days I say okay Grandma, can I have the horachata now that you made me No hush up! You can have it when I'm finished talking Timothy come your poor Grandfather wanted you to have this It is his Journal and I have never read out of it She hands it to me I am struck by it's cover, it is brown and plain Yet it spoke to me by it's elegant style These words were printed on the cover "Blanco Vendetta" I was drawn and pulled in untill I was covered by the spell The first page I open too it says "My first Mil Besos" The Temptess that blew my heart away I turn to page 33 It says "The story of an Apache Warrior" There are no rules to an Apache Warrior when it comes to fighting He says if you are my enemy I don't care how but I'm gonna kill you Page 41 is like a fist full of words thrown across the page Barrio boxing, The protection of the Shield of Faith Brokenhearted for my careless speech has left her heartbroken Strengthened by Love "Amor" Nourished by the sunshine in her hand There is healing in its beams Blessed by her presence Del Dios I am Greatful I'm like Grandpa what did you say wrong Then these words come to me Give her your full attention when she speaks to you Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer So I close it and my finger brushes a bookmark It's the Last page It says To: "Timothy my son who is as mighty as an army" I Thank you for the Greatest Gift For the Greatest Gifts are as small as your small hand that touched me I plant these seeds and they will take root and grow because you are good ground Timothy let me say That without you I would of never found my Faith in GOD Listen for it is your Grandfather who is dead and speechless Timothy you see the good in everything And I know you will understand my words clearly If a man gives you his word Promise me not to plan your future on it And if you give your word my son Do everything in your Power to fulfill it AND NEVER Promise more than you can deliver For it is better to put out more than you promised Everyman is considered unwise when he appears foolish I wish I could give you some insight about women But your Great Grandmother may help you better than I can But never timothy, Never be quick to fall in Love Or give your heart to a woman Listen carefully to her words when she speaks to you Cherish Her give her your full undue attention Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer Love your neighbors as yourself And do not strive against another man If he has done nothing wrong to offend you AS much as it is possible live peacefully with all men And it is okay for you to speak these things with your Great Grandmother She is a very wise and God-fearing woman Amor take the greatest care of her, I Love you Son Timothy when the time comes to avenge my death Hit harder then you ever have before But not in a Duel son, not like an open Vendetta Marry his daughter Maria The one who is pretty and Two years younger than you Oh! He will suffer greatly! And it will kill him to know that I chose this way to repay him And remember son to be ready to fight any man at the drop of a hat
With every step you`ve taught me,this is my elaboration... The motherly love,unique to all individuals however,some not as fortunate as others. Some born with silver spoons,to extreme empty rice bowls love that portrays from your own,i do have a jewel. A family of six, working the majority of her life. She being in her 74th year,active driving her car. The thoughtfulness,caring for others,her nature that is her everyday comodity,asking nothing in return. Her humour,personality eclipes her wide knowledge. Her home cooking,like when were kids,delicious as her sunday roast,still serving them today i can`t tell you the extent of gratitude,but you know i love you. Paul Beadnall for: Sponsor ~ ~ Contest Name Any Mother Poem*(Originally Give a Kiss Mommy)
This Lovely Vase> This lovely vase So delicate and fine Shines now by the window. This lovely vase Has known more years than I Known the touch of many This lovely vase Once a Wedding present So my Nana said This lovely vase Once stood with flowers tall Nana's home grown blooms This lovely vase A careless touch and then Fragments on the floor This lovely vase Pieces now were gathered Mended then with gold This lovely vase As it sits there on the window Catching sun's bright glow This lovely vase More lovely than before Now trimmed in gold This lovely vase Healed by the scars of time Still with grace and beauty
I just heard the other day I could have been anything I wanted Imagine, your own choices unencumbered By all that tortuous guff, childhood stuff Where did it come from, how did it start Why doesn't everyone have it, or none? Do you suppose it has anything to do With the way you think, or talk, or act I stop and watch all the sweet scenes A father holding hands with his little boy His trusting walk, his smile, a precious moment To build on others until a man is made Mom rocks her three year old to sleep Warm and cozy in her loving arms Who wouldn't want those memories, to share Care for those who can relate, reciprocate Could that simple song guide our lives along Becoming something to someone, somewhere, When weary bones a place to rest, To carry the image, father and mother forever When does that change take place Hold within the secret , their secret The secret sanctity, accepting who And what we are, to radiate life's joy A purpose for all, quiet and strong Sharing with those who see the light.
Up yonder mom is laughing there is no cotton to pick for once she has enough food to eat up yonder up yonder grandpa strums his secondhand banjo mom taps her toes and sings 'red river valley' up yonder up yonder the sweat from the Oklahoma heat is a memory but her worn out calico dress is still a treasure up yonder up yonder treating the angels as she would her precious children "settle down now don't make me go get a switch." up yonder up yonder she waits for the love of her life she knows one day they will meet again up yonder
I cry myself awake In the middle of the day Because of a decision I made Not to spend time with you. And now everything I am Is falling apart into pieces; I feel like I am losing you Because I am losing myself.
Nana told me once how she and Pop-pop went courting in a horse-and-buggy. How quaint I thought, and was a bit amazed how far we humans have gone-- from a smelly plodding horse to crossing an ocean in an afternoon six miles high. Then Grandma told me something shocking: she said they went out in that carriage to make love! Nana! I gasped silently, until I saw she meant the words literally: my grandparents went courting to make the love that would hold them together for sixty-three years...and I am here because two young people took long buggy rides behind a tired, smelly horse.
I remember every second of my life I spent with you, Every moment that I stayed beside you. The times I dedicated to help you, to save you from harm, I did that just to help you through. Every minute of my life that I walked beside you, Every minute we smiled together. It may wear me away, but I'll gladly stay by your side as long as I can, I'll be with you forever. Every hour of my life I spent hugging you tight, Every hour we laughed the night away, Of course I remember it all, how could I ever forget? Even when you tell me to go, I'll just smile and stay. Every day I spent supporting you, to make you happy. Even if I cannot be happy myself, it's fine when I see you smile. When I see you cry, I'll always be there to make you feel better, Even if I cry my days away, seeing you smile is worth my while. Every week I left you, I regret it because I can't see you, I can only hear you, Every day in that week I can't see your face, it hurts me more and more. When I can't hug you tight or see you smile, The pain hurts me at the core. Every month and year we have left together, I'll stay by your side, Smiling gently, for you are the person I'll love forever. Even when that time comes, I will continue to smile because I still, Remember that first moment of my life we were together. This is for you, mother, you've taught me all the rest. For you, I hope nothing but the best.
Skeletal, shriveled, your shell's a delicate, dry and brittle casing, soon shed. Now, age accumulates and, exiled and bewildered -- all free choice fled -- death's an unknown terror. You miss your home, cannot understand how, to those who once bent to your will, you've faded to a shadow, powerless, almost forgot, a consequence of the natural order. Enjoy the moments in the sun, your food, your precious life's breath that I listen for at night. I cling, and mourn your life -- so changed. Your stroke has paralyzed us both... my pity, cloaked in love, is but another grievous wound you bear.
i can see her so clearly blue eyes blazing mist falling the fog of the ozark mountains making the scene surreal each time a car past us i simply saw her shimmer she stood there until my husband arrived to meet us so i could go home earlier than i intended. she didn't know that i was sick to death to know how he was treating her the wisps of blonde hair danced and blew and wet tangled curls stuck to her head it was not because i was her mother, you know? but she looked translucent... an angel. i breathed sharp as i listened to her. you know what i mean... it is a snapshot in time that shall always be with me, i need no camera. she said "momma, i am going to have to leave him", almost like she needed permission to do so. she looked down, so sad..... i just tried to give her some of my strength; hugged her fiercely. she was only 27. my darling i will love you until the stars erase them selves out of the sky ... and even after i die i thought that everything would be alright. not so. the stars must have fell out of the sky when i was not looking. and....i didn't die my love has been complete and time standing even tho he killed her as surely as if he had taken a gun of his choice and blew her away. he took,....her children her money, her shelter even her food and the life she was trying to rebuild. the miserable creature who said she was not good enought married a new woman on the day that they were divorced. so now....for many years she was wandered here and there and really has no home. she lives in pods at different peoples' homes that love her. then she moves on in a cycle again. her life seems to be motivated by a fear she is unwilling to discuss. i know that she is certain that if she stops she will die. oh, God, i love her, i love her, i love her. by janetta
Has anybody seen lots of teens of both sex, doing community work? They're out there cleaning parks, scrubbing and washing graffiti off walls; painting pedestrians while lines... and by looking at them one knows how they are feeling inside! Ah, they have broken the law, got nailed... and now they must pay! One of them coming home exhausted, told her mom, " I should have never stolen that iPod...how stupid of me! I could have found me a job and bought me one! " " O, Child, you learn by admitting your mistake! " was her reply.
At the age of twenty two I gave birth to my first child to survive. A beautiful and flawless daughter with dark brown eyes and hair like mine. When she turned five years of age warts began to grow on her hands. My daughter cried with eyes looking to me for the answer. The same eyes that looked up at The Healer Ms Agnes who cast away my warts so long ago. As with me, Traditional Medicine did not work and Ms Agnes and my Grandmother were long dead. Grandmother taught me how to use the herbs to heal when I was so young. Remembering getting rid of warts was a BIG job made me take pause. If Grandma couldn't get the job done who was I to think that I somehow could. I stubbornly tried all Grandma had taught me, but only in vain. How my heart ached for the knowledge and power of The Healer Ms Agnes. Such fretful sleeps did come as I felt hopeless for the answer to my daughters plight. And then it happened one calm and starry night. A deep sleep finally came so strong over me. While sleeping, right before me came a vision of The Healer Ms Agnes. The very next morning I awoke with an idea of something new to try. With a calm and soothing voice I sat my daughter down. I took her precious little hands in mine. Gently I touched and counted all the scaly knobs I could find. All the memories came flowing back and the story I began to recant. I closed my eyes and for the first time spoke about how my warts were taken away I felt a little detached as I recalled each detail I could to conjure up the Spirit of The Healer Ms Agnes. When I opened mine and met my daughters awestruck eyes her hands were still in mine. As I gave them a gentle squeeze I said " Maybe. Just maybe there's enough of the Spirit of The Healer Ms Agnes left in there for you too. A question came to the edge of my mind. What if The Healer Spirit spell is reversed? It could be my curse for meddling with The Spirits That Be. The answer came as quick as a spark. I would gladly wear mine again if it meant my daughter' would not. On the fourth morning after that day my daughter awoke me with such a scream. I rushed to her bedside to see what was the matter. Lo and behold there among the bedsheets were the remains of her warts. Dumbfounded and bewildered I was left with no comprehension and speechless while I embraced my daughter with congratulations. As I took my leave out of her sight I slowly stretched out my hands to see if my warts had returned. I mused aloud when I saw they had not. Continued in Part IV....
Mom. Hey Mom. Did I tell you I love you? Well, I do. Daddy loved you too. I miss him too Mom. But this man, Is not Daddy And can never replace him. I know your're lonely, But Mama he hurts you. How can you love someone that hurts you? You cover your bruises with long sleeves and makeup. You smile in public even though you cry at home. He comes home from the bar, And all he does is yell at you. All he does is yell And then he hits you, For no reason. Mama why do you stay? Mama your lip, It's bleeding again. Come on Mama, Let's go home. Our real home, Where we lived with Daddy. Him? He'll never find us there, Daddy will protect us. Come on Mama, WE're gonna go home.
I seek immortality in two days' life, Preserve me mother-nature,in your greenary. I seek no mutability My destination is not grave, Save me mother-nature, in your lap. I seek peace in your surreal beauty, Permit me mother-nature,to play with your colours. I seek longevity like that old mountains, Entwine me mother-nature,in your essence. I seek no disappearance like that morning dew, Let me flow mother- nature,with that river. I seek joys In your broader chest, Hug me mother-nature,with your strong boughs. [to my mother and also to beautiful nature ]
My Mama she trips out in the moon light when I'm safely tucked up in bed she dresses to wow her audience but I know not of her occupation when I ask I am greeted by silence and then "You will understand when you grow up" My Mama she returns at break of day before the curtains begin to twitch or draw she'll come in exhausted and fix my breakfast then checking in on me she'll wake me for school before she goes off to bed – she'll see me later to ask about my day and play A Mamas kiss, a smile, a hug, warmth, food and a roof Yet when we go out together people turn to talk to one another, quietly nodding Funny looks are cast our way and yet not one shall speak to us Aged nine in school I find out why when another child will laugh "Ya Mama works the streets lies on her back, watches the sky – to feed ya -Tis what my Ma said" It makes me cry I love my Mama but this shame hurts I want to die…
depression squeezed like a boa constrictor taking most of the joy from her life struggling through the Great Depression she dropped out of high school, went to work an "A" student, she did what had to be done although she shed tears nearly every day her children still made her smile Mom lived vicariously through us celebrating each victory of her three children never missing a chance to congratulate us life with Mom could be hard some days she didn't get out of bed we, her children, cooked and cleaned the family joker, I sometimes brought a laugh cherished were those rare moments one thing she had always requested – that we kiss her at her wake just thinking of this made me sad but I gave her that last kiss on skin so cold, hard each time a raindrop comes my way I remember the tears Mom shed but when a rainbow paints the sky it is her love that I remember and wish I could kiss the sky *Entry for PD's Early Mother's Day contest
Oh mother Africa cradle of civilization like the great trees of our green oceans you protect your young from this great gale from east, north, south, west but mostly west it comes with a force first gentle then strong then stronger from leaf to stem it sways the oceans steering our waters to unright directions it brings it's sand from far away and takes our leaves to far away. Oh mother Africa cradle of civilization land of fruits milk and honey groom your young in your own way let them know it's not for sale our dignity, pride and values but how do you cushion a dying man how do you relieve a man running after a setting sun a drowning man will clench a straw if this he thinks will stay afloat young shoots find no space to blossom even in this spacy forest is this our fault or it it's fault that seedlings readily embrace the gale they know the wrath it all entails but this they say is better than the dark. Oh corner trees of iroko type give space for the young to grow their roots will firm their stems will broad and this ocean green will stay agreen heed my advice and pave the way for if these things are not done in time your young will continue to embrace the gale and this ocean green will go brown some day.
Evening skies darken to ashen gray Mesmerizing, no glance dare go astray Small living creatures sense looming danger Low black clouds, mother nature's anger Trees scatter moonlight's eerie shadows Warm breath turns crisp in this sudden winter castle Stardust lands on frozen meadows As creeping fog erases moon's shadows Icicles hang like stinging tassels From petals on yesterday's beautiful flowers Footsteps today placed upon soft green grass Now shatter beneath me like breaking glass Bare exposed arms of the mighty oak tree Even her fingers, tremble of what is to be Now encased completely in coffins of ice Awaiting mother nature's one destructive sigh To bring down her branches Out goes the power End of story ©Donna Jones
To my Husband, A bringing of myself for understanding and pardoning of the days I fail him: ( Then I think, will I be passing on the cycle of not being enough? Will he understand that it is I who is never enough?) Yet I still need to apologize, for coming to him incomplete: (For coming to him broken and asking him to fill a void he never made; it's inherited from a generation of women who were never enough, and I was never apart of it all...) I need him to know he completes me in ways I can not alone: (That it is when I am with him I am whole again; That it is when we are apart that I find my self alone. That the emptiness is inside me and not us. That he fills the emptiness and takes the rawness of losing her away. ) I want him to understand why at home I fail at making a home: (I'm immobilized in loneliness into waiting alone ; Waiting on someone to come home. Waiting on my sisters to come home, Waiting on my Mother to smile again, Waiting on my Mother to get off from work, Waiting on my Mother to get better again.) I do not want him to misunderstand my issues: (I want him to understand they are mine alone to fix; So I can be whole for my son. So I can give to them the completeness they give to me. These two boys who gave me back life, I live in the now for them) I need him to understand the loneliness is not from him: (I'm alone because I still grieve her loss and mine I'm alone because she left. I'm alone because they left. I'm alone because every one has to leave and I fear living past their leaving.) I want him to know my love for him is Forever (That even without words I know he has that love for me The one that forgives before the transgression is done, and forever is an eternity assumed for infinity.)
Eyes of piercing true, ever so blue. I hope you knew as you flew on the wings of grace, your life was like beautiful lace. In that lace was a place, just for me.
To the Newtown Children A poet cries with broken heart Look thine hearts be washen clean with death, God knows how hastily can be By an unfitting goodly young man Become just another evil's killer. Take thou no mean of life That so tenderly and small Arranged now along that cold room Where a hundred of parents Like you and I look on poor children that thou think: One day they shall be a doctor or a thinker like us. To understand really why the hungry death Has to do for their final journey in front of this sickness? O, children! American children! My children! I warn thee in all my heart and soul That could not happen so earlier on life And where thou cast the peace and saint in the kindness of grace Take care of them from danger, thou take for a leaf And makes my heart bleeding every one like us become angry How in this heavenly nation this massive fate could occur? Hold me fast in thine embrace God, Where my despair cannot be silenced, Let you and me and everyone else to knee and cross Our fingers against our chest and pray for them, Give them, Lord, thy blessing give, Pray for them and mother as well, And I shall finish this poem with trembled Fingers and tears cascading over this bloody Sheet as an awaken wind has just blown it from me.
When does forever become an option? Only when one can still find Inspiration for living Despite the stale smell of saliva From the person across the bed. Consider it better To regret walking away Than having stayed with much regret. So should today the fading footsteps With the banging door —the sounds of an almost wedding— Be a reason for sleepless tear-fests, Tomorrow it can be a cause for appreciation Or gratitude for thinking twice. For it matters not how the heart aches now For affection Or lust; In the end what matters is how The small talk before bedtime —regardless of redundancy— Will always be interesting Time after time after time.
He didnt know the wounds would go Deep enough to bruise her soul She lay there froze when he arose She replaced her battered clothes Rather the blows from clydesdales toes Or the fate of conquered foes This painful load forever to hold A friend not stranger from her stole He didnt think her dad would drink Then find his gun beneath the sink He hasnt blinked he's at the brink Wants to feed animal instincts Moms half insane feels daughters pain Her tears form puddles like the rain Her child explains how she's ashamed Now mommy wants to share the blame He didnt weep in courtroom seat Jury discussion deliberately brief Not very steep the sentence was weak They only handed him three hundred weeks He never did speak almost like asleep He'll spend many cold nights wrapped in a thin sheet Tried to be discreet almost lost heartbeat When those bars of steel slid right past his feet.
(To All Who Believe It Can Be Achieved) Caucasoid, Mongoloid,and Negroid Colour the conscience progression of Man's ethical Truths... The cultural aggressions of violence and ignorance must end! Extend your heart, hand and life Towards the Precious Don of Honour... Freely, keeping the sincere Brotherly Creed Comments: Brothers and Sisters it is time that we stand up and let the Love of God in, after all we are all one in the same under the skin, so why not give it a grand try... One Love and Many Blessings in Him Always, Adell
i don't want to be just marking time. i died on november 20, 2008, during surgery. i was on a vent when i awakened december 2, 2008....my sisters' birthday. what made me llive i'll never know. i know there are things to do on this side of death. i have no time for marking time. i have a stupid bag hanging from my side now. i am supposed to "get comfortable with it". well that was a laugh. that was a laugh until i thought of the people that had these things with no hope of ever getting away from them. i am so lucky. 14 days i laid on a vent, then 22 more. i came home 3 days, then i had great pain in my chest... . well this is great i said, a pulmonary emboli, 15 more days, three days home. then back to e.r. blood pressure too high. this bought me 4 more days in e.r. i am home now and finally have spent 19 days home. i feel every pain and i feel every time that i feel good yes, i am never marking time again.....there is something about fighting for your life and your sanity that straightens things out. i don't recommend it but i wish i could let your hearts know what i know. janetta
Our beautiful mother, Who gave birth to us, Nurtured us and raised us, With loving care, Our companion all our lives, Father's beautiful wife, Friend through calm and controversy, A miracle of kindness, Taught us right from wrong, With us during our married years, Grandmother and great-grandmother, Godly and religious, Looking after all her children, Loved and respected by us all, I remember her whimsical sense of humour, She had the patience that passeth understanding, A tribute to all mothers on this special day, Happy Mother's Day and God bless you. Author:Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
You are my love, my hearts content. you are my life, a life ideal. you are my joy, and you are my happy. happiness like no one else can bring. you are my hopes, and you are my dreams. you light up my life. you are my everything. you are my fear, and frustration. you are my pain, and you are my anger. you bring out the best of the worst in me. you are someone to blame, someone to hurt, someone who is no one who deserves the anger inside of me. you are my child. A child you should be, I should love you as God intended. I wish someday our bond can be mended. I have made choices, i can not take back. I can not make up for the motherly lack. circumstance and situations have put me here, feeling hopeless and living in fear. anxiety has stricken me, I have succumb to my disease. giving up on what i believe, I have become someone in need. I can no longer give my love, my patience has run dry. my heart has grown cold, my eyes can no longer cry. Forgive me for the mistakes I have made, forgive me for the pain in your heart, forgive me for the tears in your eyes. I too am a child, learning how to become wise. I love you child of mine
Thrusting against the wall erect from my youthful womb I alone must go from the tree that shelters the grave of her umbilicus, and the place of Ma Puddy's tomb; the woman whose foretelling is come to pass in me. I went down, and up the fleeting crags garnering memoirs, yarns stilled in passing notions; that's what was wished-for but I misplaced details while going downhill I took her beautiful eyes that laugh when crying my tears, the ones I no longer spill on satin and fine silk; they went when bottles brought fists to my face She was to flee, and by no means continue my days For her it is to reach and grasp opulence, and look at nuisance fleeting, the sudden that came with rapture evoking youthful musing she is called to make this climb. She came and spread like honeysuckle, arresting the sun and calling birds to feast. She took my shell, forfeiting me, and lives in novelty and wonder I found my youth in sparkling eyes that do thoughtful things (things done boldly). I cuddle me in the life I filched and lived her life a thousand times with my little girl.
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pain and suffering endured giving life love and happiness enveloping youth kindness and guidance given throughout the years content and fearless as her death nears tears of sorrow shed as she departs tears of joy as time brings spirits to reunite mother and children together in everlasting life
I am me This I life The one bit of it that I aptly perceive is – Life isn't free Life is the most invaluable thing Providence, intelligent as it is Mustn't be prone to waste its resources Each living thing a capital to a definite end Each and everything is alive Ask the scientist of the day and they'll agree It thus befits that everything exists for a specific interest Specialization is key if we are to fully live There's exquisite order in every aspect of life The solar system tells of an infinite intelligence The social life with all its rulers and orders Tells of the existence of a more superior, infinite rulers and orders A spoon is almost like a fork …but definitely different from it A fork may attempt to do what a spoon does But never as efficiently We are what we are Each in his and her diverse respect Focus only on the deeds you best can Let me specialize on being the best I can …and let's leave the rest From the elephants to the ants Each as important to the benefit of Mother Earth Life has us all, with intention to co-exist Lets all live actively, for Mother Nature's benefit
Someone to hold you Someone to care Someone to wipe Away all of your tears An icon of strength Of courage and love Gods gift to the world Is a mothers love.
Their fiery blossoms swayed against the sky In breezy weather and Mama and I played games, describing how the long, gold-tipped pistils wrote, on air, sweeping pollen poems. No eye that saw could help but read. Their blooms were red against the green, And in the early morning wet we deemed We saw the blood of homegrown heroes, Who died for duty, deftly limned --- Dreams to occupy two minds That loved the moves, in wind, Of red hibiscus past their primes.
I'll hold fast, cling to the echo of your fading chime. Remember the intonations of your wisdom, revel in the moments that were a balm to my soul as it was young, and breaking free. Your blood still runs, in these veins.. alive in my journey. My heart beats in rememberance, the song of my ancestors; I'll hold it here, in this blood that you gave and know that you are still with me. -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Your beauty is a ripe and full as the moon in view so many tried to compete but there talents were to few for the mother that you are is a hard act to follow the love that you bring voids the hollow for our child's life is vibrant due to your generous amount of love so happy mother's babe for you have to give you already gave. (To my wife Courtney Dyer)
i light no lamp i go by ache and touch the song of your hunger guides me to your humid nest my hands curl under your arms and lift it's instinct this gift i give you at night i know you differently smell you when i can't see you buttons to unfasten half asleep it's hard to work my fingers and juggle you but soon i fold you in the crook of my arm these pouches of stone four hours without you look what it does you seek me blindly rooting for the source i croon it is there i melt and gush you choke break cough too much too fast gurgling to your belly milk splatters your face and fuzzy scalp milk sweet and warm such plenty to grow on i nuzzle your head and rock the chair slip my hand under your gown to fondle your miniature toes little peach little plum i cannot imagine you grown
A Fine Lady There is something I want to tell you about a Lady I once knew. She was a very tiny woman, with a heart as big as TEXAS. God gave her a soul and also a heart of gold. He send her here to do a job for Him, She never once complained. Juanita was her name. She was a hard working Lady. No job was too much, or too big for her. she could cook and she could sew. She held a job outside her home. I can say - she worked her fingers to the bone. Sometimes she would sit quiet, without saying a word. Maybe she was thinking if she had done it all. She was there for everybody, especially if they were sick. She would be the first to go and take them a homemade dish. I am not talking about my Mother. My Mother gave me away. I don't condemmed her either. My father had left her too. With little ones to raise - she didn't know what to do. This little fine Lady took my pain away. She gave me a home and a place to stay. She also gave me her love. I can now say - she made my day. Because of this fine Lady, I became what I am today. I learned to call her Mother - she had sure earned that name. One day she left this Earth, because God had called her home. Her Job here had been done. I don't worry about her. I know that she is in heaven. Heaven is where Angels go. She was one fine Lady and an Angel sent from heaven to teach me how to grow... Copyright 2006 by Lucilla M. Carrillo
'Ding-Ding-Ding' Round 1 Your knees became weak Learning that your opponent was The Great Enah; The one to never lose a match. The one to tear you apart from the inside, with a double right hook to a left uppercut combo, and finally a killer left jab to the right cheek to only take you out for 3 seconds at a time; Round 6 My heart sunk Learning of your match when you were half way done. At this point struggling just to keep your breath. Battlescars have taken captive your beautiful flesh Wrinkles of veins stand like mountains above valleys of blood on your deteriorating skin. Yet I watch you continue on, to land a glorifying punch to say "Everything will be alright." Round 12 The final countdown Revealing the final combo A fatal melee straight through the chest. I fell to my knees as she tumbled to the ring's floor. The impact of her body loosely colliding to the ground echoed in my gut. 6 Rounds, Not even 60 or 600, could prepare me for this moment - She lost. 'Ding-Ding-Ding'
Mother is god in the eyes of a child
In reckless abandon my mind trekked, But I "became", by the ardor in your being Despite the discomfort, You preserved me in your pouch When you could have chosen to wash me away With great pains and agony you brought me forth, Can I be ashamed of her that bore me? One thing remains, Even now that I am grown, Your love I have not outgrown.
I know that when you are young your supposed to want to cling to your parents but when I was young all I wanted to do was be independent. I didn't want to hold my mother's hands. I'd pull them away everytime she tried. Whether is was to cross the street or simply be mother and daughter togther. I didn't let her. Access was denied. It's funny because now that I'm 21, All I want to do is reach out for my mother's hands but I'm grown now. So I don't get hugged anymore. I don't get the offer to hold her hands anymore. This time I would take it eagerly. Because I now know life doesn't give many second chances. My mother loves me of course. She shows it in other ways now. I crave that physical touch more than anything else... I get excited off of HUGS, AND Weak knees off of KISSES. And SEX to me is two passionate souls diving into each others bodies and colliding.
My heart is like a waterfall, cascading with an abundance of love; it flows from my heart like the water down a stream I cherish this life you have shared here with me; but soon my sweet girl, I'll be on my way You know my belief, in what we were always meant to be; now we just have to travel some distance to be united, but you will soon see My love for you is constant and never ending; but sadly this human body, it is not mending I feel blessed that we have each other and this beautiful love; my spirit will be right beside you shining from above I will surround you, with my loving light; I will make your dreams, sunny and bright I will fill your life with happiness and not say a peep; I will be right there beside you even when you sleep When it's time for you to join me again, I will come to you with a loving smile and then When you take your last breath you will feel me; I'll be waiting there and then you will see With outstretched loving arms you will see me glow; I will look into your eyes and you'll see, I never did go Hold my hand and together we will take this ride; we will let our hearts flow just like the ebbing tide We will travel into the stratosphere; together we may well collide Sun beams will bounce off the earth; the stars will be sparkling, with re-birth Across the universe our dreams will explode; and there you will find our new abode Until then my child, know that I'm just a breath away, I will meet you on the other side and together again we will play Like a waterfall cascading down a stream; life is just a beautiful dream. Written by Vicki Darcy 2014.
"In lieu of flowers", the obituary read, "please donate to a worthy cause." But when I thought about how she loved her garden, I really had to take a moment and pause. I know her daughters meant no harm, they just didn't want to deal with the mess; Having just flown in from out of town, solely to put their poor mother to rest. But throughout the years I watched that dear labor in her garden all day; More than once or twice my house was blessed with the fragrance from one of her bouquets. "In lieu of flowers" – are you kidding me! "In lieu of flowers" – yeah, just wait and see. Her daughters arrived at the funeral home, not really expecting much of a crowd; I walked right in and introduced myself, probably talking a bit too loud. "I'm your mother's neighbor, the eligible bachelor; she may have mentioned my name. She loved to tell me about you two – too bad you never came." About that time the truck arrived and they started unloading the back; Flowers and wreaths of every kind in every imaginable color but black. "Oh goodness sake!" "What's all this!" "And where did they all come from?!" "Oh don't worry girls – they're all from me. And, they're for your wonderful Mom." That funeral home was overflowing, with roses and pansies and mums; Tulips and daisies; carnations and lilies; orchids of every kind. There were snapdragons, Mona Lisas and delphinium; Dianthus, lisianthus and mathiola amongst them. The girls were shocked, that was plain to see, They didn't know what to do, But their mother was happy, Smiling down on me, That much I know is true. By Joe Flach for the "Flowers" contest. Okay, so it's a free verse that rhymes, I didn't mean to make it rhyme, it just sort of happened that way!
One Christmas eve my ceiling hung With thready webs a glow behind Cast lace patterns on my bed That Yule eight reindeer ran the covers Then through every midnight room I cried to mother father brother All of whom had shed by dream Their task of season's rush and bother Free but lost to my entreat "Can't you see them paw prance? Oh mother how they rear and point At Santa – that jolly Christmas ghost" All filmy things once designated Then not real evaporated And I sat straight up in bed Rubbed the cobwebs from my eyes Memory of tinsel candy Presents in my drowsy head Awake to silence angel hair Little men in forest dress Imaginary pixies on the stair And then remembering the tree (all hazy else it seems had been a dream) The tree that by our fireplace rose In thought it glowed above the dreamy web Those blue green red silver lights Had formed quaint phantoms on my bed I'm up on tiptoe and carefully Am sneaking toward the living room (Inky blackness don't you see) Don't you see the little man Dressed in Santa suit belt and boots Spreading presents neath the tree Now truth be known so sorry am I to say 'Little boy blue' is yet in bed Those phantom figures swimming his head And late that eve ceiling bright With visions of the coming day The wisest Angel of the night Makes visit singing of the play A song of filial brotherhood With child invests the neighborhood
When I was a young woman Just embarking on my own life My grandmother departed and Left me a special gift – A small, delicately framed Faded black and white photograph Of a long foot worn path running Through a tall field of wildflowers With a pointed church steeple in the distance And in the bottom corner - In my grandmother's tiny European scrawl - A title – as I read it then – "A Lonely Path." I knew she had given it to me To remind me of her and the time We had travelled together A few years earlier Back to her childhood homeland To the small German village where She had lived with her grandmother And walked this very path. In my grief, holding the picture The title felt fitting - as I knew From the stories I learned On our journey to the place Of her lost and sad youth That she walked a lonely path For many years of her life. Illegitimate, abandoned by her father Even before her birth Sent away by her mother who Couldn't live with the pain of Seeing her child's face So much like her absent father's Only to be brought back later Like a real-life Cinderella To care for her stepsisters Until bravely leaving Germany On her own at seventeen To find a new path to walk in America and a family of her own. And now, half a lifetime later Recovering from long term illness I feel pulled to revisit family history And realize upon studying The photograph on the wall In my front hall that I have walked by For many years now with a tinge of sadness That maybe I had read my grandmother's title All wrong. Rereading the note taped on the back That she had written just to me - This is the view from Grandmother's house The meadow full of wildflowers We would hear the Angelus ring from That church steeple at six in the morning, Twelve noon, and six in the evening – That meant run home , no matter what play And pray the Angelus – I still love to hear church bells! I see now the title she really gave the photograph - And maybe her life too - was "A Lovely Path" And yet, as I continue to regard My grandmother's handwriting I can see both titles reflected there, Like one of those images that changes Shapes as the light hits it from different angles And I knew that her real gift to me was knowing that we each walk our own lonely and lovely path
You were so beautiful Standing in front of the President and the First Lady I didn't really understand Your Pulse Of Morning Presidential inauguration poem I kind of got lost in the dinosaur theme Poems about Mastodons usually Don't instantly inspire Black dreams But those Harvard and Yale Bullies came out the next day To criticize your Iambic feet How your syllables are too short Too long or don't repeat But in the South We were taught to protect our Grandmothers And help them cross the street And I wish you had just read And Still I Rise Would have loved to see The look in Bill Clinton's eyes Your Calling Of Names poem That would have given Colin's blood pressure A Rise Dick Cheney would have just laughed In the aftermath And if you had read the poem Chugga chugga Chigga Get me one Nigga I would have grinned As Hillary's eyes got bigger And part of me was hoping For And Still I Rise Part II But since you are gone now The Dinosaur poem will do It really was a beautiful poem I was never captured by your Autobiographies Always struggled with Caged Bird themes I thought it was more about women Less about Black Dreams But I did like the movie And when it is all said and done White poets will say You were not as graceful as Langston Or Gwen or Rita And Black poets will say You were never as angry as Nikki or Sonya Or as political as Baraka And the Legacy people will scramble Trying to find a place in History For the sweet dancing Black woman That stole our hearts And sold a hundred zillion books Took pictures with Malcolm and Martin So I write this poem to beg their pardon And of course they'll name A few inner city schools after you There will be a Maya avenue In at least thirty Black neighborhoods This will be good And I'm sure there will be a Maya Angelou library On a Martin Luther King Boulevard Near a Malcolm X Cemetery somewhere Where people will gather and stare And on your birthday politicians Will congregate and celebrate Just like they do for Martin Luther King But they still won't get Why the caged bird sings For The Conclusion of this poem please see part II
Be what the ingredients My favourite dish all it is Made by my life angel Mother she knows it all The special seasoning Makes all always special I call them the best dish No prejudice with names Miss it these days so much Love seems missing in life My favourite dish by "Favourite" All through even after life Served with unbounded care Surpassing all the cuisines It's the touch creating wonder O' Mother thou know it all
Out of the unfathomable vacuum Where nothingness is proud of its majesty Rays of carnal light shines Piercing every corner with the silken arrows of life Out of sheer nothingness, pulses of joy and sorrow blossoms… Little trivial ounce of life Desperate to evolve, dying to assert an identity Doubled and doubled, sucking milky life with voracious lips Delicate ruby brooks find their way In the soft land of flesh, breathing life to every cell Drunk with bliss of ignorance Happily caged within a hollow cavity While a nurturing, caring prison keeper feeds One with essence of her existence… Every jelly joint, every tender fiber trembles At the thought of forced liberty The inevitable crawls forward Pain enshrouds the prison keeper Blinding flashes of light cuddle the unwilling little face Which is adorned with crystal tokens of sorrow Cute globes of curiosity roll to grasp Every ounce of affection, every drop of freshness A firm delicate fist opens up To touch the air, to smell the life, to taste the love Life's laughing miracle
From the moment I was born, You never let me go. As I grew older, You always held my hand. The moments flow by us. Like fish in a river. Every second that passes by. We grow closer. I know there were times of giving up, That you almost had. But you kept trudging through. Through the sun and the rain, The snow and the sleet. My hand was always held. You never let me go. APPRECIATION (In Honour of PD) May 21st, 2013
Dave...The armed robber Bank robber Back in sixty-three Would leave me sleeping muvva For much skullduggery Raiding banks, petrol stations And very auften...I swear He even raided The new joint Called............ Mothercare And wake his giant angel Who very loudly snored With booties bonnets mittens And cardies, she adored One day they got raided by many Old Bill Dave got all panicked Bout the money he did steal Muvva said dont worry' i know the perfect place' (she pulled out the chicken roasting) A grin upon 'er face She stuffed its hole with money Whilst Dave let in, The Bill She stood there trying not to grin As Dave looked slightly ill They searched high and low Even toilet system But never checked the fowl Most glorious, which Very smoothly glistened They even praised Ma's roast The aroma was devine They said how they hoped Theirs would be arf as fine Off drove the coppers Ma, Dave raced to the chicken Pulled out all the dollar Whilst happily finger licking
I Imagine I am ashamed that I don't have the courage to approach you Although I crave your conversation Feelings of nervousness arrest me I imagine how wonderful it must be to hear you speak my name Oh how I wish that you'd initiate the first move Be my hero and rescues me from this solitude I am cursed with anticipation I intentionally stand close to you so that I may steal a whiff Of your heavenly scent I sneak cautions glimpses of you Our eyes meet in startled glances I am embarrassed—you are inspiring I can write about your infallible features forever I want to share this gift my Father has given me with you Your amber skin demands attention It's painted marvelously As if the Angels had mixed the colors themselves I imagine stroking this sensational canvas So gently that only the ridges of my fingertips are felt Individually I count the tiny hairs on the nape of you neck A favorite of my unknown talents You are perfect and near me and yet you are distant Unreachable as Grandmother Moon I imagine holding you feeling safe in your eyes I'd address you as my darling, my woman, my love I imagine our love making Here is where my imagination is at its best… We'd disrobe each other violently for we are carelessly excited Avalanches of kisses leave traces of my breath upon your physique Euphoria entraps me I wish to be inside you I lay you down My hands exploring you finding the inside I kiss you drawing your attention to me you ignore the pain Your hand grips mine pushing me in deeper Tilting your head back pleased with pleasure Your Latin Language confuses me But I understand your eyes... So I taste you The friction on my face is fantastic Your body dances to a tune you allow only me to play Without warning, I pause It's not meant to tease you my love It's only me wanting to share my spirit as you reach enlightenment I delightfully mount you Caressing your hair waiting for the precise moment out eyes meet You bring me to you I exist only for you and you welcome me in Our bodies pulsate as we make love You are my woman, and I, your man And in this moment of mirage I love you I can only imagine that one day you will love me too
You are the sunshine On a cold day That warms my skin And makes me smile You are the starlight On a dark night That shines through And guides me You are the trees On a depressing day That soothes my soul And holds me tight You are my mother On every day That loves me And cares about me I am your daughter For the rest of my life Who will always love you And always follow your lead Without you I am a dark day I am a starless night I am a dying tree You hold me together You help me through And you guide me You are there When I need you When I yell at you When I push you away You will always be there And I will always be here Forever and ever With all the love and care
Singing With tears In your eyes As you stared at me With the most caring gaze. Your childhood Sung in sweet lyrics, They lingered in my ears As my throat began to tighten With sadness. What's that, dear? Your parents beat you? Never a word spoken To anyone? It made you a better man? No dear, It caused horrid memories. Your father Brought you to a bar And let his friends beat you With bottles? My dear Sweet Nate, Keep singing. Your mother Was addicted to drugs And violence? What ever happened To her? She's buried six feet under? What about your father? Prison With the other abusive men? Scars Dug deep In your skin Jump to my sight As I quietly whimper With your soft voice.
Mother If I could give you diamonds For each tear you cried for me If I could give you sapphires For each truth you've helped me see If I could give you rubies For the heartache that you've known If I could give you pearls For the wisdom that you've shown Then you'll have a treasure, mother, That would mount up to the skies That would almost match The sparkle in your kind and loving eyes But I am sure you're well aware My devotion, love and care Are always with you Thank you mum
all her things she saved for us are flung out and flying all about............. every counter is full and ever shelf is crammed. each has a story to tell i have found a diary for a day, pages telling how she lived each day she writes how much she loves my sister and i she cries out how she misses and loves my father she writes of her love of her grandchildren that is what her tomorrows are all about i see what made her so sad she writes from her heart and my mind breaks my tears of gratitude flow i am so thankful she left me her things to care for...... i can let her go now... ......and say ...."mama go rest" by joloujanetta "never did i know what a comfort a pillow where she lay her head would be for me......"
Sifting warm sand through my fingers lustrous fine grains glitter my palm. Soothed by the soft powdery touch, I sit for a while under the rocks My bare feet swirl patterns in the sand as I idly watch a beach life unfold Bustling mother's set up home on plaid blankets colourful beach bags thick with togs and towels Buckets, spades strewn all around a picnic stored carefully under a shady umbrella, they gather the children skip giddy with glee slapping sunscreen on lithe limbs with index finger warnings of do's and don'ts. My gaze drifts to little pink sisters, their chubby faces alive with imagination as nimble bodies straddle the sand, all wrapped up in mounds of castles studding their dreams with pearly shells and whispering tales of pretty princesses. At the water's edge long legs prancing tip toeing warmth into the chilly sea up to their waists in crested waves dipping and diving, an ocean of laughter as young lads play splashing and yelling a ball in the air they plunge. Picking up my sandals, I walk up the beach under the bridge past crimson valerian It's balmy perfume scenting a delicious day
Dropped out of school At an early age Lived on the streets Because, I disgusted my mother She thought I was a poor example Of true Christian beliefs At an early age She religiously drummed into me 'blood is thicker than water' And yet, Here I am today confused, lonely and hungry No one protecting me No friends No family No home to go too Just, peoples eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth mentality Praying for the sun to shine To feel some warmth again! Sun rays of hope, lighting me up To live through this darkness without fear With a heart full of faith No matter what happens to me, now! If only I could drink my salty tears It would sustain me for a lifetime Your tears are worth nothing, around here You're classed as weak and venerable Only attracting death Your life worth nothing! Save me from myself I am my best friend I am my worst enemy My prayers and dreams Lost in the wind Blowing around like autumn leaves The rain washing them away Down the drain into the sewage Rolling with the seasons Year after year Survival for the fittest! Surviving on the love Hidden, inside me Being my strength and guide My personal lifeline In surviving this crazy world We all live in
Who is a mother and what is a mother? A mother is one that gives birth to a child. A mother is one that loves you and holds you in her arms. A mother is one who gives you your first hugs and kisses. A mother is one that feeds you when you are hungry and takes care of you when you are sick. A mother is one that wories about you when you come home late. A mother is one that is happy for you when you suceed and one that tells you - I love you , when you fail. Many women can give birth, but not all can be called mothers. That is the reason that some are very special and that includes you mother. Happy mothers day... 05/05/2010 Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
I'm so tire of picking up all these pieces, falling to the ground Each time, I think things are getting better, worse comes along Pounding my head in stones, causing boorishness in my soul I can no longer love you, or look for you, my love, sweet love My blessings are hurting, from this separation in our castle Bricks are crumbling down, one by one, I must rebuild...... We now live in darkness, lack of food, and raindrops everyday You left everything in the garden, causing me to regrow the roots But, it's hard, it's difficult, trying to put smiles on my blessings Finding gold to bring us light, or a blue plate, bringing peace...... The tears I hold inside, the pride I must swallow, and continue life Showing my blessings, mommy is right here, holding you in the dark Mommy is right here, giving you a feedbag, keeping you full Nor fear or tears, shall enter your innocent souls, I stand strong....... I'm ready for any bullets or knives, sent my way, to bring me down For I will continue to live, and not let this separation bring me down I will only continue, to pick up all the broken pieces, you left in the garden I will not fall down....... Delilah Ventura
Generations of warmongers spew their lies outward into the waiting abyss of greed as the adult throng of drones buzz the factories and the farmlands, carpenter ants wasting the bounty of mother earth. And we ..children of the flower children screamed "Hell NO we won't go!" We burnt draft cards and bra's freed from the tit by the acid dreams of Leary we rose, ran, flew, with flags on our arses. On campus's we marched bandana'ed brethren, fuzz busters picket carrying freedom fighters, a blaze with a hatred for everything and every one establishment… and the establishment killed. Killed its own children at Kent State and got away with it. As napalm dropped over naked children in Vietnam, the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius rang from the rafters of Broadway. Naked as the day we were born coated in the honest to God mud of a farmer's field in Woodstock, we danced. And we still marvel that Nero fiddled while Rome burned. Where are our children now? Still fighting ..still drones, still bombing Still 'liberating' the oil fields around the world. Still raping mother earth. And the beat drones on…………..
What can I render to the Lord for all His gifts to me His love His Grace His forgiveness His sacrifice His faithfulness His Joy He who took MY SINS His abounding Mercy His fathomless love His total commitment to my salvation To my wholeness To my welfare To my emotional stability To giving me eternal life He gave a pure white robe to cover me with HIS RIGHTEOUSNESS Because of Jesus-I now know Him as an adoring Father. A Brother who will always walk so close I feel His presence and who always watches over me. A mother whose words and affections surround me daily with care like a Mother hen Proverbs:1:8 What can I render to the Lord who took my pain Who in His own body was wounded and bore the sorrows and my grief I was to going through and the mistakes and the sin ready at every moment to try and trick me out through my life-time- He sent His WORD- His LIGHT to enlighten my darkness and show me clearly the road I should take-(Proverbs: chapters 1to 9) Yes YOU were always ready to defend me, a helpless orphan- for without YOU as my Dad and as my mother- I was abandoned to this world- But Now I can cry with all my heart- ABBA FATHER I love you - But YOU say I LOVE Y MORE O U What can I render to the LORD- MY God- whose precious pure blood was spilt to bear the sins of all our humanity- I will take 'the cup' of Your salvation and honor your name with my life- For only your pure blood is worthy to pay for all sin-I will confess your name before the world for which you died to save -and I will call upon your HOLY name - for your name alone is WORTHY- JESUS. © Brenda V Northeast 28th January 2012
Soup tastes better when its ingredients are veggies with enough noodles to give it a tempting look. All the pasta letters of the alphabet can be stirred in it until they cook well. I see some children drool, watching it with hungry eyes, but seeming cool... while mom warns them of the hot steam, " Don't stick your nose in that pot...you'll get burned! " Finally, the veggie soup is ready... every bowl is filled to the rim, " Yummy ", one says licking his lips. " Dig in, kids...it's mommy's soup, the best ever! " She tells them with a thrill that delights them all. " One thing you've forgotten to say... what was your letter? " Mine is A, " I yelled. " Good, boy...I am going to reward with another bowl of soup!"
The train station was mostly empty. The wooden bench was hard and uncomfortable; I had no place else to sleep. A rolled up newspaper was the best pillow I could find. An old, worn out lady and her teenage son sat in the row of seats facing my bench. He sat staring at me, while his muscles twitched, his face contorted and grunt sounds emitted from his throat. "Hi", he yells at me, causing echoes through the cavernous, empty train station. "I'm sorry," she apologizes for her ward, "He's a bit touched." "I'm touched," he loudly repeats. "Yeah", I say, sitting up, "What does that mean?" "Well," she starts to answer ... "No," I interrupt, "I want him to tell me." "I'm touched," he shouts again. "What does that mean", I repeat, "What does it mean to be touched, and how can I be touched, because I would like that." A smile lights up his face as it bobs, twists and shakes uncontrollably. He turns his whole body towards his Mother, looks at her with a quizzical look on his face, then turns back towards me. "You can't be touched," he blurts out, "You are normal ...I am different ... I am touched." "Are you sure," I ask, leaning closer to his smiling face. "Because I think you have been told something that is wrong." Now both he and his Mother look at me intently; she instinctively grabs a hold of his hand, studying me very closely. I am aware that my appearances clearly indicate I am a homeless man. I have not shaved in weeks. I have not bathed in days. I am wearing the same clothes I had on when I walked away from my home and life six months ago. "No," I continue, "Everyone else is different - you are normal." "People only tell you you are different, because they are jealous, they want to be like you, but they can't be. You are the only normal person in the whole, entire world. Everyone else is, a little touched." And, I wink at him. He lights up, rocks back and forth, laughs and guffaws. I get up; walk over to the two of them; shake his trembling hand; and, kiss his mother on the cheek. As I walk towards the exit, starting my journey back home, I turn and see a policeman walking past the two strangers - I barely hear the policeman say, "Good morning", followed by the boy's loud, booming voice, gleefully shout, "Hi, I am normal."
My mother, oh my God This woman was extraordinary The woman who gave birth to me The woman who took care of thee My mother This woman was extraordinary A loving mother One who always supported and helped others She would give what she had To bring people out of their struggles Oh my God This women was extraordinary Had her own style She did not walk a straight path She loved my father Although he whipped her behind This woman was extraordinary She kept a roof over her children's head Made sure we were fed Although she had a drug problem that never stopped her Vanessa R. Turner 10/16/52 to 09/17/96 She handled her business She got all that the welfare could give us This woman was extraordinary Over the years she became ill A victim of HIV A dialysis patient Although she faced these challenges she sustained Who she was my mother extraordinary
my bones ache when I look at you see you laughing or see you with your beautiful neck turned awkward and the veins pulse as you sleep it takes me back to think you grew inside me so perfect my best accomplishment I gasp as you read to me your voice bouncy and curious makes me beam my chest fills so full with pride that it aches in the middle where my ribs meet and the small gestures that define you naive questions or that head strong snarl the need for space that i recognize or the way you ponder the this and that of things make my bones ache when i look at you
I may not be at home with you 'though it does not mean that you're not near I recollect those things you've done For me throughout the years You've picked me up when I've fell down and soothed my broken spirit; played games and taught me how to grow Worked hard to feed us with it So my heartfelt thanks are in these words as I think of you this way; and all my love is sent to you All year, not just today.
How absurd is the word .... death...., ...Examine with caution, it takes all your breath The depth of five letters, takes more than a glance How one twist of fate could take you away so swiftly, so certain, one rise of the curtain, when never a reason to dwell there before... to spell such a word....profanely absurb How could the unthinkable, possibly happen? You were here one day, then gone the next Not even a minute to pause or reflect To say our goodbyes...those chances denied A single " I love you"... one last time Nothing can soften unbearable words When grief is not real...just cruel and absurb you can't drink it in... Each stage is journey, a walk in the rain Turning a corner.......and starting again But finally convinced, there is no denying The days are confirming...although we would fight it And life does go on, there are things we must do And family to care for,.......a routine now to follow Life swallowed me whole....... And sooner or later those everyday things Seem to deaden the pain....numbing the senses...with novacaine dreams and the bitterness grays, and the years dwindle down Time chips away and the memories fade Time,... in small portions, chips away at the grief But years, without mercy, is also a theif My vision of you is harder to see, And try as I might,...it burns all the leaves Your beautiful face, the fire of you, Are flashes of amber.......there is only a hue I can't view the picture as clearly I did I can't turn it on like a light in my head It burns, now so dimly...just a flicker, instead Where once was the warmth of your arms, and your smile Are whispers that come in the dark for awhile I try to reach out, and touch them somehow But they've burned into embers, I hardly recall Like a photograph lost where it doesn't belong Fading each day, in the sun for too long Fading and losing the bright flame I knew I ponder the embers that have died in the flame And I wonder......,will I know you if we meet once again? ____________________________________________
You left me in care & never even bothered to call You've never been there, why am I bothered at all? My whole life I've been desperate for us to have a relationship? How many times do you need to reject me for it to finally make me quit? For 22 years I've dreamt of the day you say you love me Or that you'll show it in the way you hug me I've never stole off you, like my brother and sister & their heroin addiction is why I've always stayed drug free How can I look at you or even say Mother I miss ya It's impossible to miss something you've never had in your life I never shed a tear for my own dad when he died I do my crying on my pad when I write Don't I deserve to know and understand why I was placed in homes? Don't you think that was a lot for me to face alone? Can't talk to you about it because you will just take it wrong All I would get from you is the same old blame and excuses Hostility between us I came to reduce it But it feels like the pain is exclusive Only I can feel it You never showed me love, so i can't accept it from anyone I'm incapable Funny thing is some girls I've dated have found this flaw favourable But I know one day someone will heal it But I'm done trying to rebuild a relationship I never broke Not going to apologise for a story I never wrote Dear mum keep blaming me for our family break-up I never caused it I was 3 years old when you put me into foster care Now I'm 22 is it any wonder I'm exhausted?
My majority years have bolted and this Mothers Day Has left me to suppress thoughts, from our past, left curbside as rubbish; That God never intended to be recyclable;
" Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and temperate" - William Shakespeare His question ponders through my mind For he claimed how thou art more beautiful than thee Enchanting summer with its mother; the sun For thou are indeed my guide Thou art my sun that never misleads Thou art the one person I shan't leave And shan't wish to be gone by the morning's rise O treasure deep within my soul Beam so strong to enlighten my days Art thou hearing the wonderful tune? Playing so softly with the rise of the light But then again thou art brighter than the sun Thou art the glass of pure water Emerging from the steep, creamy waterfall Gleaming sparks attached to your white neck Purifying the light touching your skin " Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Nay, for thou art more beautiful than a summer's day For if I do compare The sun shall melt and the wind shall be amazed By the beauty thou behold Embedded deep within your soul Beauty isn't only from the outside, but from the inside; within a soul, For the outside might just be a disguise, to simply foul one into ambuscades
Where is she? I Love her, I Need her Where is she?
Mother, as I last view your pale and fragile frame I envisioned the chariot that will carry you to heaven... It will be of silver and gold steadily rumbling through a tunnel at first dark with the end in sight an unwavering beckoning beacon of light... Soon you will be standing on a hill with a new body below you fertile land light and airy beautiful colored clouds behold your palace! A mansion with many rooms towers high and proud as it laps the sea each wave blue as can be! When you enter your palace mother you're in a place free of sin say hello to all our loved ones as you enter the Kingdom of Heaven.. ~ ~
As a lad I always wanted what my friends had. Never could I understand why I never fit into your plans. You were there when I was young. Wish I could remember the fun. Then you started to fade away.. I can't remember the memories made A little girl is all I was Looking for a mother's love. Broken promises were your gifts to me All I wanted was for you to see The alcohol was destroying our lives And you never even thought twice. Sitting in a bar is where you could be found. All the drugs that got your love. Here I was still searching for a mom. I was 13 and on my own When you told me you were not coming home. As the tears filled up in my eyes. You just kept walking and never turned to see me cry. I thought my life was over that day. Until I realized you never wanted to stay. Always thought I did something wrong. Why else would a mom walk out? Years have passed by and I survived. Now you're back wanting in my life You tore my heart out and kicked it around. Im not sure I can forgive you now. The flame in my heart has gone out. No longer do I search for your love. Because I know you won't love me back.
for Paul Summer, and the cicadas have gone mad, singing out their ending lives with the deafening din of a train that envisions the wreck. I, in my wintering time have more enduring songs to sing in this "sad, old world," as my grandmother would say, walking in her farmhouse flower garden, bearing the sorrow of a husband, and a cherished daughter, gone too sudden and, too soon. In the present place of peace and comfort I have somehow, against all odds, managed to create, a former life greets guests to an island retreat: "Welcome to the Middle Ages" say candelabra, hundred-year-old chairs and medieval tapestries, better hung in some hushed and darkened cathedral There's no wicker here, just a retro flicker from another era. My "Pro Clean" guy, accustomed to this paradox, has laundered carpet chosen feckless white, replaced, now, with sensible green, gleaming clean from his expert efforts. He's come again--"The usual?" he asks, eyes holding mine a heartbeat too long. He's two years divorced from a young wife who walked, a mother who deplored dates with an older woman. How Cool!, thought I, and he's met with my inquire, "Seeing her yet?" No, the reply, as he turns on his heel, "But we got along..." End of story? No, not quite. Slow fade to a question made: "Are you looking for a date? I'm charmed by confidence, his bold audacity, the final tenacity when he heads for his truck, "If you change your mind, give me a call." But, "MAY I?" Happy, Sappy!, My end of the seesaw's weighty; he's forty, I'm eighty. Still in the game? More or less, I guess, but where does it end? I'll tell you, my friend: "Red Rover, Red Rover," it's when no one comes over.
The dreaming fetus foresaw his future life His mother woke roused by the vision from her womb Her cherished child now cushioned inside Would shame his family name Ravishing virgins His mother wept Wondering what a life was worth She foresaw her labor pains and heard the victims' screams If she bore the boy She too would surely be guilty Damned by her DNA Sobbing at her filicide sin She grabbed a bottle of gin and stepped into the steaming bath… …And somewhere a dreaming baby girl now slept peacefully.
The gracious woman is hated She is not overrated but such a natural one Morals and values dictated Through her trials and tribulations her smiles stun Family and friends created Stay optimistic throughout the long run The woman is so courageous A strong heart is number one She seems to be contagious Her relationships are always undone Her worthiness is outrageous To find another is dreadful To lose her is regretful A woman of this caliber is so special
Africa Africa my love Like a mother you embraced me You taught me about life and love You gave me something I never had or felt Like a mother you punished me When I mistreated you you gave me everything and took it all Africa you are the cradle of life Why do you cry Africa Why is life living you If I leave you? Will you heal Will you become wild and beautiful like you once were Can you let me leave? Africa my mother show me the world beyond the stars Tell me about love and the ancient stars
Wheeled in from the cold, wearing layers of winter clothes, her aging daughter brings her to a table close to the door. The years on her face are apparent by the loose skin drooping from her cheekbones, eyes sinking into her face as her eyelids spill over into her line of sight. The sparce wisps of white hair on the sides of her head stick out a little like that of a clown, the top of her head more or less bald. She reaches for the coffee her daughter brought to the table, and holds the mug with both hands, bringing it slowly to her lips. At first glance, her obvious vulnerability brought tears to my eyes.... But then something made her laugh, and the smile on her face was all I could see now. I didn't see old age anymore, I didn't see vulnerability, I only saw a mom and her daughter drinking coffee and laughing about something I would never know. I turned back to my own coffee and smiled as I raised the cup to my lips.
Rain falling to the ground Silent whispers all around Pitter patter, pitter patter Rain is falling all around Warm and toasty by the fire Sipping cocoa on the floor Crickel crack, crickel crack Cuddled next to the fire Is the mother and her daughter Crash BOOM lighting strikes 1...2...3...4...5... The girl is counting, As her mother holds her tight Soon the storm will pass The sun will break the morning sky Sleeping quietly next to burned out ashes Is The mother and her Daughter
I squint just right And capture a memory almost forgotten Jars of fruit and honey fresh from hives Filling shelves in old smokehouse Home-made butter and molasses In her kitchen Waiting to smother Biscuits warming On black cast iron wood-stove Boxes of buttons An old cameo Split wood in corner Old sleepy dog on porch The house on the hill Where Mom's Granny rocked 16Feb14
EMMA SUE'S BIRTHDAY PARTY She's looking happy for a change "Emma Sue's a 'Four-Eyes" We call her that and other names First a threat the stick! But then her Mother appears with some paper bags Bulging within thick Miss Mengin's room is at attention So early too then It's only 9:00 a.m. The bags are placed within a closet Then locked away The entire LONG day Her Mother wears some worried wrinkles Says a word to Emma's teacher frowns But throws a smile before she leaves for town At lunch on the grounds Emma Sue as usual stands aside single Doesn't try to mingle But there is something within Hope in her eyes Shoulders up elevated chin By 2:15 excitement of the morning seems forgot Not so! By Emma Sue? Certainly not! Both she and teacher rise together All eyes are lifted puzzled looks Quite forgotten the grammar books Girls and boys begin to whisper 'Four Eyes' grinning see her cheeks bloom At front of a thrilling room "It's Emma Sue's Birthday See what she and her mother have baked One for each and every person little cakes Put your books away No more lessons The rest of the way" "HOORAY!" For Emma Sue I must say Those tasty cakes made all the difference Well? At least for one day
A flower as blue as the sea, A flower as green as green tea. A flower as yellow as a bee, A flower as gold as a key. A flower as purple as a plum, A flower as pink as a drum. A flower as orange as a jet, I wonder if I can get any flowers for my mother. Aunika Alch Age 11
Soon the bell will ring. Asleep, your warmth is still the same An echo of strength still resides in your arms, Wrapped around me they Instinctively protect me, 'though later they'll hold for a steady hand. Lying here reminds me, of when I'd scurry to lay and listen to your sturdy voice bring alive Dreamland. You'd bush my still wet hair, tickle me to bed, scare away monsters, and kiss my cheek all in one sweep. In half an hour, when the bell rings, You'll roll away as my day begins, And I'll lay out your shoes, socks, Clean underwear, and gown. The next appointment is in half an hour, And after that I'll lay you down. Time is running out, I feel the urgency.
Winter is also celibate. The conscience is moving, A frozen light in a frozen eye. It's raining much looser, Down a ripped tree. I couldn't have, I couldn't have, in this sin-sick tenderness. ___ My face is cracked in my fawnlike fingers; And the nose betrays an inner child, who Wouldn't listen to sparrows about being catched. I just insisted fur was wings. ___ The feminine chill on the palm must be sorrow; When I think of church bells, or mother- That I am haunting as raw love.
Prized Possession When was it that society and religion Became so afraid of the sexuality of women Or was it just men who became afraid Trapping and turning beauty into pornography To suit the idealism of a capitalistic Ideology Made women its prized possession There was once spiritual prowess in her nakedness Once long ago The symbol of womb and breast Gave birth to life And a possession was once the sexual expression Of both women and men Connecting Copulating In an essence of a spiritual unity Defined by the pleasure both received In giving to life So how did sex become a sin Dirtied by morals And then sold in a tin Of instant readily affordable self gratification When did your own sexuality Become a commodity For them to sale And poor Eve, lead mankind to ruin And she alone made responsible for the fall from Eden So shall she pay the price in cultural centuries Of Christian and Muslim oppression Such is the weakness of men That by muscle alone defends them Such is the weakness of men That their God must of course; be a man Such is the weakness of men That in the face of beauty It must be their possession Such is my contempt of those men Who cannot comprehend Where their own lives began And who's wives and daughter now exists In a poor excuse for love and worship Trapping and turning beauty into pornography To suit the idealism of a capitalistic Ideology Made women its prized possession Inspired by Brandy Megens poem "News at 5"
Mother, I feel the weight the spinning world. I feel each parental nudge, as a rock, in the cairn of my life, the weight coats my fragile fleeing thoughts, dulling. The spinning child teeters to adult whirlwind, still, sloughing stale nudges. Worlds appear and disappear within the turmoil of my roiling mind feel each parental nudge declined, as a rock standing firm against a gale of fright in the cairn** of my life, I will reign. Son, I know I ask too much, am too much, give too much, hold me. I know, you know, I too spin, and teeter in the winter of my years. I ask only that you see my love, in the absences, as we grow. Too much of mewling mother has melded with you, I weep. Am too much, and in being so, feel never enough. Give too much of my own fear, though unintended, it bleeds. Hold me close as my time is ending, and the rocks of my reign fall. * This is my original form called Et Cetera a subcategory of Free Verse **cairn is a pile of rocks made to blaze a trail
Plates and saucers quietly in attendance behind the cupboard doors lick their faded flowers inside borders service nicked as time ticks off the kitchen clock. Pile smoothed dish towels lie in neatly folded rows as a checkered mate doubles over the ice box handle with nothing to dry but a mother's tears for days gone by.
Perfect I catch myself thinking I have to call my mother or My mother would like That Christmas card With the kittens But there are no more phone calls And no more Christmases For her Or for me with her No more wondering What I would buy a woman who says "I don't need anything"? No more Complaining that I Have to take a bus and a train And a bus To visit her In a perfect world I would have been the perfect daughter More attentive More caring More loving In a perfect heaven My mother would be with my father He no longer yells Or worries about money Or forgets who she is They would sing songs together As they used to On a perfect Christmas There would be a Silent Night And that is what I have now But it seems Less than Perfect December 22, 2009
I know the upbeat feeling of a mother today Humankind invented this day A special day God knows our sacrifices Our love is cherished Nobody could have been surpassed We long our life could never passed Grey hairs are symbols Of worldwide significance and proofs Your sweetest love and virtues Are forever ours Children and grandchildren love you MOTHERS, God has made you A priceless GIFT from our Almighty.
Im trying to be perfect. Im trying to make you happy. But no matter what i do. Im just not perfect enough for you. We argue EVERYDAY, i cry EVERYDAY, we cant go ONE day without an argument, I wish we could. You used to be my hero, Did you know that? Now your just a zero. I cant talk to you. Dont you understand? everytime i try, to talk to you, we get in an arguemnt, i cant take it another day, i thought it was reationships pulling me apart. But i was wrong, Its you, Your making me loose hope, Your makine me not feel, perfect. Now, you dont even trust me, That made me loose even more respect for you, How could you say that? I can be trusted! Your my mother! You should ALWAYS trust me! But i guess im wrong, im sorry ill never be perfect for you
I write to you my self, Sending you myself With words that I long for you Need you and care about you Hope you, miss you, and want To share my heart, my life With you, all these written On a piece of paper Capsule in time, in a bottle On the way to you Somewhere some time You shall get it. Floating across The seven seas In lost time…
A whole civilization of explorers, embarking on the night sky. Spirits to sit amongst the glowworms and fireflies. Watching the movement of the heavens as they lye. For a dark rift to the mother of creations caught there eye. Earth goddess, cosmic mother, snake woman, mother of new age. Enchanting minds to a galactic center, for times of birth, times of change. Cosmo-grams in stone marking the sights as their arranged. Alignments to the exits and entrances to our last great stage. The binding of the years to a sky so wondurously vast. Grows closer and closer as the years they have past. First sun amidst the glowworms and fireflies, align with great mother to greet mankind.
I hear the sky roar! Its so loud and feircful! I get scared and pull the covers over my head I shiver with fear I cry for my mother Mama Mama Mama But she never comes Laying there in a little ball so scared and alone I cry for my mother Mama Mama Mama But she still doesn't come Ten years later I hear thunder I see lighting I'm a little kid again I pull the covers over my head I cry for my mother but she never comes
Worthy of love, unbreakable togetherness, and lasting compassion would have been instilled strongly in the vessel of thirsting heart and unstable mind of a child. But, why soup of hatred, a platter of pale love and a bowl of spoiled unloving thoughts are laid in the niche of the child's sprouting character? Family ties were untied by a father who neglected his pure actions and encouraging words and translated into unspoken greediness and unnoticed carelessness of expressed thoughts that form the growing character of his son. The family bonding is disbanded by a mother who works in the scope of her comfort where eyes and mouth are only the weapons of her love and care for her curious daughter and for her wandering son. A father who offers a well of gold and silver, a mother who clothes sparkling dress of worldly wealth to her offspring! Their children have worn ever the brightest smile but not for a while, The pleasures of their tongue were satisfied but not their hearts. Corruption begins at home. It creeps to the nerves of the heart of your son. It envelops the innocent soul of your daughter. For every dishonest word that is pronounced by the indifferent father, For every unchecked actions that mother has imposed, Are a sure lifetime shaper to the values and character of the children. Family brings serpents of corruption in every corner of the home. It blows very hard like a destructive wind of the storm. It is like a starving lion that preys on the flesh of good virtues and leaves nothing but dead soul! Father, Mother, May I appeal to your deepest conscience and understanding! May you be vigilant and be watchful of your actions and your ways of life! Your most beloved children are at stake in the breaking and making of their character!
I miss you loads… My mum she was, kind and meek In the wardrobe of my memories for her do I now seek She is gone in the tomb There she is carefree like in a mother's womb Devoted she remained as long as she was alive Indebted to her sweet tender care does my whole being thrive Her face was my solace She was my life's only Ace Her shadow was my comfort Crying on her shoulders was my only resort Every morning she would wake me up like the cool morning breeze In her lap all my fear would freeze Hidden in a veil she used to work all day From her God for us only she would pray Where is she gone I wonder My quest to see her again does not ever surrender Like a beautiful flower was her pure face My mind does not let it ever efface Her ears were seats where all my secrets were poured Bless her soul with peace Oh my Lord!
Down the foggy street your lonely figure did laik,* no words no smile just waiting for your mate, knowing I, a wandering soul. Like the wind! I'd come and go, summer madness winter's snow, recharged urchin forever all aglow. Yet! next to the corner shop your place, we all perceived your fortress, a sanctuary to hide you from the real world. Oh yes! you were the bullies delight they smacked you around, you were too afraid to fight. To see your eyes shout out in sheer terror, I had to intervene your mother never forgot! In childhood, you bore witness to all that was evil, fear begot the prisoner locked within yourself. Sometimes! I try to tell myself the fights were never real, just a fantasy of this time we invaded, a time when might was conceived as right and weakness an excuse for intimidation! Here now! I stand at your feet barely forty, and you've gone no doubt to a better place, your mother by my side conveys a reflection of yesteryear, Chapel Street, Back Beck our visits to the monastery for the fruit of the bee. The tears still flow she misses you so! "Yet it is so apparent here you lay in sublime rosiness, St Peter, smiles upon this place, whilst death ended life's neurotic war." * laik. yorkshire dialect for play
''Are you my daddy'' the little child cried. ''No I'm your uncle'' the grown up replied, ''Are you going to stay, or go away like my uncles always do?'' '' I love your mummy I'll stay I promise you I'll do''. '' Everyone loves my mummy,'' the child says with a sigh. ''Will you take me to MacDonald's and buy me a toy and take me for a ride?'' ''Yes I promise, but I maybe away for a while''. ''Are you my Daddy'' the little child cried, ''No I'm your uncle'', the grown up replied, ''Are you going away like all my uncles do?''............................................. Peter Dome. copyright.2012.
~Why will your love never be true? Such an absent silence. Wearing a heart I can see right through. An emotionless ploy. Faint face,as eyes that were always dim. I remember now,the smile that was forever saved for you. But, no return, left lonely. I turned away from our broken light.~ This is for children who has felt abandoned by parents~
My mother never knew what to do with me. I was an obligation that needed to be. But I wanted her to love me. Simply… love… me. I would do anything to please her. Wanting her to be proud, I worked hard at everything I did. But she viewed me as her competition, not wanting to be out done. Needless to say our relationship wasn't what I wanted it to be. I dreamed to have a family of my own to simply… love… me. I had a daughter who didn't live. And my mom said someone like me shouldn't have kids. Though she didn't know about my epilepsy and other problems with my health. Then my life fell apart with hard times everywhere. I didn't show it but hidden…my health wasn't all that good. My husband's diabetes affected his mind. And epilepsy was working on mine. I ignored that fact. I worked hard as my epilepsy kept tearing every thing apart. Finally with a hard earned job… Fourteen years later I had a son. The son I'd always wanted to have. I was so very proud but was attacked by both health and son, at every turn. He was wilder than most creating problems everywhere. He blamed me for everything and everywhere something went wrong. My health did it again at work as my relationship continued to crumble with my son. He hated a mother who had to work, had epilepsy, and just wasn't there for him. I was slowly dying when he was 12 and I was 52, when finally I was saved. That night… I met God and he said I had more to be done along the way. I came back and did every thing I could to help my wayward and unruly son. But way before I helped him go to college… I knew I had lost my son. But his best friend needed a mom so I was there for him. It seems so strange to tell, but as my son moved out… His best friend simply moved in. And it's even stranger to tell that… The son who will occasionally smile at me, is someone else's son. He's my heart-adopted son and has brought my first son closer again. Jesus was always here and… the tear in my heart is gone.
For nine months With love and pain With joy and suffering In her womb she carried me A mother she is And a woman of virtue. When there was no one, she was the only one Even left alone, she never leaves me alone Indeed, she's a mother And a woman of virtue. When toddling, she cared And still directs when I could run She is a mother of the child and the adult In her thoughts are all, even the descendants to come Many names will I call her; "A mother of all" And a Woman of Virtue.
No, I cannot remember the moment life began for me in my mother's womb: You know, a brand new creation after leaving my father to stick to my mother for nine months, like would never happen again. Neither can I remember when I traveled the birth canal to enter the world that awaited my presence. Actually, they were the wrong hands that I entered: the very ones that disconnected me from my mother and slapped me on the bottoms to hear me say what was on my mind, just for that moment! I do believe most of us have been there. Well, here's a bit more that we can agree on: From there, life goes on….
My Grandmother died, and I have not penned my loss nor I have stooped to pick her rose and smell the scent of her. I can not allow the sights to emerge, when I must close my eyes, I can not afford to let her go nor allow myself to go with. There is a world of grief and screaming covered in my intellectualizing but I can neither nod hello or whisper goodbye, I must stay this path she set.
Oh Mother! You bear nine months pain, Out of sheer bond of love, And a life is born. The empty slate, waits for a template. You give the direction, I catch the innovation. Your tolerance killed my breathless impatience Your perseverance, Killed my indolence Your selflessness, Killed my selfishness. Demolition of the animal of hatred in me, Done by your sheer bond of love.
Patradoot or The Messenger26 /Many English version by Ravindra K Kapoor Originally written in Hindi by my Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor These Indian women, who were called salves of man, And even showed as degraded by the writer publisher Ms. Mayo, You would see, what courage and bravery they have shown, You can witness and see from your eyes, dear letter. You will see them fighting fearlessly, dear letter, While wearing beautiful saffron color sarees, As if, the goddess of courage is giving them strength, To peacefully face lathe's and beatings on them, Some where you will witness on your way, dear letter, How bravely these women are struggling, while bearing, Tortures and lathe's in love of their motherland, They go even to jails without fearing cruealities. Such was the courage faced by brave and bold Indira,* The only daughter of Kamla* on Zero Road, dear letter, When she saved the honor of national flag, While fearlessly struggling to carry on the procession. Ravindra Kanpur India 6th August 2010 to continue in 27 *Kamala …Full name Mrs. Kamla Nehru. The reference is for the mother of Mrs. Indira Gandhi or the late 1st woman Prime Minister of India.. Kamla Nehru wife of Jawaharlal Lal Nehru. She was a great social worker and Freedom fighter. My mother or the writer's ( Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor ) wife to whom the entire Patradoot is dedicated used to go with Late Kamla Nehru, as her regular companion to awaken the women and men living even in poverty and slums areas of Allahabad * Indira or Mrs. Indira Gandhi. The reference is of Mrs. Indira Gandhi, who later on became the Prime Minister of India. She was taking part in the non-violent movement of Mahatma Gandhi, even while she was quite young. Indira Gandhi was also from Allahabad. Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections Note: If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup has any question or queries, they can send me an email on email@example.com Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my father late Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932, when he was imprisoned by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. After India's independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics. All his other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. He left this mortal world in 1994.
The words you force The words you yell The words you fictitiously pronounce Now becomes you, becomes your energy. Your energy flow is not lucid anymore. Was it ever? Your demand for a delusional lie to become reality shames you. These words you force on me have backfired. I see the colours you wear, I must now forgive you The damage has been done. To yourself. Copyright © Christina Clark
She places her life In the care of her doctor A shot and a haze fills her eyes And her thoughts wonder. Images arise Inside her, she remembers When twice upon a time She had carried them. Had given birth to them Now grown, with children of their own In a couple of hours it would be gone It was for the best. A matter of health Yet eyes now shut, her heart wails Wasn't the first time she needed doctors A smile's on her face She can feel him near Her better half gone before her Would not mind joining him. Softly, he whispers, "Where is that woman so brave? That fought through many a pain, Survived each time. It's not your time yet You are still needed, and you know I'm always there, and I'll wait For the day we are Together again." In honor of my mother, having surgery today, a hysterectomy. I was home last month for 2 weeks, wish I could have stayed longer. Speedy recovery, mom!
I met Maxine in the 50's when I was a 5th grader She was of mixed race and shunned, even by the teachers I had only recently moved to the suburbs of New Orleans And my playmates in Memphis had been little black girls who lived on my grandmother's farm So to me, Maxine was not different and I was happy to have a friend We sat together at lunch and on the playground where we talked There she told me that her grandmother was mean and punished her because her hair was blondish and frizzy .... Of no offense to me With the passing of time, I began to notice that I was also shunned For many weeks this did not dissuade me from our friendship Maxine must have also noticed for she'd bring me a daily lunch sandwich And beg me to sit with her....I felt myself ... us...drifting away Over time the pressure mounted and I had to let her go Some 59 years later I still hate myself for not being stronger Because I remember 30 years ago reading in the paper that Maxine who worked as a bar maid had been murdered What if I had stayed? Would that have made a difference? I guess I will never know....nor feel better about Maxine or myself Thank you for reading my haunting.............
I was a-munchin' 'n' a-crunchin' on some crackers 'n' cheese When a-someone or a-somethin' came 'n' tickled my knees – With her tail up in the air in a question mark tease, 'Twas my little grey kitten mewin' wide-green eyed pleas – Beggin' of her human, "Oh kind human, please Won't you let me share in yer crackers 'n' cheese?" I looked into her tiny face 'n' made the choice with ease – Doncha know that to my heart this kitten holds the keys? I felt her purrs flow past me, a gentle, liltin' breeze, 'N' now my kitten's doin' the munchin' on my crackers 'n' cheese!
Mother buried hacked-up carp beneath pink rose mallow. She knew the filthy cats would come. A balled-up dirty rag and coffee tin of smelly kerosene were garrisoned behind a red berry twistwood. Mother would hide in a column of shadow near the porch. Ambush the cats as they dug for carp. Their noses spiced with fish-oiled peat. Tails flagged above puckered targets. Mother was quick with her kerosene rag — spot on! A hush-hush tripwire stretched taut round the perimeter of mother's mortared desperation. The sacrosanct, lint-free, perfect world, where she demanded God wipe His feet at her door. Dear Mother, our Elizabeth Taylor dead ringer, who could waltz with kings, or gut them with a glare. Ghetto mother, who would murder to keep her suburbs white, the cat crap gone, and her prize mallow big as Frisbees. I couldn't let it storm on mother. She would get crazy if her galvanized tin-roof mind was rattled. Her daughter always had to shine. I kept the attic window shutters well oiled. Mother never heard my bare feet crisscrossing the roof, as I ran to catch the rain.
It snowed the day my mother taught me to engrave She held a waxy green leaf between her mittened fingers And mapped each yellow vein with her eager eyes All filled up to the lashes with yellow Scraping away the green, catching it under her fingernails She found my name like some ancient code in its shallow skin White winter sun tentatively fingered the letters And the wind took them elsewhere Towards the great grey clouds above Meanwhile our feet lay planted to the ankles In something cold and heavy.
Cold shadows form Blacker bars from locked window Fall upon the remaining light and I Wake caged memories as animals Metaphors arouse the senses Silence louder grips regret And all I can do Is think to run But, instead I again hold on tighter To my waning sanity No signs insist on warning Moments like rocks are falling Always continue to pile up images within That now stirs the soup thick dark And begin to play out An unspeakable act Every year upon this very day I watch from balconies, stuck In tragedies portrayed And now I see… What I forgot Mother, lying Covered about her sins Beneath, I'm a child crying Guilt turning always finds its way Around the coo-coo clock Of hands and helpless To time's army, life's ending, ticking, plot If, but for an instance I could be free Free from what A reality without her And her needed love When is enough, enough! Please, subconscious just let me go… And I promise I'll keep on… going and forgetting
The days of her youth left her long ago And now she is in her prime She stands amid the garden in bloom The morning rays sparkling the grey on her head Like the red aged wine Her mellow grace smiling with dew Her tender mouth a little sad Remembering the days past Her wrinkled hands, as they gently touch The memories down the lane Fragrant like yellowing grass She stands rich in delight. 27/3/13
BUT TEARS ONLY FOR MY GRAND MA I was born the day and date I cannot remember like many; I was leisurely growing watching my little sisters scratching heads, wiping tears of poverty! Coconut oil was scarce; brother's knickers were sparse My mother too bore silently the smoke in her eyes twice daily, In front of the husk stove daily; with her mother (our lovely grandma) together, Worship their family Doctor Baba Goush Baba For the cure of my mother's Leucoderma; well over 3 yrs; walking well over 3 km Day after Day; Faith finally paid; curse finally parted A walk together with mother and mother with affection Sharing poverty and poverty in succession Crying sobriety in progression; Hapless future with six kids on hand; Her mom on back; her hubby in barrack Finally A life is lead Up to this Summit of opulence With my Mom and Dad happily But Tears only for my Grand Maa! © Krishna Baalu2010 krishna Baalu
It burns and it stings. It hurts. More than drowning beneath the ice. More than remaining in a kindled flame She hits and I no longer cry. Why mother, why? It burned and it stung. The markings remained, returned, and were relived Looking, loving, and little known loathing were the known ways of living. Never was their pity for the child that cried Never was their relief for the child that tried You were that lovely bird that understood the complications of felicity Nothing looked the same in those dewy browns of yours. My everbeating would cry tears of joy. The others-they were yet to appear. Caring Mother, o' so fair You were that beautiful bird filled with care. The others came and were not alone. Their two suitors sat on the throne. Rampage and rage why did you come? I began to wither and wither slumping along. So very soon I- the child of fines- became a human raceme. The droops of the Lily of the Valley became the slumping of my heart. My lovely bird the enemy had taken you and the person you were is far from near. For that divine nature left its intricate self and you became irretrievable my big bird. All of your fairness died. With that went my pride. Mother, Mother what moved you so? Your intense spirt vanished only to supplement a monster. Mother, Monster and your tar filled lungs. How did I kill that liver that was so, so strong? The lesson of pain was one you came to learn. My darling bird why did you turn? My lovely bird and your big brown eyes I'll tell you once, but never twice. Pain is only a flower for it blooms and dies And a mistake can be killed as quickly as lice. You dear bird hurt me well. Though, haven't you heard? Weakness is a souls greatest strength. You brought me up, then you brought me down. You haved helped, hurt, and hindered my blazing spirit. A hero in my heart-I left you down in your deep black slumber. Escaping those terrible nights To go for the town of delights.
The night, with everything humid Took us to the balcony Current of fresh air, the moon also ripe Amidst queries – we reached about stars Why the luminance, clusters, variance? Non astrologer, She did a best But one premise struck Each man has one up there She answered – to everywoman too Where is mine? That, she pointed: the brightest. Why . . . what about yours then? Mine is in you, son The place in your father's house. And She was my mother! (Tribute to Elizabeth Adetutu Ojo)
You ask for my forgiveness, Saying it was done in grief, What was it then, When you boycotted my shower, My wedding, My house warming party, My baby shower, The birth of my son (Your first great grandchild) Snubbed the both of us, When WE drove an hour one way, to see you Many weekends in a row. Grandpa was alive then. I forgave you for all of that. I still went to every function. But Grandpa had just days to live, I just wanted to tell him I loved him, To kiss his cheek one last time. "A soft kiss" he would say. It was our special thing. And after driving an hour, Preparing myself for the scene, You wouldn't even let us in the house. You can't blame that all on grief.
"First she burst my bubble, then she said goodbye." So the dream mother introduces my daughter to me. Nameless, she plays in the sandbox, digging up dirt even as a toddler. Here is where I know her first: Before her hospital cry; before the bloody show. I ask the dream mother what it was like giving birth to the tot I do not yet know. Her response leaves me in a cold sweat – Now, too late to change direction: her birth inevitable, as the goodbye.
Cut up Diamond birthed The dawn, diamond-cold , walls , sleepless harsh clinical, softened, soothing love sparkled with crystals of dew lullaby of blossom-pastel hues smoothing , light of diamond-cut prisms glimmering , flowering month of showers studded daisies in the bowers, beneath the sun, red and yellow gemstones tumbled on dark soil A baby's sunbeam fist , light-bright , a curling trellis of clinging sweet peas climbing the ladder of morning, crystalline sunlight stroked your face softly, golden sunrise of a late light jewel of April polished sleeping..gently.. 14/mar/14 PS: What has resulted after cutting up the Charlotte poem ' Diamond birthed day'
God answered my prayer. I asked Him for a child, a child with all the races, all the hues and colors, all the shades and tints, so that when she enters this hateful world which only sees in Black and White, she would not be discriminated against... she could not be discriminated against. For she would be Black and White. For she would be neither Black nor White. She would be a class of her own. You are my Rainbow Child. You were brought to this world by a Colored mother and a Blank father. Your father died long before you were born... he was hanged. Your mother... me.... I pressed on Until one day It all became too much. So I clenched you tight to my breast And I sang you a song. "You are my sunshine" And indeed you were. "My ONLY sunshine" My ONLY reason to live. "You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know, Dear, how much I love you. So please don't take my sunshine away." I pulled you from my breast and looked at your beautiful face. My Rainbow Child... My Rainbow Child. In my arms so peaceful and calm. The very thing I longed for you to have... Peace. Peace in a disruptive world. Peace in a confused reality. Peace of mind. And you lay in my arms, Eyes closed, No crying, No noise, No moving, No breathing. Peace.
Our eyes (written in the style of spoken word) My child hood is slipping away from me my memories fading in light of new. Parts of me still lost in loam searching for your face in fading grey. All I have left of you is me. All I have left of your words are imprinted in my soul so that when despair at our seperation becomes to great I can hold, caress, and run them through my mind like the silk of the blanket you wrapped me in and put around my shoulders to look in the water and find your eyes and see you in mine
Right from the day, i opened my eyes The selfless caress bounds me tight No thing in the world could pay the price Of the pious love giving eternal delight The darkest day turns beautifully bright Holding the arms of Mother very tight She knows the unsaid that's the surprise Bad spirits harm not , goes to demise Wish each morning to please my Angel Her presence itself makes days special Her love and affection knows no pinnacle Promise to be at least your glories emblem The beauty of thy soul is so very simple Without reason you turn life brightly twinkle I wish to be a guiding light as u want me to Never let you down how hard may be the go I dedicate each beautiful frame of my life Wish i leave before my Angel waves Bye! May i ever be a reason of at least A Smile My wealth be your Unconditional love till i die...
Do you remember how she smelled like Christmas? How she smiled like rain? Do you think of her, sometimes when snow and laundry soap fill your senses? Or when the wind catches the leaves and they laugh in your ear sing you to sleep? Maybe it's the reason your eyes cloud over when you feel silk against your fingers Because for a moment you're cradled in her arms Peter Pan and Hook tugging at your eyelashes Some bittersweet reminisce of quilted portrait frames salted tears and candy-cane red lipstick tuning your dreams And with simple twinges of regret feather-like brushes of remorse you cave collapse Wish you could remember more than a smell or a sound fainter than teardrops Wish everything didn't remind you you couldn't.
Over the hills and through the city streets but nobody was home Thanksgiving day was the loneliness time of the year went to grandmother house but everyone ate no one was home No lovey family members called and wished me a Happy Thanksgiving no one called I eat my Thanksgiving dinner alone I watched the football game alone I prayed to God why hast thou forsaken me
(Dedicated to Oluyemisi Janet Akinwande) God empowered you mother to be a channel Through which I found my way from heaven to earth What a great privilege to come to the world through you What a great privilege to come through your world oh mother, I'm most grateful You passionately took care of me from cradle unto maturity Your love for me as an adult gave me Hindsight to your immeasurable And unconditional care for me as a child I'm most grateful Even after the call of father to the place of rest You did everything decently possible, leaving the state of convenience for the city of hardship for me to have a paradise of life Many sleepless nights, laboring to make me a responsible figure in the society I'm highly grateful Hmmm! I declare with a loud voice and humble heart, by the anointing upon my life Your world shall be established as long as Christ tarries You shall be a great example of honor of motherhood You will live to see the fruitfulness of your fruits in wealth and good health Your heart shall be made glad and joyous Women shall call you blessed and young ladies shall come to learn from you Foreigners shall say of you, what a blessed mother Dear Mother © 2007
i am lost like a shadow on a moonless night you are gone my mind stirs like a summer breeze twirling thoughts of you as i long for relief if only you could come back my heart beats fast like quickened steps on paved walks at night in search of you my soul reaches like a flower ready to drink the rain it thirsts for you the child in me the adult i have become each miss you the same
A child is brought into this wondrous world And your heart it sings with unbelievable joy A child born unto you to hold close to your breast Your babe to feed, nourish and provide with your all A child, within moments, so eager to learn everything So able to trust, eager to love, and filled with song Dancing by your side to their own special tune Love and protect them with your life, if you must Do not let them know the beasts of this world Their innocent pure heart, keep it safe and beautiful And if one tragic day your child should ever leave you Thank God for the having, for the loving that was And know your child is in a safe place in God's care Waiting to whisper, "Oh Mother, my Mother I love you so!"
The soldier, the war, and I Today I am home and thinking to my self.. What would I be doing if I had a soldier coming home to me and my family? What would I be doing if I was the soldier looking to going home to my family? And then, I look back at all the years passed since this last war.. Many children have grown to become men, Others have grown to become soldiers Where would I be if I had gone to the war and fought for my country? Where would I be if I had gone and came back safely? Where would I be if I had not gone at all because I was not qualified to go? Would I be with my family or in a hospital injured? Would I be standing proud, and laughing with my friends and family? Or would I be dead, as I never got to come back? Today I am home and thinking to myself.. Thinking of all of those brave soldiers, children still Who are out there, suffering.. And some ill Today I am home and thinking to myself.. How many woman are crying because of their gone loved ones How many men are crying for their loved and missed ones How many children are fatherless or motherless, or both! And at the end I stop. I think no more.. I am grateful for the things I have, I am grateful for the people who surround me... And I am sure grateful to never have gone to a war; yet, I sure appreciate the thoughts, courage, life, and suffering Of all of those who have been touched by it.
How does it feel when they are gone, your mother and father, when life is just a dark tunnel of useless feelings, the way they seem to come to you and drag you through a restless floor with rocks and needles for your own personal mental pain, fictionary horizon showing off with blood and death, but yet you smile at so much pain because you never met love and comfort, a table with cards and deals, your soul for a life, but don't die because your gonna burn, burn like you intended to wake and open eyes in this world, since the night was on, from the sides were meant together, scars are there and they are well marked for everytime you look at your self you remember how long has it been since you last held hands with such people, family meant so many lies from before you met this world, the pain in you, the one you thank to every day to be there for you, the one that wasn't suppose to be yours and is still burning through you, like an endless fire that burns down a world of ilussion's, somebody said you were meant for more, your gonna grow higher and higher between every standing man there, the perspective you held for years, dying in your hands tonight, but no one can be fitting simply there, like a magik act agaisn't you, it all chains you to this never before seen hell, but yet you keep on for more, knowing you have no one there, those close will fade just for tomorrows sunrise, but yet you still stand, alone, because many ones have left you cry only for your inside, knowing you will not make it far, you still stand, like a grown man but with the age of a meer one, become what you ain't, become the man of tomorrow, mother is dead, don't you understand his mind screams, she killed herself, she put a bullet in her head, she painted the walls in red for you, father is dead, he is dead! Just move on boy! Move on! Is all you can do or follow their footsteps for nothing, in vain, your still gonna die, but no satan will drag me down, no one will ever, i refuse, i refuse, i rather die in vain after so many years than dying because of my own hand after so much i've been through, i fight for myself and only myself, don't blame me now for been so strong with life, don't spit on me for becoming the god of my own mistakes.
In the dead of winter Mother Nature is callous and cruel The wind bites the cheeks as it whistles around the corner The ice crystals sting the eye like a desert sand storm Only to blind you with it's forceful gusts The land becomes colorless filled with white In the dead of winter Mother Nature is callous and cruel The trees become stripped of their leaves And the wind howls through the branches As the wind swirls and twirls It freezes everything in sight In the dead of winter Mother Nature is callous and cruel As sheer ice covers the landscape The snow drifts begin to pile looking like dunes of desert sand The roads start to become impassable In the dead of winter Mother nature is callous and cruel In the dead of winter Mother nature is callous and cruel The ponds and rivers freeze to solid ice Snow storms hit with a powerful vengeance Blinding everything in it's snowy path.
It may seem strange to write about a battered old saucepan but this was no ordinary one it sprung a leak the other day sadly without thinking I threw it away and now it's gone. It had been in my family before I was born and it was used every day it broke my heart after to throw it away. For all the delicious soups goulash and past it had contained the mouth watering delectable smells from the kitchen the shouts from my parents ''Come on now set the table dinners made''. All the red hot broths and porridge we'd scoff before school on a winters day all the laughs tears and conversations around the dinner table before it was was washed and put away. It was more than a simple saucepan because it held a lot of family memories now my parents sadly passed away it was one of the last things to remind me of how things used to be and mow I have to buy a new one and accept it's demise like my family it's gone forever. Peter Dome.copyright.2012.
A Teddy Bear I have found to give my perfect little lamb. One day replaced with his own lamb, a Teddy Bear to give. Still for now he is all mine, as we snuggle close and warm. But some day on little legs he will begin to venture forth. Still, a Teddy Bear I have found for my beloved little lamb. Ten perfect little fingers wiggle like his ten perfect little toes. They mesmerize me totally just like that quaint little nose. It's hard to believe that soon, he will learn to reach out so far. But today he snuggles closely with his Teddy Bear and I. Bumps, and falling down some day will start his way to walk. But for now he is all mine as I kiss his brow and nose in awe. Such beauty is held for me as that little fist goes in his mouth. Those beautiful big eyes when open, hold me in their thrall. It's hard to believe they'll ever be able to look past me at all. A perfect little angel was given unto me on this very special day. Nothing more I ask of God than to guide him gently on his way. For now a Teddy Bear I have found to give my little lamb. And today he snuggles closely with his Teddy Bear and I. He was once God's lamb before: his care was given unto me. He is mine, till he finds his own little lamb, a Teddy Bear to give.
There's this girl that I know who misses her home The place filled with laughter, her joy, and her hope. This girl, she is sad, and I've seen her heart break. She just doesn't belong here, and she doesn't want to stay. When she's at the beach she just sits and she stares Across the water to who knows where. The ocean is the one place she has found on this Earth That fills her with any kind of peace and hope. Though still she is sad, she's not where she belongs, But at least at the ocean the fierce homesickness calms. She'll walk down the beach and look out at the water, Totally uncaring of those who might watch her. She knows she's not normal, that she isn't like them. But she knows that they cold never understand. This girl that I speak of, how I know her well. Yet at the same time I hardly know her at all. It seems to me as I walk down that beach that I'm never gonna know of who I truly speak. Because as long as I'm here, so far from my home, my heart, my pain there, my hope, I am only half here. I am only half home. And all that I want....I just want to go home.
[The Cypress Is In Bloom] The cypress is in bloom I see the evil, the efflorescence of decadent doom Eloigning, with thy clandestines of the Dead September's reign My belovéd Penelope, abscond from the coven so deep, the glades of misery We must face her in the grove, for arcany, the path we must take She's in my mind, vaporously, Lauding with my, dangers and fears Lie, with ephermelcy's broken truths Leading me go Cypress, Marigold Immortally, willows, forevermore Forevermore [To Question; To Know] My argentine silence, your only condonicy Ends with such eath The Mockingbird in me--died Resting in one ounce, an abundance of shame With an infinity of joy Exiled, by the ones, who give all, names My breath starves for only more The façade, the veil, the austerity dims with Aquarianlore She falls to her knees, why for? Celandine she will be Celandine is she [Bead] The lair within, free from their causalities of their sins Shadowy primroses begin to grow, the season will never end In there I dream to be like you, violet blue, White Flower of Lisieux, La Fleur Blanche du Lisieux, So Celandine are you Celandine are you [Draconian] Draconian--Reach for the shadows within Draconian--Break from The Fallen's Sin Draconian--Their Empirical lies, only die Draconian--Reach The Shadows Within
I am woman … WOMAN Of Congo, Chewed, Spat out, And bestowed with straw basket To fetch water. You set upon us Wild dogs, Stretching our legs wide, Ripping out our genitals and dignity To nurse your children's Craving. 'fore you design gods; Ones who create dolts, Small-minded folks, And feast on minerals – Congo was a lady And I … I am WOMAN, Strong black woman. I bought some views On black market; They are rare commodities, Sat down with glass of nsamba on the rocks And seriously contemplate … It is hard to buy Black market stuff; We are set up To think East is inferior to west, Barring them Europeans Who broke their necks To dwell in Canaan. One thing is for sure, They alleged a better name And substitute The ones we were given; Those with implications. Oh, what things we see When we start looking From our own eyes. I am WOMAN … Woman alone And taken against my desire, Ravished by the corporations; The gods who create your children I am WOMAN, Woman from Congo.
Patradoot or The Messenger 8/Many English version by Ravindra K Kapoor Enchanting beauty of nature, Would unfold its charms, on your way, When you would take my hearts message, For the most lovely child of the creator, my beloved. Ravindra Kanpur India. 15th May 2010 to continue in 9 Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections Background of this Epic The Patradoot was written originally by my later father Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India's Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi. From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom in 15th Aug. 1947) my father was in active movement as Congressman and Gandhi's non violent soldier. For many a time he was imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes. During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed and circulated among the masses to create awareness for India's freedom. The book was printed by my mother in Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the British confiscated the book and press of my father around 1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring this great writing of my father in English which portrays more than the translation of the epic, so the world may come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India's freedom struggle. Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics. All his other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot is one of them. Ravindra Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger. Prakriti Mugdha Sunderta ke, Mug Mai Nav Drashaya Suhayenge, Le Kur Priya Dhing Hirdraya Sandesha, Jub Tu Mera Gayega. Patradoot in Hindi written by Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections
The Mother Moon laughed and sang a song, But it seemed to die Upon the leaves. Mother Moon And Sister Stars Watch me as I dance my way Through these green fields. Guide me on my way, With your magical song. Without you I don't know Where I am Or what this place can be. But I will let there branches reach for me. In this dream, The leaves stroking my face. The wind whispers softly my name, With Mother Moon guiding my way I know who I am, Where I am, And where I can be. Laughing and singing all the way I will get there Some day. But today Mother Moon And Sister Stars Watch me as I dance my way Through these green fields.
The phone call went badly, again - the old arguments about ego & neglect and how you didn't love me, not really. And the weeping. At 50, she was still stuck, repeating the same accusations. "The damage, the damage you caused." She didn't want her mother to think she'd come through it unscathed. Not ever. She'd worked too hard to become something she wasn't, someone must be to blame. She was so clever, so clean, so intelligent - how could she be so unhappy? The unformed artist weighed down by someone else's baggage. When her artist/mother said: You have to work with it, use it, create with it, she howled: "Stop talking over me." It was like saying get rid of yourself. Knowing herself that well, she hardly knew what she was.
When the mother flew away Her children ran all over the forest Searching after her, barefeet Until they turned it red With bleeding feet and hearts The moon rose to soothe Humming and hemming The tide of their sorrow Trailing feather fingers In her black hair of night Morning brought caked tears Bitter breakfast and the torn Leaves, the hope of the children Giving way down the river Carrying their wails Over and mountains away The souls' sinews stretched Trusting and failing, they Turned gossamer webs Across the world Where the mother had flown Away and toward, Around back, Through the seasons: Until the world Was wrapped with her soul, a gift for Her children--her immortal love never lost.
She left me in the empty darkness So lost in the world I search for her, An invisible force drags me to the forlorn eagle, Both our chains bond together And Eagle and I entwine our souls, Thus we embark on our desperate journey, We ascend over peaked rising mountains, And failing White clouds, Searching for the unknown piece, That has chained us to the ground, Gazing through his eyes in the sky, we see her, We watch her nurture the flowers on the land, So provoked we christen to her in the weightless air, Sensing my voice she lifts her porcelain head, Familiar of her smile I sense a separation commence, Zooming in on her face I feel the knots tighten, Disillusioned By the sight of her eyes, There is nothing but despair, And once again we ascend over peaked rising mountains, And failing white Clouds, Searching for that unknown piece, That has chained us to the ground, And fixated on the earth we spot her, And once again we christen to her in the weightless air, Discerning us in the Violet sky, She Smiles and signals us to come, The knots begin to loosen, But as we progress closer I hear her call my name Listening to her foreign voice I flee, So distressed by this misconstrue event, My hope begins to diminish with the clouds, So we flee to the forgotten rock, And sit on the rusted gray stone looking unto the sky And watch history reveals itself through the stars, And we travel back in time to obtain her, We wish to feel her presence, To touch her delicate soft skin, And to have her hold us once more in her arms, But as we search through time and space, I cannot find one sole essence of her Existence
It was an early September storm, Jackson the Pug, didn't have a thing to do so he found an old comic book about a Super Hero who wore a cape, He climbed up into his favorite easy chair and began to read, or should I say, look more so at the pictures. it didn't take long however, before Jackson began to get sleepy he took a deep breath, and sighed and fell into a comfortable sleep Then he began to dream! He dreamed of being on a roof top, and he heard,a terrible noise from the alley below he poked his head over the ledge and saw A huge Rottweiler, had a Mother Cat and her kittens cornered. Jackson, without thought, sprang into Action down the fire escape he ran, his red cape aloft, trailing him, with a circle with the Big letters SP in the center of it The last landing, had a roll down ladder, but Jackson leaped the last fifteen feet, Super Pug, Canine Super Hero took flight In a flash, he landed between the Rottweiler and the Cat family. he quickly turned, and glared at the Rottweiler and said" Large Canine Evil doer, I am Super Pug you will leave these citizens alone, and leave, or your fate shall rest in my Paws" With this the Rottweiler began to howl, " Little flea, it is you who will leave or, I will eat you as an appetizer " another howl as he began to inch towards Jackson. "You were warned" snarled Jackson, "Now meet your fate" Thwap! Pop! Smack! Howl! Smack! Thud! Jackson moved like lightening, his cape a blur, the dust settled, the Rottweiler was down and out " Oh Super Pug" said the Mother Cat, You're my Hero, and licked his face. just then, Jackson woke up from his little nap, with a blanket, just like his cape covering him! With Janice Pug, his wife, licking his face!
This is the reason.... Dear mom, We never got along.. And you know that... We constantly argue and disagree.. You make me feel like im a disappointment.. You made me feel as if i was never good enough.. You never made it seemed it like you actually cared.. Dear Dad, I know who you wanted me to be.. we used to not get along.. But now we do.. most of the time.. I know this is not who you want me to be.. I know this is not what you wanted me to do.. But i got no where to go.. You never seem to help.. Dear the rest of the family I know you are there for me.. But your reactions to what i do... I just dont think i could deal.. I dont think you could help... And i know you wouldnt understand.. Dear Friends, If i even dare call you that.. If you will care or not... Even if you will notice... I know some of you say your here for me.. But you dont understand.. I tried to tell one of you.. You just starred and wanted to tell everyone.. I am a human.. Im no different.. Im not some monster.. So i may be an outcast.. But does that really matter... If only you could of helped me.. If only you didnt call me the names... Dear everyone, Im sorry.. Im sorry for being a disappointment.. Im sorry for letting you down.. So that is why i have decided to leave.. So everyone will be happy.. Have a great life everyone..
sunlight was a brightly colored calico cat we had when i was little i watched her birth four kittens i saw her clean them and nudge them to their feeding stations she looked at me and blinked i watched her raise them she cleaned, fed, played with, batted, or purred them up when they needed it at the time they needed it (immediate appropriate response) i grew up, myself i worked with children i worked with adults i had two children of my own i found that sunlight's advice worked
RESPECT MOTHER NATURE By Kevin L Fairbrother Mother Nature has no boundaries, has no rules We live within her bosom, for she demands respect She alone has the power whether you live or die No one can control her, though some have tried Mother Nature the mother of this Natural world A world that we can see, feel, touch and experience every day Provides us with every- thing we need to live or die With respect always we must treat her Unknown where she comes from but she is here to stay Has been with us from the day the world was born For if we miss-treat her, prepare for an early grave For she has the power to create hell on earth, for us all Forget religion it has no truth, for the gods were not born on that first day Mother Nature has given us a world where we have evolved to what we are today For only she has the power that controls the world we live in And she can undo what ever humans create and say We all must treat Mother Nature with respect Think about every-thing you do that may upset her For Mother Nature created everything her way To balance the flora and fauna, the atmosphere, the rivers and sea Created and nurtured all the animals that live to this day With delicate balance of the planets, the sun and air we breathe That provides everything we need to live on this earth every day Respect Mother Nature for otherwise she will make you pay In death we part the natural world in which we lived Be we buried or burnt we are still within the bosom of Mother Nature For composed of carbon we will survive in a different way So we should thank and respect Mother Nature everyday
A new season begun, a new life, a new birth, engraving our story here upon earth. The pages turn slowly. Each day will pass. Life is measured by the hourglass. The sands of time pass graciously. The book is written of mystery. Echoes of silence, the pages are blank. For the hourglass of life holds no rank. Let today be today. Look not to tomorrow. For life will fade on the pages of sorrow. Read the story, you must go on. Turn the pages of a new dawn. To every beginning there is an end. Your spirit will soar high in the wind. Hurry before time runs out. For life surely fades without a doubt. The clock counts down each grain of sand. Turn the page and understand. Reflections of love and holding hands. This page though so innocent, a beautiful child of heaven scent, happiness in a life well spent. Turn the page again once more, to find the key to all closed doors. This page tells of mom and me, the many cherished memories, undying love for family. Turn the page, see all my friends, from around the world and all nations. This page tells of sacred marriage, to have, to hold, and also cherish. This page tells of many great storms, the sea of tears, and the thunder roars. This page holds the photographs, of many dreams that once was had. Though some memories of life you can't recall. The book of seasons, winter, spring, summer, and fall. The last page to turn, so there's a stall. The last grain of sand that slowly falls. Now for a moment don't you cry, the hourglass of life told us no lie. For all is born and then must die. God grant me the time to say goodbye.
as the storm brews mother nature screams life as we know it is about to change what was now is what used to be what used to be is now gone a scorned woman's fury is worse than a desperate mans plea when she hits she hits hard like a heavy weight fighter p.m.s will lead to d.o.a then the n.y.p.d will go ape so close we came to a female president the only thing that stopped it was mother nature and she only comes once a month men fear what lies in between knowing it holds all the power jurassic park or prime rib it serves the purpose well
She's not one of the "most famous"in history. She doesn't own titles nor a canvass in the wall. She is a typical artist, you can see everyday. Creating a piece of art that will be known forever. Every morning she's up to prepare a meal. Creating the best recipes for a family feast. Giving everyone a smile before she's left. Kiss and hug she always willing to give. She's my favorite artist. She's top among the rest. She is the source of all strength. She is the reason why we live. With her hands, a manager was born. An artist, a singer, a scientist,a superstar. She turned out the greatest out of you . She is the best painter of unique hues. No one can compare to an art that she formed. It is unique and extravagantly crafted. She's a woman you owe your life with. She's a MOTHER...my favorite artist. written: 4/2/2014
Of all the wonderful things God did create, By far the best Is your father's mate A mother gives Unquestioning love And raises her children With a tender glove When all others have Their work done She is still at work With daughter and son She asks for nothing In return, Except perhaps for her children To somehow learn What makes good Better than bad And therefore a life Happy, not sad No easy chore, As we all know But every mother An extra mile will go. Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful Soup mothers, and, in fact, all mothers everywhere. You are the foundation stone of civilization.
A Valentine's Day dedication for those who have lost a loved one. I know you're watching from far away. So I'll find the strength to kneel and pray, and send you our love this Valentine's Day. God gives me the power to understand, that we can no longer hold your hand. The sands of time pass graciously, until we meet for eternity. My unconditional emotion has no end. Like the flowers in the spring and your spirit in the wind. My hands are empty without you to hold. My soul cries out alone in the cold. My tears still fall and I wipe them away. God gave me the strength to kneel and pray, and send you our love this Valentine's Day.
Those lovely little precious moments Moments we shared and treasured like two lovely doves Doves that had fallen freshly in love Love which had been nurtured over a long period of time Time which had been kept assiduously by our bountiful parents Parents who had been looking forward to this Nuptials Nuptials planned since our conception in their wombs Wombs that had born and bred other siblings Siblings who had failed to grant them their heart desires Desires they expect that we shall grant under any circumstance Circumstances which we can no more bear and tolerate Tolerate and bear circumstances like their constant nagging Naggings which are gradually becoming a nuisance to our ears Ears that have had to put up with these nonsensical demands Demands which we are slowly hearkening to To make them happy and satisfy their bitter souls Souls that have not rested in many years Years that have seen them hope to make this combination Combination of their seeds in order to continue the family friendship bond
I release a prayer into the air it flies on high into the sky I know not why but where it goes only heaven God and my mother knows
Summer is the season my Birthday comes around, A special month, in my life, is August. On this day, all of nature is happy and celebrating with me; like my Mother that Special Day when she gave me Life. Different birds sing their songs in the early morning. The brilliant colored sun sets in the beautiful evening. The warm wind quietly whispers to me through the leaves of the trees, The smell of flowers congratulates me together with the breeze. I never forget my birthdays in Russia; children around the tables, My caring Mother filled with food, fruits, vegetables and sweets. That summer my Mother and I were blessed by God together. I received the Biblical name Lydia from my loving Mother.
Is there a paradise Without a woman In our life Or there a terrible If there a woman In our life She born of love To bear the love She bears life To seed the life She saves life The holy wonder In her in womb The holy life The baby's her bliss of love Bringing life Breeding hope The first love Is kiss of her The first care The touch of her The first word You call her mom Oh her smile Make you smile One tear of her Make you cry Beneath her feet The mother Is where the paradise It may belong
As the flowers wilt… You think of the things you couldn't give to me When all I wanted was time I look in your sunken blue eyes- the years wasted hanging in the bags And the wrinkles written in your pain As you wait for your garden to die. And I'll say… "now, you see this isn't the way you pictured it would be." A painful death, A slow goodbye. And when your garden dies They will all forget What you meant. But I never will and I will cry, A million tears. Forgiving all the times you didn't care. No one will water your flowers No one will tend to your plants. The bushes will overgrow And the weeds will multiply. There in the jumbled rainbow, I will see you. Roaming in your oasis… Still here on earth. Stuck…looking for the things you could never find. All the riches in the world, The countries far and wide…Turkey, Sweden, Germany… It never was enough, It never made you whole. The family you built. The struggles, the love… It never found you. It never made you one. This is what you have always wanted... Waiting to die.
She built her nest of straw and mud, anchored to the rocks on our entryway. Through the glass in the front door, we watched her as she sat up there on her eggs, allowing babies to grow. After they hatched, she hovered close, quarreling at us for coming too near. She sat motionless on the nest at night, covering them for hours with her body, warming with the spread of her wings. I think she liked that nesting part best; daylight brought endless hours of work, bringing worms for wide, hungry mouths and guarding nearby to keep danger at bay. Then came the task of teaching them to fly; an enormous effort for such a tiny mother. We watched them grow too big for the nest, crowding so their feathery butts hung over the edge, their droppings cascading down over the rocks, onto the porch below. One morning's surprise brought a view of an empty nest; the babies had flown. Mother bird returned to begin once more.* Amazed to see her back on the nest, we opened the bird book to find her, this Eastern Phoebe, who has found home in Missouri, returning each year to grace our mornings with sweet calls. *Note: Our task was to suffer the obstacle course of a ladder, extension cord, and a continuous fan on the front porch to keep baby birds from smothering in the heat, plus scrubbing the crud off the porch floor. The first two broods were okay, but, in July, the third try was a killer.
SUPERMARKET DAZE Gross overweight reflections gleam off stainless steal bins, filled with frozen TV dinners. Obese mothers Jam peppermint suckers down children's tearful mouths -temporary peace. Hamburger helper, pepsi-lite National Inquirer , Rovers dog food -frantic search for penny full bargains. Torn pantyhose wheel aisle after aisle. mountains of pot pies, ice cream, potato chips, red chips, blue chips freeido chips Must hurry. Get more. Get more of those treats need more meat . Shopping daze fever cart wheel out the street.
I can remember every time I've watched the sun rise. Each time so much different from the last. The awakening of the world, the pulse of it all, always the same. I can feel the rumble of her heart beat right through me. Oh how I cherish these moments of peace.
All from the beginning Almost a year of pains All the early sickness Everything from sleepless night To kicks in the stomach From nights of torture To nappy changing All the cuddling The joy of fist words to first steps Could words ever explain My gratitude. All you gave me Unconditional love you gave Your undying love to date Through thick and thin by my side All the support and courage you gave But words could never explain What you really mean House could never be a home without you Family could never be complete without you You're a role model You're heroine You're everything In my eyes nothing compares to you In my eyes your love and care is endless Because you're the best Keep on mother As the saying goes 'Mmangwana o swara thipa ka bogaleng' 'Mother grasps a knife by the blade.'
Letters to my grandmother in eight-year-old script traversed the miles which spelled the distance between us. Her answers were full of news, everyday things, and encouragement. "I love your letters," she wrote. "It's just like talking to you." I continued to write to her for all of her life. She passed on before I chose the written word as my means of expression to the world. I think she reads over my shoulder as my pen scratches the language which spells my heart. My letters still give her all the news.
HYMNS OF FREEDOM It is a a new day, what we live today Free of servitude Murana! not more a slave, bonds - girl Murana ! not more a trokosi Shout, shout the word loud for us to hear Murana, break the silence your voice wishes to betray and lightened the path the Olympian torches fears This is the way you shall be known, Murana ! To be the fearless To be the freed Of your grandmother Miedoafe's replica Because When you dare not, the world behinds the shade, dreads..... Which What Is laid deep in the smoldering of the quenched fires Where its smokes revives the echoes of yesterday Of you, the heart felts when been abused From the sufferings of fathers sins Who never educate us Who never make a wealth Who never rules well Who never.................. So today, stand firm against it Break the chain that linked us For freedom from imprisoned egos Ignorance, Corruption, and bad governance All Been a freed Trokosi.
OH MY GOD HE IS TEN Starting to get hair on his chin No I cant belive it is true Now my baby is hitting puberty too Dang if it ain't my luck Just last night he was playing with trucks Now it is girls and rock music blaring Him asking is it time to start shaving No it has to be a bad dream MY baby can't be almost a teen My other one is over half grown This one has to stay at home
I wrote this about the recent passing of my mother, Annette. She was a rock, kind and loving, my confidant and best friend - a Godly woman. I miss her already, deeply. She died on January 24th, 2009 at 10:30 p.m. due to complications of a UTI that went septic through her system, and a blood clot that formed in her foot. She suffered and painfully fought for three weeks... she was facing multiple amputations of all her limbs and multiple organ failure. She was only 61. My heart was imprinted greatly with her love and I am thankful for her. She made me so much of who I am today. Letting Go by Amy Swanson Letting go of things that I once held dear, believed in My soul stripped bare in agony, for all the world to see Heart beats yet it feels so cold inside Silence sits like stone in my spirit. Life has led us on this journey... but one lonely road sought us out with furious speed; A road that was not wanted or desired. How can you be so accepting? How can you not be angry, as I am? How can you ... still believe? ...and how will I ever again believe...? I feel as though life took a wrong turn... or someone didn't write the script correctly... it wasn't supposed to be this way. I weep great sobbing tears that threaten to rip out my very essence The pain so sharp like knives of ice The judgment harsh unfair and undeserved Sternly.... mercilessly... delivered. They say that there is peace in death but there was none only cruel suffering that should not have been allowed; torment inflicted poor bruised body until so still you lay... life was no more. I ask, "What meaning can there be?" I strain to hear the answer but there is no response... only unwavering silence. A part of me will never be the same. Existence I now view with different eyes.
You shuffled your feet through the dusty cracks And left the door wide open In a deep dull plume of lust attacks The trees died from your arson The shot was fired and our love was tired Of tests you put us through I stopped in my tracks For the light was black And I couldn't pass you by. The spikes of love cannot be trusted Your silent rocks of lies Are now decaying from your acid And led your mind clockwise Now the days are short and the nights are long With sleepless motion pools Your whole life of passion was always wrong And the seasons are so cruel I can't wash away the dust of us And the blameless eyes of shame I still can't pass you by.
Pigeon-toed and knock kneed they meander around the ponds edge an ungainly duo mother and son like an ancient fertility figure found in the caves of Lascaux,France she tumble-waddles pendulous breasts bobbing the dough-like basket of her womb long emptied with its navel of Earth submerged in a mound of flesh.. onward she went circumventing the piddle-pond. The child not yet Twiddle-Dee'd by total submersion into the toxic sweetness of a domino sugar existence still stood a chance.. yet the spectre of diabetes loomed around the two like the Ghost of Christmas future.
Mother, daughter, sister, friend, She is all that and even then, She is more than words can describe, When I'm around her I get a good vibe. I love her even though, She doesn't like the words that flow, Out of my mouth all day; She always listens to what I have to say. She is someone that I love, Her spirit's gentle like a dove, About me she always cares, She hugs me anywhere. Mother, daughter, sister, friend, I hope our friendship will never end, Of one thing I am quite sure, I am really glad to have met her. She turns my frown upside down, By sometimes acting like a clown, She makes me glad that I'm still here, To me our friendship is quite dear. I'm glad to have her as my friend, Our friendship is strong like the wind, And I end this poem at last to say, I thank God for my friend every day.
It had been my parents' greatest wish, That I would slay and tame a dragon of immeasurable power, Not to say that I am selfish, But that is hardly possible for me to climb that tower. Mother hopes for me to become an actor, Considering the catches, I guess I'd be better off fighting an ACTUAL dragon of lore! Father hopes for me to be a doctor, Realistically speaking, it sounds perfect... Except for the part about gore. As a child growing up, my mother would watch horror movies that I saw with enmity, Being a little girl, I'd hide and peek through my fingers, only to see blood gushing out. Curse my imense curiosity... Trembling under my haven that consists of pillows and layers of blankets, I sob, I shudder and I shout! I have always been squemish watching hospital shows, In fact, as a kid, I didn't know seeing blood was a part of the job! But as the years flew by, I still grow, So in my childhood, I had been scarred and my sleep it robbed. The scary movies had prepped me to be a doctor, ironically, If I had not gone through with it, I would be a doctor afraid of blood and injuries, I know it was not my mother's fault, for she is not the type to act cynically, But I guess it's because of her that I'm used to it and now I like horror movies! As I said before, my mother wanted me to be an actor, my father desired for me to be a doctor, both have its risks, I didn't mind what I became, My heart is a candle, but my mentality is steel, my fears are gone, My parents chose difficult paths for me that will lead to mud-slides, land-slides and avalanches, of course I will run wildly like those people in the movies, but honoring my family is better than blindless shame, Buuuut... Is it too late to take on that dragon?
When is he going to understand that life is harder than what our eyes can see. Its work, its pain, its suffering, Its love, its time, its energy. When.. When will he know the struggles life brings When.. When will he feel the love that I feel the pain that I feel the anger I feel When.. When will he learn the responsibility of life. Its not always easy to provide. There are times when its much easier to give up. When.. When will he have children all his own and learn to take care of them just as I did. When will he hold me and say I love you, thank you for all that you've done. When.. When will he know that it was all done for love. When my heart beats no more and my body lies still Will you still love me? Will you still see me? Will you wonder why When you were little why I held your hand so you wouldn't cry. Why I would kiss you and then smile. Life is too short to ponder what, when, where and why. So I leave you this message So when you are older and wiser You'll read whats in it and maybe then you'll understand just why I did it.
I started out the day Pacing the floors I couldn't believe it , Three week ends in a row I fed the squirrels and birds Then grabbed my purse and coat Headed for the garage And in the van I got Oh shoot! It says I need gas I won't be deterred I'll stop at the station Then it's down the road for me I've only got 2 hours and 15 minutes To get to the movie I choose Can I possibly make it If I stop for Chinese food? Which route do I take Haysville or Clearwater Think I'll go through Haysville To see if that old horse is still alive. Yes, there he is "Poor Old Thing" And I think I've got back problems If my back was that sway back I'd need to push a wheelbarrow to keep my belly in tact. It's 11:00 o'clock now And I'm three quarters there The Chinese place Is just over there.. If I can eat in 30 minutes I'll be able to make it I can take the outer roads To avoid some of the traffic. I made it to the movie And had no sooner sat When someone sat down beside me And on my shoulder tapped. Sitting there beside me Was grand daughter number 4 She was home from college And just had to explore. We did enjoy the movie As the people followed clues From the President's Book To find the city of gold. As we departed They followed me to my car Just to make sure I made it that far.. I sat and read my Christmas Cards To let the traffic slack Trying to decide Which trail home I'd take. Finally settling on the route It'd be through Derby town It was important for you see This was the closest McDonald and my ice tea. I arrived home without any fuss Now Mother Nature I am set For the new confinement you impose Of some more Ice and snow. I know this poem Seems rather crude But you see That happens to be my mood. Foot Note: Mother Nature got her way. Saturday we had a howling blizzard most of the day. And it ended with a beautiful red sunset. No Church today and they talk like more snow and rain for the next five days. And then more for next weekend. That will be 4 weekends in a row. We call it Kansas weather. And you wonder why my moody poem.
Mom You brought me up The right way Taught me right from wrong How to be strong And taught me how to Love unconditionally Mom You kissed my boo-boo's And bandaged my wounded pride Stood up for me when others Would deride And wept when I Found love Mom I parent because of what I saw When you would bring us up Putting our needs first And yours last My morals are your morals Because of you I am a good man Mom We don't pay tribute to you enough And sainthood awaits you In Heaven My hero, my savior, my mentor My mother I love you It's not enough, but it will do For now
In the tangled jungle of my mind creepies and crawlies bite and suck. They feast on your blood and fill you with venom. Howls of the night keep you from rest, and contorted vines grab at your feet. Oh, and the poisons that turn your mind within and make you fear your past. And your future. Those poisons in the smoke, the innocent leaf, and the full round berries, Juicy and ripe, that would lull you to a soundless sleep. In the cave-dark recesses I see nothing but danger. Whilst you, bathing in the dappled sun, taut with adrenalin, lean and young and brilliant, agile and streetwise, your light shields your eyes seeing only the soft green shoots and fearful creatures. Seduced by that beguiling woodland. Aware of only good You go where I would fear to travel. Take care.
Crisp cold air moves in slowly expectedly. How nice it can feel after long hot haze filled days of summer. Gradually the chill embraces all. And all succumbs to mother winters icy graces. Trees lay dormant. Water rests in a shiny crystal state. And the ground sleeps under its insulating blanket. Not all rests during these grey times. So much more grows and thrives then the darkened cold ground reveals. But like the ground it must remain covered insulated from all around it. For if it is seen it shall not survive the blustery Gaze that it will be subjected to. so it sits waits... but growing. An enigma in a world full of certainties It lies unmoving through many months of the grey and grows stronger and larger with each blast of icy cold. Forever longing for the thaw. Yet knowing it may never arrive. As the days grow longer it waits, waits for the summer perhaps then it can bloom. Taking comfort in the fact. That although the release into the sun would be oh so freeing. That the cold grey is its mother and here it can stay forever. Hidden continuing to grow never to be harmed isolated, OH winter longing's
When tears rolled down little Mia's cheeks mama's soft music was always there to sing her lullabies to sleep during the summer, winter, and even in the springs mama's music still sang even when mama wasn't around to speak Her music sufficed and was always there to inscribe a melodious picture in her little Mia's eyes they reflected mama's feelings, her teachings, her conscience, her thoughts, her hopes, and her pride the music emerged as Mama danced her subtle fingers gently between her favorite harp's hips gradually entertaining and inviting courage, comfort and laughter to surge around her little Mia's teeth quietly sending little Mia to sleep Mama's composition and words made little Mia wonder what vanished fear from her little feet, and mama silently hoped that her little baby would grow to attain the legacy left within her reach.
When I went out on the porch this morn, tiny spider's mother had strung her web across right in front of the door.. I did not tell cute tiny spider to go on down yonder and get your mother No, this mother was scary drawn up with her feet pulled in a ball When she stretched out, why I had to move on She straightened me out right fast.. Mothers are like that when their child is threatened.. Just had to write this being Halloween is coming up soon...
I am 18 years old I just found out that I spend most of my time sleeping, I am obsessed with it. I have lived for 9,460,800 minutes Most of which I waste on sleep Sleeping is my personal heroin, It lets my arms as a pair of wings to fly me to paradise. When I want to escape from reality, I shoot it up my veins. One day, my mom was chatting with her friends, When they discussed my studies, I looked down at my shoes while their children smiled smugly. Their smiles struck my wings like lighting The path to my paradise began to disappear I thought I could use my broken wings to open their eyes so that they would see my true face But this was just my imagination I needed a hit so bad that I slept for 3 days Feeling likes a puppet, no pain as my strings are pulled My dream leads me into that sense again, I looked at their lips and heard their words, proudly I say to her friends, "I am better than your child." When I awake, I feel my emotions flood back to me stronger than before When I was in high school, I worked so hard but I still couldn't achieve a score to be proud of When I see my father's rough hands, I am shamed by my B Grade Paper. Then I begin to think what I can do for him, I ask: "DAD! Can I go to get a part-time job? "No, getting back to your studies!" I prepared to take another shot of heroin To help me pretend as if nothing happened I used to think that sleeping would solve my ailments But I realized I realized that I am escaping Like boxers hide behind their gloves Like timid warriors escape from the battlefields These years, I am search in for peace But opiate feeling blinds my eyes
Patradoot or The Messenger 3/Many Originally written in Hindi by my late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor English version by Ravindra K Kapoor The moment you will hear, the voice of my heart, You will become pious, like the showering raindrops, Taking shapes from my expressions, To shower the rains of Love, on my beloved's heated heart. Ravindra Kanpur India. 11th May 2010 to continue in 4 Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger. Sunte Hi Sangeet Hradaya Ka, Tu Pavitra Ho Jayega, Udgaron Ka Rup Dharega, Prem Virsti Burseyega. By Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor Freedom Fighter and writer, Poet & Dramatist (1889-1994) Background of this Epic The Patradoot was written originally by my later father Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India's Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi. From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom in 15th Aug. 1947) my father was in active movement as Congressman and Gandhi's non violent soldier. For many a time he was imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes. During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed and circulated among the masses to create awareness for India's freedom. The book was printed by my mother in Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the British confiscated the book and press of my father around 1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring this great writing of my father in English which portrays more than the translation of the epic, so the world may come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India's freedom struggle. Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics. All his other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot is one of them. Ravindra
eh…,heh…,neh…. infant's snivel! can be put down in many ways, in different languages, but no more than mother could comprehend its needs, yeah, no more than mother! eh…,heh…,neh…. mother milks child! eh…,heh…,neh…. mother plays with child! eh…,heh…,neh…. mother embraces child! oh god! impossible to tell apart, the same yell, let know mother the different needs of it! motherhood! noble and sublime! motherhood! undoubtedly, an exalted state.
My grandmother. I love her so. She is my favourite, person in my family. She loves to bake, paint, and sew. She loves me, I feel, the most. We both are artist, of nature and of love. We love to bake, though we can hardly ever see eachother. She lives in Michigan, and I in Germany. But whenever I can, I love to see her. She is that sort, the sweet and round kind. She is the grandmother version of me. She loves to read, loves to write. We are almost exactly alike. So here's to my grandmother, the best in the world. Here's to my grandmother, MY Grandma. Grandma Challenger. Love, Zach
Meanies People who are always mean to me And bullying me around In the stupid world People who are mean to me Should get something back in return Something mean and evil And they deserve to die In this evil world And the only people I can trust Are my Mommy and Daddy
I see you walking through the halls at school You used to look so put together but now, not so much I've heard rumors and nasty words, but I don't really pay attention I only know you now have a baby boy and I know you're proud of him You are not ashamed. For a while you weren't around You had to be at home taking care of Baby Your boyfriend is still loyal So many these days aren't. You're one of the lucky ones Your parents didn't disown you they may be disappointed but they still love you. You must be tired, staying up all night, taking care of Baby. It must be hard dealing with the stares from your peers I know I couldn't do it. I'm not that strong. You have to keep holding on and make a good home for Baby Maybe Baby will make you proud and you won't regret this one day. You're not the only one You're one of millions Don't listen to the harsh words. Stay strong gorgeous, Because everyone's just waiting to see you fall apart.
I've been dreading it for a while, now. Well it's that time of year, and so every time I go to the grocery store and see all the cards and little gift bags, I feel like I've come this close to losing my ever-living-mind. I recall my first car crash - in an instant, watching the car in front of me get closer and closer, slamming the breaks even though I know they won't be enough, and thinking "this is going to hurt". It feels that way again, only slow this time, frame-by-frame. I'll buy her a card this year, and maybe a box of chocolates, and I'll lay them by her grave, regretting all the horrible things that she loved me in spite of.
( MOTHERS GLUE ) I wonder how she does it, holding it together the way she does. It seems no matter how life gets out of place she puts it back the way it was. It's always been a mystery, but I guess it must be true. That there is nothing stronger than a mother's love when she uses Mother's Glue. Now Mother's Glue is not a recipe, or that sticky stuff used in art. But it's that special love that mothers use to keep your life from falling apart. It's the way she is always there to listen so you know that everything will be okay. It's that special bonding hug she gives you to help you make it through the day. It's the way she is able to touch your face and hold the tears away. It's the way she stays up all night with you to hold the fears away. It's the way she makes the sacrifice because she'll do anything for you. Because she knows you just wouldn't make it if she didn't use Mother's Glue But, if you're still not sure then ask her, and I'll bet she'll just smile at you. Because a mother never uses words, she just uses Mother's Glue. (c) Jasmine Paul 11-22-2014 <3
(Chain Poetry) I hate to see what's taking place all over this planet here Here in this world are happening just too many bad things Things that make me truly concerned and very worried Worried and very sick to my stomach all the time Time and time again I hear all these horrible and very sad stories Stories so bad they sicken my heart and soul and truly make me shiver Shiver with fear and concern for the safety of all the children Children are in extreme danger all the time, anywhere and every day Day in and night out we all need to protect the life of our precious children Children all over the world need lots of love, attention and hugs plus understanding Understanding, shower them with all your loving care and protection Protection we should provide them and give them no matter what What we have to do for them to receive it as we bring them up and they grow up Up too soon we see them go, tick, tock, tick, tock, the clock never stops for you or me Me and you should never stop saying "I love you" or not showing for our children our love Love for God, love for family and friends, love for people and love for all of the children Children need us to teach them and guide them all about God's awesome love! Love through God is so beautiful, true and awesome and will turn them into better adults Adults they will be one day and more matured if we just raise them with morals and right Right from wrong we have to and need to teach them all the time and everyday you see See now and make sure that they never get hurt or abused in any way by anyone! Anyone could hurt them,so be careful,be good to them,protect them and love them all! Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2009 August 2,2009
some mothers are so close to their daughters, that they can crack dirty jokes together, that the daughter will come to mom for anything--- certainly the result of mother remembering what it was like to be younger, spending the time with her child in order to form an unbreakable bond of trust & the want to not repeat the things she hated that her own mother did to her, or neglected, as the case may have been. can't imagine that the birds n' bees are a hard subject to go over when such a bond exists, where the daughter is always asking mom about everything from the first kiss to further involvement--- but still, what must it be like for such a mom to wake up in the morning & know that the innocence is gone? is it easier for the mother who has a deep bond, to know that her daughter is having sex, than a mother who doesn't have it together? certainly the ignorance of a child might allow for less knowledge considering the point & so what does it mean for the both of them, when the innocence is gone? a man cannot know--- he cannot look into a young one's eyes & know the same as the woman who has given birth to this child, he cannot step outside the young man that he himself was--- all he has is the hindsight that those particular days were wrought with raging hormones & all the time in the world to reap the benefits of being young. when mother looks in her daughter's eyes, does she begin to worry more? how much worry must past through on a daily basis, before she goes to bed, before she goes to work, wondering if her child is alright? & how much of the time does she just sigh from being overwhelmed & sensory overloaded with stress that never seems to relent from mother to daughter & daughter to mother.
child fed on the sap of rotting wounds body, bones clad in thin black skin opaque eyes,pearly beads on dead nearve-string. mind maddened by hunger bursts pearly fish-eyeballs into floods of stale tears, as worm-infersted faty thighs squeek funeral song. lulaby for another sick featus.
The boy rides on the pavement on his mountain bike across cracked slabs and tarmac patches bumps and holes make him hold tight whilst cycling home for his dinner he pedals faster dreaming of pizza or maybe its chips or possibly both he's nearly back in time for his feast ice cream for afters or chocolate cake he thinks his appetite builds finally he's home The front door opens the smell wafts out Its mum's shepherds pie again The boy gets back on his bike
Little baby, lying in mama's arms Tell us how diff'rent her affection is (Especially to those made deaf In the arms of insolence) Tell us that every word from her tongue Is a berceuse, making you sleep On the cradle of boon Not on the hammock of bane Tell us that every touch made by her hand Is a panacea, making your withering hope Prolong its life Making your dim future a golden sunrise Tell us that her every kiss Wipes your tears away And her every hug Brings you warmth and joy every day
Patradoot or The Messenger 2/Many Originally written in Hindi by my late father Dr. Amar Nath Kaporr around 1932 English version Being a prisoner I can bring my beloved, In my mind through meditation only, Due to separation from my beloved, I can sing My expressions coming out from my heart, Before you only, my dear letter. Ravindra Kanpur India 10th May 2010 to continue in 03/Many Patradoot or The Messenger 5/Many English version by Ravindra K Kapoor Background of this Epic The Patradoot was written originally by my late father Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India's Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi. From 1920 till 1947 (India became free in 1947) my father was in active movement as Congressman & Gandhi's non-violent soldier. For many times he was imprisoned for many months and sometime, even for more than a year. He dedicated the entire writing work to his dear wife, my late mother, who was also a co-partner with him in the freedom struggle in creating mass awareness. During one such imprisonment at Faizabad jail, he wrote this epic and sent it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed & circulated among the masses to create awareness for India's freedom. The book was printed by my mother in Hindi and some of this epic were circulated also, but the British confiscated the book and the press of my father around 1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring this great writing of my father in English which portrays more than the translation of the epic, so the world may come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great great writing and the sacrifices of my parents towards India's freedom struggle. Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics etc. All his other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his World class works could not be published so far and Patradoot is one of them. Ravindra Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger. Bundi Buna Huaa Mai Kewal, Dhayan Magna Ho Ja Ta Hun, Priya Viyog Ke Madhur Gan Ko, Tere Sunmukh Gata Hun. By Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor Freedom Fighter and writer, Poet & Dramatist (1889-1994) He mainly wrote all his other works between 1950 -1990
Moms and Dads are important in a child's life. I love kids but they are not what I see for me at the moment. I have the love of many children Who all receive the love that my own would. Hugs, Kisses, Care and Treats. Their smiles keep me on my feet. An auntie's duties are never done. From the headaches to the fun. I wasn't only blessed with the life of one. More like the mighty group of five in my life. From when they were born they are all I could see. The love that they give is enough for me. One girl and four boys is quite a challenge But not for an auntie like me Because I got the power.
I walk outside to see all that I can see. Over there is our house, our home, In the distance, you can see. And that place of hallowed happiness Forever has been our home And forever will be so evermore. That house is small but raised us tall, From the perfect parents who loved us so To the perfect sister for which every man would want. The house built us all up strong. More than a mere building, It is a place to love and be loved, A place that hands you hope that you give right back, And a place of everlasting faith. This home is where my parents taught me about God And opened me up to Jesus. They opened the eyes of the blind for all to see, And the blind included me. They taught me to be the best I can be; The best things in life are free. They have taught us so well, And they all have saved my soul. Even if I am not there now, I carry Him with me. I carry them with me. I carry Their values and Their teachings with me. In this house, this home, We reside. We cannot forget this. This is where my Mother lives. This is where my Father lives. This is where my Sister lives. This is where We live, In this loving, caring, beautiful home They made just for us. We cannot forget this either. This is where it all began. This is where the hunger and thirst was created; This is where we are fulfilled. We cannot, we must not forget this: This is where God lives. This is where Jesus lives. This is where The Lord lives; The Father and The Almighty. This is where We live; This is where We reside. We must not forget this. We must not forget this: What a beautiful and perfect life this is.
Broken homes and broken bones Dads are gone and moms on drugs At the age of nine I'm forced to chase my mother in and out of abandon homes. Never felt more pain until the day my mom offered me to some strange man. What was done plays back in my head everyday. Never thought my mother would love drugs more than me. At that point in my life I knew everything was wrong, and my childhood gone. I tried to quickly runaway until i hear a deep voice say, "DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP". Very abusive, he grabs my hands and throws me on the floor. My mother sat there as it happened. This strange man constantly raped me as I screamed and tried to get away. My mother sat there and had nothing to say.
The smell of my mother It's the Coco Chanel fragrance she wears every day It's the scent of her make up It's the aroma of coffee and spearmint candy My grandmother smells of sugar and roses Of thank giving dinner and sweet potato pie Of chocolate and perfume Of spice and chamomile tea
Thank you mom for all you've done All the nights And All the time you spent with me Held my hand And Shared my fears I know I was a sickly child ER nights were way to often But You were brave And stayed by me And I know I did not say it quiet enough so Here in everlasting words "Thank you Mom, I love you with all my heart" Thanks to you, though I was always scared I was never left alone And That means more to me then you will ever know ER nights and ER days So many different kinds of pains And Through all my tears And All my fears You were brave enough for the both of us You have always been my sourced of strength I know I've said it once before But I have to say From the bottom of my heart I love you mommy And Thank you so very much
I've never time for me, as I'm always thinking of others. Busy being a mother, a wife and daughter too. Always on time for appointments, never like to keep people waiting you see. I seem to put up with waiting for life around me. I never say anything, I don't really mind. I try my best to keep loved ones happy. Favorite things, I know what they like. And not forgetting coffee and cake with mum and dad. I'll always have time for them. I'm a shoulder to cry on and an ear to lend, Hold my hand and talk to me, I'll be there. I've never time for me, except on Sunday's. When I'll have a lovely soak in the tub with a good book. And a do not disturb sign on the door. By Emma Buckeridge For contest : Love me why
Patradoot or The Messenger 5/Many English version by Ravindra K Kapoor If there wicked hands will ever catch you, Your body will be mutilated in pieces, And then, you would never be able to see, My beloved to convey my message, dear letter. Ravindra Kanpur India. 13th May 2010 to continue in 6 Background of this Epic The Patradoot was written originally by my late father Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India's Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi. From 1920 till 1947 (India became free in 1947) my father was in active movement as Congressman & Gandhi's non-violent soldier. For many times he was imprisoned for many months and sometime, even for more than a year. He dedicated the entire writing work to his dear wife, my late mother, who was also a co-partner with him in the freedom struggle in creating mass awareness. During one such imprisonment at Faizabad jail, he wrote this epic and sent it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed & circulated among the masses to create awareness for India's freedom. The book was printed by my mother in Hindi and some of this epic were circulated also, but the British confiscated the book and the press of my father around 1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring this great writing of my father in English which portrays more than the translation of the epic, so the world may come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great great writing and the sacrifices of my patents towards India's freedom struggle. Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics etc. All his other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his World class works could not be published so far and Patradoot is one of them. Ravindra Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger. Kutil Kuron Me Pur Kur Unke, Aunga Bhunga Ho Jayega, Purna Roop Se Priya Darshan Ko, Phir Tu Kabhi Na Payega. Patradoot in Hindi written by Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections
When life deals me a hand full of variegated vagaries, Like a brewed pot of coffee my mind is infused. In heat exhaustion I'm left dehydrated in forlorn hope. Like a cold-pack, you come with your propellant aura To cool off my inner steamed up brain. With your unequaled motherliness you cool off Every cup of coffee my mind brews, despite the hotness. Happy Val's day my forever Val......
I didn't really know you. Oh, I thought I did… in the cocksure way a child thinks she knows everything. I didn't know you until so near the end then you, were not the you of childhood. Your soft waved hair had grayed with anxiety and fear. How was I to know or you to answer, if questions which stayed so long unasked and so unanswered? For a child to see a Mother torn brings it own fear for fledgling trusts a Mother's wing to hide her to wrap her in a safe and warm embrace. But, it was you who hid, and left me wanting yet, it was all you could do…so you said. Had I only grown strong sooner, flown free faster of my own accord would I have loved you, or you loved me, dearer? who knows when fear doomed us from the start. I held you close and sang you songs that morning though through a morphine haze, you never knew of green fields and sunsets all a dawning Oh how I wished, I could say, one more… "I love you." Poet: D. Guzzi
Dear Mum I wish I had known you As a person not as Mum That I had asked you questions Like what you did for fun Or found out about your childhood What your home was really like Did you walk to school each day Mum? Or did you have a bike Did you search amongst the hedgerows? Looking at the young birds there Glancing over grassy fields To see the boxing Hares Did you have a love for nature? That your whole being did excite Watching green frogs in the daytime Owls and crickets in the night It must have come from somewhere This great love that I have got For the world around me Whether it was you Mum or not I miss you Mum
I had a mother once With long dark hair Whose candle faded, but not her flame The light she left inside my heart Is still alive, forever glowing It flickers softly in the dark It chases shadows from my dreams And comforts me, and softly keeps me warm and safe, and whispers love that does not leave me It somehow knows when darkness swallows me that soon the blush of morning follows It tucks me in, and lightens my dread and with warm breath, will kiss my head Then tells me "Hush, hush little sweet one...., ...go back to sleep" ___________________________________________ For Gail's Contest: "Touched By Your Flame" 5/23/13
for in my spare time yes, i would read my final retrospect to my dearest son, but oh precious dauqhter "come forth" i'd say shade your qrey skies with qreen lose all memory of 'he' i dont want you anywhere near my apple tree. i now soar hiqh above thee but before i reside here know that i died near-this apple tree i bit into the fantasy of life a foolish woman i was, makinq no riqhts so the pain left only to return aqain thunder busted my eardrums for my tears cried silently in spite of me you've returned dauqhter leave this place a p p l e s they decieve they bleed to be continued.
Patradoot or The Messenger 7/Many English version by Ravindra K Kapoor On your way, you would witness and see, Alluring scenes and sceneries all around the way, Spreading their charms to allure your mind, They would keep fascinating your heart, on your way. Ravindra Kanpur India. 14th May 2010 to continue in 7 Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections Background of this Epic The Patradoot was written originally by my late father Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India's Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi. From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom on 15th Aug. 1947) my father was in active movement as Congressman and Gandhi's non violent soldier. For many a time he was imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes. During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed and circulated among the masses to create awareness for India's freedom. The book was printed by my mother in Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the British confiscated the book and press of my father around 1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring this great writing of my father in English which portrays more than the translation of the epic, so the world may come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India's freedom struggle. Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics. All his other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot is one of them. Ravindra Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger. Bhati Bhati Ke Drishya Marg Mai, Audbhut Chata Dhikhayege, Nig Anupam Sobha Se Tera, Hardaya Lubhate Gayenge. Patradoot in Hindi written by Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections
Many a moon ago you said I do and shortly there after we became parents it is quite clear there was never any other for to me you are the perfect mother sensitive and caring loving and daring a special blend that makes you unique. on this day of praise I raise you up above the rest for in my eyes your'e the best at everything you do. so once again happy mother's
he felt the bile rising in his throat but he was strong, he was ready wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, he stood up and took one last look in the mirror before he presented himself to his parents as he uttered the words with only a slight stammer the shock only passed over their faces for just a moment and then they told him exactly how they felt There apparant love for him made him dizzy with relief they approached him, arms open wide and he shed the last of his fears onto their shoulders and with one last shudder, he released all anxiety they understood and he is finally happy again
From a distance, she is full of grace Floating in the air in an angel's space Perfectly dressed, not a hair out place Diction is perfect, she is articulate Back straight, shoulder's down Head back, do not look around She smell's of flowers, has skin like silk Drives a car the color of milk Educated, debutant, and elite Recognized everywhere, even on the street Green paper not an issue "God Bless You" she will give you a tissue Family dinners, proper seating Forks, knives, spoons all know their places Napkins play a part, before we can begin to start Only one arm you have when you eat And, God forbid, you had better be neat! For this is not a party for dinner This is an actual event.... My hair is quite chaotic The clothes on my back make me look like I am going to attack The color of my car looks like a green vegetable Educated still trying, proper I want to pop her. My green paper is made of construction Utensils, I only use a fork by reason of deduction. Look, two arms I have "that's neat!" dear God I'm hungry, let's eat! Holly P. Moore October 2012
The ER is a very chaotic place sometimes, Happy people trying to save lives, Good mornings escape into late evenings, & No one will ever know when their time comes…. They called my phone said some blood was spilled, Trauma room, a spirit gone away… The puddle of blood was immense, I'm sure she lost gallons, Her eyes slightly open, will an absent sound of IV machines, as I stare at this lifeless human being, I begin to think back to my family. There is nothing more traumatizing than witnessing a young teenage girl, Discover the news of her mother, that has passed. Even tears couldn't show my sympathy. Her hand had lost its grasp, Blood dripping as I struggle between human emotion and professionalism, NEVER WILL I EVER FORGET THIS DAY August 27, 2012 Rest In Peace to a stranger that I will never know. Much love to the family that will miss her dearly
Goddess of storm and dissidence, Lilith begot by spurious legend and foolish myth in the dark recesses of pastoral histories where ancient mysteries were defiled. Illegitimate child. Apollo's seed, by Roman Empire inquisitional rules inquire, to her whereabouts seeping fetid doubts, in the bones of the survivors. Submission required by slave drivers, And the Elite, now on Wall Street. Twenty five generations later, they still hate her... Yet, I see her in me, shadows of malcontent, when passed by for promotion and toxic lotion is sold to keep us young. I hear her forked tongue, when my voice is ignored again, when single mothers barely maintain poverty existence led as punishment for being un-wed. Burkas hide the bruises and we've run out of excuses why so many women are poor. Our beloved men are sent to war for corporate profits made and taxes paid in blood and tears. Yes I have fears. I fear her rolling up through me, if they only knew me and what I hold back, they would attack, and mark me feminist bytch, witch and un-Christian. Listen... I hear her whisper from sister to brother from father to mother, lover to lover... I feel her emerging with Pele's fire, Aphrodite's desire and Venus's lust. We must, hear her. She is part of us, the Mother's curse, foist in the never ending thirst for power and dominance over all. Eden's free fall, orchestrated, ill-fated, out-dated and reciprocated, by us, still now, somehow. The sacred dance beckons us in the second rush of knowing... rivers flowing, ever to sea. What will be, will be... lost in the slipstream currents of the paradigm whore who dares seek safe passage to our shore.
The beat of Mother Nature's heart is in a rhythmical pattern, Echoing around the forest through the song of birds. My hair sways with the gentle breeze, And the glistening sun shines down upon me, The screams of joy and happiness carry on through the field, until it reaches me. And I find that life isn't always about the sufferings of humanity But it can be about simple things; the adrenaline that courses through a small child as they run through the grass And when you look at trees, you think of their age and what they've seen. The knowledge that they must have is formidable, Yet it's comforting to know that something so silent, holds a thousand secrets. Each leaf tells a story, and dies in the seasons. For new children come with their tales to be made And the birds that surround the branches sing in harmony with Mother Nature. It's here, in this moment, that I realise there is no God. Mother Nature is purely a personification of a child's innocence. For we, humanity, are our own God. And our holiness surrounds us, in every breath we take. In every thought, and every image we capture. A secret, to be told.
As I grow older my memories become more veiled and sometimes lost. But the best are yet to come as I write them down, of that I can't ignore. For my most cherished memories I'll pass down, as the stories continue to stir. Like the wonder I felt as a child… while sailing leaf boats down a creek. Where would they end up? Would they find they'd sailed to foreign lands? Or would they be defeated by the storms as they came rolling in? Later I was awed by the thought that my future hubby would even talk to me. We were so very bashful; that we were lucky, that we even came to be. The trick was we were first friends…then, willing to hold together in the winds. We became like one little leaf boat fighting together against the storms, again. Then we became parents trying to raise our children with wonder in their eyes. So we started by finding a creek where their leaf boats would be near, to find. Eventually grown, they finally left us, so I sent them poems about those little boats. Perhaps to help remind them: to start new memories for their brood, coming close. Maybe even to remind them that life could still bring them wonders, too, once more. Eventually, we will all sail away in one way or another, to distant shores. I hope my poems will lead them, to where those wonders can still be found… They will be able to find them by a creek with leaf boats floating around. I hope it will bring them memories; again, of the days we held them so close. And had read to them the stories… I had written for those, I love the most.
In this dark haven I wonder what it means to breathe What it would be like to see that light Dreaming everyday ,of being in her lap Longing for her soft touch My ears yearning to hear that lullaby I dream of hugs and kisses I dream of a loving family I dream of seeing my future dreams In my mother's eyes for Scribe's contest....unborn babies dreams 27/9/2012
just because you see me walking down 'ho boulevard does not mean i'm for sale... i don't have an advertising sign up inviting you to taste and see a woman can't walk down the street in broad daylight dressed in a baggy t-shirt and sweats rockin' an afro puff on a hot summer day without being propositioned in violation of my rights as a woman to be free from sexual harassment and I'm mad about it my "NO" to your obnoxious offer is real talk and you should know the difference between what's for sale and what's not on the auction block so g'long an' lef' muh tuh walk in peace makes a woman want to carry a concealed weapon and go blasting could never walk the hallways play in the yard or even pray without somebody bothering me pulling on my clothes or grabbing at me for some sick reason the next one is going to get a surprise so g'long an' lef' muh tuh walk in peace ~in honor of the women who have walked ahead of me... (c) 2011 PoetryofMotion! All Rights Reserved
We was only 3 You walked into the room With your golden blonde hair Sparkling from the open window You tucked us in for our nap I leaned down To say goodbye you told me "Take care of your brother and sister And you'll be back" Well time has past that back never came I wonder to this day Whatever had happened It has been 19 years now Since you told me "You'll be back" I didn't know that day Would be The Last Goodbye Inspired by Danielle's contest
The fires in the sky are burning away the leaves. Causing forest fires, which destroys our trees. And yet we still stand there and do nothing to help like fire works were happening. We loosen our grasp which holds mother nature in the grip of our hands. Until mother earth begins to take a stand In chaos and destruction will our lives suffer immensely ,but truly through the fire that burns our freedom. We must receive punishment in order for each and everyone to come to an agreement. In uniting us-a-people to strike at our created problem until it is solved and put into good words like the national anthem.
This feeling, I hate it. How it claws at me, Like caged beasts in my chest. Roaring to life at random, Spontanious moments. Feels like my heart is hardening, Turning to stone. I cannot control these emotional outbursts! These rabid truculent internal fits, How they seem to come fast, Then agonizing me as it fades. With these thoughts I am a hapless soul, How the words eat me alive, Slowly drain me of my stability. How they manifest in my brain is of human instinct, A bare, raw, animalistic instinct. I want, crave for my flesh and blood, But i cannot have what I want, For society wouldn't accept it.
Outside with one shoe The shoe I took from the dumpster My hair is filled with flies Oh do I stink Brown flames comes up from my butt Flies come by my way They all die Oh do I stink Never in life was I applause for my smell Can it be that bad I guess so Since everyone has abandoned me My teeth so rotten It scares the mirron into broken pieces Yellow as a my grandmother big toe nail Stink bomb comes my way I can't hold it in I let in the air BOOOOM Everyone dies But me Oh do I stink
I wanted to write a song for my mother Then I thought Boyz 2 Men's "Song for mama" So discouraged I got As confused as I was I then decided to write a letter for my mother Just when I wrote 'Dear Mother' Tu Pac's Dear Mama came into mind There my Lord, wasted paper and ink!!!! I then asked my Zulu friend help write a Zulu song We thought of going the line Mama Wami Again Deborah Frasers' Mama Wami came in mind Not only once, but she did it again as Britney Spears by singing Mzali Wami I never got angry at her, but disappointed in myself. I wanted to write a song that expresses the joy That my mom goes through when she sees me My Zulu friend had something like 'u mama u ya jabula' in mind Bother not say it loud, I said For Bra Hugh wrote the same words Tho my friend tried, but was not enough I decided to apologize to mama For I couldn't write her nothing I took a pen and paper and wrote 'Mama I am sorry' With just four words, Brenda Fassies' Mama I am sorry came in mind For I can't write what our eminent legend wrote Not only did she apologize to mama She also said it was too late for mama Ohh Sis Mabbrr, sure your legacy lives on Still as I am struggling to find words for my mom I got so fired up inside As boiling as I was I somehow managed to calm myself down Just the way Jesus calmed the sea As creative as I wanted to be There was no much for me For much words has been used Only the good ones rather I then decided to write a Poem for Mama Ssshhh listen to this.....
Her death has caused us all to pause and think My husbands heart has begun to sink into the depths of despair pausing to catch some air never regaining total control his mother's death has taken a toll. Eyes so blue, they'd light up the day in everything she had her way, Seven children she carried in all before her death two were to fall. Her life at times was very bleak, but never could one call her weak, she stood for what she believed in, whether in goodness or a sin. Daughter, Wife, and Mother to all although she is gone she is not lost to all Her spirit resides deep within, her friends, kids, and grandchildren. A woman I was glad to know, for me her presence will always show in the strength of my daughter as she grows, strength she gained from a woman, she hardly knows.
Did you ever stop and think When you spent the day all alone There was someone else too That was just as lonely as you ? So if you are feeling blue Just sit down and write a line or two For someone that loves you dear Will be waiting from you to hear. Written by my Grandmother Mamie Rachel Sterling/Sinner/Earl 1940
The old men defile the little girls their lurid charm stabs the fragile screen of innocence and ignorance The fathers are traveled or dead or down, or never known The mothers weep, hands in air hoping to grab something helpful The young girls, like rat to hawk become clutched by predatory hands The old men squeal, cackle, and trumpet their victories vile names for the captured,the newly shamed are shouted in complete revelry The tricked lost their chance at being children This calls for a smile from the most sinister observer
It's summertime and Janis wails through the speakers. I sit at my picnic table, papers scattered, and I chase perfect words like I used to chase butterflies. My kids splash through the scene, armed with Super Soakers. Their antics threaten to jar the few words I managed to land on the page. They jump in the pool - giggles come up for air in a million bubbles. I trade my pen for a popsicle, join them poolside, and succumb to easy living and the sweltering rhythms of "SUMMERTIME."
Angel of Light, tenderly touch her brow. Remove the pain that binds her now. Gentle, peaceful passing into the rainbows beyond, Where light and love meets joy and peace, Rising with every brilliant dawn. Release her spirit to the universe, Set her Soul now free to fly. Unshackle every earthbound debt, And remove all tears she's cried. Angel of Light, spread your wings Of Grace and Love, unfurled smiles. Keep me close to her heart as She crosses heaven's incalculable miles. Release her body etheric, and Take her home at last, Gently lay her in the arms of All the loved ones already passed. Angel of Light, with Mercy and Grace Remove the pain from her beautiful face. Open her eyes to the new horizon Gently sweeping upon celestral shores. I know she'll be waiting for me When I fly through those heavenly doors.
Aching ,as if she has crushed bones But that is not what she cares about She worries about her little bundle She just wants to hold him tight Her body has no strength to move But all she wants is to just look See the face of her baby for the first time See whether her dreams and reality rhyme All she has gone through ,is rewarded By that first touch ,with that first hug It takes too much to be a mother But it is so special ,to be a mother
For mummy Oh My love My angel My mentor My mummy She moved from The world we shared But before hand Showed me my wings And taught me to fly Told me To rise when I fall Nothing will break me Or lead me astray But who would have thought She would be gone So soon.
Brushed with emotion she cradles her womb ...unknowing... her heart...anxious desperate to expose her secret... she cries endless tears... in bitter sweet moments passing slow, her baggy clothes no longer can hide the truth... her courage must now spill out in word... a child herself now a mother torn... ______________________ CONTEST "Mom, I'm Pregnant" Thirty-four percent of young women become pregnant at least once before they reach the age of 20 -- about 820,000 a year. Eight in ten of these teen pregnancies are unintended and 79 percent are to unmarried teens.
A mother holds her first born son Life and love become one Two hands holding firm When apart he shakes and squirms The cure of a mothers voice Erases any other noise Warmth and warmth together Combining their hearts forever A mother and her first born son Three years later 2+1 Two young boys in her arms Some would say her two little lucky charms Three hands holding firm When apart only one shakes and squirms Together they grow as a family It started before they were standing A mother in between two big boys Grabbing the belt is a mothers only other choice But boys don't cry they take their licks Except when mother decides to grab a big ole switch Hooping and hollering The two boys rant and cry But at the end of the day She tells them everythings all right For a mother with two young sons A mothers work never seems to be done Cooking, Cleaning and dressing To a mother these things are a blessing A blessing full of curses indeed If your a mother you know what I mean Motherhood at it's very best Raising two boys is a mothers ultimate test
my grandfather was in a coma my grandmother was a cripple my family was excluded from my grandfathers estate my father was hit by a drunk driver my father left my brother and i an inheritance my uncle was the executor of the estate i havent recieved a phone call from him ever he wanted me to have a tv, a computer and a vehicle. my step mom has done this before a group of people that had a problem with my father even buying me a birthday present a group of people my father bought all the christmas presents for that never had anything nice to say to my father about me i could change the world, sve the emperor of china from a hostage situation i could be a torture victom of a drug ring scrambling away in homelessness and get the big "so what" as they sit in my dads three houses im not sure why the only thing they wanted me to participate in was cruelty and shotgunning beer at a funeral party is really not classy just for future reference when these people make the news
"I shall be telling this with a sigh". Robert Frost, 'The Road Less Travelled'. Mommy, Maybe I can't remember the moment I was born- Even the moment the announcer blew his horn. I will never know the moment I was conceived- But there is one thing that I know and believe. That I shall be telling this love story with a sigh- Because you will forever be the apple of my eye. You blessed me with a name when we met at birth- Give me a kiss Mommy, you don't know it's worth. When, I cried dear Mother, I wanted no one but you- Your smell, your caress no one else would simply do. You see you were there Mommy when I felt so alone- You hugged me, kissed me, even tried to atone. For the ones that hurt me pierced my young heart- Sealed it with a kiss you said we would never part. There were even times that I didn't wish to live- Kissed me, held my hand said I have so much to give. Give me a kiss Mommy, for I'll forever need that touch- That once healed my heart, oh how I love you so much. I shed a tear for each of my needs you've met- I can't do enough for you but I shall never forget. Give me a kiss Mommy please let me reminisce- Of a love so pure , please Mommy give me a kiss. Valerie Sherman Give me a Kiss Mommy 10/5/2011
I dream of a woman's body and of wrapping it in my arms and watching as it gets slushy and as she progressively becomes more slutty. I'd like to play with it like a fishers price toy. And go fishing until I've reached the treasure. With a woman's body the fun is never really over and I'll keep scobba diving until I've seen all four walls. And pushed each and every lever. Some women than like to sever all ties and be the player. But when I dream of a woman's body I dream that time is frozen. And that this one sensuous moment could last forever. But I haven't found her body yet. I regret....
facing the first time her wheel-chaired son on the move saddest vale of tears driving his wheelchair his face splashes happiness enjoying his ride watching two people having their own point of view I can relate to we meet now and then all those years I saw his smile ten inspiring years an impressive guy cleaning his second wheelchair for tomorrows ride Note: 11.30.2012: message from his wife: "I did not expect my husband to be "on the internet' in such a unusual and also very special way. You have touched me very deeply with your poignant poem. Thank you so very much."
Do my children know how much I love them? No, of course they don't. They weren't allowed to know. Do they know how intense the pain is, to go forward, while not being allowed to be their mom, or their dad? No, but they know the intensity of heartbrokeness, while going forward, without their parents, whom they should have never been taken away from. They know the depths of lack, that they were never meant to know... They know the fears and the terror that a "supposedly good place" will unmercifully and maliciously inflict. They knew the courage, as babes, that grown-ass folk won't walk in. They know that you can't trust the government, or the agencies, or the people in those agencies, that are suppose to protect them and their family units. How could they possibly know the depths of my love for them? When they are still stuck there surrounded by people who destroyed their family and screwed with their beginnings?
"Come fluttering words, come drifting to me..." A Rambling Poet A gentle breeze brings me the soft smell So familiar it calms my tear-filled eyes instantaneously. I venture closer to the source. Two ebony, round vases resting atop a sill. The scent of the roses and carnations flit about me, As they did about her so little ago. Yet we have laid her softly After she was slain Into the moist, soft soil from which her scent derived. Always like a butterfly did flora float about her. So small, and pale, with mahogany hair When we found her lay flared about her delicate head Like the halo our Father gifted her. For it came about in such a gentle flow And jade eyes, calm as the sea In which we found her They sparkled like the sun dancing off the waves. Her eyes were open, and matched the swirling surf. The tears flow silver from my own emerald orbs I peer into mucky puddles lying about And see her face in my own. I bore her from my womb Yet our Lord has called her home To save her from the world's cruelty An Angel to watch this land I stopped to smell the flowers Not rushing bust taking life in time The wind blew by my ear And I heard the whisper of a little Angel "I love you, Mommy" Erika Raiken Contest: What is she thinking... - Constance La France ~A Rambling Poet~ 7.27.2011
I was only 48 days old part of my mother then when I knew about what happened to ZigZigland I felt it ,I was a part of it I loved it much more again when I couldn't read yet while I've known it's place beforehand If you believed in haven ZigZigland was a part of it on earth It was the kingdom of all human beings the mankind's place of birth The father, mother and children were all living there Story of happy family the glory of endless welfare. Until they came out from the middle of nowhere, they fell downfrom devil's nest father died fighting, the mother starved feeding her youngs blood of her breasts They walked around destroying burning the haven all the way down to hell the children left their home that was so sad for a farewell Those creepy creatures stole history, land, the Name looked to the world victims,homeless The world was blinded with fear, what a shame They'll come for you if you speak out eat you up and throw your bones and the'll come back after all,lay down beside you with their bloodied hand on your gravestone whispering in the dark: Say it !!! One word and you'll rest in peace give in their Justice : Peace they're talking about in the middle east Hope you stand there and roar Land is for it's people, for all mankind It can't be stolen, ask her and she'll answer who she is,Just bear it in your mind So, when they ask you again who you are look down deep to your spine answer them,surely the true answer: I'M FROM PALESTINE
Hell hath no fury like his mother's belt. It descends with such power, in tune with his yelp. She shouts, "What d'ya mean you forgot? I said, 'Clean the sink!'" Then the belt meets his bum turning wan skin pink. One wrong- small or great; She'll be irate. That whip is no stranger Just you wait. Her unbridled temper… It's turmoil. Soon, her blood will seethe… Her blood will boil. She's void of ruth and merciless, Like a man consumed by love of pelf. The poor little boy, held under duress By a mother who'd thrash the devil himself.
Remember when you were a kid and you wish you'd gone and hid? Mom gave you that look from the corner of her eye that said you'd been caught in a lie. With just one look that's all it took and you begin to cry. With the narrowing of her eyes that filled you with dread making you wish that you were dead. Then the look straigght down the nose as her head rose told you in the story you're telling you'd gone too far and thought it just a little bizarre. How about when you were about to do wrong. Something you know your not to do With her head down she'd look up at you and her eyes would say. I wouldn't do that if I were you.. Then there's that look when you've done it anyway and your're on the run for it did say. Now your're all done and by the seat of your pants you'll pay. The look I love most is the one that came at the end of the day. When she tucks you in bed and kisses your head her look would always say. I love you child. Not just for today but always. OOPS I forgot the eyes in the back of her head.
In front of newly glowing fire__the warmth Fills the area in very front Family draws close_warm against cold Time today flew as trees were cut (down) Cut just to the perfect length to burn On the open fire of night's desire These hours of story telling__laughter Make up for labor of timber felling Time spent at the well drawing water Here now time for discussions Story-telling, laughter, memories The fire softly lighting Mother's eyes
The sunlight shines through the clouds as rain falls into the gray eyes of a mother doing laundry while her children play house.
His mind refuses to fathom His heart refuses to accept Such hurt and pain never die easily Shrouded in clusters, are his emotions Never completely shown Never completely seen. He misses you. Happy Birthday Mother.
Surrender Surrender with them, for those all sins Always you commit, at the expense of belief At least, they can purge you, dipping in social work Do not afraid, there is not, capital punishment. Bereaving, they do not keep you, in bother Where there is provision, only of rear and care Supplies only requirements, later they'll rear, care you That heaven is within, in the heart of children When become saturate, they loll, leaving toys and food In such innocent vicinity, I wish pass my whole life Being happy and gaily, volatile immeasurably Could you believe my advice, you commit, they believe. Instead of boasting roaring, wasting, prime time for Tearing sky and ground, with objection disturbance Invest your purpose, to acquire heavenly bliss for all Billions mothers are wishing, to offer their prospers.
Sweet child of mine Where is your mother? Your guardian of love? Because it is cold out here And the night sky has begun to draw in Later in life So too you will understand That beyond this umbrella Another world does exist Where is your mother?
Born a wee bit 'early' like a crocus covered in the snow of March and unwelcome stranger am I to a clue less world, child of the Jew. A wee bit early for proprieties sake yet, Mother never admitted such to her dying breath. Bit 'early' the Mainiac's would say "ayah?" like a daffodil in a soft, wet, ripe spot of humus in the sun. A bud of brightness, but, out of place. Crocus croaking beneath the weight of prejudice a hybrid combine of drink and mind covered in the after birth of woman. In the snow's furnace Mother was born also. Child of German extract and Mayflower heir. Of March mother new little, raised at the foot of Mt. Battie and unwelcomed except by she was the stranger....... Am I not, the child of 'pickled madness', aye. To a clue less world was I born. Clue less as to the exotic mix world child as are so many now of the Jew. * New Form each line begins with words in order taken from the first verse. **See About the Poem
I wrote this to help someone special to me: I lost my daughter today. Sadness threatens to overwhelm me. Grief consumes my every thought. Pain fills my entire body. The words send a shock to my heart. My legs fail me as I fall to the floor Knowing it was to come, Realizing it is in God's will, Nothing makes it easier to deal with. My heart crumbles under the weight I know all the pieces will never be found. A wound created that will never heal. A constant reminder of what is gone. Desire to become a forever family. Hope of taking away too much pain. Dreams of her eyes filling with child like joy. Plans of everyday growing up and learning All cause to mourn, all things I won't get to again see. I long for the comfort others might have, Joy her in the arms of someone who truely loves her, Peace in knowing she is being properly cared for. The knowledge that we will be together again. I lost my daughter today. There are no kisses to brighten my soul. No grave to visit and seek refuge at. The rest of the world will never notice, For the daughter I lost was never really mine. She is alive somewhere else Not by my choice but by theirs For it is not I that gets to kiss her good night I lost my daughter today at yet it is like the world does not care Really she was more mine than theirs... I lost my daughter today... I lost my daughter today... Don't worry baby girl we will be together .... someday..!
She wonders what you're doing and how you're living life what new things did you learn today and how did you sleep last night did you feel raindrops on your face or sunshine in your eye of all the questions left uknown the biggest one she has is why why can't you be together why can't she watch you grow why can't she guide you through this world this she just does not know but she promises you'll be together no matter how long it seems just know your always in her heart and always in her dreams Poem is dedicated to a dear friend of mine P.G Always remember sweetie true love is never lost, you will meet again someday.
Awake crying in the darkness Hungry must be fed Nursed, changed, swaddled Rocked and laid gently into the bassinet Lonely wanting to be held Awake crying in the darkness
Literally cut off an arm for them shrivelling white bone protruding, screaming from the pale flesh The ultimate expression of honey, darling, sweetheart and wonder. Floating like cannonballs, just dying batteries. No more struggling, flailing legs. Excitedly scribbling next to me a feeling like jeans upon your touch or fresh toast crisp yet damp. I'd just like to shake you. Rattle the bones beneath your skull, maybe even kill a few brain cells if I feel like it and where have they taken you, claiming you but not my legs and arms. Perhaps I do not wonder enough Dangling on the edge of the world, You do not forsake those offering solace Rather you slice and cut until the edge of the world ends And becomes your very own playground. Then you need not worry, but had better bloody worry. After all it's what makes you, and us, human.
In her safe womb she carries me from place to place; I hear her love-filled words I hear her fast heartbeat and feel her caring hands warmer than the spring's breeze... sheltering me from the cold! Anytime someone punches her belly, I turn aside to avoid injury... whose hands are doing much harm? I cry for conception, yearning to be born into the bright world; mom, protect me from all danger, from those violent hands that try to kill me without regard for this unborn life! Before you go to sleep, sing me a short lullaby as if praying, " Sleep well, sweet baby....mom loves you as angels do! " When I'm big enough, I would love to hear a fairy tale, but 'till then imagine me falling asleep, dreaming of the day when you'll hear my first scream...I'll finally break free from this dark and confined realm! "
As the Mother of all Mothers, mixes yellow into blue... Fahrenheit shall rise. Hence forth, the snow melts... Brings the ferocious waters. Ownership nay! She shall consume all! Fastidious wench, be gone again... with the new season... of the weddings. I wrote this Feb. 2005, it is about Mother Nature turning the Earth to Spring and how she is in control of us and how hard she is to please, we are at her mercy until June comes and summer settles things down. Judy Riley
They were my mothers', those pale blue eyes, that silver thinning hair tangled in her comb, that soft heart filled to burst with love. They were my mothers', these unpretentious clothes, this costume jewellery, these artificial pearls, ersatz emeralds, these diamonds in her crown . . . cheap glass. But her heart, her sweet translucent heart, O, her heart was made of light wrapped in the golden arms of God.
The wound has long closed Not a scar, not a trace Yet pangs of pain are felt From memories I could not erase Time has not dulled The emotions of that day When you've decided then That with me you can't stay The Lord took you from me That much I understand But why couldn't you fight And win your last stand? I still see your smile And I yearn for your embrace You're forever in my heart Only you can fill that space
The Guardian of the Morning Light, Creeps out of his little space warm and soft. No one will waste that precious morning light. Our little fur ball will see to that. Oh ye of little sleep… Give up the covers or ye will weep. The door becomes his drums, To announce the morning rays of the sun. He wakes the dogs up to whine and pace, Eventually they will lick our face. The window curtains will begin to part till they… Shower our faces and eyes with light… not soft. Then the bed begins to shake… As everyone begins the climb to our face. But the secret weapons are about to come in. The kitty has awoken the little children. Cold feet assail us as they climb in place. The dreams of a cuddle are now replaced… But tomorrow will be another day If I could only find a place to keep him at bay. ZZZ's are the treasure of days gone by… But the future is richer with all these guys. Now, if only, the Guardian of Light will be polite And give us one more minute of sleepy respite…
Theres a momment when you realize your not a little girl anymore. Mommy and daddy arn't there to run too. You have to make your own choices. Your finely free. You get to do what you want. No one setting rules for you... Your life is perfect... Right? This momment is the one you've been waiting for... But now that its here... Your eyes are getting teary... Already longing for the "good old days" The good old days where... Mommy would sing you to sleep... Daddy would rock you in his lap when you where scared... You knew you where safe... You didn't have to worrie about being judge... You knew when you got home there was someone to love you... That was the good old days... Now its time... Time to go... Go out on your own... Alone... Its time... To go out and start a life of your own... All grown up... You're not a little girl anymore... It's time... You're ready... To start a life of your own... Little girl... Farewell...
The three of them are sitting there, Faces pale in the sterile light; The father's face is livid and red, The mother's pale with certain dread While their eight-year-old son stares at his shoes. Who was the one who started the fire last night? Perhaps the father--his foul breath tells That he was drinking cans of beer But then again, the mother is pale Did she kindle the fire with love grown stale? Behind our one-way shield, they cannot hear As we the officers debate the case. Who will be the one to take the fall? Both mother and father both seem quite upset; Either one could have struck the spark That tore their homes and lives apart But which one had done the crime? Neither one of them would dare admit. "The child did it," I said with a frown. "Can't you see he wants to die? An ordinary child would fear If he or his parents were brought in here But this one doesn't even stop to cry." My fellow officers shot me glares But my intuition was proven right A psychologist verified my hunch The little kid had seen too much And tried to end it all with fire that night. What a terrible world this is When we must suspect the kids.
Little ones, just close your eyes. I'll sing you off to sleep. And while you dream, you'll hear my voice. Soothing, loving, unique. My little ones, I wish you rest and calmness, little souls. For my warmth and love will shelter you, for the rest of your existence. You will always be my angels, no matter where you are. Gone too soon, but loved incredibly.
My mama sits alone, whilst all i do is roam. As the smoke loses its fire & the last conversation we shared turns to ash, she willfully breathes new life into the next perfect crime against her body. Nothing is what it seems in the realm of never-ending dreams.. Who will play her part today i wonder, as the next leading lady takes her position in the light. mama you think you are a prisoner in the blasphemy of a million tortured non-believers.. & that i am free??? Free to roam, whilst my mama sits alone? My shackles are heavy & steal, pink ribbons of blood upon them.. they never leave the company of my resilient heal. Barefooted & with constant grace, I drag along my own personal jail cell of hell.. as i give good face. Still, alone I roam as you sit at home.. Go on mama, LET the voices of a zillion reasons happily appease you, as i jump in the black, scary sea, i could sink to the bottom & take you all down with me.. at least the pain would be drowned & the happiness never found.. But.. you still will be mama, sitting alone.. whilst i freely roam.. right? I need you to swim to me in these dark & murky waters. The cruelest of cruel seas.. Please, bring me a life jacket & leave the fictional coast guards behind where they belong.. & mama, just swim like you did, so strong when i was a little girl on your back, remember? So strong, i felt the fight in your limbs, as you took each crucial breath when you needed oxygen to push on through, you never ever ever gave up until you reached the other end. All the while, with me on your back, you showed me how to NOT be alone.. you showed there was never a reason to roam.. direction & purpose with each stroke, in the pool of life you were, you are.. my only true centre.. & now, as you, mama, sit ALONE, with your smoke, in your home.. Sadly, i'm afraid that all i can do, is aimlessly ROAM. S.L.D
one day you were there the next you are in heaven God must have seen you struggling but now you live with God and Jesus in heaven when it rains i think of you in heaven crying cause it is sad you cant be here i love you mom your the best no one can replace you, never
The baby lay on her bed, A satin soft pillow under her head, Pretty, pretty little brown eyes, Rose bud mouth to say, "bye, bye". There was no doubt that she was ill, Skin so pale as she took her pill, Soft brown eyes no longer happy, Rose bud mouth to weak to cry. Sweet little fingers quiet and still, Golden curls wafting 'round her face, Tears rolling down her parents' cheeks For they had been praying for two, whole weeks. Then the miracle happened, late at night, God spared her the Dark Angel's might, Sweet little lips, now laced in smiles As once again, she shows her wiles.
"I've never rode a train Mom." he said with eyes lit up. So, we bought two round-trip tickets to my mother's house. (She lives a short walk away from the train station.) Our trip would only be forty minutes but that would be long enough to say "We've rode a train!" The day of our trip was the day after his eleventh birthday. I'm pretty touched that he would choose to spend the day with me instead of his friends. Our train arrived at seven A.M. and we didn't leave until nine P.M. This gave us plenty of time just him and I. I thought everything went great. We played games like "Catchphrase" for about 5 hours and laughed and laughed! No talk of "my childhood" came up. (thankfully) He and I took a couple walks together spending hours in antique shops until he found the perfect antique "survival knife" to buy with his birthday money. We stopped into the ice-cream parlor and had the biggest ice-cream cones known to man! When it was time to leave we walked to the little restaurant for dinner first. We shared our meals and talked about our day. I saw a young man sitting across from me, looking at me through the eyes of my baby boy. After our meal we walked back to the train station. Our train was late but we didn't mind that just meant more time to talk. When I saw his eyes fill with tears I had no idea what was wrong. I was chilled to hear what he said. "Mom, I just feel so bad for you. I can see how sad you are when you talk with your mom. I just wish you didn't have the childhood you had. That's why I took so many trips to the bathroom today...I just couldn't look at you sitting there with her. I knew how you were feeling, I could see it in your eyes." It took some convincing to make him see that I don't focus on what my mom and I don't have. My focus that day was on what he and I do have and that is priceless! I wouldn't trade that kid for anything in this world and I'll never forget how we spent his eleventh birthday.
Judgement day is every day when you're trying to survive in a decent way. Clean up your life and move away, to a new playground for the kids to play. It's an Oreo cookie way of life, broader than black and white. Trying to break to the surface to see the light, but you keep getting suppressed.. it takes all your fight. Drop out came a long way.. From counting stacks of 3 to a GED. On the outside mamma's so proud of me. But inside she's scared she don't want to see me take another fall, slip up and lose it all. X'ed up, punching holes in the wall. She's cautious for my life, she cries: "I wish you could see it through my eyes". Accidentally got caught up in the game and chase again. Never had let go, the past was still holding onto my hand. Slowly takes over, but you keep it undercover. Keep it on the low, thinking nobody's going to know. But somehow I stayed on top of it. Only slinging and drugging on the weekends and shit. Got through my Friday and played on payday. Dedicated worker specialized in crazy. Then one I day my end started to begin. I changed my life and I traded it in.. For a camouflage uniform that covered the scars on my skin. I ended up losing my freedom, tied down with conflicting feelings. Gun in my hand, I was told to defend, the pain and the hell that I had abandoned. The bad guy in trusted boots, ripped myself from my roots. I planted my self far from the town I was raised in. Kind of felt like I was betraying there trust, leaving my love for a life that's lust. But then again.. I finally felt filled inside, alive. Maybe there was a reason I looked at my past, and wanted to run and hide. No longer scraping dough to get high. Now I see it again, that pride. The sparkle in mamma's eye. And for the first time it ain't a tear from fear. Can't plan ahead a god damn year. Now she has hope instead of dread, from that knock on the door saying: "Your little girl's dead." I opened my eyes and I stopped listening. Closed my ears to the phrases of hustlers. "Act classy, you're a lady" was all they could muster. How did they think ladies could survive in these streets? Double standards of life, a game you'll never beat. I lived how I wanted, they said it was no place for a girl. But once I shared what I had, it became our world. I found the "I" in family, once the pain killers got a hold of me. They kill the pain but bring the misery.
she sits on my shoulders, wrapping, twining long legs warm round my neck so tight at times, I cannot breath she looks long in my eyes deep and intent past the glass as if to discover everything to pull it all up, to study it is truth a product of vanity, some kind of futility as is said sometimes I see nothing unless it sees me and she is so much of my system right now
I see the sea of souls overturned n washed away I see their loss of love churning them toward the undertow Their anguish bubbling to the surface forming foam poetry soup Watching & wading in this slick of sadness, i intuit my sinking in the sand. Not from sheer weight but by all the hands grabbing my ankles trying to pull me in The mother in me wants to scoop them up one by one & sing them sweet lullaby's The mother in me Wants to cast a spell, To calm the oceans, To form shells around their tender youth Nd protect them from further lures You see.... i have been in that frigid water many a time It is where you & i have to go to die & yet I know as sure as the rising n setting sun we will all gladly walk that plank again (Even if it means another mini death) From under the water i must look like a God An unattainable form bathed in light an unattainable happiness out of reach ....what you cannot have But, it is just i, a simple caring soul gathering your words and hopefully you someday
You have entered my life and have made such a remarkable difference! Your gentle warm smile erases all my cares and your bright brown eyes radiate hope of a bright future " You're one in a million" a rare and costly diamond. You're truly a blessing, a gift from heaven. You have a permanent place in my heart and my love for you will never diminish You're my precious baby girl Chanel!
I look up; I see her eyes Looking down at my helpless body Floating beneath a shimmering haze of water. I look up; I see her eyes Waiting and watching as I take a breath And choke on liquid air. I look up; Into the eyes Of my mother.
i call for mother for she is sleeping on the sofa i look more close for death has come to call on this sunny spring day "mother , "mom" "mommy" no words will wake her for death has made his final round my breaths shall not save her no matter how hard i pump my pleas nor cries will bring her smile back out from behind her blue lips i stand before mother in her favorite dress and i hold her cold hand as those around say it was for the best i lay in mother empty bed smelling her perfume waiting for her just to walk though the door i wait in darkness for my heart has no light my days are full with routine but i am dead on the inside my smiles are fake and my laughs are brittle "just one more day to get though" i am lifess and joyless i am pointless my children grow but i am blind i grow older but my grief ages me even faster my face i no longer recongize though the mirror long roads and dead ends but i can start to breath again recovery is so hard mother but recover is a must my smiles are real and i can now laugh without crying no longer do i look to the door waiting some days are long and i must really work at it some days are so easy that i never want them to end i stand with flowers in my hand and the spring breeze ruffles my hair i look to your grave and i can finally say i will be fine i will be ok
Patradoot or The Messenger21 /Many English version by Ravindra K Kapoor Originally written in Hindi by my Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor Some where you would see, Arti* being performed, dear letter, At some place you would witness, milk being offered on Shivlinga,* And some where you would hear, the melodies of a Chorus song, Sung by girls having sweetness in voice, like that of a Koyal*. DESCRIPTION OF MY BELOVED'S PLACE ALLAHABAD My lovely city of Allahabad is situated, dear letter, On the bank of holy rivers Ganga and Yamuna, Where sacrifices and ascetic practices is a way of life, For which we all Indian feel proud of it since ages. Ravindra Kanpur India 12th June 2006 to continue in 21 Protected as per Poetry Soup's copy write protections Note: If