Submit a Poem
Get Your Premium Membership
spacer

Mother Free Verse Poems | Free Verse Poems About Mother

These Mother Free Verse poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Mother. These are the best examples of Mother Free Verse poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

12345
Details | Free verse |

Summers Eve

~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


Details | Free verse |

GRANDPA

*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


Details | Free verse |

Like a Rock

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


Details | Free verse |

Mother is Dove

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.


Details | Free verse |

The Woman

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)


Details | Free verse |

Sweet Lady

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.


Details | Free verse |

Recalling Her

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


Details | Free verse |

Motherland's Funeral

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


Details | Free verse |

My First Child

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 ~*~


Details | Free verse |

Ilaw

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"


12345