A mother was born and dreamed of a beautiful life
A new journey had begun - but a hard path lay ahead
Demons seduced her beloved - leaving her alone
The land was foreign and dark clouds appeared above
Child in hand the mother reached an ambiguous cross road
Before setting foot upon the long way - her conscience enquired
"Are you sure this is the right path? It will be difficult, full of pain"
The mother smiled as she saw hope in her infant's eyes
A real mother would sacrifice her own happiness for a child
Storms came on dark days with thunder and lightning
but, she kept her child dry and secure
Winters came with cold days and masonic winds
but, she kept her child warm and protected
Sometimes she would not eat - but kept her child nourished
In secrecy, tears would fall - her son would only see a happy mask
There were days when life was burdensome and full of worry
and she shook in fear - defeating hazards and obstacles,
as she guided her son along the terrain of the highest mountain
When they reached the top her son reassured his mother
"Thank you mother - I would not have got here without you,
you can let go now. I think I will be OK from here"
His mother smiled with pride - her boy was now a man
When her son was at a loss - his mother would remind him
"Son you only learn from losing"
When her son lay dying - his mother gave him hope and taught him faith
"Son, you can't control what happens to you in life,
but you can control how you react to it"
With the love and prayers of his mother and the grace of God
he defeated the most evil disease and is even stronger
Life is full of trials and tests - being optimistic will help defeat hardship
Loving others will give them belief and a reason to live.
Never underestimate the love of a mother who sacrifices so much,
but sometimes we do not realise how much. My mother has taught me so much and is my hero. I am thankful to my mother for always being there even on the darkest days. For helping me through my battle with cancer and always inspiring me to be the best that I can be. It is a true honour to be her son.
15 October 2015
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A doer of good deeds.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
Believing he saved
From a long, cold walk,
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
Her childhood indelible painted upon her brain. She can still see the knife in her stepfather’s hand and her screaming mother pinned to the bed beneath him, and she knew her mom was dead, even before the last breath escaped her body. But for one brief moment their eyes met, and she could not erase the horror it has painted upon her brain. It was a seed that has grown into a tree. It is revenge.
He went home early that day to “butcher” his step daughter; she was only ten. When her mom returned from work, she was hiding under the bed, and blood was flowing down her legs. Her mom entered the room, and saw him lying on the bed; she fetched the kitchen knife and leaped towards him. They fought, and he stabbed her to death.Yet she cannot be convinced that her mom is dead. She still believes that her mom exists in her, and the doctor has mistakenly pronounced her dead.
Leaving the bed soaked, dripping red, he bolted through the door, and a voice that was not her own screaming above her head. When last she heard of him, he was sentenced to be hanged, but she was in another world. She thought that God would come that day, but he didn’t and her mom has not risen.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2013
Dear God, how did You sleep.
I had a dream and it made me weep.
Did You see it, it was so real.
I think it might even help me heal.
Anyway that dream last night
sure was kind of cool.
Except for the times
I acted the fool.
I was a whole lot younger
then I am now.
I was talking with my mom
and I was wondering how?
We sat at the kitchen table
and she had on that grin.
The one that always told me.
I know where you've been.
I could talk to her
about anything I ever did.
Not only when I grew up
But since I was a little kid.
She was the only one
on this whole entire earth.
Who made me feel like I belonged.
Who gave me a sense of worth.
We talked for hours.
We laughed and we cried.
I didn't leave the table
till the day that she died.
It was a roller coaster ride
of every high and low I could feel.
Then Lord You got out the projector
and then You put on the reel.
We watched home movies
and most of it was good.
You would fast forward
those parts that you should.
There was this one scene
where Jesus had a part.
Remember when I asked for Him
to come into my heart?
On a scale of 1 to 10
I would give it a ten.
But there was this one time
I don't remember when??
When I asked for Jesus to come into my heart
He walked right in like He belonged.
But what I didn't know then
was that He walked in with my mom.
Copyright © Allan Granstrom | Year Posted 2009
On this day, I’m sitting in this empty dome, yet to be filled with graduands, reminiscing
Flipping through the images, of my trajectory, stored in my memory.
I remember back then when dad had no money for my school fees
His job was barely enough to keep food on the table; Mom was the breadwinner.
Dad and mom were always arguing; dad was always on the move
But mom kept breathing down his neck.
Dad was visited by a chronic illness and he embarked on that immortal journey
It seemed like everything had fallen apart, but mom kept grinding to ensure I never lacked; and I kept faith too that everything would be alright.
I started working hard to see my dreams through, with my eyes fixed on my goals.
There are many unending walls to be climbed; and tough rows to hoe
Many demons are out soaking up grease in my engine no matter how greasy I try.
Sometimes things don’t always play out the way we forecast
And we don’t make sense to people who always judge our moves
But everything happens for a reason, sometimes beyond our control
That’s what destiny is all about?
I know I’m befuddling your mind now?
Hush don’t worry too much, rest your brain!
When I see how much I’ve grown and what I’ve learnt
It trips me out, though I lay a guilt trip on myself for my aberrations
The destination is still far away, but surely not a cul-de-sac
I’ll keep my heads up, with dad’s words: never give up on yourself
Now I need a mockingbird to sing for my soul on this day.
Copyright © Chuma Okonkwo | Year Posted 2013
You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit
We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you
You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love
If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.
Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2014
mom and dad
my all time favorite heroes
who take on the days task
of the everyday running
of running our lovely home
they compliment each other
in everything they do
dad the bread winner
and mom the home maker
and help each other were
the other has failed
they do not show any fear
whether times are good or not
and make things seam all perfect
even when they are not
can not still figure out how
they managed to pull this off
cause my life is not as perfect
as they made our home seam
Copyright © sharon anena | Year Posted 2013
Love is a season
And holidays mark the seasons, like signs in the road
Reflecting the bumps in our journey, but showing us a way back home...
Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down
It was long past midnight, Christmas eve
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me
It was if they were trying to fill our void with color
The block was filled with a hundred black windows
And the blackness somehow seemed more appropriate
There was no Christmas tree in our house this year
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
had taken all the strength he had...
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together...
It was Perry Como, I think....somehow I remember how he sang "Ava Maria"...
My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week
He had helped bring us a bit of cheer....at least for awhile...
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly...
The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed
I wasn't sleepy....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping,
getting ready for the sun to shine on Christmas morning...
I started to head for bed, but noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box...
The little box that kept the sugar cube house
It was one that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old...
Little sugar cubes stacked into walls and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Ladies' Home Journal....surrounding it with little trees, and
people skating on a mirror for a pond, things we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store
Carefully packed away last year, on Mom's last Christmas....
Throughout the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the
fireplace mantel....as Mom would have done .
When the freckled morning moved into day...
I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me. He had covered me with a warm blanket.
He held me and we cried together.
After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch
from our old evergreen tree.
We decorated that bedraggled branch...it wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had
But it brought Christmas back to my family...
For Constance La France's contest "Your Saddest Christmas Ever"
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
just missed that
earthquake caused it
A jetting eye
caught the rocker coasting
to and fro
on a sad white porch
They said you were crazy
and to steer clear
but I gave you an apple
producing a smile
and the freedom to just be
We Kelly'd around a lamp post
losing track of time in the warm twilight
then you shared with me a secret
a tree, knot, hole
that held a mother load
and we were richer than rich
till my dinner bell rang
and your hidden voices sang
in March 1968
Copyright © Patrick Boyle | Year Posted 2013
He starts singing songs of Ireland and we are home in a jiffy
"What's a jiffy," my mother wonders
"Guess where we went Granny?"
"I don't know but I have a feeling you are gonna tell me," answers my grandmother
"And Don't call me Granny!"
"We went to church so Poppy could ask secret questions."
"The priest gave Poppy a shot and a beer and Poppy sent me next store and he gave me money for taffy."
"He told me not to tell anyone especially you about the priest cause it's only for the priests ears."
"He said God would take away taffy and I'd never get another goodie and God would strike me dead if I told."
"So I can't tell anyone."
"He did," and she starts yelling and grabs a weapon,"what kind of idiot would be scaring a little child?"
Granny is standing on Poppy's toes and and asking him questions of where he'd been and getting a sniff of his breath
"So what did you tell the priest and him giving you consolation and a shot and beer."
"That little rat ," and thinks about the money for candy
Later, Granny is chasing Poppy with that big iron frying pan and poppy running and singing
"In Heaven they have no beer, that's why we drink it here."
"You damn fool I'm gonna bust you in the head, "and throws the pan at his head
Cousin Francis has bill collectors come to the house looking for him
Granny was four foot seven inches and she starts kicking him in the shin
My Mother grabs his Dick Tracy hat and she jumps on it and flattens it
I ask my mom where I was when this happened and she pauses
" You were in Heaven Patrick waiting with your brother!"
The truancy officers bang on the door and want to know where Uncle Charles is
Granny shrugs and says, "He is upstairs and the sound of the window going up sounds
They all run upstairs and see Uncle sliding down the tree and running as fast as his
seven year legs can move
He comes home later that evening holding a goose under his arm
And Poppy has a soft-boiled goose egg for breakfast every morning
I ask Uncle what happened to that goose and He said,"one day he came home and
they had chicken for dinner."
And Poppy was gone to heaven to get me and my brother ready Mom says
And Granny sits my brother and me on her lap and says,"you two knuckleheads listen up."
"This is very important so don't forget it."
"Treat people the way you want to be treated, because you never know who is going to hand you your last glass of water"
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
Story of a boy.....
I was to go to bed at 8 that night
When there was firing at the door,
Heard mom gasp,"God save my son."
I had no idea of what was in store.
We ran to the basement and shut it tight,
Mom pointed to the passage where dad hauls in wood
Sternly commanded me to go
While still as stone there she stood.
The sinners banged the door hard,
Through the passage there was just room for me to fit
So I sat down and shook my head,
There was no way that on my mother I'd quit.
She looked at me in the eye and gave me a kiss
And said,"Darling please listen to me,
I love you so very much
As fast as you can, do get to daddy."
'I'll get Dad' I thought and started to crawl,
I had to hurry,the door had almost gave way too
Noticed a sharp thing in the way and stopped,
But mom, in haste pushed me through.
I yelped in pain as iron cut my arm,
But what hurt me more was the door falling with a 'thud'.
Scars on my soul left me nightmares for years to come
Mom's cries and final scream echoing as I ran in the mud.
Fifteen years later, in the same but better town,
I show my arm to my wife and say
"If not for these scars I was left with
I would be with mom today."
Copyright © sadaf syed | Year Posted 2013
Life for me began from an angry seed; mom was only 14 years old when she was raped. She was told to abort or give this child up for adoption that no good would come of this. I am here because she fought to keep me. One sad part of all of this was her younger brother died a few years earlier, his death broke her heart. Mom's little brother was the only one in her family with blond hair and blue eyes. Mom’s eyes were hazel and sometimes green. After I was conceived, she would get on her knees to pray, she prayed that she would have a boy with blond hair and blue eyes, like her brother. Before I was born, she was told I was a girl because of my heart rate—this was before ultrasound. I am a boy and the only sibling of my family with blond hair and blue eyes; mom gave me the name of her brother, Edward.
So what does life mean to someone who was a mistake, someone that almost did not know life. Well, we are all products of our experiences and those before us. If we just look at our hands, the blood flowing in those veins have a history, a history more important than any one of us as a single person, and at some point in life each of us will become part of our history. I was taught that honor and integrity were one of the most important gifts in life that once you lose those things, they are lost forever.
I am hopelessly devoted to the one I love. When I look into her eyes, I get lost. She is my best friend in life and she is my wife--pretty cool, right? Looking back, life can be complicate, and sometimes it leaves us with tough challenges, but when you get knocked down, you get back up, we owe that to all those before us. The glue that binds all of us in life begins with love…without love what do we have. My heart believes people in life deserve a chance, we are all one race, the human race, and that is how I see life socially.
We tend to put people into boxes, but I feel only those individuals who are willing to use their minds without prejudice, and without fear while in the process of figuring things out, and while at the same time understanding they may be wrong when they figure those things out....those are the only ones who are truly free.
So for me life is a gift; each morning when I awake is a present, a present of life. I look over to my wife and I see another present, and my children and grand children are presents. When one steps outside you find other presents, there is harmony in life. There is purpose for all I see, well, except I feel like a visitor, disconnected, but I still embrace life—I am thankful for each moment that is given. The scents, the colors, and intricacies of our planet is truly breath taking, beautiful. Yet, there is something else, maybe magic in the sense there are a few souls I have encountered that I feel their presence with no explanation. So as I look to the stars at night in amazement appreciating the beauty in all I see, I wonder how many in history before me looked up and asked, why?
Edward J Ebbs - 02/07/2015
Written for Contest: "What Life Means To Me" for Jerry T. Curtis
Copyright © Edward Ebbs | Year Posted 2015
Billie, there is not one person alive who has not sinned or made mistakes.
And everyone in life sooner or later experiences heartaches.
No one is without fault, and it’s next to impossible to be perfect.
We all have our little quirks, we each have our own little defect.
Being perfect is not what God is looking for, but to turn from sin and turn to Him.
Learn to walk in His light, that is what will make you proper and prim.
You must follow Gods commandments and do not stray.
And when you feel yourself slipping turn to Jesus and pray.
Let Him know what’s going on, and that you need His help again.
Tell Him you are trying to turn your life around, one that’s free from sin.
Learn to put your trust in our Savior for that is what He is, Our Savior.
When we know it’s wrong and we go right on ahead, there is a good chance
this could be unforgivable behavior.
I personally cannot understand why someone would intentionally do wrong.
Listen to your conscience, pray, and God will make you strong.
Bill, mom and dad have never stopped loving or caring about you, never will!
This poem I wrote just for you to let you know just how we feel.
GOD LOVES YOU AND SO DO WE MOM & DAD
Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2007
A day of weary mind and body,
She found herself in a comfy bed,
So soft and relaxing, she lay back.
Then both eyes started to rest, while
hands were together on top of her stomach.
So comfortable feeling, she started to snore.
Sign of tired and stressful days she absorbed.
She began to sleep so deep and dream suddenly occur.
Her soul started walking a long narrow pathway.
Taking slow motion and feet couldn't move so fast.
There's a tiny light shining in a passage.
She can barely move and reach the end of the road.
She saw an old woman waiting for her at the end.
The very familiar face she longed to touch and kiss again.
"She's my mom!" she shouted aloud.
"Mom, wait for me! I wanna be where you are."
But the image suddenly disappeared.
So she tried to run as fast as she can.
When she reached the end, she felt a cold hand on her shoulder.
A voice of a young lady saying,"Ma'am, wake up!"
"Are you gonna take this bed?"
"Is it for cash or thru credit card?"
She stood up hurriedly and blushed.
"No. Thank you! Your bed is soft and comfy, but I should go back."
And her rest was over, now full recharged.
Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014
My dear sweet friends of the Soup
Thought I'd let you in on a little secret
It's all about life and love and happy stuff
But mostly it's about love
You know... that stuff you've craved
Ever since you discovered for the very first time
Mary was quite different
She had stuff you didn't have
And you had stuff she didn't have
Suddenly she wasn't one of the guys anymore
She was kinda like your sister but different
Very very different
Now every time you looked at her
You still wanted to wrestle BUT
Somehow it felt quite different
Hard to explain but it was now okay
If she ended up on top!
In fact, let's be honest here, you let her 'win'
Actually, you thought to yourself
YEE HAW! I lost BUT I won!
Now when it was time to go in for dinner
You didn't feel like eating, Mom wondered why
You wanted to go to bed early, Mom wondered why
You brushed your teeth without urging
Mom wondered why
Mom didn't really wonder why
© Jack Ellison 2014
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014
For all of this apparent tragedy in her life, and truly it all only set the stage for my
mother’s soul growth in this experience, what I remember most about my mom is her courage, her compassion and her ever-present service through her Words of Encouragement project that she carried on for the last nearly forty years that she was on this earth. She would collect inspirational writings, sometimes writing her own, and send them to her list of people “in bereavement”. She would volunteer at some local church that would allow her to print copies for mailings. People inspired by her faith would donate envelopes and postage so she could continue mailing Words of Encouragement to people she learned about who were dealing with some kind of difficulty or loss in their life. After she died, we found she had maintained a carefully hand-written log of all the people she sent mailings to over the years. This was her form of “selfless service” and I’m certain that it was her service to others that kept her in the world when it would have been so easy for her to just give up finally.
I learned from my mother that we can pull ourselves out of our depression and self-absorption by turning our gaze outward and giving service in one way or another, how ever it is we can find a way to serve our brother. Even though it appears we have no material worth and nothing at all to give, on some level my mom understood the value and importance of giving encouragement to one another. She faced enormous loss, criticism and complete lack of support throughout her life but, time and time again, she found the courage to rise above, call to Holy Spirit for help, and carry on ... giving whatever she could give, whether it was a place to sleep on her couch for a homeless person, finding a market for handmade crafts created by women in prison, or even if all she could give was a Word of Encouragement.
This is in tribute to my mom, Anne Pauline Theresa Labus King Coker,
February 11, 1928 to April 4, 2002
Copyright © Linda Witt-King | Year Posted 2010
She is so typical
For most part difficult
I never really could grasp her in such way
She just wants me to some how stay
She comes to my man cave and makes me obey
Shy she was and now I am scared
In such way I almost cared
She thinks she can do everything for me I swear
She makes me guess everyday but I keep on believing
Because it is fun to give her a kiss, while she does not know when she is sleeping
She stresses out but I will tell her my love for her keeps deepening
So for the most part I just keep her close to make her smile and me
When I do things I do it for her it is always a key
Call me romantic or call me stupefied, but it makes her so, so, sooo, happy
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
I sat there staring at the screen
Thinking about lunch
Feeling very lean
I sat there still
Letters taunting me
Staring out the window sill
All I got was Nature staring back
Mocking me completely
I grew so slack
Haiku’s flashed through my head
So short and sweet
Frustrated, I went out to my shed
But narrative poetry that I must
Haiku’s so less sticky
My heads about to bust
Haiku’s I pressed on
The boss said otherwise
So much I think I might go eat a flan
Who’s this boss?
Master of school and more
Salad she did toss
She who is the bomb
Yet stern as a stone
She is known as my wonderful mom
What shall I ever do
Going through such misery
I shall go watch Winnie the pooh
Going to the big screen
I watched away
But I must return to my previous scene
Back at the small screen I ate a skittle
Finally arriving at the last
I think about Haiku’s
But I actually had a blast
In the yard I see our gnome
Standing there alone
Telling me to end my narrative poem
Copyright © Ben Batman | Year Posted 2014
Momma went trappin' till noon,
fer Ring Neck Ducks ~ en gone fishin',
also trappin’ fat coon…
so she was a dragin' er ole’ berlap
full - of game, as well, 'like money in…
'er til' ~ by thee light, of ay full moon...
Seven siblings doin' chores causin'...
Momma needed money so soon,
Grandpa en a Pop'a were a knockin'
down all those logs - for Coors, quickly
Momma chasin' chickens, while rescelin'...
in there pen, en a sloppin' with all them hogs,
why she was buzy a slippin' en a slidein'...
into a sink hole, an a trippin' over pa’ pa's logs,
frogs were a jumpin', an a hopin'
right through her hands...
While Grandpa was a brewin',
good ale, a good tale fer Kentucky mash...
fer what she longed fer sure,
Momma ney're could save 'er cent of cash,
ner're enough mash-ale fer er dough, unerring
though ~ down to her country-store...
She went one misty ~ foggy mornin'...
into one of her swamp boats, all traps
all bottle ale, so Momma went a paddlin'...
fer her new pair, so needin’ of them
ere fancy laced ~ Combat Boots
“Now remember to call your Mom too”
Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013
NO SANTA CLAUS?
Brother Billy told him,
“Aint no Santa Claus”
Timmy didn’t want to believe his sibling
Just the very name of Santa was magic –
Those fur-lined endings
The colorful red suit
Splendid black boots
Wide leather belt
And that snowball on top of his hat
“Delivers presents to the world?” scoffed Brother Billy
“Aint no way!”
But Timmy, at Christmas time, didn’t think with his head
Timmy thought with a child’s imagination
And the season gathered his conscious round with colors,
music and sweetness
Mom and, especially, dad didn’t object to Billy’s scolding
“Timmy after all is old enough now” dad advised mom
“I’m never putting on that damn suit again!”
Timmy thought and thought
Couldn’t sleep that Christmas Eve night for thinking
He positioned himself on the seat at the big bay window in
his room wrapped in a blanket knees up to his
shoulders and watched the moon
Watched till his eyelids began to droop
Mom found him asleep around 1:00 a.m.
She and dad had been busy wrapping presents
She lovingly picked him up and put him to bed with
Growl his big stuffed bear
Around 2:30 a.m. – mom had been thinking and thinking
just like Timmy – mom checked to see if dad was asleep
Then! grabbing the jingle bells from under the tree
She climbed the stairs to Timmy’s room opened the door
a crack looked around as though anticipating escape
Then! with a joyful smile shook the bells vigorously!
Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2010
Growing Up Rich
My childhood home was just four rooms, heated by a black stove in the kitchen.
No phone, no car, a toilet in the basement. Money was tight. The rent had to be paid.
I spent my days in youthful endeavors. Playing baseball in the field where the high school now stands. My dad, a laborer, walked to work each day, every day. My mom typed envelopes at home for extra money.
At dinnertime my mom would ring a cowbell, calling me home. Responding was not an option. I'd ride my bike home, wash my hands, and join the family at the table. Food was not plentiful, but prepared with love. I never went hungry.
In my teens dad took ill and could no longer work. Mom got a job at the Woolworth s
I got two paper routes, my earnings split with my parents.
Neighborhoods were tightly knit then. Bad news arrived home before you did. Fruits of backyard gardens were shared, and helping hands lived right next door
School clothes were few in number, but were always clean and ironed. You took them off after school and donned the jeans with ironed on patches. Shoes were passed down from my brother, their lives extended by glued on half-soles or cardboard, cut to shape and stuffed inside. But mostly, I wore my high top P.F. Flyers.
Christmas meant a cut tree with strings of large colored lights. Our stockings were hung on hooks behind the old black stove, to be filled overnight with oranges, apples, candy, and maybe a toy. We thought we were the luckiest kids in town
Sitting here now, reflecting on my childhood, how hard it must have been to make ends meet, but meet they did. The things my folks must have gone without to make sure their kids didn'. We learned early the value of a dollar. They taught me to respect my elders, to know the difference between right and wrong, and to practice it. Their values became my values and stood me in good stead. Their greatest gifts were the love and guidance they provided
I realize now all my memories are good ones. My folks gave me everything it was important for me to have, and although I didn't realize it then, I understand now how lucky I was to have grown up rich.
Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2011
When my mother was at the age of thirteen,
A dirty old man asked her to come clean,
He invited her over so she could make a few bucks
When she arrived he was in a black tucks
He was the neighbor across the street,
His wife was at work and he viewed my mom as weak
This man locked the door when my mother arrived,
Went to go kiss her, to feed his sick drive,
My mom ran out the back door and went across the street,
Little did this man know he was in for a “delightful treat!”
My great grandma lived six towns away
My mother called her in a state of panic and disarray
A forty minute drive, granny made it in fifteen
Granny drove her old ford like a race car machine
When she arrived, she kicked that man’s door down
She did not care if anyone was around
That man jumped up by that loud sound
She hit him so hard he fell right on the ground
She slapped him around with her left shoe
Cursed him out in Italian, while threatening him too
Later that night my mother’s dad came home
He is a little man with a loud groan
He heard the story and went across the way
Took his shot gun and made this man pay
Told him if he ever touched his daughter again,
He would shoot off his little “private friend,”
He made this man cry in his own living room,
But I promise you this man never again tried to consume,
Every little girl on that street,
He knew not to look at or he would get severally beat,
My family has many stories of my Great Granny saving the day,
Never mess with an Italians family, they handle things in their own special way.
Every family has stories that get past down from one generation to the next. I was blessed to have had my mother’s grandparents until about 6 years ago. They did not speak any English and my great granny was a crazy awesome woman. She grew up on a farm in Italy and had to do a lot on her own. She raised all the children and grandchildren but was old school about a lot of stuff. I remember my great grandparents fighting with each other even in the nursing home. They were married for 58 years; they shared a room in the nursing home that had two separate beds. My great grandma use to hit my great grandpa with her cane from across the bedroom. It was funny to watch. They may have fought but they loved each other so much, my great grandma died 6 years ago and less than a year later my great grandpa died too. Now they are in heaven together, I don’t think there’s fighting in heaven, God don't allow that;)
Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2011
In a Faded Photo:
sitting delicately on that cushion couch
brothers snuggled at either shoulder
jealously contending for her affection
little sister happily squirming on daddy’s lap
everything in place
all as it should be
as it should have been
so long ago...
knock knock on the door
don’t answer, daddy warns
it’s her again, daddy warns
you’ll be sorry, daddy warns
little sister squirming
little sister sweating
to answer the door...
something out there
who are you I ask
it’s me son.
told you not to answer daddy says
told you it was her daddy says
they cut off her breast
she turned yellow
it spread to her liver
little sister squirming
little sister screaming
in a faded photo...
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2015
It all started five decades ago, when her gift of imagination began to grow.
She was the youngest of five and could not wait for her to arrive.
Velvety soft skin so fair, along with lots of curly blonde hair;
Eyes deep blue like the night welkin, with an innocent smile and double chin;
Tiny hands that grip and probe wrapped in a pink blanket robe.
Cyndi, a sweet southern name but a lonely child she soon became.
Cyndi went outside to play in the sand, soon came back holding an imagined hand.
At two years old she made a brand new friend, to her Pucka Parker was not pretend.
With siblings overpowering her in age, she often took over center stage.
She was the apple of mom and dad’s eye and learned quickly how to slide by.
Their likeness was uncanny; the mischief was not on her fanny.
Pucka Parker did it, she would cry, as elephant tears poured from her eye.
Pucka Parker was forever to blame and soon inherited the family name.
We took her shopping even to church leaving enough space for her to perch.
We took her in the car on vacation and somehow left her at the gas station.
Cyndi was so upset that she was gone that we had to stop at, what is now, an Exxon.
Pucka Parker was everywhere, to us older ones it seemed so unfair.
Pucka Parker was ruining our life forever; Cyndi’s ties to her must sever.
Mom asked the doctor, what to do, give her some time for her age to accrue.
Now at four, Pucka was on a roll, she ate every cookie from the storing bowl.
She stashed dad’s keys in her drawer; so he couldn’t take mom to the store.
She found lost animals of every sort, said they were lonely, needed her support.
One hot day, at the age of five, she came crying, Pucka was no longer alive.
Tragic end, Pucka was hit by a car, went to heaven; was a new star.
We laid Pucka carefully in a box, on a nice bed of our holey old socks.
We had a short funeral on her behalf, wrote words on a paper and pinned it to a staff.
Here lies beloved Pucka Parker, she was the best, it said on her marker.
It didn’t take long for Cyndi to recoup, befriended a girl to sit on the porch stoop.
It is funny how children conform; make their life cozy, secure, and warm.
To this day after forty-eight years, we recall Pucka who transformed Cyndi’s tears.
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Fourth Place Winner ~ "Story Time” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Brown
Oct. 12, 2010
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2010
I stumble upon a river
the way it flows and feels
I take my shoes off and run threw it
laughing looking up towards the sun
I wake up and it was all just a dream
my sister runs up the stairs
she slams her door
i asked her what was wrong
she looked at me
She says "mom told me you were adopted"
at first i laughed as i thought it was a joke
I run downstairs to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch
"mom?" i say
she replies "its true we adopted you!"
she got up and walked into the kitchen
"after all this time i thought i was yours" i say
My father gets up and walks out the door
My mom lays her hand on her forhead
Just dont worry about it everything will be okay
"No it wont i say"
i felt fake like i wasnt who i was suppose to be
i just sat on my bed thinking about the whole thing
my whole life and who i should have been
I packed my bags that light and i ran away
leaving the less important things behind
i set out on a journey to find my real parents
I had my sister get there info. from my dads office
I took a bus to indiana and looked up there address
As soon as i found it i knocked on the door
A man opened the door
he said "who are you?"
i say "apparently i am your son?!"
"you put me up for adoption?" i repeat
He yells "ANNA!?, Some kid is here for you!"
i repeat the story to her as she denied it
She looked bruised and beaten up
I wanted to help her but the man hut the door on my face
I had no where to go now
So i started on a journey back home
But i never made it there
I found that old river i use to go too
i stayed there for a few weeks until
i remembered the way back.
I found myself that day
I realized that i was fake but now im not because i know that i am just me not any of them
Copyright © Shayla Dendinger | Year Posted 2012
Mother used her third arm
for most everything,
her all-around solution
for problem solving.
Once, she used it to save
the life of a common toad.
The snake was guilty
of nothing more than a move
to assuage his hunger. He soon
fell victim to Mother's expertise
in wielding a hoe. As he slithered
along the cotton row, she chopped
him in two pieces just beyond
the bulge in his frame.
She then used her hoe
to push the frog out
toward light and freedom.
Mr. Toad sat for a time,
blinking in the sun,
then hopped back into his world.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
.....Mommy walks and Jamie toddles inside the BIGGEST plane.
Jamie thought he was inside its belly. The storm roars outside.
The thunder is loud inside the metal beastie. They sit. Lightening flashes.
Jamie screams “No!” The plane swallows them like Pinocchio in the whale!
Jamie thought of his toy plane at home.
The REAL Mumbo Jumbo jet roars, speeding down the runway. “Good morning everyone.”
A voice says “This is your Captain for the flight from Bangor to New York. Once we’re above
the clouds the weather should clear. Remain in your seats.” Jamie wasn’t going anywhere.
“How’d Mumbo Jumbo get so big?” Jamie thinks. He looks out the port hole at the lights.
Jamie begins talking to the plane. Mumbo Jumbo roars and whooshes, as if to reply. “Is that
you little one?” The planes vents ask. “How’d you get so small?” “Mommy and Daddy made
me!” He chatters to the drone of the engines. “Mommy and Daddy are makers? Oh that it
explains it. That’s How you new my name.” Mumbo hisses. “Makers know everything. What’s
your name, Tiny?”
“Mommy calls me My Boy.”
“You will be My Boy too!.” Says Mumbo. “For this ride I will take care of you and mommy.”
“But, but YOU ATE US!” Jamie whimpers. “Why’d you do that?”
“Ate you? I didn’t eat you My Boy. I’m keeping you safe inside me, just like Mommy did
before you were born.” BOOM went the thunder. Crackle ZAP went the lightening.
Jamie screams. Mumbo Jumbo rises up, up above the storm and into the sunlight. A round
circle of lemony yellow falls into Jamie’s lap. It was so warm. He stops crying. The clouds
look like cotton balls out the window just like the fields in Peter Rabbit story!
Mommy let Jamie down and he runs up the aisles. He chases the lady with the orange
juice! He peeks in a tiny room with a potty! Suddenly, his ears hurt and he runs to Mom.
She’s brought his old bottle and sucking it makes his ears pop! After a lunch of fruit, Mom
gives him cookies on the small table. Soon a voice comes through the air “We will be landing
at the airport in five minutes. Return to your seats! Buckle –up! “Daddy?” Jamie says. “No,
the pilot!” Mom smiles. “Ready to land My Boy?”
Jamie was bouncing with excitement. The plane bounces and jiggles across the
runway. “Thank you!” Jamie says to both “Mum’s”
“You’re welcome.” Mumbo Jumbo and Mommy say.
Off they go to Grandpa’s arms, and with a bye wave of wing the plane leaves.
“Good bye My Boy.” Mumbo Jumbo roars! “See ya next time!”
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
When your with people you think you can trust
and you get a bit to drunk
and you thought you could trust him
after all your mom loved him
and you go to bed just afer 2
and mom went to bed just after 1
and he came in room just after 4
so you ask him for a pill...
He gets you the pill and you take it for your head
and then you lay back down
and then his hand snakes out
and then his lips meet yours
smell the beer
and his hand slides under your gown
and you just cant say no
and his touches, soft but rough
and he plays with your untuoched parts
and you try to turn but you cant
and you finnaly win and turn
and he silently walks away
and whispers to the dark room
are you drunk
are you drunk
are you drunk
and you wish you could say that you were
so you can turn, fall asleep, and forget
and you know in deep and dark thoughts...
your not drunk
your not drunk
your not drunk
Copyright © Veronica Powell | Year Posted 2011
At Sixty-One I write these stories not for fun or prosperity....
You have to understand the times.....It was the Fifties....
The Smith boys..all three of us...
Greg, my brother Reggie and Me...
We had it all....and didn't know it.
Our Summers were spent
Running wild...In Ontario California....
Mom would tell us get out of the house
In the morning....So she and my sister
Could clean the house in peace....
My big brother Greg always had
An adventure for us....and Reg and I
Were always up for whatever he had planned....
Let us not forget that Greg was only Ten....
And I was a tender kid of Eight....
This adventure as I recount was
He told my Dad that his grades were good
And a trip to Holey Jim's Canyon was in order...
A place my Dad had taken us before....
Trout streams and shade trees....
He told my Dad that he'd make sure we
Would be okay....If he would give him five dollars
for food for five days...
Yep! It was a done deal...
Against Mom's appeal...
We said good bye with fishing poles
And blankets In hand we watched them drive away....
No fear we shared as we were
The Smith Boy's.....
I remember Mom crying just before they drove away...
Her little boys away from home....and all alone...
But hey...it was an adventure....
Dad knew the value he was teaching us...
We swam and played and fished all day...
At night we built a fire....
Bathing was a thing we did
In the morning....after the fish stopped biting...
I remember going with my brothers to a
Little store....they had an ice box machine there...
For five cents you could choose a soda pop...
My favorite was an Orange Crush....
Sitting on an old wood bench outside
This country store...I was in heaven....
We ate peanut and jelly sandwiches
For most of the five days...as far as I can remember....
And slept under the stars...
I think it was the day before Mom and Dad
Were due....when playing and running...we found
To our dismay a hive our honey bees...
Run...run...Greg told us....
I was just behind him....the bees were made as hell
As I ran.....poor Reggie last in line...
While I know we all got a sting or two...
Reggie got the worst....
His eyes were swollen almost shut
His face was just a mess....
But a true Smith he was and never did he complain
As Mom and Dad drove into camp and took us home
What a great adventure we did have....The Smith boy's
Us three great traveler's unafraid.....
Copyright © Randall Smith | Year Posted 2010
This poem is dedicated to my mom.
A mama robin was granted a divine gift
And she began to form her new precious jewels,
The pain she was in while carrying these marbles,
Oh how burdensome they must have been.
She did not complain,
But instead rejoiced over her incubated prizes
Soon after conception she laid her bright blue eggs,
Fawning over the glorious miracle she birthed
She prepared for when they would wake
A busy fourteen days of enlarging her home and scouting for food.
She would spend most of those days plump on her prized possessions
Her children awoke from their slumber.
Tears filled her eyes as she saw their precious faces.
As the years went on her baby birds began to grow.
She knew they would all leave the nest someday,
But she never expected it to come so fast.
“Mama. Why do you love me?”
asked one of her little sons.
“Why? Well that’s a silly question.”
“Because hun, you give me a new reason every day.”
“I love you too, mama”
That feeling she got every time she looked at her kids
Was something so supernatural,
Her love for them was never ending
Never once did she complain.
Never once did she have regrets.
Yet she sacrificed so much.
That mama robin grew old,
And after bearing ten beautiful birds,
She never once left their side.
She sacrificed her dreams for her children,
And realized her true dream
Was becoming a mama,
A mama bird.
Copyright © Brian Byrne | Year Posted 2015