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Mom Social Poems | Social Poems About Mom

These Mom Social poems are examples of Social poems about Mom. These are the best examples of Mom Social poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme |

Thank you

Thank you – Zamreen Zarook

Thank you is a sweet word in the nature,
You may be a guy of adventure,
May be you are a person of agriculture,
What matters is your architecture.

Never forget the people, who guided you,
In no degree neglect who were with you,
Don’t ever overlook a creature, who gave a smile to you,
Because, you will meet them above you.

People forget the past due to selfishness,
They have no time to remember their unawareness,
Society, most of the times behave in awfulness,
They will understand when their lives come in to bitterness.

Be a person to thank and remember,
Don’t consider them as December,
Because, you might need them in November,
So, always be as a good subscriber.


Details | Rhyme |

The Family That God Gave to Me

The Family That God Gave to Me I think about the family, that God gave to me... And think about where they'll spend eternity! I think about the good times, that we've had. And the trials we've faced... Both good and bad! God helped us to overcome adversity together! And proved his faithfulness... Today and forever! He showed us the Godly path, that we should follow... And promised to be with us! Today and tomorrow! He's proven how much he loves us! And how much that he cares for us! Thank you my lord, for all you do! Where would we be? If not for you? You've proven yourself over and over again! Thank you so much, for being our friend! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Quatrain |

Women

You women
Know how to make 
The best of what you've got in you
You do it everyday in your life


Details | I do not know? |

Daddy is a bi sexual barebacker

Daddy who are you?
 
Son I am a bi sexual man..
Dad what does bi sexual mean?
It means I like to have sex with men & women.
Why?
Because its how I  feel inside.
Did you love my Momma?
Yes...I did!
What happened to momma?
She died...
How did she die?
She died of AIDS!
How did she get AIDS?
I gave Hiv to her..
Why would you do that?
Because I am a Bi Sexual BAREBACKER!
 
 
 
 WRITTEN BY TG GREEN
 
 
 This happens too much!
If your playing with him be safe..so she can stay negative.. 
 
 
 


Details | I do not know? |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Details | I do not know? |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Rhyme |

A Very Inviting Temptation

A Very Inviting Temptation! I remember of a particular situation. I was offered a very "inviting" temptation. The situation I was in... I didn't belong! And lost any sense of "right and wrong." At first... I felt no guilt or shame. And brought embarrassment to my family's name. I tried to explain this to my wife and kids. I heard; "Dad... please... no more fibs!" The Godly principles were "tossed to the side," As the sin inside caused arrogance and pride. Soon, all in my life that truly mattered... Was gone! My life was empty and shattered! I was sorry for all of the problems I caused! This time... I took a moment to pause. I cried to God to rescue me from my sin. I confessed! Would God help me once again? I read in the Bible of Jesus’ grace and love! This time the help I needed had to come from above! I asked him for a fresh and brand new start. He removed the stain from a broken heart. He restored to me the joy I once had. I'm so blessed! Jesus has made me glad! Jesus is the reason I'm here today! I LOVE HIM more than words can say! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Free verse |

Grandma Was Dancing

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)


Details | Concrete |

Observer

A serpent underneath blue sky,
in shade of man, in twinkle of an eye,
above brick wall, in the structure, at the floor,
venom of white dove; contaminated food, undrinkable water,
misguided youth, pregnant daughter, unfaithful father and hateful son,
mothers do pray while we walk through Babylon;
on teli and in the press, on top shells,
price none the less, in bedroom and at your door..
dawn of a new day seemed to be dark,
after all.


Details | Rhyme |

I Think of a Time When I Was Young


I can think of a time, when I was young.
I was growing up and having fun! 
I remember how excited I was to have a t.v.
There were my brothers, my parents and me!
I remember at about the age of ten.
My dad thought going to the theater was a “sin.”
There were many things 
that as young man…
 I later began to see, and understand!
My parents shared God’s love the best they could!
And I read the Bible and was trying to be “good.”
I had my troubles…  And problems bear...
But I had a family, and much prayer!
The truth of God’s word helped sustain me!
I knew how much he really loved me!
My parents, may seem like they were “old fashioned.”
They loved their kids!  With a Godly compassion!
I’m thankful to be blessed with a Godly love!
My family was a treasure from heaven above!
I think about today, and how things go wrong.
Many families don’t seem to “get along!”
I pray for the blessing of God, to bind them together!
May we all serve him!  Today, and forever!
His love must be the cord that binds!
His will must be the focus of our minds!
May the presence of God bind us as one!
Every mother, father, daughter and son!

By Jim Pemberton


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