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Free Verse Mother Poems | Free Verse Poems About Mother

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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Details | Free verse | |

March 19 Memories

Mama….it’s today
The chalendar shouts it
15 years breathed your last
and I still see you in dreams
and I still miss you, Mama

I’m sitting here
in front of the screen 
wondering….what it would be like
to see your smile again
wondering if you’d be proud of my work
I write, Mama
I write poetry
But you knew that
I wrote you many poems
and you loved my lines

You always believed in me
and you believed that one day
I’d make it as a writer
and you made me promise
to always sign my maiden name
after everything I write
so that the world would know
where the talent came from
you were so proud of me

I’m crying, Mama
I’m crying
I miss you so much
You made me who I am
I’m just another reflection of you
the woman
in love with words
in love with life
in love with people
in love with passion
the teacher
the well respected Bible scholar
the one with a caring heart whom
everyone adored...
the one with the ready smile

But MS had a hold on you
even before I came to be
and I had to witness
you succumbing to its power
It changed my happy dreams
into nightmares of losing you
Broken bones
I saw it all, Mama
As I was growing up…
I saw it all
And I died a million deaths
Waiting for the time that you would go
And you left, Mama
You left me

You prayed to go
to be free from your wheelchair
He heard…
He answered…
and you are asleep in Him now
waiting for the trumpet call
when you will be awaked from your slumber
your smile no longer crooked
your body no longer bent
your voice beautiful again...
how you mourned the loss of your voice, Mama
you will sing again…
you will run and dance
and pick flowers

I will be there, Mama
When you awake up..
I will be there to hold you and kiss you
and thank you for giving me life
and making me who I am
But for now…Mama,
I need to cry
I miss you…

March 19 is always a reminder
of what I’ve missed all these years
a mother beside me
to guide me and love me
and to tell me that everything 
everything is going to be Ok in the end
but I carry you in my heart
now and forever…

You are with me, Mama
I love you!
I'll see you on the other side!
where there will be no more death
no more crying or sickness or pain
no more MS!
only joy...
March 19 will be no more
Only eternity!!!!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Isaiah 57: 1 & 2- The righteous perish,
    and no one takes it to heart;
the devout are taken away,
    and no one understands
that the righteous are taken away
    to be spared from evil.
2 Those who walk uprightly
    enter into peace;
    they find rest as they lie in death. 

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Free verse | |

Around The Corner

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 us in a crowd...a lazy summer day outdoor overhead fan, an open door around the corner...Just, rollerblades...a mountain bike, a jaunt in the park, a movie house...a why invigorate, a swim in a freezing cold lake... a restaurant evening walk, a club... dancing...karaoke...being a little wild... so many images paint my mind... bittersweet 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 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 ...

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

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
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

Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson

Details | Free verse | |


I decorate a grotto for you, Mama where orchids and holy images embellish this special place and day, that saintly icons guard you there as if they beg me to be released from years of guilty devotion… Yet I polish their laced clothes; then close the night waiting for wind chimes to knell,’ Magnificat.’ Scenes from younger days resound, while you, Mama, gift me with love and hate flickering through my confused mind: and sharpened bells ring in my ears; the gong of your voice banging across the hall, yet I still recall, mouth so tender, droning lullabies in the soft of window sills, ‘Magnificat’… How can I reconcile quietude and boom, when the little girl in me longs for your lithe timber within that special place, till holy statues listen to my wind chimes and finally understand this adoration. 8/1/2015 Debbie Guzzi's For Whom The Bells Toll by nette onclaud

Copyright © nette onclaud

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.

Copyright © Canny Amah

Details | Free verse | |

Be on Guard Against Poets

My sweet child
My daughter
Be on guard
Be on guard of the man
Who plays on your heartstrings…
Not with flirtatious smile
Nor with flexed muscles
Not with devouring eyes
Nor with intellectual prowess
Or clothes so fine

No, these you can resist
You can set boundaries
And be done
The threat, false alarms 
Their charm easily undone
Your defenses will withstand
The groping hand
The false charm
No, don't be alarmed

Oh, but child
My precious sweet one
Be on your guard
I beg you
I implore
Be on your guard
From the man named, “POET”
A man who wields words
Who crafts and designs them
Like a carpenter with wood...
Who makes them into jewels
With a jeweler’s touch...
Who makes them sweet delicacies
That simply melt in your mouth

He can shape and design his words
To fit your every need
He writes down your dreams
As though they were his own
His words an homage
To your beauty
Your form
The light in your eyes
The way you entice
Your captivating smile
Your dark tresses
Cherry lips
Or the curve of your hips

Oh, dear one
Be on guard
For he means to take you
To sweep you away
In the tide of beautiful rhymes
The rise of fall of passion
Making your body move in time
He means to ensnare you
To capture your soul
He means to dominate 
To slowly undress
Intoxicate with his words
So you forget common sense
He wants you to eat from his hands
Choice morsels of love
While he whispers in your ear,
“There's more where that came from.”

My child
Be on guard
For words cannot pay
Your rent or expenses
Cannot save your day
Words won’t be there
When you cry in the night
They won’t be able
To turn on that light
Words won’t be your lover
With hands nice and slow
That touch you in places
Words can never go

My child, 
My darling
Listen to me
Stay away from those poets
They’ve got potency
They will woo and bewitch you
Throw fairy dust in your eyes
But at the end of the day
Only a few don’t tell lies

My child, my sweet
Get a man who will be
With hands that caress
And with eyes that speak
Of your body in that dress
Spoken words make you weak
With lips that touch yours
That say you’re divine
That lick from your navel
That sweetest of wine
Stay away from those poets
Be on Guard
Save your life!
For a poet, my child
Is the greatest danger in life
The greatest beauty
The greatest dream
The greatest heartache
The greatest strife
Be on guard

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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.

Copyright © Joseph Giordano

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

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Free verse | |

3 a m to daylight

Another hour passes in this stale room
The beeping of machines plays an ominous tune
Lights are dimmed, to match the mood 
Out in the hallway, nurses chatter 
Important matters to be tended to  
Our night of hell is their typical work day 
Bursts of laughter every now and then 

I wonder to myself what they find so funny 

She whispers for her mama 
who has been gone for years 
Breathing labored, cold hands shaking 
She reaches out like a child 
I take her hand, choking back tears 
It’s me, mom.  It’s your daughter
I stroke her forehead and she relaxes
My back aches from leaning over her bed
And another hour passes 

mixed with rain pelting on the window 
I feel alone 
Eyes closed I remain standing
Begging my muscles to be strong 
Longing for daylight 

I’m taken back to vibrant days
Listening to the rain 

And another hour passes


*It's difficult to watch a parent aging, suffering... I am blessed that my mother is still with me, and I will treasure the moments we have left.  I'm sorry for anyone who has lost a parent ... especially if it was unexpected. 

Copyright © Becca Teagan

Details | Free verse | |

Her Little Black Dress

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.

Copyright © Taylor Graham

Details | Free verse | |

She Hulk

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.

Copyright © Katie Pukash

Details | Free verse | |

A Lesson on Love to my Future Daugter

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
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.

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.

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.

Copyright © Katie Pukash

Details | Free verse | |

Please Love Yourself, Mommy

Please love yourself,
My daughter wrote
As we chatted away
About my upcoming trip
And yet my tears spilled over
As I bared my heart
To my 19 year old daughter
The joy of my life
The light of my eyes
The reason…..
The reason I go on with life
It’s for her
I try to survive
And push on
For she still needs me

And she wrote…..
You need to appreciate yourself more mami
I can't imagine my life without you
Just thinking about my life without you in it 
just makes me wanna break down
Please mama for me
Please love yourself
I dunno why it's so hard for you to see how incredible you are

She knew all my reasons
And yet she asked
Desperate to pull me out
To help me see the light
To remind me of who I was
Who I still am
And I soothed and comforted her
Knowing she’d worry
Her daddy away
And her Mama all alone
Locked in her room
Crying the night away
Yet she was the strong one
Mothering me
Giving me
A shoulder to cry on

And after all the tears those words of hers brought
I thanked her for loving me…..
And she wrote
I can't help it. You're amazing. You just need to give yourself a chance
Come here mami we'll have so much fun

And I smiled through my tears
Grateful for the blessing I have in her
And my heart decided
Once more
Once more
For a little while longer
To fight the good fight
To survive
To let the vivacious Mommy she knew
Come to life
The one all her friends loved
And said was “so cool”
That Mommy
That woman
I'd ask her to go on
And to try...
To try...
To love herself...

...For the love of a daughter

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Free verse | |


' '''''''' ' '' 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

Copyright © nette onclaud

Details | Free verse | |

Through the Door

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.

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds

Details | Free verse | |


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.


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"

Copyright © binibining P.iNk

Details | Free verse | |

Heart and Soul

I see…
red splotches on her night gown
still oozing down her face
“I fell again.”
She looks at us
with that same wobbly smile
“I’m Ok! Don’t worry. I’m OK!”
I can’t see
a clear liquid oozes down my face

I see…
Mama is dazed
clutching her face
Couldn’t light the stove fast enough
An explosion
We thought a bomb had hit the kitchen
War time years
Everyone running around 
Mama burned her face
“I’m Ok…I’m fine.”
She tries to smile
I scream
I can’t see clearly
watery haze of tears
covers everything
along with the smoke

I see…
Mama gasping for breath
Mama going red in the face
“Mom, are you ok?”
Another coughing fit
Can’t get the food to go down
I pat her on the back
I pray…
Will this be it?
Will she choke this time?
Muscles that don't work
I see
I see
I cry
I scream
Raspy voice
Tears streaming down her face
I’m…Ok…..I'm OK now."
That lying smile
Her hand goes up
I can’t see
Double tear vision
Life is unclear

I hear
I hear
“You’re afraid I’m going to die, aren't you?”
I see
Kind brown eyes
Looking into mine
They are filling up
the wobbly smile is gone
she lets her tears speak
Oh….to talk to talk about it
What can I say?
What can she say?
We feel
We feel
She crushes my body to hers
Neither of us can see
Blinded by tears

I see
Clouded eyes
She’s in a place I can’t reach
I shake
I shake
“Mama, can you hear me?”
She tries
I cry
I scream
“Mama, listen to me!”

A miracle
For ME!"

I beg
I plead
I demand

“Mama, do you believe?
Jesus can heal you!
Do you believe?”
“Yes,” a whisper
Almost inaudible
I pray
I can't see
Eyes of mustard seed faith
Shut tight
“Forgive our sins!
In the name of Jesus
Be healed, Mama!”
Eye lids fluttering open
I see
I see 
Mama is still on the wheel chair
She’s bound…not free
I don’t see anymore
My head drops to my knees

I get dizzy
I drop things
In the shower
I fall
Cracked ribs
I cry
I scream
I hear
I hear
“You have MS TOO!
It has come for YOU!”
I can’t see
Shower water mixes with tears

Do you SEE?
DO you HEAR?
DO you FEEL?
I’m here!
No wobbly smile
No one to be strong for
I'm not alright!
See me!

Eileen Manassian
In dedication to her MAMA, Angel Manassian!

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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 ~*~

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick

Details | Free verse | |

I Want Not to Fade Away

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.

Copyright © Cona Adams

Details | Free verse | |

Brother Of The Quill

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

Copyright © Jay Loveless

Details | Free verse | |

A Child's Prayer

Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares down the darkened hall.
A solitary line of pink light sneaks through a crack in the door.
Fighting tears hanging loosely in my eyes, I listen.
“Please tell daddy that I love him and miss him.”
It has been two months since he died. Long, hard months.
“Keep him safe.”
His smell still lingers on his clothes in the closet.
“and bless mommy to be happy…”
How can I be happy, or even smile, when all I want is to be numb?
The tears burn in my eyes, but I can’t cry, or I might never stop.
“so that she will play with me like she used to”
I can scarcely recall the last time I was able to focus; to give her all my attention.
“help her to forgive me,”
Oh sweet baby, it’s I who needs your forgiveness.
“help her to love me again, even though sometimes I’m bad”
Oh God, is that what she thinks!?
“and please help me to find dolly so she won’t be scared tonight”
Ok, focus…just breathe.
“in Jesus name I pray, Amen.”

Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares into the room lit by a solitary pink lamp.
I sneak through the door, with tears rolling down my cheeks,
and enter with a promise, that all her prayers will get answered.


Submission for Prayertime Memories
Hosted by Isaiah Zerbst

Copyright © The Grahamburglar

Details | Free verse | |

Unsung Hero - My Mom

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-

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez

Details | Free verse | |

For my mom

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

Copyright © Jeremy Martin

Details | Free verse | |


She could hear us whisper when she wasn't even in the room
Knew we were up to mischief just by looking at our faces
Oh how I wish I could turn back the clock …

The dawn chorus is no longer music to her ears
With limited hearing and failing eyesight the TV remains silent 
Her only pleasure is listening to talking books on a machine for the blind
But the volume is so loud she remains isolated in her own room

Why aren't you wearing your hearing aid I ask? 
But she simply won’t wear it …
Won’t admit to the fact old age is creeping up on her

So now she lives in her own little world
A world of increasing darkness and silence
I dread the day she can no longer see or hear me
Oh how I wish I could turn back the clock …

Contest: A Mother’s Ears – Craig Cornish
~awarded 3rd place~

Copyright © JAN ALLISON

Details | Free verse | |

A Mother' Ears

A mother’s ears  - fine tuned
will pick up on her infant whimpering
          in the middle of the night.

Whether the baby’s cries are soft 
or even if the mother herself is deep in restful sleep
her child’s distress will prick her ears
rousing her from even her sweetest dreams.

A mother’s arms will cradle her small son,
wrapping him in a loving warmth 
that will abide with him to his dying day.

Her cooing voice will ease his unnamed fears;
her gentle eyes will instill in his developing mind
an image of devotion, which reinforced through time,
will compel him to seek a mate 
who will  look at him one day 
in that same adoring way

A mother’s ears will hear at last
her child breathing deeply.
Then the mother’s heart will swell with quiet delight
knowing she has comforted her son.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Free verse | |

Whispers of Moogsmoorwood


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!

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan

Details | Free verse | |

Mother Bear

*Inspired by the art of Susan Seddon Boules*

Mother Bear, Mother Bear, a child is I.
Save me from the sky, night chills my bones.
In your arms, not alone, my spirit shines,
Your power defines who I may become.
The sum of your actions mold me Mother.
In the fear no other can protect me.
There is no blind when we see who we are.
You are never too far to teach me good.
As I should, I hold on to your words and you.
Mother Bear, Mother Bear a new heart beat.
Warm me in your heat of everlasting,
A light we are casting that will shine on.

I love you Mother Bear, and know you will always be there.

For Contest: Free Verse art inspired by susan seddon boules
Date; 10-20-2014

Copyright © Casarah Nance

Details | Free verse | |

For Momma

  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

Copyright © Jimmy Anderson

Details | Free verse | |


Wake to me, she whispers - be alive in me.
Feel me in your heart and embrace me!
Daylight seeps into every vibrant sinew
of mornings glorious hue … and breathes …
An eggshell blue sky marvels to crystal retinas,
a dreaminess so flawless, untainted,
a distant all enveloping  backdrop
beset with a rising sun jewel of yellow flaming orange.
This new day begins with a warm kiss
from nature’s sweetly pursed lips of cherry blossom,
meadows of crops rippling in the breeze ,
they dance and cajole – a pollination waltz for lovers.
An unseen, yet gently felt breeze caresses life,
an exhalation from mother nature herself.
Beech and sturdy Birch trees, creating walkways
of splendid green canopies vie for attention.
The majestic oak stands silent, a sentinel
of longevity, splendour, and might, breathing life
into our atmosphere like giant lungs,
honest leaves working  as one
with this wonderful oxygen enriching  guardian.
Long, hot, sweat filled days will labour under a sun
that gives love and takes its toll in equal measure,
drying the lush green grasses to scorched yellows,
stripping fingers of bark from emaciated trees
until the day ebbs away to twilight, the land settles
to a very welcome cooling breeze.
Shadows stretch and yawn, extending the dark places infinitely,
to embrace the evening ......
 ~~~~ Sun sets ~~~~~
A beautiful red orb sinks into a blue black landscape,
like an apple dipping into a pocket …
this day has ended,
with an orchestra of evening birdsong ....
       and a red sunset....
           thus begins ...
        the quiet of night.

A Shadow Hamilton Travesty .. :)

Copyright © Ian Guyler

Details | Free verse | |

i am so bright my mother calls me sun

the sun is mean here
it’s too bright
and i don’t mean smart

it shines in my eyes
i have to wear dark glasses just to drive
yesterday it burned my skin

but today i am ready
i’m wearing lotion 
spf one thousand

if that doesn’t work
i’m wearing my long underwear
of course the sun will make me sweat
it is a nasty vengeful sun
i’ll be all wet

i am going to wear it down
that’s the wrong spelling of wear isn’t it?
with all this heat i can’t think 
sun stroke maybe

i'm fed up i am going to get rid of it
i'll look mean 
scare it down
i'll make it go away

oh my goodness
it’s working finally 
the sun is leaving
the sun is gone 

oh no
i can't believe it
the sun
it just mooned me.

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne