These Adventure Mother poems are examples of Mother poems about Adventure. These are the best examples of Adventure Mother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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!
Little Bee, Deaamoo, grandmother of the Crane Clan, lies staring. The light of
winter’s first full moon falls into the room. Through a ghostly haze of tobacco and
sage smoke, she sees her loved ones. One withered hand clasps a cowrie shell,
mee-ghis, tightly to her heart and in the other she holds a small dreamcatcher for
her youngest granddaughter Little Aamoo. Strands of gray white hair escape from
her braids which trail down beside her bird-frail form touching the fringe of her
parting dress. Her clan has been in the sweat lodge praying for her safe journey
home, some appear red-cheeked; others are a pale as the shades of her
ancestors. It is the end of her days, a time for passing on.
Outside of the house near the fringe of balsam pine a circle of stones are laid, each
one blessed and bringing an anchoring comfort to man, lodged between earth, and
sky. The four directions are marked and her way west is clear for her. Soon, she will
ask loved ones to lay here amongst the gifts laid for Pacugu, The Great horned Owl,
near the spirit house.
The veil is thin now between this world and the next. The smoke branches upward,
showing the way to sky world where Gichi Manidoo waits. The songs are being sung
for her now. The Shaman’s rattle is crisp and clear. All about her is beauty. Drums
keep the beat of her heart. They wait. Remembering one last story, she calls her
family to her, she must leave them with all the knowledge she has. "Ah, what was
that story? Well, that is not for you."
Judith must be punished for her unborn sins,
and haunted by her unborn fears.
She will beg her powerless mother for that
which the Sun and the Moon cannot give.
A trusting child tells with a momentary stare,
that she cannot wait to live,
Yet she cries and bleeds, pure and aware,
as the ghost of a dying God appears.
The smoke and fog of joy, on the barren hills
of promise fade away to reveal,
A clearing where a Mother and Daughter can
find truth in this awkward chastity.
The young women wearing colourful masks of
bliss and happiness have come to heal,
While the dark and jealous crones paint black
portraits of pain and lay beds of misery.
Their betraying love is not real but mere glass,
that by hand has the face of a jewel.
Their offering of hope and trust mean nothing
as they nail Judith’s hands to the stake.
The black vultures of torment, circle,
as the faithful put fires to the fuel.
And her mother’s screaming and lone cries
of anguish, leave none innocent in their wake.
Yet her tortured Mother who gave Judith her life,
smiles exquisitely, as they start.
Together they begin their secret flight, that
lifts them high above this tragedy,
As love and hatred both rip and tear,
at the soul like arrows into a dead heart.
In this painful and mysterious world,
there is no greater form of alchemy,
Than the acceptance of clear blue eyes,
the disarming smile of the condemned in fear,
And the tender sounds of assent,
that are being whispered too soft for some to hear.
Judith will be born tonight , leaden hearts will be golden and doubt will
Nelly my mum was 87 on June -7th -11
her Writings at ...
My sweet little momma still lives in her house. independently.
ELLEN MAY JOHNSON. (Beau Brummell is her great Uncle)
Yes Ellen Brummell was her name, our good sweet Mother dear .
We wouldn`t trade this girl so game, I`ll surely make that clear.
When droving sheep with her we went, back in the early fifties.
She drove the truck wherever sent, and set up camp so swiftly .
She fed the mob and kept us neat, and educated too.
She always was so good and sweet, of mother this is true.
She always gave us of her best, waited on us hand and foot.
With such a mother we were blessed, these words I`ve poorly put.
If ever with her down you set, She`ll fill your plate my friend.
The fastest meal you`ll ever get, If not your arm she`ll bend.
How she ever put up with our mob, watched over us with care.
Only mother could just do the job, of this of course I swear.
So when you see her run about, too busy to sit down.
Just you she waits on have no doubt, or some stranger from the town.
Don JohnsonConstance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest Name 'Mother'
The bark worn smooth,
a scamper up.
Looking down takes my breath away.
Leveling off, I’m safe in the cockpit.
Flying the Iowa skies, way above the tassels,
Control panel at my fingertips.
Spreading my wings and charging the clouds.
Birds skimming by.
The branch cradling my adventure
back firmly against the trunk,
sun over my shoulder.
Apple blossom shadows on my arm.
Between petals and freckles,
bright spot lights of sun
sparkle on my skin.
The petals are so pretty.
I pick a bouquet,
shinny down the tree, and
bring apple blossoms home to my mother.
Living my dream
I had one dream when I was young
To go to another land
In life I wasn’t satisfied
I wanted something grand
Lions, tigers. Kangaroos
And all those wild, wild beasts
Africa, South America
Or Australia at least.
Possessive Mother was my curse
How could I get away?
Every time I mentioned it
She had so much to say
And made me feel so guilty
Really cramped my style
And then one day there came along
Something to make me smile
I’d just turned my nineteenth year
When this great girl came along
She hailed from West Australia
And filled my heart with song
So we got married, had some kids
And here we are in Oz
Been here for half a century
And I came here all because
It was my fate to find this girl
She was my destiny
There’s be a whisper in the skies
That knows how things will be
It takes one’s soul, and leads it on
So growth, it might occur
And I know that west Australia
My heart, it sure does stir.
4 August 2013 @ 1440hrs.
Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle
It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die
She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward
The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true
Next: My Story Telling, Who is this Princess
On a pile of fragrant petals,
I found a small bird nest.
It had fallen from the plum tree
And settled there to rest.
The blue eggs were all unbroken,
Petals had softened fall.
Mother bird was loudly chirping,
Hovering over all.
I dared not touch the fallen nest
To leave a human smell.
I merely looked into its depths
To see that all was well.
Pushing bright petals around it
To hide it from plain view,
I gave a wave to mother bird
And said, “It’s up to you.”
I did not chance that way again
For a full month or more.
I stopped to check upon the nest
That had been there before.
The eggs were gone, the fallen nest
Was lying all askew.
I worried that bad had happened
To the small eggs of blue.
And then I heard a happy sound
And spied the mother bird.
A message passed from her to me
Without a single word.
I took her song as a thank you
For my feeble attempt
To guard her nest from predators
Who’d treat it with contempt.
There were four balls of downy fluff
On the branch right by her side.
I stopped to admire her little brood,
Then went on with my ride.
The wind blew events all over the place.
Intense emotions and it gave chase.
Lightning lighting to show us the sky.
People try to sleep and not cry.
Wisping by the wind keeps us awake.
The time trying to sleep the storms take.
Chills in everyone gives all shiver.
The clouds surrounded by moonlight is silver.
Heavenly prayers that the rain will stop.
The flood stopped a car the person in it was a cop.
People have seen such devastation.
The road that people made was week in creation.
Rivers near by was over flowing.
Trees that were there was not showing.
By the hour it claimed many.
My father woke up and did not see any.
Floating by was a boat.
Keeping people above water and a float.
My father kept a canoe.
That some day we would use it, that he knew.
Time to paddle up and down the street.
The rain water kept getting on our seat.
It was so dark after the moon was behind the cloud.
Still the noise of thunder still covered the ears loud.
The smell of moist water never seem to go away.
My brothers seem to still sleep anyway.
My head was bobbing up and down.
I was so tired that I could not hear a sound.
The wind blew back and fourth.
It seems that my mom and dad paddle their worth.
Till all the people we saw with grace.
Help us out with embrace.
The time was so late at night.
Everyone was so sleepy and losing sight.
The fight with the weather was so hectic.
The feelings of energy was electric.
Losing to such natural disaster is hard to understand.
When people working hard to block the river with bags of sand.
With hard workers like my mom and dad.
They make things happen that is not bad.
Rough with weather they experience more than ever.
Leaders they are they are very clever.
From the night light of street lights to the morning glow.
The wind did not stop so.
Bringing in more clouds that ill.
The people who were still tired still had will.
The rush of water and waves blasting push the wall side.
Pushing and the force brought water inside.
The battle of our hour was getting long.
Backup people came to aid us was strong.
Rested they were to keep everyone with hope.
The people stopped the water with the strength of rope.
Heavy rain and loss of homes bring people together.
It is kind of sad that this was the only time to gather.
Chaos comes happiness how true.
This is why we are human that gives us a clue.
It is our nature to keep rain falling.
To know when it is time for our calling.
The winds bring such pain and sorrow.
That is why rain sometimes fallow.
Let another sun set,
Let another flower wilt,
Let another autumn cast its gloom,
Let another tear role,
As ye part, and bid
The final adieu.
St. Stephen’s college