Can a child ever forget, how deep a mother’s love abides
All those days since birth, till now I’m grown she guides
Remembering her smile, so tender, so warm as her embrace
More than soothes away my pain, my fear of failure and disgrace
Even in my dreams she comforts, her voice, her scent would stay
Never will her being mother stop, till when I’m old and gray.
26 March 2015
Contest : Acrostic on Mother's Day - 1st Place
Sponsor : TAMMY REAMS
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
Lapis lazuli mines with wide blue eyes
bringing to mind precious stones and
caramel scones; innocent and wise -
Wondering, yet without surprise.
Staring down the universe, a challenge
in your look though you are young;
The earth made only nine revolutions
since you came out to see the sun.
Unguarded and arched, your brows
betray high wire tension; enough
to light up a hundred moons and warm
plump cheeks to cherry bubble gum.
Be not impatient to grow; you smell
of open grasshopper meadows
and firefly lighted lakeshore walks.
You’re a mother’s envy and pride.
Red lips! Your passion for life exists.
Scarlet, lipstick would be a surfeit -
Today as then till many summer’s been,
your spirit will always be free as the mist.
After: Portrait of Carol Nye Rhoades (Robinson) (1915)
For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting No. 2
Kim Patrice Nunez
08 January 2016
Poem of the Week: January 10-16, 2016
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016
Little wishes on great big stars.
Daughter, I make a wishes for you.
Keep on growing and keep on smiling.
And I'll keep loving all that you do.
Little dreamers wishing big things.
The world is your stage to display.
You can sing and you can dance.
Enjoy all that comes your way.
Little hopes in a great big world.
Nothing can stop your free spirit.
Make some noise, play a beat.
It's beautiful music when I hear it.
Little kisses from my now big girl,
You're growing up so fast it seems.
Pretty soon you'll leave the nest
And fly after all of your dreams.
Little girl I love you,
And I love you even more.
Because I made a wish once,
And you're what I wished for.
Written April 09, 2014
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014
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 | Year Posted 2015
I paint your beauty in my heart and mind
in swirling strokes of wind squalls and light;
the youthful lift of limbs of early spring,
with summer’s joyful red, with fall's surprise.
I paint you in wonder of winter’s white
through snow storm's chill and my loving eyes.
I paint you beyond the blue pain of the past
with the gray of fear the future hides.
Jealous of luring space and power of time,
yet, with all the hope, the joy, the ache
as seen in the strength of my trembling hand;
I’ll paint you again my child, mesmerized.
After: L'Enfant au Tablier Rouge, 1886 by Berthe Morisot
For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 8
Kim Patrice Nunez
17 January 2016
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016
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 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 | Year Posted 2013
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,
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,
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 | Year Posted 2013
and she said
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
but today I live in my daughter's happiness
All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own
All my friends I do not see,to stay with her at home
Money might get tight,but what is money
compared to pure joy of a child
What is money compared to her almond eyes
Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come
But what is success compared to first giggles
to first steps, first mouthfuls and her little grabs
Compared to gurgles and babbles
to first time she calls me mama
and hold on to my hands
What is beauty in the world compared to a pearl
This innocent child,a coloured coral petite pretty girl
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
But today I live in my daughter's happiness
I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires
roses on doorstep,unsigned love letters
with spiced cologne and enticing words
Today I live in my daughter's shadow
To watch her live her own dream
I watch her bloom in autumn gardens
from princess of hearts become queen
Tomorrow I will not be here
She might not get to see the white of my hair
the wrinkle in my smile
But,today she knows I love her
long more after petals wither
long more after a mother's hug fades
long after I shine from the sky.
Dedicated to my beloved Christina with love
Happy first birthday wrapped with barney hugs
and Winnie the pooh kisses :-$:-|B-)
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2013
Ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passions now abide
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now, alone bereft.
Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left:
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide;
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now alone, bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.
Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.
We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief,
ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
She was at her window listening to the rain
Mind just wandering, immersed in pain
She was wondering if it was true that angels cry
Each time they see a child die
They took some tests but it was too late
It was in an area they couldn't operate
She smiled at him and hid her fear
They said at most another year
How much pain can a mother endure?
To look at her son and know there is no cure
There are no words that can even start
To soothe the pain in her broken heart
The days and nights went quickly past
The time had come he would breathe his last
Her faith was put to the supreme test
The day she laid her child to rest
She is alone and prays each day
The memory will forever stay
Sometimes in her prayers she just asks why
And she wonders if the angels cry.
From the book Voices of Hope.. Thank you Crystal.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007
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
Copyright © Jimmy Anderson | Year Posted 2009
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
A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this alletrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
You came to me on angels wings
Your smile was so divine,
I looked into your big blue eyes
Not believing you were mine.
With skin so soft and hair of down
You came to me that day,
And as I held you on my breast
You stole my heart away.
Sweet child if you could ever know
The love I felt for you,
As the years flew quickly by
That love just grew and grew.
So I’ll just quietly watch you grow
Into a man my son.
I want you to know what a privilege it is
For me to be your mom.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Gautami Phookans Contest:
The Sweetest Touches of Verse
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
bourbon tweaked philosophies
of life begins
The hands that tremble as you tilt
the glass that begins another
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
lipstick coated leeches who prey on
Through these wintry days pass faces long past
into what was then
while with the coming spring ...
at last! at last!
One can remember
and want no more
what could never be:
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007
Where are you now, my baby girl
You came into my life and changed my world
I had you in secret because no one could know
To whom you belonged
Whose seed was sown
You had to be hidden away
So no one would find out
My terrible secret
The one that kills me now
I don't know where you are
I don't know where you've gone
I don't know how in this world
I will be able to press on
You have been gone so many years
You are an adult now
Unaware of your secret
Not knowing my vow
My baby girl I miss you!
Even though I have never seen your eyes
They took you straight from me
And told me it was wise
I wish I could have held you
Before they took you away
No matter what I will find you
And with me always you will stay
I have gotten so many comments to this end and I wanted to ease everyone's mind that this is not autobiographical. I wanted to sincerely thank everyone for their heartfelt concern, but there is no need. This is (for me) only a poem and has no bearing in real life. Thanks so much everyone!
Copyright © April Gabriella | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2007
Gone are the fields of winter white
soon to be replaced by hues of greens and yellows,
in the interim, fields of barren brown and dirty gold
turned, to breathe warm air from departed winter chill
Plumes of black and gray from mans machine
kneading the back of Mother Earths desire,
before impregnating her with the many seeds
that will produce offspring to quench mans many needs
oh, how lonesome she looks, so alone
holding yet to some remnants of children past,
left only to cradle her dead, left by man
yearning to suckle new life, as only a Mother can
Above, from the heavens, Father prepares
to germinate those so many seeds,
with life sustaining necessities only he is allowed
sunlight and life giving rain, loosened from the clouds
within days Mother is impregnated
she can feel the multitudes of organic life,
moving within her womb, yearning,growing, needing
the escape, to be warmed and nourished by the Sun
Minutes turn to hours, hours to days
suddenly weeks pass,and yet another life,
giving rain, descends from guilded clouds
arms and fingers, of her children, open, sustained
nearing the end of a warm and wonderful summer
it is time for Fathers other children,
to reap what he has sewn
time for Mother Earth to let her children go
My, how they have grown, tall,lush and full
of the fruit they were meant to bear,
to provide nourishment for the masses of seeds
grown to maturity, in need from the father
Again, the gray black plumes of mans machine
come to life, they move through her fields,
her children, like a predator among prey
until, she is left again, with remnants of children past
Soon she will be blanketed again in winter white
gone will be the warm breath of life,
her children taken from her, she is again barren
only to be betrothed to a promise of new life.
I wrote this on a day trip to Illinois from Iowa across wide open farm land.
Copyright © Richard Pickett | Year Posted 2010
I’m turning into mother
Eyebrows, nose, and lips.
Bosoms hanging, almost, to
my child bearing hips.
She’s grumpy and forgetful
And I’m growing much the same.
Tables now are turning
In the parent child game.
It’s me that does the cleaning,
Feeds and dresses too
Who always asks before we go
‘have you been to the loo’?
Her childlike ways increasing
throwing tantrums, snubbing food,
and me left to be patient
understanding, kind, and good
I’m turning into mother.
But the future I can see.
‘cos they tell me life’s a circle,
and soon, that child will be me.
Copyright © Kaye Locke | Year Posted 2012
~Harridan in a Housecoat~
Four small children sent for care as their mother was taken so ill
No father could they reach for them so they were sent off at someone’s will
In the night taken from their beds, no word spoken, hearts full of dread
Taken to a town far away and not knowing what lay ahead.
A huge housecoat descended down like a crow devouring road kill
At the side stood a henchman, pointed nose, dark hair, and vengeful
Warning words left in theirs ears "be good or else there will be trouble"
“No one wants you now you know, not your parents” she burst that bubble.
The housecoat and the henchman dealt out their ghastly deeds
To three of the children she vented her spleen, her willing helper dealt her needs
The fourth child the baby, she showered with kisses and good food to eat
She bought her clothes and dressed her well, and spoke to her words so sweet.
The three all under the age of six did dread each and every night
When scrubbed with scrubbing brushes, their skin looking red raw and tight.
She had to get the scum off them because they were now in care
It was obvious that no one loved them, that’s why they were there.
Frightened and timid were the three, but the youngest was well looked after
Jealousy did form in the minds of the three - it robbed them of their laughter
The harridan in the housecoat with her willing henchman
Thought up little tortures finding the Achilles’ heels in each child one by one.
The housecoat and the henchman were in for big surprise
When the father sent for the children, she couldn’t believe her eyes
Bribery she tried on the siblings so the children would never tell
But there is not one that would condemn her to her well preached hell.
The housecoat and the henchman a mother and daughter no less
A good churchgoing family with their holy pictures to bless
Evil in their deeds of torture and of mental games
The harridan in the housecoat and the daughter with no name.
© ~GG~ 6/08/2012
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
Lying on my back,
the warm sun blanketing,
I watched the cloud stacks drift,
breezily blown across the bluest skies,
imagining, dreaming . . .
Dangling from my lips,
sweet honeysuckle straws dripped nectar candy,
delicious extract for flavoring dreams,
visions of the joys to come
when I was older grown,
reveries of life and love
and children of my own.
Beneath the apple tree,
in spring pink blossom carpeted,
I laid out the charming rooms
that framed a happy home.
The hollyhocks lent their blooms
for babies hankie-swaddled
and clothed in petal gowns of white and pink.
My flower-children, plump and fragrant skinned,
rocked in cradles strung between the branches,
were lulled to sleep with tender lullabies.
The happy days of childhood passed,
and I was suddenly grown
with tiny babies of my own,
sweeter far than any flower known.
The kisses that I gave to them
were answered, returned to me,
from lips like rose buds formed
perfumed with baby breaths, fragrant and warm.
The childhood dream that I held dear
I treasured year after year
until I found it realized,
reflected in my babies' eyes.
August 16, 2015
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015
A heart that cries more than me
in my pain.
Whose congenial and benign teachings
make me sane.
A warm touch that dispels from me
the gales of worry.
Whose proximity ensures me that I'm
protected by her under furry.
A helping hand that always hold me
whenever I'm about to lose.
& my first teacher who makes me to
distinguish between donts' and dos'.
A voice and nothing more, an Angel
who is entirely mine just after my birth.
And she is none other but 'My Mother',
The God on Earth.
Although to define her in words is
beyond my skill.
Nevertheless I can say that her pace in
my life, none can fill.
She is the one who needs not a single
word of me to understand.
In my devastation, she is always there
to provide effusively her hand.
In the weariness of my life, with her,
I may lose to be in link.
But she ever remembers me whenever I
breathe or my eyes blink.
I can say that in search of heaven,
I needn't to go anywhere.
I would like to put my head in my
mother's lap, as its only there..
Copyright © Hina Saxena | Year Posted 2014
From somewhere in the pitch of night,
comes a remnant from my childhood.
The door lets in a crack of light,
and there, outlined, where mother stood
is a silhouette, against the wood.
And, as if a star had gone astray
she would touch my hair and kiss my brow,
and brush my worries far away,
while letting me allow,
my eyes to close for sleep, somehow
And as the years have come and gone
I've often wished for just one night,
from where she is, her light was thrown...
And that somehow in the dead of night,
the door allowed the shaft of light
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
FACE OF A BEGGAR CHILD
I saw your tear-stained face O’ child
It swam before my eyes at night
I clearly saw your life’s struggle,
Your painful hunger pangs and fright.
In my dreams I could clearly see
Your shredded clothes and unkempt hair.
At such a tender age O’ child,
On your face it was all written there.
No one to care for you my child
No one to call your very own.
No mother nor father to call you son,
No siblings to call you come hither bro’.
I wondered how you came to be
In such a distressed way of life
Each day you have to beg for alms
And face the world’s rage and strife.
Were you the victim of natural disaster,
Like quake or floods epidemic or plague.
Or was it due to human vices
Like war or bloody bath of death.
Were you lost in busy hustle of life,
Was it all due to human greed.
Were you the fruit of sin and tossed,
Amidst dirty dustbin where dogs came to feed.
Your tear-stained face swims before my eyes,
And asks me how it came to be.
That God created all humans alike,
But gave them different destiny.
Oh God, this your humble servant,
Asks you just one small question.
If there are so many tear-stained faces present,
Why Mother Teressa was only one.
Copyright © Kulsum Mehmood | Year Posted 2011
As death creeps out of the darkness,
A mother becomes the rope in a (Tug of war.)
A child reaches to help its’ mother in her weakness,
And stares death in the eye with abhor.
The rope falls limp in sure defeat,
Yet the child pulls on the strength of heart.
Against the evilness and deceit,
Fighting with the will to not be apart.
The hooks of death on weary knees,
Shackling the arms, exposing vulnerability.
Screaming and crying the words of “please”
The mother rests with peace and tranquility.
A child left to battle life’s groans,
Preparing for the encounter and all its’ lour.
For one day she will meet Mr. Bones,
And she’ll be the rope in her child’s (Tug of war.)
Inspired by Brian’s Picture Poem’s Contest
Käthe Kollwitz, Death and the Woman (Tod und Frau), lithograph, 1910.
Copyright © Abe Lopez | Year Posted 2009
My body is a graveyard.
I buried you inside this defective womb.
I am less than a woman.
My flesh a fertile tomb.
I will never hold you.
My baby is crying.
My baby is crying and no one can hear their haunting wail but me.
Night after night.
Momma loves you.
Inviting this emotional decay,
I am damaged.
My heart is in the ground with you, dear one.
This body betrayed me.
The space between these hips,
Now an empty cradle.
That gentle heartbeat,
I am always with you.
My soul gently rocks you,
As you sleep.
When the fragile heart stops beating,
Are you still called mother?
Copyright © Nadia Steel | Year Posted 2015
You, my baby girl and your mother am I
You nurse from my body until I am dry
Sometimes late at night I get you out of bed
We sit and rock for hours as I rub your sweet head
You, my little girl and your mother am I
Come let me hold you as we say goodbye
Though I must leave for a very short while
You can bet I'll return with open arms and a smile
Be strong little one, I must strengthen your wings
So you can handle the wind among other things
You, my daughter and your mother am I
Lay your head in my lap as I explain why
Girls can be wicked as they strive to be cool
You know of your beauty. Mama didn't raise a fool
Now listen to my wisdom and take my advice
The best way to get them back is to simply be nice
I don't expect you to understand. I just beg for your trust
Do as I say. Be respectful, kind and just
You, my daughter and your mother am I
Lean your head on my shoulders as I dry your eyes
You believe your heart to be broken, no chance of repair
Listen as I tell you, I myself have been there
It's just a little hiccup in this thing we call life
You will fall in love again and make a beautiful wife
You are an improved version of who I used to be
I pray I have taught you well as I set you free
Sit with me a while and let me soak in your sweet smell
You will go out in this world and I know you'll do well
You, my daughter and your mother am I
That is who I am and who I will be until the day I die
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2015
It was eleventh day of December,
When heaven sent me a gift.
A precious gem I can treasure,
Until the last breath I take.
Ten years ago I reckon,
A stranger love stole my dream.
A vernal life I still fulfill,
was now written in Petals of Dream.
With no regrets and time to blame,
I embraced the future about to bring.
Tha hardest task that one should take,
a motherhood I've never been prepared..--
Until one morning I felt excruciating pain,
after long three trimesters that we're together,
It's like one whole day of dancing in the fire,
I had my newfound happiness sent by angels.--
Everyone can receive a luxury gifts,
a brilliant jewelries,a roundtrip cruise in earth.
But this gift I have received has a value nothing can replace,
My first ever daughter,Nina Ahyaessa Charlotte was her name.
***HAPPY 10TH birthday to my 1st daughter,Ahye****
Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2013
Pull your blanket up my child
I know you are so very tired
Let momma tuck you in to dream
Of running free in meadows green
Copyright © Patricia L Graham | Year Posted 2014
HER LITTLE HANDS, YOUR PERFECT FIT.
She loved the fit
Yours were big, calloused and hard
Working hands you called em
Hers’ were soft, small
Angel hands you liked to tease her
Yet you held her ooh so tenderly
And you never smashed her up
Her little hands dirty with mud
You held them under the rushing water
She tried to catch the rainbow bubbles
As you scrubbed them clean...her little hands.
She watched you clean
And begged to help
You smiled and held her little hands
‘’they are so small this hands
Wait till they grow,’’ you said
But still you helped her think she helped.
She watched your hands till the land
And guide her little growing hands,
You smiled and said “my angel is growing.”
She watched them grow gain strength
She watched them learn all you could teach them
Well now she laughs and says,” sit and rest put your feet up
My little hands will help you now.”
Her little hands your perfect fit.
Copyright © MARION MWANGI | Year Posted 2015