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Mother Husband Poems | Mother Poems About Husband

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Details | Rhyme | |

Suicide Mind

What makes the decision
To flick the switch
To end ones life
For the sake of it
Troubled, debts
Bullied at school
Fork in the road
To let death rule
Mums, dads
Daughters and sons
What ever affects them 
They just can't outrun
Sadness and tears
By all left behind
Will they ever understand
Suicide Mind

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain | |

Ode to a rose on a sunset

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as the clouds dip into the sea.
A kiss from that rose as the waves fall,
over the beach to a rose kissed me.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
as we wrap in lovers embrace.
A kiss from a rose as homeward we go,
to a bed clothed in satin and lace.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
with passion and warmth do we grasp.
A kiss from that rose that blossoms and blooms,
my hand in her labour pain clasp.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
that wanton and curvy young bride.
A kiss from that rose that huddles our babe,
so loving, in motherly pride.

A kiss from a rose on a sunset night,
without whom I'd not share my life.
A kiss from that rose who selflessly filled,
the place of my darling rose wife!

(c) anaisanais - A M Docherty - Wales, United Kingdom. (7/8/2013)

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Since First I Saw You

Since first I saw you, it was your eyes,
mesmerizing, your gaze transporting
me to a realm, not of fantasy, real,
where young men go when cupid’s
arrow takes root.

Since first I saw you, it was your lips,
captivating, holding me frozen 
in anticipation of our lips brushing
for the first time.

Since first I saw you, it was your voice,
a crescendo, light, invigorating, 
each word you speak intensifies 
my hearing, enveloping each
note, time ceases as I hang motionless
savoring, memorizing.

Since first I saw you, it was your hair,
long, flowing, gently rising above
your shoulders as a slight breeze
passes through sending waves
of your essence my way. 
The sun magnifying each strand, 
highlighting the minute
variances of invigorating color, 
creating a halo effect, a portrait of
your beauty forever imprinted.

Since first I saw you, It was you,
my love forever more for you,
only you.

Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010

Details | Couplet | |

Marble in Columns on Green

On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute

For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes

A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken

So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife

On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys

For the living, life goes on 
Tomorrow is another day

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

Details | Fibonacci | |

Betrayal Of The Soul

Rocks baby
Singing  happy song
Love in its purity bonding
Daddy slips into the arms of another woman

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme | |

How Can We Hurt The Ones We Love

How Can We Hurt The Ones We Love?

How can we hurt the very ones that we love?
How can we easily neglect our God above?

It seems like I often heard about many victims
Many times, it’s from a loved one who’s been with them!

The hate and the anger that boils from deep within.
Often “boils over” toward our family and friends.

It’s the love of Christ that we need to find!
His love can totally cleanse our life and mind!

The hearts of many families are bruised and broken.
By the harshness of many of the words spoken.

If we would allow Jesus to rule and reign.
We’d have little reason to murmur or complain.

If we would yield our lives to the master’s will…
The emptiness and brokenness, he shall fulfill!

If we could allow ourselves to sit at Jesus’ feet…
He can make any family totally complete!

If we could just listen to what Christ has to say.
His words of life would brighten our day!

As a family…  Won’t you give HIM a chance?
And allow his love to change your circumstance!

Won’t you allow his spirit to bind you together?
You can experience his peace today and forever!

He can change your family throughout!
This is his will and what God is all about!

By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

" The Life Of Me " page 1 of 2

My name is James, born 1961
In Inverness, a small Scots town
To my father Andrew, and my mother Beryl
And Billy my brother, a pair of devils
In 67, we woke one night
Our house was ablaze, full of orange light
Our neighbour next door, for whatever reason
Started a fire, it must be crazy season
We had too move to a caravan park
By this time it,s three, to make a new start
My mother Beryl decide to leave
But the three of us left, never bothered to grieve
In the next few weeks, we ended in court
Two small children, in a marriage abort
We were asked to choose either Dad or Mum
But we ignored the parent, who went on the run
As we left the court, to start a new life
We felt sorry for Dad, as his illness was rife
He never told us that he was unwell
It would upset one of his boys, as the future will tell
Then came the night all parents dread;
Being told one of his boys is nearly dead
We were going to a boys club, on a Monday night
My brother was running so far out of sight
I turned the corner to see him ahead
No!! he's been hit by a van, Boom's  Boom's dead
I ran to my father, sreaming and crying
I'm finding my life,at 7 - far too trying
After the funeral, and with my father unwell
We left Inverness, our eyes a swell
To go as two, and not three as before
It's like Mother Nature closed a door
So we headed west, to a place called Fort William
Was it in the stars, cause Billy " is " William
We moved there, as the air was so pure
Hoping my father will find his cure
For whatever reason, we left the above
We found no Angel or peaceful dove
So we headed back to Inverness
Fathers health decreasing, life still a stress
Over the next few years, i was fostered and loaned
In couples houses and children's homes
It was really strange in all those places
Different people, different faces

Then on the 16th of Feb - 76,
James, i was told, your dads very sick.
The cancer had taken your father away
To be with Billy, where you'll join them one day

In 77, i joined the Navy, as i promised my dad you see. 
I did'nt enjoy it, i decided to leave 
Back up north, where my futures to be 
I wanted to have, what my parents had lost 
And that was my aim, no matter the cost

see page 2 of 2, ty..

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme | |

the sin in suffering

If I could take away the pain
and make a story change track,
If it could stem the flow of tide
to chase the darkness back


To see the devastating agony 
that tears apart your soul, 
here, I'll keen beside your body 
wishing It could make you whole 

Nobody deserves these losses 
that heaped upon your door, 
I know if I looked sometimes, 
I'd discover you curling the floor

My dearest sweetest friend 
I can feel your pain from here, 
know if I had white wings 
you'd always have me near 

My heart is filling with tears 
the ones you've shed today, 
I'll hold them close forever 
until my last dying day

Your love, it held them dear 
it shone with exhaustion's eyes, 
you've done an impossible feat
its written there in the sky

Their love will keep you strong 
when the pain, eats at your core, 
and just when you think it's better 
grief will overcome you once more 

And when the darkest days 
start to hit you with a thud, 
don't worry my dear friend 
I'll be there, we're best buds 

So now, silence will be in our ways
until life's hands draw you back in, 
Yes, I'll sit with you and suffer 
even when the ices turns thin. 


And if the Gods made me chose
I'd say, Grief is the hardest pain, 
other than a comforting shoulder
nothing will ever seem the same.  

My best friend lost her husband last Christmas, the day before yesterday she lost her mum, 
This is just my way of letting her know she will never be alone. The suffering is nearly unbearable. 

For Carolyn from Jayne love you infinitly. 


Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Just as the Sea

The beauty of love
Is a lot like the Sea
With all of it’s power
Beautiful and free
Just as the Sea
Is bound by currents
Souls are bound
By loves torrent
Just as the Sea 
Reflects the light
Love truly is
A beacon of right
Just as the Sea
Is a provider of life
Love makes a mother
As well as a wife
Just as the Sea
Is bound to the wind
Love forever binds
Two dear friends
Just as the Sea
Needs be respected
True love is a thing
That must be protected
As the waves create
The rings of time
Forever yours
Forever mine

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007

Details | Dramatic Verse | |


the children are crying
again there's trouble in the house
their mother's in the corner all bloodied
and cowering like a mouse
the father, the husband
who calls himself the king
seems to only dispense verbal abuse
and violent beatings
the police have been called 
but she won't have him arrested
she thinks her faith, beliefs 
and vows are being tested
her friends can't understand why 
she won't just get away
her family is praying that
he won't kill her some day
domestic abuse seems to be on the up-rise
yet society always seems to be shocked and surprised
you'll hear people say, "they seem like a very nice couple"
but behind those closed doors there's nothing but violent struggles
the children are always looking neat on their way to school
they seem very shy and the mother acts somewhat cool
but inside that house no one really has a clue
of the level of domestic violence and abuse

Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2007

Details | Verse | |

I'm Going Home


Lord thank you for this life,
As I have lived a full life,
It was not always as I would have like,
But I lived it to the best of what I could,
I’m going home; Home to the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
I have been a long weary believer, 
As I’ve been away to long,
I now know what I’ve been searching for, 
As He's been there in me all along,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
I have been and seen lots of places in life’s journey,
Now I yearn for familiar faces in familiar places,
I hear familiar voices calling me to come home, 
I see familiar faces looking at me,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
My time is near, the hour I know not,
I see Jesus' face across the Heaven’s,
I hear His soft sweet voice calling me home,
 I can’t wait for my real life to begin,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me.

By; Rev. Samuel and Esta Mack, OMS
Copyright 2011


Copyright © Rev. Dr. Samuel Mack | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

Thank you

Thank you – Zamreen Zarook

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your My Dear Friend

We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"

Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013

Details | List | |

10 Things to Eat Instead of Red Meat

Is your go-to lunch roast beef sandwich?
Tomorrow you might want turkey instead
Here is why
In gen. red meat- such as roast beef

Not as healthy as other kinds of protein
Tends to have more cholesterol
Often has more saturated fat
Both things are bad for your heart

Eating too much red meat
May linked to colon cancer
This does not mean
You should never eat beef or other red meats

Just go easy on them
Tasty Swaps

Fish or chicken
With hamburgers
Try Veggie burgers

With Stir-fry
Try Fried tofu
With lasagna
Try Eggplant slices

With salad
Try tuna or broiled egg
With Breakfast
Try turkey or soy links

With Casserole
Try lentils and rice
With Chili
Try beans (canned or dried)

With Dinner entrée
Try Roast turkey (baked or broiled)
With sandwiches and wraps
Try grilled chicken or hummus


Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2013

Details | Burlesque | |

Redneck FATHER'S DAY------


"Storm over yet...?"

"Well hay'ell ye'ah! 
 sum'body git me a da'gumm cole beer.
 whadda'bou  that boy th'er?
 sum'body git him'a cole beer too!"

"Diddy! that boy ain't nothin' but 8 years old!"

"Wha'choo sayin? 
 na'I don't give a jolly'durn, if he ain't nuttin but 8 year'owed!
 'dat boy dun' sat him thr'ew a big ol', storm! 
 torna'durr warnin' too!
 he gonna have him'a cole burr;  
 on me!"
 my treat!
 mama, git him'a cole burr! 
 ro'tt now; 
 ta'days father's day!" 

© 2011  ~JSLambert Esquire


Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

The Happy Dress

It’s a mother-in-law’s right, her prerogative 
To ‘drop in’ on her son almost any time,
But a mother-in-law should always be prepared
For almost anything she may find.

So, Mother Cready dropped in unannounced;
But as she approached her son’s front door,
Suddenly it opened.  “Ta Da!  Do you like my happy dress?”
His young wife stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.

“Oh, my word!” Mother Cready exclaimed with surprise.
“Why are you naked?  Are you insane?”
Just as surprised, the young wife pulled her inside.
“Please, Mother Cready…if you’ll just let me explain.

You see, when Mac has had a rough day,
When he’s been under a lot of stress,
Sometimes I meet him at the door
With a smile and a kiss in my happy dress.

It always relaxes him and makes him happy,
Then he makes me very happy too.
It works for Mac and me, Mother Cready;
Maybe it would work for you.”

“We’re too old for such.” scoffed Mother Cready.
“Perhaps if we were young like the two of you.”
But, on her way home, she decided
She was definitely going to try it too.

So, she bathed and put on some nice perfume,
Fixed her make-up and her hair.
She was thinking some very sexy thoughts,
But she had to hurry…no time to spare.

She heard her husband’s car in the driveway;
And as he approached their front door,
She threw it open.  “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?"
She stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.

She saw a little grimace cross his face,
But that was not the worst.
Then he said, “I appreciate your happy dress, my dear;
But maybe you should have ironed it first.”


“Well…your ‘happy dress’ could use some ironing;
But my birthday suit could use some starch.”
He kissed her. “Bet you and I can work it out.”;
And off to bed they marched.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry | |


I was just trying to remember the past
 trying to remember the good people
 and the bad people,
 that i came across on my way,

i want you to know
that you are among the good people
 that left a good trace in my life,

once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.

Copyright © VICTOR BUN | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? | |

Values Examined At Divorce

Mother of Pearl.
Sand slipped inside a shell.
Seagull's morning feast.

There once was a father who wanted time and space
There once was a woman who ran a race.
The children were grown.
Their pockets were blown.
So one retired and the other became an ace.

There's two sides to every story, personal answers within.
Judgment of each awaits God, or those who haven't ever sinned.

Poem for Divorce Club Contest by Destroyer Due 12/3/2010

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme | |

Did The Lord Build Your House

Did The Lord Build Your House? This house of ours is “plain.” But is still standing. We’re “simple folks...” By many people’s understanding… We may not have much of what is “socially appealing”… But we have love in our hearts. And this is a good feeling! We may not be “wrapped up” in much of this world’s entertainment. But we seek God’s peace and a desire for contentment. We, as a family, have one purpose and “calling” in mind. To seek God’s ways of being merciful and kind… Each day we pray with much thankfulness in our hearts… For this is where happiness and gratitude starts! We’re thankful to the Lord for his unfailing grace… And for keeping us together in this special place… We’re blessed to have a God who is truly worth finding. His word in our lives is precious and worth memorizing! “Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain that build it!” God must rule and reign… So his love can completely fill it! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2011

Details | Bio | |

Jessica McCord: Selfish Assassin

It was February 2002 (WWF Raw, WWF SmackDown!, and WWF No Way Out), that Jessica McCord and her then-husband, Jeff, killed Alan Bates and his new wife, Terra. Before their deaths, Alan "A.B." was in a custody battle against his ex-wife to have determined who'll have gotten full custody of their two daughters (born in 1990 and '92). The custody hearing might have taken place in November 2001 (WWF Raw, WWF SmackDown!, WWF Rebellion, and WWF Survivor Series), but not until December 2001 (WWF Raw, WWF SmackDown!, and WWF Vengeance), when the lady had spent that time in jail for skipping custody hearings more than twice. It seems that Jessica had disapproved of both of her daughters having the late Terra for their step-mother. the only two things that describes Jessica McCord are selfish and a coward. She selfishly pulled both of her daughters out of their respective schools, she hid them away so that her late ex-husband couldn't gain full access to them, and/or whatever. So, the fact that Jessica McCord had used her own daughters as a pair of pawns as if she's been playing a game of chess had made the late Mr. Bates, the attorneys, and Birmingham Police officers of Birmingham, Alabama, very sick. The lady, Jessica, was afraid that the judge would grant Alan and his new wife, Terra, full custody of the girls, so she and Jeff killed them; thereby dumping both of their bodies in a burned-down car outside Atlanta, Georgia (aka Hotlanta, aka Dirty South, and aka ATL). Jessica McCord may have tried to label her late ex-husband as a bad guy, but no one bought it, not even her in-laws, the prosecutors, and the judge. She knew that she and her husband were going to get caught; they knew it. And where is Jessica McCord as of February 2003 (WWE Raw, WWE SmackDown!, and WWE No Way Out/World Wrestling Entertainment's first 'No Way Out' pay-per-view event, ever)? She's in prison, along with her then-loser husband, Jeff McCord, serving a life sentence in prison with no possibility of parole. Ms. McCord should've gotten the death penalty, but that's the way the law works. And as far as the Bates family, the entire community of Birmingham, and the two daughters are concerned, prison is exactly where they belong. Well, it looks like the ghosts of Alan and Terra Bates will be haunting the two-then McCords for life. Let's hope that the Bates sisters don't suffer the same fate their father and step-mother did. And if I see the Bates sisters in person, there's just no telling.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Rose Wine

Your strong hand 
beneath my head
my Love in your Blood
turned from friendship
did spread
into More
the first time you
took my Hand
and traveled every
line, of my Flesh land
the way you reflect your soul
Into my Eyes, 
makes me forget my small stature
shape, size
in this world
I wish to carry your 
future child
be it boy or girl
be them strong of spirit
Smarts of street and class
leaders of Eminence
Sweet mixed with Sass
I see this future
as I fall head first, spilling
into your secure embrace
like a single bottle of Rose Wine
Down to the last Taste

Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry | |

Missing You

Missing you is like feelings of thee morning dew. The very first time I glanced at you, something like a widow a woman that husband has died. Wishing we had just a little more time. Wishful thinking believing everything you ever said was true shows how bad I want to be with you. Reminiscing over here dwelling on the past, indicating a desire of admiration I grasp. Adoration and appreciation is what I feel for you, longing suffering missing and enduring the lost just to speak to you. From morning till midnight, sunset to sunrise moving into the afternoon time I’m missing you. Arousing emotional response in motion missing you is my religion. My system of belief, therefor you’re an apostle sent by Christ making me a flock of one in your missionary. Leaving me with anxiety and tension I stay missing. Impatient for your fulfillment, missing you is an addiction and psychological dependence. Needing to see you even for a minute, in a recession I remain unchanged retain missing you.

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2012

Details | Limerick | |

She really did get this call

I wish I could be a fly on the wall,
When my poor old mother gets the phone call,

        “He’s here at the bar
        Quick bring us your car,

Your husband just got in a brawl”

Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

A Box of Hope and Dreams

I keep my dreams and aspirations,
stored away neatly in this box.
Tied off with a pretty pink ribbon,
secured tightly with key and lock.

And every time I feel like a failure,
I open it, so I can again feel alive.
Arms of dreams tightly surround me,
giving me strength I need to survive.

I’ve hidden this box in a secret place,
where I’m the only who can see.
A beautiful box of hopes and dreams,
finely sewn with love at the seams.

This box is opened quite frequently,
especially when we’re apart –
this rhetorical box of memories,
in perfect synch with each beat of my heart

Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2012

Details | Verse | |

The Wound That Never Heals

Science can’t save you, neither can religion,
at least Popper and Niebuhr, philosophers and poets,
are entertainers, which is why actors and athletes
are paid so much. Thanks for the summaries.
I was teaching Shakespeare’s 92nd ridiculous sonnet
to my student who lays blacktop in the off season
Shakespeare bellyaching about dying without her love
a feeling foreign to a modern adolescent sensibility
although many teens are pretty far gone searching
for their mothers or fathers in their dazed lovers’ eyes.
Which is why we call it “the wound that never heals.”
Or the lesion that’s always lengthening. And bleeding.

Muslim fundamentalists and their Christian counterparts
are a mystery to me. Pews and prayer rugs, the airless
indoor environment of religious worship, reading
scriptures, hypnotized by hymns and fainting from staring
at candles through stained glass windows, almost certain
the preacher is faking his certainty about the afterlife.
It’s not my problem. A more immediate concern:
receding gums and tooth extractions, swollen joints,
poor lubrication and circulation, wave after wave
of viral infection, the occasional antibiotic-resistant
bacterial attack, usually urinary, and who knows
what internal organs are dividing and conquering
without mercy or cease, i.e. the wound that never heals.

It is wise not to overvalue your continued existence,
good not to be innumerate, unable to compare
a mere 80 years with say 6.0 x 109 or all of time
(to date) times the multiverse. Conversely,
it is interesting all of space and most of history is contained
in your little mind (realizing of course it’s just a map
of the cosmos not the cosmos itself, or is it?). I’m
unable to wrestle free, tongue in that cavity
and locked in my memories, so separate and disparate
from the biomass in the crosswalks, even my spouse.
Alone, so alone, even your doctor can only devote
limited thought to your situational mortality through
the redress of poetry—also a wound that never heals.

Snow for eternity, that’s what this February’s been.
All to the good, for someone it’s the final February
so enjoy it to the extent you can. By that I mean joy.
Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy. All times. Anyway.
That was Shakespeare’s message: even tragedies are comedies. 
May, a Buddhist, chants each morning.
Her husband, Marc, who’s Jewish, plays league tennis.
Their son, Aaron, will soon make Eagle scout.
How does it relate to your wound that never heals?
Luck runs out. For D.H. Lawrence in New Mexico
or Ulysses S. Grant in Ohio or Yasujiro Ozu in
Tokyo or Satyajit Ray in Bombay or Rabindranath
Tagore in Bangalore or at the Battle of the Atlantic in the Azores.

The night is a poultice, winter or summer solstice.
My anonymity will not effect the anomie ghettoside
seeing for myself how season by season
vacations and accomplishments accumulate, late in life
and early on, sunrise over mountains or moonrise over Bronx.
Masturbator, prisoner of war. Hospice of the Holy Roman Empire.
Numerous blue notes: the 3 flat, 7 flat, 5 flat,
the 6 flat and the 2 flat too. I don’t get
what Wallace Stevens means by imagination.
When groundhog shows up as a totem, there is opportunity
to explore the mystery of death without dying.
This then is the purpose of purposelessness (and of eating less)!
Now what about that wound that never heals.

The Skeptical Observer column in Scientific American
was somewhat alarming when he accepted a paranormal
explanation for how his wife’s grandfather’s inoperable
transistor radio played music from its hiding spot
in his sock drawer on, and only on, their wedding day.
Now I’ll have to believe my father (or mother!) is watching me
perform private sexual acts with (or without) partners
or that they could even know my thoughts. Or aliens
are attending our committee meetings and making
perfectly reasonable decisions given the available information
and the world is rotating just fine without humans.
These possibilities–angels, ghosts, aliens–are better
than holocaust and genocide. In this way,
and only in this way, does doom become endurable.
The wound that never heals in the end is all you’ll feel.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |

The Women

The Women

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

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

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

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

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

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

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

You stood firm, you stood tall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I salute you!

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

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

No Job Can't Pay the Bills TRY JESUS

Here I sit, uncertain of what lies ahead.
I’m still wondering how my family will be fed.

I once had a job that provided a sense of “security.”
Now I don’t…  And I have a lot of uncertainty!

I have unpaid bills, and I’m not sure what to do.
I’ve asked for help.  But not sure who to turn to!

I get discouraged, and feel life “pulling me down.”
I’ve tried just about every job that’s in town.

The dreams I had, have been shattered and smashed.
At times, I feel like I’m just “a piece of trash.”

My wife tried to support me, the best that she can.
But she doesn’t know me…  Or even understands!

Dear Jesus…  You’re the only left that I haven’t tried.
There’s been many nights I laid awake and cried!

I read in the Bible, where your love for me is real!
When I call on your name...  There’s a love I can feel!

Whatever happens, please help me Lord, to trust you!
Whatever tomorrow holds, may I still love you!

I know that you’re a foundation, that I can stand on!
Jesus is a friend!  That I can always depend on!

Jesus, if I lose everything that I have or that I hold on to...
My I always remember your faithfulness
 and never forget you!

Here I stand… With my burdens lifted from me!
It’s because of Jesus!  And how much he loves me!

I praise HIS name!  And lift my hands to the sky!
He’s in control now!  I don’t have to ask the reason why!

Jesus…  Please take control of my worries and desires!
Above all of my problems, I lift your name up higher!

By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

I had sex with my mother-in-law

(This is a fictional poem)

When she turned on the lights, I screamed and screamed.
I pinched myself because I was hoping it was all just a dream.
It was the most horrible thing I ever saw.
I had sex with my mother-in-law.
She was in the bed that my wife and I slept in.
Now I'm so turned off by sex that I may never get horny again.
While touching her breasts, I thought it was odd because they were wrinkled and 
seemed to sag.
I nearly died of heart failure when I saw who I shagged.
I can't get the vision of that gray hair, wrinkled skin and false teeth out of my mind.
But what bothers me the most is that I squeezed that prune shaped behind.
My wife started insisting that the three of us have a menage a trois.
I said not with my mother-in-law.
My wife said she'd leave me if I didn't stop saying no.
I pointed toward the door and I said go.

Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme | |

America Is Being DESTROYED From Within


As sin and perversion often become integrated… So many lives and families are being “disintegrated.” Many are being driven by sin’s temptation force… It’s no wonder much of this country is way “off course.” The morality and values that once made a great nation. Are evaporating…. Leading to a “spiritual separation.” Love, honor, and respect of God… Is often a “thing of the past.” Anything of God seems to be disappearing FAST! God is our only hope! And him alone! Only he can bring healing to our broken homes! He’s the answer to this wounded nation, that bleeds! It’s only God that can meet all of our needs! He’s our provider… The great: “I am!” Won’t you reach out to him? And give him your hand? Why not give him a chance? And allow him in? A brand new life for you… Is waiting to begin! May we allow God’s holiness and love to reach down into our hearts… Asking; “Lord please forgive our sins!” Is a good place to start! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013