Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places



Loss Mother Poems | Mother Poems About Loss

These Loss Mother poems are examples of Mother poems about Loss. These are the best examples of Loss Mother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

12345
Details | Rhyme |

Belongings

Shadowed in the silent room, the day is almost done
Dusk climbs in through the window glass, with one last ray of sun
I start the task, climb on a chair, reach up to shelves so high
to mother's boxes neatly stacked, as the dust gets in my eyes

I take one down, to look inside and sit upon a chair
I find some musty linens, laces needing some repair
I also find old photographs, the year was '42
Her face was smooth as porcelian, with life still young and new

Old documents and letters, a history unveiled
Her letters, torn and yellowed, such stories they would tell
The next box held some china, so lovingly embellished
And then I found a book of verse, inscribed with poems she relished

Some dresses stained and wrinkled, their fabric thin and tattered
Were once a thing of beauty, as if they really mattered
Her jewelry, gold and silver, some lovely rings and brooches
A warm sensation circles me, her presence now approaches

I sense a change come over me, and fleeting leave of gloom
The darkness of the evening lifts, as sunlight fills the room
She wraps her warmth around me, her fragrance in the air
The grief I've held is free to go, I know that she is there

Among these things, I find the last, the smallest box of all
Inside it are the baby clothes, I wore when I was small
A letter there to tell me that she knows the tears I've cried
Her words of love that never died, they fill me up inside

These treasures speak her words to me, and now that I am grown
She wants to tell her story, those parts I've never known
I've heard her voice, while sitting here, among her china flowers
I"ve found such peace, she's next to me, to spend these quiet hours


____________________________________________________________


Details | Pantoum |

Wayward Child

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.




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


Details | Rhyme |

They'd

They’d …

They’d cuffed me when in error
They’d hold me when I’d be ill
They’d calm me when in terror
They’d wave to make me still …

They’d smooth my hair back on my head
Before the camera’s eye
They’d touch me when I went to bed
They’d sooth me when I’d cry

They’d wash a million dishes
They’d fold a ton of clothes
They’d help me with my wishes
They’d warm my freezing nose

They’d point at things for me to do
They’d help me with my plans
And that is why I miss so much
My Loving Mothers' … hands.


Details | Quatrain |

The Whispered Song

The warrior lays her weary head, 
With heavy heart she cannot bear, 
Burning tears stream down her face, 
As whispered memories touch the ear.

Her armour tarnished by remorse, 
Her battle-cry a wimpered row, 
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude, 
Will never know forgiveness now.

The song began two score ago, 
When two came knocking at her door, 
In need of refuge from the world, 
Of that, and love, and little more.

Forced to fight for every smile, 
Her only solace found in song, 
She longed for love to rescue her, 
And plant her where she could belong.

Jealous tongues are seldom kind, 
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love, 
The caged canary only sings, 
When coaxed to praise from up above.

For the steely spine that now I own, 
Forever shall I grateful be, 
A gift from her, and from her own. 
Courage mounted inwardly.

I'll not forget how I have loved thee, 
And youthful memories I will prize, 
Til on the shore of His forgiveness, 
Whereto now, we both shall rise.



Details | Rhyme |

Lost

Horrid, horrid thought;
Tiny Mother reaching forth,
Reaching always to enfold,
And in enfolding just to hold.

Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and deed.
What to do? What to do?
I am me, and I am you?

Looking for a glint of power.
Searching, searching, hour by hour;
Love…caring…heedless heart;
No Mother were you from the start.

Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and deed.
What to do? What to do?
I am me and I am you?

Broken waif, soul chafed;
Battered daughter, mother’s pride;
All that’s beautiful she must hide.
All that’s soft, all that’s warm, half formed.

Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and undone deed.
What can I do? What can YOU do?
I am me, and you are you?

Crushed like flower pedals in a fist,
Flung haphazardly in the mist.
Nasty, sour, bitter lost;
She was forced. We are forced.

Is all lost?


Date 10/12/2008


Details | Rhyme |

A Mother's Heart

A Mother's Heart

She brought this babe
Into this world with such care,
A life full of hope and dreams
Nothing will happen to him...nothing would dare.
She sends him to school
And days filled with little league,
Never a thought he would
One day leave dressed in fatigues.
That day came too soon
A day covered in clouds,
Kissing him goodbye 
Knowing he would make her proud.
Her son fought for his beliefs
For the red, white, and blue,
For independence and justice
Freedom for his mother and for you.
There is nothing more wrenching
Then that of a mothers cry,
For the loss of her child
And the call saying her son has died.
You see I can not understand
I can not say its okay,
All I can do now 
Is kneel down and pray.
"Dear God
I know you have taken him
And made him strong once more,
But I miss him so terribly
All the way to my core.
There is no way to describe
This pain which fills my soul,
Could you not take me too
Release me from this black hole."
Her son fought for his beliefs
For the red, white, and blue,
For independence and justice
Freedom for his mother and for you.
Can you even for a moment
Imagine the ripping apart,
The pain and agony of
A mother's heart.
2004
Edie Hendrikse


Details | Free verse |

Immortalized

In an effort to immortalize you,
I gilded ocean size frames in gold leaf
and painted your portrait with peacock feathers dipped in oils.
I spelled out your name in bumble bee wings
still quite attached to tame bumble bees
hovering in obedience and formation in the sky
I built a piano from felled red wood trees
and carved your likeness on each key
which I then filled up with ebony and abalone polish
I traveled to Old Russia to the Crimean forest
and pulled every wildflower up by it's roots
and replanted them just for you, on the cliffs, overlooking the Black Sea.
I tamed a black leopard and rode on her back
'round the world, with a banner, a list of your accomplishments
flowing in silk for miles behind me, past onlookers reading your life.
I sang gypsy music, as a siren on the wind
while I wept and flooded each street with the depth
of one tenth of the emotion you harnessed and kept at bay in your infinite quiet.
I started with one person, your granddaughter, with your blue eyes
her sitting on my lap, looking at me with a maturity past 3 years of age,
and imprinted every memory of you in the air, for her to grab.

You are not immortalized in portraits, or wings, or notes.
You are not immortalized in flowers, or banners or sirens.

You are immortalized, forever remaining, in the humble prayers of this innocent child.


Details | Blank verse |

A Brief Childhood

In the back of my head, in the garden shed,
I see him as clearly as fresh white paint:
A little boy sat on the creosote floor, 
Dragged grazed knees hugged up to his chin, 
So familiar, so resonant and never faint. 
He shivers and weeps on the wooden ground, 
Alone, almost silent, with hardly a sound, 
In retreat from a world he cannot understand 
That Is ruled and defined by a callused hand.

It's his seventh birthday and a slowing flood 
Of mucus and blood flows from swollen lips, 
A tooth bares a nerve and a jagged chip, 
But the pain means no more than dandelion clocks 
Or cuckoo spit; the act alone the gestalt of it.

Some days he would walk for miles, 
To see beyond the next hill, around the bend, 
Kicking slowly along, his shadow twice his size, 
Dwarfing him, tracking him, a passive friend. 
Perhaps to find some haven, someone to 
Take him in, rescue his heart, and want him;
But strangers, though kindly, approached 
With the dusk and it always ended the same way:
"Where do you live?" they would say
And thoroughly drilled, he would quietly reply,
In emotion drained monotone,
His address and number of the telephone,
And they always took him back home.

Some days he would walk for miles,
To sit on the edge of the viaduct, 
Perched perilously with nothing to lose, 
Dangling feet in small scuffed shoes, 
Dropping pebbles and stones to the 
Rocks and undergrowth far, far below, 
Imagining if he may fall in their stead, 
What then would be left to know?

The fall down the stairs snapped his ankle
Like a spindly twig, fractured some ribs,
Dislocated his jaw.
The children's ward, antiseptic and bright,
Young nurses in uniform, starched and white
Were so kind to him, he almost cried, bringing concern
And orange squash and a paper straw.

Sometimes it’s like this when things go wrong, 
A scapegoat is needed to blame things on. 
People thought him shy, with head bowed low, 
Lost in comics and books, lost in himself, 
Denying the threat of another blow. 
He was not shy, just hiding and biding, 
Keeping his head down and trying not to show.

Life is a scoundrel, and time a cohort thief, 
Stealing a childhood with no reprieve, 
Leaving only the slow burning sense of relief, 
That an unpleasant childhood seemed mercifully brief.


Details | Free verse |

My Micke boys

                To be called ..
            ~   Grandma is a Honor ~

        I have been blessed with 4  Grandchildren

       ~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb "  He is God's Angel ~
   ~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~

     For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
       he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
      ~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
 
              Time passed another gift to see
               we are " Mickes" and Loved 
            Our Dad held the title in Baseball 
                   ~  that's how we roll ~
           those children are Grandmas hero's 

       The Irish they love big and Family is everything 
        The brothers will protect the beautiful sister 
              ~ as many lads will be calling ~

        Every time my Grandson hits a home run
     There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand 

       It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs 
           ~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
     either baseball or Art  ~ you shall find your gift given

                These children have been blessed~
                 ~  a beauty to hard to describe 
        If you think not ~~  Take a look at the Mom  
                     That girl can stop Traffic   
                    after raising three and still~ 

          "Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "

     May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell


12345