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Mother Memory Poems | Mother Poems About Memory

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

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Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Sleepless Night

Sleepless Night

Pillowed feathers,
Caress a precious moment around my tender skin.
Teardrops, bagged eyes, a way of sin
The mirror reveals a lost eternal soul
A conniving move against tonight's phantom glow
Voices circle the insomniac moon
Like magic and beauty, "I'm Gone With the Wind."

The idea of love, 
broken like yesterday's wishbone.
She is leaving today
her arms, my shelter
Her wings were immense
teardrops, gone forever. 
Never will she suffer-
Never will she return-
All I have are lost memories,
tracing what is left.
One last deep breath
tequila vice
washing away the pain.....

At Last Now I See!
Under the drunken stars 
Yesterday I had an epiphany 
Falling like a match
A sunken treasure 
At Last I Knew
You don't belong in there,
you were there for the taking
Frail and sick, no longer sane.
Memories lost, no longer - her
My Mother! 

What has become of her since? 
You're a demon, who played us all
Made us cry, while you slowly took her aside

The way you laid waste to her body
nip nap both her legs
Fed her through a stubble

She rapidly forgot
our names'
our faces'
I hate you Alzheimer
I hate the way you took her the first time!
I hate you Death
I hate the way you claimed her final moment!
Sleepless nights and pillowed feathers,
Caressing a precious moment around my tender skin
Pretending my mother tucked them in
Anything to help me get past my sleepless nights.

By: PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Rhyme | |

The Memory Box

Beneath this table sits a box
It’s scruffy, thin and battered.
 A cardboard box of memories
Of days that really mattered.

Confetti from my wedding day
A drawing by my mother
The shoes that took my son to school.
A photo of my brother

A tattered book of rhyming verse
My dad’s infatuation.
A silken flower, grandma’s ball
A golden celebration.

A pipe my granddad carved with love
A boyhood skill he cherished.
His baccy tin is scratched and bare
Its precious contents perished.

A tarnished ring with stones of paste.
My sister’s finest treasure
A suitor's gift, now black with age
Of value without measure.

This box hold moments lost in time
We add things when we’re able
A memory from everyone
Who’s sat around this table.

Copyright © Karen Neary

Details | Quatrain | |

‘The Airplane Crossing Clear-Blue Sky'

My white-washed bars surrounded me -
they held me as I slept;
they soothed me when the days were long,
and mother’s blue-eyes wept.

A baby girl, six months or less,
awakened from my sleep -
stood up legs as sure as hope;
as strong as flat is steep.

My hands, my saviors, gripped the rail
so I could peek outside –
the bluest sky I’d ever seen,
As tall as it was wide;

came into view - between the blue,
an airplane gliding by,
its smoky streamer like a flag,
across my memory’s sky...

The memory is a simple one -
a window, sky, and plane -
but in my heart, it's heaven's door
and there it shall remain.

I’ve hung it on my memory’s wall
Between that life and this –
It covers every hole I’ve dug
In sorrow’s vast abyss.

This picture brings the special peace
I knew when I was small –
Where mother’s just beyond the door,
and waiting for my call…

*Inspired by Danielle's Earliest Memory contest. I have blocked out almost every memory 
from my childhood, and only a very few gems remain - this is the first. and I will treasure it 

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds

Details | Quatrain | |

Sweet Memory

When looking at you
I know that it’s true
You resemble no other
But your mother.

You walk with a swirl
And turn with a twirl
You resemble no other
But your mother.

Your hair is one flame
The colour the same
You resemble no other
But your mother.

Your eyes deep and wide
Green diamonds inside
You resemble no other
But your mother.

Enchanting your smile
It flows like the Nile
You resemble no other
But your mother.

A heart full of gold
So carefree and bold
You resemble no other
But your mother.

You hear and you care
Determined to share
You resemble no other
But your mother.

[But now she’s gone far
 Tiny twinkling star
In peace like a dove 
Departed with love.]

And you my sweet girl
You twirl and you swirl 
You resemble no other
But your mother.


Author: Paul Callus ~ March 2014
Contest: Poem For Mommy
Sponsor: Leonora Galina
Placing: 1st

Copyright © Paul Callus

Details | Elegy | |



sometimes in mass
as sacred songs
wash over me like rain,
I break free
and drift 
into memory,

and again you rise, 
your tears flow
as tears fill my eyes,
your dying breath
good bye;

after so many years,
the knife still cuts
and again, and

I cry.

(20 May 2015)

Copyright © Steven Federle

Details | Free verse | |

Winter Memory

Snowflakes fell, large and wet, 
On that early morning in December
Our country home was soon enfolded
In winter's cold, white mantle

The noonday sun parted the somber clouds
With rays smiling and bright
It seemed to be saying...
"That's enough snow...for now"

Mother walked along the silent path
To where the mail was waiting
She paused for a moment and smiled
The untouched landscape, glittering white before her
Awoke the child within her heart

She began to play
Soon the beginnings of a snowman
Rested at her feet

My father watched the scene unfold
Through the bedroom window
His eyes glittered as brightly as the snow
A smile creased his face
And a chuckle escaped his lips

This picture is etched forever
In the corners of my heart
Forever I will see her there playing in the snow
Forever I will see him broadly smiling at her delight 
Forever I will see them both so completely full of joy
So full of life
So full of love.

Copyright © Steven Mossburg

Details | Rhyme | |



Throughout childhood and adolescent days,
She was my staunchest supporter,
And through teen years and young adulthood
I was glad to be her daughter.
As a mother-in-law and grandma,    
She’s there whenever/wherever she’s needed,
And if this was to be her lot in life,
She’s definitely succeeded.
But whatever she is to other folks;
A friend, sister or other,
She is to me, and will always be


Copyright © wendy lee klenetsky

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Today ( In loving memory of my stepmum Jem) who had terminal cancer.

What's most inportant in life?.... today
not tomorow but now,
Now is for living, loving,
yesterday has memories good and bad
but today is for you and Dad.
You see people rushing, pushing, shoving
everyone in a hurry,
wishing the time away.
If only they would stop and think
they're wishing their lives away,
I want to stop them and say
tomorow is not inportant,
live for
That's what's inportant, 
they should stop and think
It is today that matters,
Every day there is new life
in leaves and flowers
We must enjoy every waking moment
To wake up to the sun shinning through the windows,
the warmth it brings
the birds that sing
children laughing
people chattering
Jem you are in our thoughts each day
you are very special, 
so go on live for .......TODAY and TODAY
and TODAY and TODAY and TODAY............................

Copyright © jacque lee

Details | Rhyme | |

Your Eternal Flame

During the Christmas holidays a candle is continuously lit.
       It is in your memory to let you know I'll never forget.
Each year that passes gets harder than I like to admit.
       I sit by the fire reminiscing while I smoke a midnight cigarette.
Your vanilla scented candle burns on the coffee table.
       I admit when you passed I wasn't mentally stable.
You would be proud of me because eventually I pulled myself together.
       I remember you warned me so many times you wouldn't be here forever.
You were my superwoman, I believed you were tough as steel.
       This candle along with your memory helps me to heal.
It's kinda like you're right here with me.
       I think of you as I put each ornament on the Christmas tree.
Tears roll down my cheek as I whisper your sweet name.
       Inside my heart resides your eternal flame.

*I love you momma Merry Christmas Queen.....
Billie Jean Alexander Lopez...May 1, 1937 - July 26, 2007

Copyright © Jimmy Anderson

Details | Blank verse | |

Mazel tov Cinda

At old age you chose to risk again The pain of begetting a child in your sixties You chose to give love to another soul in the world Papa doesn’t know what is going on But there is something going on You just don’t know how to say it It has happened and you cant deny it Another child is coming Like Sarah you don’t understand this How possible can it be? Yet you believe With God all things are possible You feel it and you can now see all the signs You are expecting The pain knocks You bite your lip With your hands Hold your tummy With a twist And strength It has been long since you last went through this There is nothing like experience Pain is pain Each pain is dynamic It’s the same pain but different Papa knows now You are about to deliver He puts down his cup of tea Forgets his hat Because of the noise He knows that sound As each inch of your muscle tightens Your scream is heard in the city Its like you are pulling your lip over your head sweating and panting You realize it now done A smile of victory shines on your face News spread A poet Has given birth to a poetry tot And its A baby boy Born to the Carter Mazel tov! Cinda

Copyright © Rodgers Roger Carter

Details | Rhyme | |

Daughter Of Mine

 Beautiful Daughter full of grace
 I pray that time caresses your face.
 Today is only ribbons and bows,
 Tomorrow it will be life and all for you
 it holds.

 Silk and satin, then leather and lace
 candy covered kisses, dance class and
 all the silly faces I hope I never miss.
 Then someday you will stand up tall
 all in white you will pledge in your wedding
 trend and beside you will stand the man who
 promises to love until the end.

 I will go back to today, when I was watching
 you as you played and I'll then give a smile for
 I'll know how precious you are to me, then and now.

No matter what tomorrow brings along,
My love with be with you, your whole life long.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

My Dad

My Dad was Chicagoan.
He would light up a room just like my Mom. 
He loved to fish ! He loved his beer .
He also designed a Octagon home in the 70's 
Built custom by hand . I was very proud of Dad .

Alcohol hit our Family , a curse .
He left my Mom when I was 14 in Illinois.
To renew in California , leaving a trail of tears .
Meeting my step mom , my sisters age .
My 2 sisters they were accepted in her world . 

Not I , I looked too much Like Mom . Told this all my Life . 
She a petite Beauty , RN , real estate Broker .
I did not see why it was wrong to be like mom ?

I moved in with Dad, His new Wife , and 2 sisters 
eventually . All three women were competing for my Father .
I was kicked out at 16 yrs.

Years do pass , you try and accept people places and things .
At the end of Dads life , he was calling me once a week .
I ordered a Engraved Clock for the Fathers day coming.
This was a issue for the Wife and sisters , never invited to his new home , 2 Decades ~My little Brother & I , never wanted .

Dad passed suddenly one sad Spring Day . Not one word from his wife , all 3rd party,  how and when,  Dad Died . being denied the right to his address , even to say goodbye .
Not being able to send my engraved clock . 

 "Dad Passed " received call  from sister whom just stayed a week with me ,  I took her all around the sites here . "1st day I get call , you should come , 2nd Day after , Dad's been cremated already . " It was a lie.

I went anyway , finding the funeral home, the Funeral Director was appalled at the denial displayed.

He insisted I was given 10 minutes alone with Dad , my Birthright to say Goodbye , he was in dismay over the Hostility towards a daughter ~

I get to this room of mean relative's. His sisters , Mine, angry looks , hearing from a Aunt "What is she doing Here ! " I can't give nor reason or rhyme. 

 Shame to you and all that participated that wicked day.
 Are you Glorified with Power?  Denied the right to grieve , 

 Left with no sane answers to give in hatred received by Blood . Some , just Spouses , telling me I had no right to Say Goodbye to my own Father , My DAD .

My Dad wanted me there , I know he did . I love Him and will never forget , his youngest girl whom looked like Mom . I know in my heart and dreams he speaks. 
 We all see when we leave . May God not allow any Son or Daughter to go through such Evil.

Thank-you Poetry Soup for returning my voice .

Copyright © Shanity Rain

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

Details | Ode | |

Remembering my Mother

Now when I think of you
I remember the last years 
You helped me to recover 
A place I never could have reached
Showing me the true love of my mother
No matter how hard I pushed away
By my side you would stay

You helped through my hardest time
Forgiving my life's mistakes
Devoted yourself to my recovery 
We grew closer than I ever remember
We had moments together
That will last forever

I still can't believe 
When I recovered
The fatal illness
You were diagnosed 
That would take you from us
But my memories will never be taken 

As I pass the cemetery walls
To see your final resting place
You will always be on my mind
Kneeling here I think... 
Are you watching over me
From someplace far beyond

Copyright © Matt Forshay

Details | Narrative | |

I Miss You

As l sit here staring in the mirror
I see what once was.Those dark brown
eyes saddens me to the core,
My mamma used to say girl you can be 
anything your heart is guiding
you to become.

I still remember everything she told
but some how  now it's not enough.
When I left home years ago l
didn't know life can be so  cruel.

Everybody didn't see me like
mamma, that woman loved me
through and through.

Although I never lived in a plastic
bubble, I guess her protectiveness
of me was a type of bubble.

Don't get me wrong she allowed me
to make my own mistakes.How ever
she lifted my spirits when I needed 
her to.

Now as I recall the memories of the
past, she loved me so hard because
we were all each other had. It was me and
mamma against the entire galaxy.

It's be two long years since mamma
has been gone. What saddens
me most is the reflection I 
see in this old mirror is my mamma 
staring back at me.

Copyright © Alexis Y.

Details | Verse | |

Sweet Little Girl Nursery Rhyme

Missy, missy little girl
With your blonde hair in a curl
Daddy's baby, momma's dream
Come let us catch a moonbeam

A moonbeam for your night light
A shooting star your wishing rights
Daddy's baby, momma's dream
Let us catch and hold a moonbeam

To the rhythm of : 
Fishy, fishy in the brook
Daddy caught him with a hook
Momma cooked him in the pan
And I ate him like a man

A nursery rhyme that my mother taught me as a child...

Sponsor: Debra Squyres
Contest: Nursery Rhyme

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

Details | Free verse | |

For An Abused Child

If I Could Have Gotten Your Embryo
Before You Were Born
I Would Have Sheltered You Safely
and Protected Your Form ...

I'd Have Put You In My Womb
& Flowed You Knowledge Like In A Tubric
& Patted My Expanding Belly
As I Played You Music

And As You Got Ready
To Arrive From The Birth Canal
You Would've Known My Breasts
Would Be Ringing Like Welcome Bells! ...

Eager To Suckle You
Breast Feed My Own Flesh & Nourish
So You Could Grow Strong
... In Love's Encourage

I Would've Held You In Wonder
& So Close Tenderly
Amazed At This Little Bundle,
Breathing, Piece of Me ...

And When You Turned One
Or As You Sucked Your Thumb
Or Eating Baby Food Jars of Plums
... I'd Have Given You Trumpets & Drums

... And Building Alphabet Blocks
& Superman Capes
& Stuffed Teddy Bears
& Oatmeal Cookies & Grapes

I'd Have Read You Stories
From Capt. Adventure Books
You'd Have Known You Were Loved
By My Proud Mama Looks

I'd Have Spent Time With You
Showing You How To Tie Your Shoe
Rocked You If You Caught The Flu
or Any Sniffles You Went Through ...

I Would Have Played With You
& Prayed With You
From Crawling To Walking
Paved The Way For You

Yeah, I Would Have Fussed At You
& When Needed Even Spanked You Too
& I'd Meant: This Hurts Me More Than You
'Cause You're The Little Symbiot, Mama Grew

So, You Would Have Known
You Were Loved & Treasured
You Would Have Known
Your Worth Couldn't Be Measured

Nor Compared To Anyone Else
At Any Point In Time
'Cause You Are The Best
Because You Were "Mine"

* * * * * * *

But I Never Knew You
But Believe Me If I Had ...
I'd A Made Sure You Had 
A Loving Mom & Dad

And You Would've Never Been Abused
Or Treated Bad ...
But From Now On Find Your Joy
To Replace What's Sad

            Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/12/2013 
             by:  MoonBee Canady

Copyright © MoonBee Canady

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

Details | Free verse | |

Cuddle Babies Replay Memory

I remember the day Trixie died,
Sinbad staring out upon her grave.
No crying, just day after day, homage.

I couldn’t stand seeing the pain,
Nothing I did, petting, holding,
Could bring him away from the grave.

So down to the pet store I drove
Hoping for a partner to please
And found a pair of cuddles, babies

Arms wrapped together in play
One black one orange which should it be?
Orange like Sinbad or black?

But how could I take one from another
Leave another hole, so black and orange
Babies two, drew Sinbad back over

To sleep the peaceful sleep of cuddles
Warmth from another, held like a mother
Or held like a father, Sinbad was mine

Once more we could live in happy cheer
Death deserted from our midst
When the wonder of youth appeared.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper

Details | Free verse | |


The black cloak wrinkled from a restless night 
Worn that day despite its negative appearance
Deep, deep black eyes look darkest from grief
Time only wears away the cloak's black color
Washed to a dull gray-black lacking luster
The fabric worn nearly through from its constant use

Each night's journey into the land of terror
Accompanied by the cloak so real that coated every dream
She would sleep, rest, and dream of reaching for her baby girl
Relive the horror of those black eyes a mirror image of self
Staring back at her set in death's grip, wide open and black
A dream that never went away for it was real life event
Dead at nine months old from pneumonia
Found by those living, deep black eyes that never lived again

My adoptive mother and father had a baby girl who died at 9 months old from pneumonia..My mother fed her at 2 A.M. and when the baby  did not awake in the morning as usual mother went to see about her and she was dead..

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

Details | Acrostic | |

Dementia Acrostic Poem

Demeaning, degrading this is how you feel about your situation
Eating away at the person you once were
Memory – short term this is decreasing at an alarming pace
Embarrassed when you can’t remember someone you knew well
No longer able to do the things you once so enjoyed
Time – going back to the past, recalling things you cannot change
Imagination – things you see and hear that aren’t real
All I wish is I could have you back as you once were

Written in tribute of my amazing mum received H/M in recent contest
Jan Allison
Submitted to contest for poem receiving an H/M sponsored by Broken Wings
Written 7th March 2014

Copyright © JAN ALLISON

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

To My Mother and Grandmother And In The Memory Of My Deceased Grandmother Jiesteira

Pure Love
Enthusiasm, Excitement, Zeal
Passion, Love, 
Cholera, Anger, Wrath, Fury
Deep dedication


Details | Free verse | |

Midnight Lullaby

I wrapped all my tears, to see you smile.
you are the best, always by my side.
I tell you my feelings will get you crying,
you must think I’m out of my mind.

You don’t know, what I know,
all the angels let me go.

We were born to teethe and die,
you will grow to be so fine.
Fall in love, feel your softer side,
Remember me when life is kind.

When you go, let me know,
don’t walk away like the world and go.

Life is rough and the world unkind,
fight them down and you will be fine.
The truth of live is a brutal sight,
make no mistakes, you can learn from mine.

You have a strong heart, you are unique
I treasure times when you smile at me.

Live the life, I could not find,
be there for me, when I say goodbye.

Copyright © Karan Patade

Details | Tanka | |

Sweet Raspberry Kisses

Baby, when you’re grown
cradling your own darling babe.
Remember your days
of sweet raspberry kisses,
rhymes and twinkling lullabies.

I will remember
the sweet sound of your babble
through bubbling laughter, 
your pudgy, little fingers  
and wide-eyed wonder, always.

for Andrea Dietrich's SWEET or SALTY? Contest,

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders

Details | Couplet | |

How The Memory Flows

Can you remember this feeling very much.
Hearing something in the kitchen making a fuss.
I can remember it so well, it's like yesterday.
Pots and pans wrattle, as I'm outside to play.
I would be playing in the dirt or kicking a beach ball.
Hearing mamma in the kitchen, hoping she'd call.
I know that she's cooking dinner in there.
I'm not sure what it is and I don't really care.
I am completely dirty from my head to my toes.
Is there dessert or ice cream, she only knows.
I can smell the cooking from the yard and all sides.
With realization I know it's sloppy joe and french fries.
How it was when I was young.
Freedom around the yard I could roam.
I loved my mamma and daddy for just being there.
I'd be nothing without them, no love or no care.

-No contest, just some things I was thinking.

Copyright © Donald Williams

Details | Quatrain | |


They say that time heals all
Yet there never seems enough
To say the words, to give your love
A mother always dies too soon

You try to make it linger
As her age increases yearly
You pray that God will spare her
Because you love her dearly

But when the days get tedious
She’s sick, alone and weary
You pray that God may take her
Because you love her dearly

Mother, we will miss you,
Your love, your care and support
You have given us your all
And triumphantly defied life’s challenges

You were so busy caring for others 
That you forgot about yourself
In honour and in gratefulness, we say
Sweet mother, dearest oma*, may you rest in peace

Rest peacefully now your time has come 
May angels guide your way
The time has come...yet 'tis oh so hard
To see you on your way

*Oma is dutch for Grandmother

Copyright © Huberta van Akkeren

Details | Rhyme | |

One Last Toast

I think that I shall have a drink 
and toast to you and all you think
'bout love & hate & art & war &
what this life is really for. 

Giving, taking, making, breaking 
lonely hearts club band;
reaching, preaching, teaching, leaching 
blood sucking beggars with outstretched hands.

I think that I shall have a stink
and tell the world before I blink 
that all is well as well can be 
So kiss my glass and bow to me.  

Just below my drunken stem
Connected to my brain, my friend
You know the one that makes you bumble 
and people laugh each time you stumble.

Down upon your royal spot
Licking your wounds with all you've got
Until you get right back up again
With a head that aches & pounds & spins.

And I think that I shall pour another
in honor of my departed mother 
and dad as well who passed away
Here's to where they are today. 

Be they high up in the sky 
Or somewhere quite unfathomed
Beyond our wildest hopes and dreams 
And the completely unimagined.

Where now I reek & no longer speak
from too much of this brew 
where the ice is melting rapidly 
on folks like me and you. 

So one last toast before we're ghosts 
and life was a sweet chardonnay...
Here's to those who brought us here 
And all their love along the way. 


Copyright © Terrell Martin

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

Details | Couplet | |

Daily Life

Living day in
Living day out
Working as hard as I can
To get money to pay the bills
Searching for food for the family
Trying to get through the day
As best as I can

All it matters
Is to get some money
To be able to not to think
How am I supposed to support?
My kids, my husband, and I
It all hits me like rain pounding the roof
Is this how life is supposed to be?

Going down hills
Going up hills
Having great times
And some bad times
You think your life should be easy
It is not supposed to be
Life is difficult for a reason


Copyright © Mikayla Mitts

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A Man Stood Part II

A Man Stood Part II Story/poem A man was standing by his window on a cold winter day. He was thinking about his past, when a phone call came. It brought him back to reality. He answers and says hello. the other voice says - hello, are you Ben? He says - yes, but who are you? The voice said - before I answer. I have a question. he said - alright. Are you married? He said no. The other voice said - I'm the blast from your past. For a moment, he stood quiet, than he asked - are you my Lucy? The other voice said yes I am. Suddenly the past has come back to hunt him. He reflexes for a moment. Then he asks - where is my daughter? His memorey has not left him yet. He remembers that he has another daughter. many questions he had. He wanted to know many things. He found out that he had grandkids. His daughter was living in another state, but his grandkids were very close to him. He got to meet the oldest granddaughter and her kids that day. He got to meet his daughter two months later. All was going well, until he found out that his daughter was not the perfect child. Their relationship did not go well after that. Of course the mother was to blame. she had not raised her daughter right. The mother is always to blame. all I can say is that we do what we can in life. I got to see him seven months later, after I found him. It had been forty years. A lot can happen in forty years, people change. He looked very different. He said that he had loved me a lot. The thing is that he had a strange way of showing it. The relationship with his daughter is not good. She don't talk much to him. He still lives alone. I got to meet his cat. He never again got married. He now has plenty of time to think. We don't know what the future holds. All I know is that this is not the end. Life brings us many surprises. When the past comes back to the present - what do we do?
01/07/2013 Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo. To be continued

Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo