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Mother Nostalgia Poems | Mother Poems About Nostalgia

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

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Details | Ballad | |

This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….

Copyright © Catman Cohen

Details | Narrative | |

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

You were beautiful, 
my tiny child, 
wrapped tightly in my arms, 
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.

Will you hear me
when I cry out? 
Will you hold me close
as I held you then? 

I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway, 
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run? 
no longer work? 
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too? 

I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.

I am proud too, 
of my writing
and my drawing, 
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you? 
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth? 
Will you be proud of me too? 

I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however, 
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.

I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left, 
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am? 

You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love, 
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.

I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.

You welcomed her home today- 
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.

You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately, 

"Will she tie my
when I get old? "

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs

Details | Narrative | |

Beginnings And Endings

Birth was suppose to come easier than this.
I pant quickly as I was taught, 
but it isn't helping, nor does squinting my eyes.
But again, the pain evaporates for a moment
like the tears in the corners of my eyes.
It fools me in thinking it is almost over now, and I try to relax.
But all I can think about is my mother
and how different it was for her, 
especially, since her young husband was so far away

My back aches, and once again, I look for the owner of the mysterious voice
That voice is my own...
I groan, and the doctor finally makes a quick-fire decision.
I am given a block for the pain, an incision is made,
and although I feel numb, and my mind is foggy,
I can feel someone's hands groping, 
... a tug, a void,...a small noise...  of a babe..

The next several hours are a bit of a blur
until everything clears and I'm back in my room
on the sterilized sheets, too stiff, and too sleek, 
too fragrant of bleach, to think about sleep.

This miracle I bore, as soft as fine silk, 
with tiny closed fists, rose-petal nails
fills me with joy, with relief, I am filled
 with a deep pang of grief
for a long ago thief
I can feel the connection, mixed joy, and compassion 

I bathe in the scent of my brand new beginning ......
But my thoughts stream behind me,...... to a hope that had ended
My mother in bed, after losing her first....
So young, in her bed, without child,........ bleeding red
from the war that she fought, while my Dad fought his own

I cry tears all alone.... for the grief that she owned
I so cherish the breath.....of this babe on my breast

The circle of life, starts with birth .....sometimes, death

(Mood- happiness/mixed with sadness)

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Rhyme | |


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.

Copyright © Jack Clark

Details | Rhyme | |

Little Yellow Socks

* Written for my daughter, who really does have a precious pair of Little Yellow Socks.

Little Yellow Socks
       by Amy Swanson  12/5/2008

Little yellow socks
running down the hall
"Slow down with those socks on,"
I'd yell... too late, the fall!

Little yellow socks
padding softly late at night
climbing up into my lap
one more hug, out goes the light.

Little yellow socks
follow me with squeals of laughter;
Oh how she loves to run in them,
Begging me to come chase after!

Little yellow socks...
now not being worn a lot.
My little girl is growing up,
No longer just a tot.

Little yellow socks
will be cast aside someday
I must guard these precious moments;
in my heart, they'll safely stay.

Copyright © Amy Swanson

Details | Free verse | |

Its Raining...

                          Its Raining…

God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…

who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again


Copyright © MoonBee Canady

Details | ABC | |

An Angel In Disguise

Water rushing through the brook
leaving drowned out laughter
and a blooming lilypad

A mother with a weary look
as she wades through, feet clad
It’s her children she’s looking after

Hair threatens to fall in her distant eyes
She remembers when she hadn’t worried
stealing kisses under barnyard roofs

She begins to chastise
“Children put on your boots”
She raised the voice, and they scurried

But inside she was grinning ear to ear
Thinking of sweet-smelling memories
and grass-stained linen

As her children crawled near
She said, “Now listen,
I must share some stories…”

Copyright © Mckenzie Boyer

Details | Free verse | |

My Son Moon and Star

            My Son Moon and Star ~

        Approaching the celebration of his Birth 
                cherishing the gift I received 
           within weeks of conception I knew
            something amazing was in Creation ~

            the Stars held a party
            sending me with one of their own  
    Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky   
       It was magic  It was destiny taking its flight.  

           In love with an October full moon 
               drawing and painting I liked 
             thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
                caught in a loss of time 

          Hours going by as choosing my color  
           a wittness to three falling stars 
             A clear night sky sparkle's
           A once Famous Star was sent 
            inspiring the tiny child inside ~ 

           Never a doubt in my mind at all     
       child bearing was worth any pain received
      yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
             one to cherish and hold
          My Son was born the following August ~

    working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year  
         as the set of Leverage for 3 years .

              Has done a Indie movie here  
             In Paris it was seen and honored
             coming soon filmed in Portland ~
                 "The House of Last Things "

        awaiting the credits , you will see
    1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant 
                 My Young Lion Mans dream ~
        A proud mom I watch every show and the credits 

        as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
              My Son &  Moon and Star  
               A name you will all know ~

            Happy Birthday to my creative Son
             you will exist in my heart forever~
                        and thereafter               

Copyright © Shanity Rain

Details | Free verse | |

Moon bridge

The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.

I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.

In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
            the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
         wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.

How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face 
of eternities long time clock...

I ache with wanting, with need and passion
          it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
                              when I faced realities shock.

Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
             and make the broken whole?

I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me. 
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
                that so many leavings have left?

Cherish and love to honor and protect
             but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
     and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
      with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?

I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
      this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
   with the brush held in your hand

I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.

Copyright © tara jennings

Details | Free verse | |

A String of Pearls

The amber moon, through window glass
like time itself, looks much the same
Some things have changed, some things remain
Moonlight recalls... wind calls her name

Her silken hair, her porcelain neck
the strand of pearls, a diamond clasp
I find them now, within my grasp
and bask within the timeless love
For, "every pearl's a star above"

With envy now, moonlight comes in
Covetously, it fondles rows
of tiny orbs, which, one by one
are miracles, with moons, within

I hold the pearls within my palm
and think of old Glenn Miller songs
and mother dancing long ago
She wore them like another skin
back, long before my life began

A grain of sand, then pearl becomes
A part of her, ....    a part of me

So fragile, weak the thread is bare
as if the sun might gaze too long
a tarried glaze, the string would fray
and pearls would fall and roll away

Perhaps such things meant to be
Each miracle, has just a while
Glenn Miller songs have come and gone
I'll put away the pearls for now
so moon can own the night again

"every pearl's a star above"  (from the lyrics of the song)
To hear Glenn Miller's rendition of "String of Pearls" click on the following youtube site:...

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Haiku | |


on her tresses
mom's floral clips

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago

Details | Rhyme | |


Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!

And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks, 
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"

Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!

It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!

Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"

Copyright © Andrew Crisci

Details | I do not know? | |

Today Is Terrible----

The cracked spine of
the book I dropped
at the call.
A chip in my
windshield left by a
pompous *?#@! in a
red sports car as I
drive to the
Rain expectorating
from an ashen sky as
the dirt is turned.
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
crack in grandma’s
spine from her fall
down the stairs.
The chip in her
amazingly smart mind
after eighteen years
as a teacher.
Tears running,
dripping from my
Mothers ashen face
as she cries “My
mama’s dead.”
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
cracked family
emotions left raw
and empty.
The chip in Grandpas
numb mind at the
gathering… “Where is
Irene she should be
Faces gone ashen
with dread, do we
leave him numb or
remind him that his
wife is dead?
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
empty silences,
missing the jokes
Grandma used to
Grandma’s laugh and
her endless smile
which always exposed
that tooth with the
chip in it.
Without her the
world has become
empty, bleak, and
Today is terrible.


Copyright © Summer Gratias

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 | Couplet | |

Mother's Wisdom

We nurture them within our bodies, birth them in a blinding pain,
suckle them on breasts so swollen, till we think we’ll go insane.

We kiss away each painful boo-boo, bandage each and every wound,
show them that in spite of roundness, peas can stay upon their spoons.

We intercept their nostril’s flowing, be it green or white as snow,
wiping gently ever hoping, for the day they’d learn to blow.

We give to them each ounce of wisdom, try to teach them everything,
suddenly, for unknown reasons, screw it up and give them wings.

We mourn a bit, those cherished moments, when on us they did depend,
days when we were super heroes, possessing wisdom without end.

We watch the journey proudly knowing, as they soar into the light,
Mother’s wisdom, though not perfect, lends the wind that gives them flight.

Copyright © Shelly Berkeley

Details | Quatrain | |


Once held with love, by hands so small-
You’d hardly know that they were mine;
Her hair, a matted yellow mess
That sticks strait up, from hands and time,

The dress, Aunt Rose knit with gnarled hands,
Still ties up proper in the back,
It hides her scars; so much undone
While keeping dignity in tact,

One of her fingers’ is too short
When I was small, I bit it off;
Her neck’s been stretched from need and love
Which now I hide with velvet cloth,

Her eyes, the same sky blue as hers-
A mother ripped from life and earth-
Who passed away, leaving her child
One blue-eyed doll and no self worth…

Many a year flew by in time-
An adult with kids of my own-
When our house burned, consuming all,
From photos to refuge of home,

There came from ashes, hope reborn-
A beauty with eyes of sky blue,
Covered in suet, fire-scarred but safe,
The only thing that made it through!

A miracle or mothers hand,
That saved her from the fire's embrace?
To place her safe with honor, down
Atop the snow to cool her face,

This doll may look a ragged mess
To those whose tears she hasn't dried,
But when I look in those blue eyes
I see a child’s love, survived…

My Thumbelina, dread locked doll
No other friend could e’er replace
Her love; I love her battle scars,
Where memory lives upon her face…

2nd place winner in Karen Neary's TRASH or TREASURE contest , 5/2008

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds

Details | Narrative | |

A Red Christmas Bike

It had been two days since Christmas
The one where the fates had granted me my fondest wish
A shiny, red, Schwinn bicycle..... a basket in the front, and a bell to ring

On that cold December night, the sky was stained by the color of trepidation
I remember my young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
rousing us all with calm haste

Deep red reflections seeped through the mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us downstairs, down the raw-grained stairs, 
not tying her robe, pushing from behind with her two hands
out onto the back porch, into the frost of the wee, early light
Then, we stood and watched the fire from a safe distance, 
as it consumed our garage.  And, my bike.

From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose
warning him to keep safe,
while sounds of sirens wailed in the distance

When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice 
"Hush now, don't cry"
"We'll find another one, just like it"

Then, I remember looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold


Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Lyric | |

To My Foster Parents With Love

I came into your lives a lost and lonely child,
Full of anger and resentment,
Overwhelmed with fear and confusion.
Yet you took me into your home, your lives, and your hearts.
From the very beginning you tried to make me feel welcome and wanted.
Though I fought you each step of the way you never gave up on me.
Instead you patiently and lovingly took me under your wings,
protecting, guiding and shaping me.
Showing me love and understanding.
Giving freely and openly the praise and affection I so desperately needed.
All the while expecting nothing in return.

As days turned into years you were still there
Making me feel safe and secure,
treating me with respect and fairness,
pushing me to be the best I could be.
And still, there I was fighting you.
Oh, the pain and heartaches you endured at my hands.
Yet there you stood, firm and unwavering.
Never walking away, never giving up.
Always loving me no matter what the cost.

All these years later as I look at my own children
I realize just what you saw and still see when you look at me.
Your Daughter!

I love you.

Copyright © Karen Cummings

Details | List | |

Qualities of Health Engendering Women

They see strengths
Not the limitations
These are people who will make you proud of yourself
They will tell you why you’re special
Trust you to the point you have to answer their expectations
They make you better than you normally are
You can be proud of yourself
They respect you 
For what you’ve done
Where you’ve come from
They see what you’ve experienced something real
Respect you for your courage
They live by their rules
They do not expect you to follow theirs
They are at peace to themselves
They are not proving anything to you
They are good listeners
Sincere in their interest in you
You feel important
They are available for honest
Genuine discussion
Makes you want to share yourself

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza

Details | I do not know? | |

There are no tears.

There are no tears,
Cause I held them back,
There is no fear,
Cause all my fears came true

I believe there’s hope
I have to believe there’s hope
Cause losing faith in the future and 
What can be when the bird spreads its wings

What can I do if she doesn’t have any faith in me?
What can I do, if everything feels like it doesn’t matter?
I’m trying but it might be not enough
I have being called a traitor

The person I love called me a traitor and I am not
I am not, that thing that I fear.
I don’t wanna die alone
I don’t wanna die like this, cause she doesn’t believe in me.

She set a sentence,
Cause in a dream she saw how I will be just a shell of myself.
But now I’m just a shell of myself.
Just a little part of happiness filters throu the curtains of my disdain and all goes away.

There’s no beam of happiness,
There’s no sunshine of love,
There’s no love for me,
She doesn’t love me anymore.

She who I love doesn’t trust me anymore
And I in a corner I lie alone
This corner of my own creation is not just imagination.
Here I lie and I just desire the best for you, the best for all the good people I’ve met and 
who’s lives I’ve made a miserable mess, I deliver my apologies to all those who believe I 
hate them or I have being a bad person to.


Copyright © Ana Alicia

Details | Free verse | |


Through veils of bright red pain
They bring us to this life;
Through tears and laughter
They love their small pink wonders
Through all those gates they must pass
On their way to full humanity.

They are lilac-love and discipline
Navigators of our stormy seas
Heedless of themselves for our sakes
And they bring us all the soft sweetnesses of home and hearth
That ever call for our return.

And so from every tongue
There falls the sacred one-word prayer
When the wide cold world affrights us
When the hand shakes, palsylike
And the heart beats hard against its cage:

     In deep of night
     When something unseen stirs
     The whispered hope is "Mother".
     When the flat grey weight of grief
     Lies hard across our shoulders
     The word that lifts the stone is "Mother".
     For scorch of stove, for frostbite sting
     We conjure cool and warm with "Mother".

     In the place for giving birth: "Mother".
     On the battlefield: "Mother".

Whatever pulls us to our knees 
To rudely remind us how small we be
In the Grand Scheme of Things,
The idea of her pulls us up again
For we are hers entire
In a way unique to her -
And things will be alright 
Because she says it shall be so,
And one may never     never     Never
Disappoint that Sacred One:


Copyright © William Masonis

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 | Rispetto | |

Morning Rose

 I often dream of the garden stretching out

   wearing the early morning sun like a crown

     I will dream of the sound of a rooster's shout,

       and mother barefoot, still dressed in nightgown

         pulling a tall weed, while puttering about

           looking like a pink cheeked girl, with eyes of brown,

             clutching a bouquet to her breast. She would hold  

               roses, as if they were treasures made of gold


Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Free verse | |



The Blossoming

Within shivers
Hot like
Hides he
Phantom yet
Passes her
So shyly
Dark tresses
Diamond like
Halls grow dark
Haunts her
This want
Disco ball
Of tentatively
Walks within new 
Cursed within
Like shards pang
A lullaby 
I can
No longer
Hold her so
Yet so far
This new life
In Solo
She sings


Copyright © Tracy Marie Windisch Mason

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seaside Memories

Modest swimsuits, bathing boxes
 White-blue flesh ice cold
Scratchy towels, sandy sandwiches
 Pots of tea being sold
Foxford blankets, picnic baskets – 
A donkey ride on the strand
Flowery summer frocks, mischief brimming 
 A practical joke being planned 

Hesitant breast strokes – high pitched laughter
 Terror, delight ‘the cold’! -
Sunburn, windburn, scalded skin – 
‘You’ll remember this when you are old’
 Your mother is calling ‘the picnic is ready’
 ‘I’ll be there in a minute’, you say.
As you dive down again under – 
The sea bed to plunder -
‘There is treasure down there, Mam’ you say!’

Landladies’ rules, pubs with high stools
‘– A large bottle, sir, if you please -
And may be a chaser?’ ‘You are a disgrace, sir -
The night will blow away with the breeze’.
A day at the races, smiles on mens’ faces,
Jingles in pockets, dinner in ‘Rocketts’ -
 A beer and a fag, a joke and a drag – 
‘This is grand, Sir!’
Which horse do you fancy – I think Mary Nancy
Called after his missus – and just as delicious
‘A winner for sure, sir
 And what are you bettin’?  Think of what you’ll be gettin’
When you win on the jackpot –
 It is certain, sir!’
Sea-side rock plastic,
 Coloured windmills fantastic
Naughty postcards to be hidden
 – Their content forbidden, 
By your mother – 

The day’s nearly over – 
You are tired – you’ll recover
For a night at the amusements – you have one and twopence
Clean clothes, polished shoes and a song.

Copyright © Liz Walsh

Details | Senryu | |

Lovelier Than A Rose

Oh lovely rose song
Pressed in that book for so long
Music can't be wrong

Memories that stay
always recurring array
Learning how to pray

Thoughts engraved so deep
Everlasting pure, keep
Reminding of love

Oh that lovely rose
Pressed in that book that was closed
She lovingly chose

Memories that say
True love won't take her away
Momma I miss you

Copyright © Jimmy Anderson

Details | Free verse | |


Raintears run down
the cabin window,
and the lights go dim
for departure.

It's twilight here
on the ground and the sun
has just set behind
the western mountains.

The plane taxies around in the rain
for its takeoff run.
In a few minutes we will be up there
in the pearlescent clouds
attempting to catch the sun
with the same success I had
catching memories the last two days.

On down the runway now,
a little hitch,
and we've left the ground,
good-bye, my mother, forever.

We fly over darkening roads,
lights just turning on,
that I had traveled earlier
in a groundling's stupor,
filled with the images of 
a slow morning on the porch.

The air was cool and the sun
was warm on our faces as
we sat there,
you and I.
I knew it was the last time and
I think maybe sometimes
you knew it too.

We watched the world go by
and you tried to remember
from moment to moment
who I was.

So I made one last attempt 
to grab some memories
out of the deep,
and place them
at your feet.

Shared moments, shared jokes,
shared times and places, some you fumbled,
but, for awhile you began to make connections,
and remembered and 
I was ecstatic that
you were still there.

I held back my tears
so that you wouldn't see
how hard this was for me.
Yet, I could see the strain on your face
as you fought, as you always had,
to give me all your best.

I knew then, I had to let you go.
It was selfish of me
to hold you in this world,
that you would not remember
in an hour.

I sit here safe, flying into a storm.
And you down there,
head into the unknown.
My plane races into the light,
just ahead of the night.
Good-bye, my mother, forever.

Copyright © ahellas Alixopulos

Details | Ghazal | |

Land of Youth

As another night dies, I ask how did you sleep Momma?
When nightmares plague your vision, did you sleep ok Momma?

Cold winds howling like a child's fairy tale
Are we little pigs waiting for the wolf in our sleep Momma?

When only the screams, "Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum" thunders with the storm
Where do you run when it wakes your sleep Momma?

When the beanstalk never gets shorter,
When you're so tired you just want to sleep Momma

What do you do when your roses fall to ashes,
Will your heart still sing you lullabyes to sleep Momma?

When Jill never comes down the hill
And the itsy bitsy spider eats Jack, will you sleep OK Momma?

Are we wondering blind like Hansel and Gretel,
Looking for digested breadcrumbs in our sleep Momma?

Who fights your nightmares and rights your fairy tales?
Can we help you sleep Momma

Copyright © Nick Yuknalis

Details | Dizain | |

Heaven - Dizzain Me

People dream of their own heaven Where happiness dwells and time suspends No more tears or life barren Where difference always mends With nature so calm and beauty surrounds. In this remote terrain of dreary sand Distanced from my dream at hand I dwell in the nostalgic past and moan! Alas! how can I make you understand The heaven that is my motherland grown!!! © Nadiya (20 Jan '15) *Won 3rd place on 4 Feb 2015 in the contest 'Dizzain Me' by Dr. Ram Mehta

Copyright © poesy relish

Details | Prose Poetry | |


We had a steel-coiled fence 
that kept us apart;  kept in purity,
spoke out in purity.

We played Barbies in a tree that
bordered each side, not knowing
it had a

Our Barbie world was created; 
dresses hung on branches
little mirrors for wee doll hands;
leaves assigned our closets.

I gibbered and you jabbered, and
the worst thing happened, I learnt
English, but what happened to your

Language traveled through the holes
of our steel-coiled fence.

Copyright © Gisele Vincent-Page