Her smile was lopsided, crooked
And her eyes had lost their shine
In a wheelchair bound and broken
Sat this mother dear of mine
Once the one that they called “Sunshine”
Now was bowed with grief and care
Garbled speech and eyes unfocused
Made the people stop and stare
Yet in this woman there was hidden
Beauty of the rarest kind
Love for God and for her family
Love for words all graced her mind
She was brave and she was noble
Took the falls and burns and smiled
Knowing that her child, a daughter
Lived with fear so justified
People did not see the beauty
Hidden in her crumpled form
All that they could show was pity
Perhaps that is just the norm
But in her dear withered body
MS had so brutalized
Was a mother’s lasting beauty
That her daughter eulogized
Once a flower brightly blooming
In the garden of my home
She remains my flower ever
In the memories where I roam
I grew up knowing my mother was ill and that she would eventually die due to MS. I lost my Mama on March 19, 2000. I still miss her...Her name? Angel. That was my Mama's name. When she was younger, they used to call her Sunshine because of her dazzling smile....
More poems I've written about my Mama:
Copyright © Eileen Manassian
I have several poems up about my Mama, Angel Manassian. Mama died on March 19, 2000 at the age of 74. She battled with MS for most of her life. She had me at 41...a surprise!
Turns out, Mama had MS even before she and dad got married, and she didn't know it. My childhood in Iran was the best. We lived in a big compound and had lots of fruit trees, a pool, and wonderful weather to enjoy it all. In winter it snowed. My brothers would jump down from the roof of the house into the snow. In summer, we'd swim all day. Mama taught language at the school Dad was principal of. Ignorance IS bliss. I didn't know Mama was sick. She burned herself once. Really badly. Needed skin grafts....I still didn't know. We moved to Lebanon.
During my early teen years, I had to come to grips with the fact that Mama was sick....Mama would fall, Mama would get stitches...Mama would burn her face. It scared me. It scared me because I saw Mama getting worse....She'd need help walking, then there was the walker, then there was the wheelchair. Oh...I can't go too much into this...the bruises, the choking fits, the catheters, the slurred speech, the crooked smiles....It broke me. Through it all, Mama tried to give us a semblance of normalcy. She'd smile after every fall...She'd smile to hide the pain; I'd cry to relieve the pain.
My Mama was a brave, caring, kind woman. She was well loved by her students, and she instilled in me a love for words, for singing, and a belief in my abilities. I watched a video on youtube today that reminded me of her and made me cry...again...for the woman who is no longer with me. This video is so powerful.....It's about a young girl's battle with MS. She is an accomplished runner, but after every race...something incredible happens.
This one is for my Mama and in honor of Kayla. Watch if you have a spare minute..... Mama finished her race. She had a firm belief in the goodness of God and in the saving power of Jesus. She was an ideal pastor's wife and a fervent prayer warrior. She could say with Paul, " I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8 Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing."
(2 Timothy 4: 7 & 8) I believe with all my heart that one day my Mama will be whole...body and spirit. You make of that what you want, but I believe she will be awarded eternal life one day.
Here is the story of Kayla:
It had me in tears....I hope she finds the inner strength to keep running for as long as she can....Bless God for people in whose arms we can fall....
Copyright © Eileen Manassian
She is the mother of every poor people, injured people, ordinary people...
Always we remember the great news
'Mother Teresa will get the Nobel Peace Prize.'
It was one of the best moment in our life...
She lived in our city Kolkata (Calcutta) .
She ate our Bengali foods.
She loved us so much...
One day, I was twelve years old
I met her at Mother House along with my parents.
I looked at her heavenly eyes.
I touched her sacred feet and hands.
I heard her divine speeches.
I love her innocent smile.
I told her only the sentences,
'You are the mother of the world,
Mother of my parents.
So you are my grandmother.'
My father hesitated. My mother was silent.
Mother Teresa said to me with smile,
'GOD BLESS YOU MY SON'
Today my eyes are full of tears
Mother, I miss you.
I love you so much....
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
(Mother Teresa founded the Missionaries of Charity, a Roman Catholic religious congregation, which in 2012 consisted of over 4,500 sisters and is active in 133 countries. They run hospices and homes for people with HIV/AIDS, leprosy and tuberculosis; soup kitchens; dispensaries and mobile clinics; children's and family counselling programmes; orphanages; and schools. Members of the institute must adhere to the vows of chastity, poverty and obedience, and the fourth vow, to give "wholehearted free service to the poorest of the poor".
Mother Teresa was the recipient of numerous honours including the 1979 Nobel Peace Prize. In 2003, she was beatified as "Blessed Teresa of Calcutta". A second miracle credited to her intercession is required before she can be recognised as a saint by the Catholic Church.)
Copyright © Sandip Goswami
Vacations, in her knowledge, don't exist
India would progress with people like her,
Dear or not, she cares for all -
Yearning to do good for another
A wonderful person, selfless and wise
Really, for praise, words would not suffice.
Written on March 18th, my mother's birthday.
For Tammy Reams's contest
Copyright © Sneha RV The literature lover
How do I begin to describe you
Such an incredible person
Yet even now you doubt your abilities
You lost your own mum when you were eight - you never ever got over it
You worked all your life, started off by working in a bank for almost 20 years
Then when you had children you ran a village shop from home
But also helped run the smallholding where we lived
You even had an evening job to bring in extra income
Then you began working in a care home and that had a big impact on you
At 50 you changed direction in life and studied and trained to be a nurse
No mean fete with two children to bring up
When you retired you continued to work in a care home
Then you undertook charity work every week still continuing well into your eighties
In fact you were on your way to work at the charity shop when you fell
You were found lying in the street …
Two bleeds on your brain and over three months in hospital
How you pulled through I will never know
Yet you battled on and are still with us still
Now you have short-term memory issues and are going blind
Fate struck a cruel blow when dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer
He passed away in February
Your lifelong partner for nearly sixty years
Your world turned upside down and now you live in a care home
We are selling the family home - gosh I find it tough emotionally
I know we have lost dad but I feel like I am losing you too
You are helping me clear out things from the house
Items you have known and loved for many years
Sadly we can’t keep everything
It must be so so difficult for you, yet you never complain
I just want you to know how much I love you
How much you inspire me
We only have one mum and I am so lucky I have you still
Too late for Inspiration Contest
18th September 2015
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
A woman belongs to God, not to man
Created from Adams rib
She was made to be by man’s side
Not above or below or just a ride
She is not to be treated any lesser
She is the life giver
Yet man continues to test her
She bares the pain that no man can bare
Man should be fair and care
To see that in today’s world is unfortunately rare
How much more can she take
Overtime she has cried and cried
Man is blind to this because of his pride
Man should protect and provide
Her sorrow will not end but continue into tomorrow
To hurt a woman is to hurt God himself
Copyright © Tilahun Taye
What if Mother Nature
and I applied for her position?
How would I dare
her un-ending cycles;
her secret duties?
Could I invoke such power,
or must I simply become her?
into a cocoon of natural faith.
Let the atoms of the cosmos
transform my light into spirit.
Would I then emerge,
complete with every force of mystery?
Awaken each day with pink mist,
and burn each evening sky
Command each leaf, each breath
and every symphony
Would I wear her gowns
of argent, lavender and aqua;
step lightly on mossy stones,
and dance upon silver meadows?
Grace the heavens
in cloud-white glinting wings
the depths of darkest night
bear stars, filled
with the promise
of every beginning?
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney
A Rose with No Thorn
In the Garden, the bouquet of life
There bloomed a rose whose beauty caught my eye
Incomparable is this rose’s design
Unlike the others, she is not the prickling kind
I know they say that every rose has its thorn
But here blooms the exception, of the spirit she is born
One of a kind, the rarest in form
For she is a rose with no thorn
Oh what a fragrance, so lovely and fair
A scent of sincerity sweeps through the air
A pristine beauty from the realms up above
For she is the flower primeval of love
And as I bask in her blossoms of compassion
I find I am fashioned by love that’s everlasting
And in my heart she’ll always be adorned
For she is a rose with no thorn
Though weeds, thorns and thistles have tried to choke her
The rain has wet her; the sun has even scorched her
But she’ll not wither, neither will she wilt
For she is rooted in the love that God has tilled
Amidst great turmoil, never to be foiled
Arrayed in glory that could never ever toil
One of a kind, yes the rarest in form
For she is a rose with no thorn
Copyright2008 by Kenneth J Thompson
Copyright © Kenneth J Thompson
E-ven though she's been gone lo these many years,
D-id I tell her I loved her enough as I fight back the tears.
I-often think I'm the most blessed of men upon this earth,
T-hat God in His wisdom chose her to give me birth!
H-ow I cherish the many happy memories we did share,
M-ost of all her beautiful smile and crown of silvery hair!
A-nd I know that God placed upon her head a star-studded crown.
E-xemplary was she as she served her family with great renown!
(26 March 2015)
(I was unable to type each first letter in bold type)
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw
I stand at your grave.
I do not know your name.
I know not where you are from.
Where you fought,
nor where you died.
The horrors and pain you suffered,
were not in vain.
The death and destruction brought you pain.
I weep at your grave,
for the life you gave.
I weep for the Mother,
that gave you that life.
I kneel before your grave.
I bow my head in gratitude to you,
The Unknown Soldier.
Copyright © Gypsyof Essence
Elegy to Child Lost
Passion's love oft tempts despair
Casts a prideful cosmic dare--
Like Prizing Joy's most intimate caress
Babe snug beneath a mother's breast
Senses at this time are keen
There's no secret kept between
Loving mother, wriggling babe--
Wanted , dreamed of, much delayed
But entwined twin was also loved--
Some say Nature's method proves
That one twin may give all to mate---
But this fatal sacrifice must decimate.
Only mother's eyes would feel babe's smiles--
or sense those legs that wandered miles
And daring feet that danced in tunes while
Arms swam in gentle Celtic croons.
When babe vanished--not a sound.
Mother 's grief was not allowed.
Tempted so to trail behind
Escaping shattered troubled mind.
Squelching sorrow's hungry arms
She Tried erase babe's fluttering charms
Never spoke of-- never mourned.
By her husband she was warned
Was best forget a child so early lost--
Funerals, gravestones--such a cost--
But the years have called babe near,
Mother's journal writ in tears:
'Please forgive my selfish heart.
Repressed from all --this tragic part
I felt your sacrificial act--
You left your cherished twin intact'.
There is no law of random acts
Doctors examine data facts
It may be --that in the womb
When both spring flowers cannot bloom
One bold twin refrains to eat
Compels the other to complete
Hardy growth that life requires---
Sparks survival's crucial hours.
Not an accident 'tis sure--
Boldest spirits blossom pure.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop
A strong woman doesn’t have to have the body that only society wants.
A strong woman doesn’t have to run a marathon.
A strong woman doesn’t have to wear a size zero.
A strong woman doesn’t have to have marvelous muscular masculine legs.
A strong woman doesn’t have to bike up a mountain.
A strong woman doesn’t have to work out for hours to make her tough.
A strong woman has the look of confidence written across her face.
A strong woman still stands tall when she is full of sorrow.
A strong woman does everything at a steady pace.
A strong woman won’t be afraid.
A strong woman keeps her head held high.
A strong wouldn’t care about what she weighed.
A strong woman never gives up.
A strong woman through hard times.
A strong woman is always tough.
Working long hours to make money,
She still makes time to ask,
“How was your day, honey?”
Instead of having a tall, strong stance,
She goes crazy
And she does the Carlton Dance.
She will turn your frown
She will always be there to help you-
For everything you go through.
She will have that shoulder to cry on.
Always- dusk until dawn.
She gives you the clothes on your back.
She gives you the food in your stomach.
She gives you the shelter above your head.
Even when she’s hanging by a thread.
You may say your super-hero is Spiderman…
But my hero is my mom…
Because my mom is a strong woman.
Copyright © Kimber James
My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast
Mother you so beautiful your are.
Sweet mother you are to me precious.
Mother you, Mother you are,
Mother you are the world to me.
Mother your gracious, Mother you are.
Mother you have always been my super star.
Mother you, Mother you are.
Mother you are now resting in the arms of Jesus.
Mother you I miss you so very much.
Mother you are my mommy, Oh how I love you so very much.
Mother how much in sorrow I am left in this world without you.
Mother you, mother you are to me.
Mommie you are, my mother you are.
Mother I will always love you.
Peggy Ann Chandler.
You are you.
God Bless You
I will always miss
and love you.
Copyright © Cheryl Chandler
I do not know?
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
If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed, stepped on or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back.
If it is Mommy, must make her dirty
If it is sibling, must slap,kick,and fight.
If it has four legs, must squeeze tight until makes noise
If big person is on phone, must make lots of noise
If tv is not on cartoons, scream until they are
If food is not good, throw it, refuse to eat it and cry until big people give you something good
Copyright © mandy cabral
A TRIBUTE TO MY MOTHER
She picked cotton, and heaven knows
If she hadn't, there would be no clothes
For us to wear the coming fall
When school would start, but that's not all
She churned the cream to make the butter
But never once did I hear her utter
Words of discouragement for her plight
But sometimes I know she cried at night
She always took good care of us
And watch each day 'til we got on the bus
Then she'd begin her household chores
Making beds and washing clothes
She washed our clothes with soap from lye
And hung them on the line to dry
She fed the chickens and milked the cow
Took care of the pigs and the mama sow
At night after all of us were fed
She'd read us the Bible before we went to bed
The next day would be the same as before
She worked real hard chore upon chore
But today I know her chores are done
She's in heaven worshiping God's Son
Walking hand in hand with Pa
I love her and I miss my Ma
13 May 2012
Copyright © Curtis Moorman
The gracious woman grows through her own self-reflection
Everything she goes through in life is a lesson
Her beauty is of essence such as her presence
Full of integrity, compassion, and optimistic guessing
The courage that she brings
Screams a strong woman destined
With the passion of a soldier at war
She is honorable, respectful, worthy and more
Qualities that must be adored
Copyright © CeAsia White
She was a loving gardner growing four boys, she was called home by God when her love had taken root, now she is a gardener for His flowers.
Copyright © tim bledsoe
I’m a witch of the modern times,
Nay my caldron is not round but square,
It has four sides square, and it’s called a microwave.
No bubble, bubble toil or trouble, with this new
Modern age tool, I just add these mystical
Prepackaged ingredients, then sit there on my
Broom stick and drool.
Forget the bat wings, and the eye of nout,
I prefer the minute bag of hot popcorn instead,
I’m the wiz of a wiz with this squared box of
Miracles, from the mid-night munchies, to the
Commercial button pause freeze zone, on the
Talley blue screen.
There is no more a sacred sound ever heard
On this earth, then that dinging bell going off,
Then ever buddy scrambling to check out, what
Homemade goodies mom has cooked up?
Now the crook top is dandy, and the stove
Maybe handy for more flavor, or special
Occasions of the holiday persuasion,
But I prefer the minute satisfaction,
And gratification of this microwave
My personal idea of home style cooking,
Is pierce the bags plastic top, and stir,
Then serve, boy that broke this fevers
Sweat, are you ready to eat my young ones.
Now in my spell books of cooking perfection,
There’s just no place to plug in this modern
So these massive volumes are just dust
Collectors, but I have a dust buster for
This readies problem, I just have to pop
Dinner in the magic box first, before I can
So what will it be tonight my friend,
Pizza or Pasta surprise, with an Abracadabra’s
Ding, and a POP, I can feed a whole troop of soldiers,
Or a hungry family of five.
Just call me a modern wizard with technical
Support, the best invention of all times
My microwave caldron, with its four
Squared sides, excuse me please,
The bell just went off!!!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MY DAUGHTERS AMANDA AND ASHLEY
And also to the inpatient animals of the world, thanks mom!
Copyright © cherl dunn
I pray for mother
You could have stayed
Forever was my longing
Does it really have to be you?
Mothers are too special to lose
You gave me life mother
You raised me into a man I am today
I will forever be grateful to you
Out of nothing, you gave me food
Out of nothing, you clothed me
Out of nothing, you sent me to school
You were the best
In your shadow I had shade
You called me Father.
For I carried grandfather’s name
Now I understand how special I was to you
You felt grandfather in me
Who will ever call me that again?
I forbid my thoughts to go deep
For the deeper it goes, the deeper it hurts
I can still hear your voice mother
I can still see you in my dreams
You left without saying good-bye,
Were you mad at me mother?
Deep in my heart, you will always have a home
My sisters and brothers are heartbroken
They are all grown up
But they still need you Mother
Do you still remember your grandchildren?
The youngest is not yet a year old
She will never see your beautiful smile mother
You could have waited
So she does something for you
Fetch water or call you grandmother
We all miss you mother
It’s hard to know you are never coming back
One after another
We will join you mother
We are not afraid of death any more
For we have a place with you
God almighty will meet us someday
Then I will see you for myself again
We will talk and laugh
Just like we used too
Now you live in a far away land
We can’t change that, not even God almighty
I will teach my heart to live without you mother
Though it is hard
I will learn to miss you
I will learn to live without you
But I will never forget you
It’s the body I will never see
Your time is gone Mother
Now you live in a new world
There you will never grow old
There you will never die
I have peace in my heart
For I am reconciled by God’s mercy
My father in heaven comforted me
Now I know you are happy there
The pain I felt
The pain that tortured me
Will never torment me again
You departed with all my tears
With all my strength
With all my hope
And with all my faith
But God gave me a thousand reasons to smile
In am now back on track
Rest in peace dear mother,
It was the will of God
Who am I to question him?
I never did when you were given to me
And somehow I knew this day will come
Let his name be exalted
We meet again Mother
This I know.
Copyright © S.T Nchindo
A Poem for Mama
Gnarled hands that caressed a dozen face,
Wrinkled eyes of aging, a woman full of grace.
Through thick and thin, she stood by me,
Lucky and grateful, ‘til death I will be.
When I was younger, she would say,
“build your dreams, never fall astray”.
Those words she uttered, I pondered thoroughly,
The principles she taught, I followed faithfully.
I tumbled, I stumbled, as years went on,
She never left me, from dusk ‘til dawn.
My teenage struggles, the heartbreak it brought,
Instead of judging, my feelings she thought.
Sooner I recovered, I matured, I grew,
In her arms I mended, all bitterness I threw.
She made me realize, that love is not life,
Beyond relationships, true happiness rife.
Now I’m full-grown, by myself I can rise,
Due to her guidance, I’m prudent and wise.
My mother, my hero, can’t compare you to the rest,
It’s true what they say, that mother knows best.
Copyright © Markee Rudas
I do not know?
(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
Mother is the light of every home
Heart full of compassion
Empowers us with her unconditional love
Responsible and hardworking
Copyright © Estela Canama
Her Father and brother appear smaller and smaller
through the tear blurred back window of the Austin A40
the separation of Mother and Father was for her good...
so they said.
The memory scars the heart
dulls the feminine senses.
These graves in the mind
bring her strength of soul.
The wisdom of her times
are transferred by affection and not words of advice.
Her flowered kitchen apron
expresses her love and mind.
Her faith in Christ: her strength yet purpose
are preached by wordless sermonettes.
This is a life that reaches
deep into the unreachable .
Copyright © Peter Hall
Momma Has Dementia
I miss my mother so terribly
yet, she still walks the planet today,
still looking like herself, her smile and her laugh
but her thoughts are only on yesterday.
But, let me look back at her life to see
what I can find,
there is morality in the raising of her girls and
and courage when her loved ones were dying.
As a teenager when my heart would be broken
by some unfaithful boyfriend of mine,
daddy and momma would dance to break off my sorrow
wanting again to see my face to shine.
She has always been so independent
and such a hard worker to,
taking such care of daddy and my sisters and me
so in my heart I praise the Lord gratefully.
Then the fun we have had out shopping
and together going to foreign lands,
sightseeing and visiting and all parts of the trip
just having her with me made it so grand.
For you see, good parents are hard to come by
in this wicked world of ours,
so I know that mine was Heaven sent
and by the Father’s hand they were lent.
And when her earthly life is over
and her time to leave here has come,
I know that she’ll be with Him in Heaven
for she has trusted in God’s only Son.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
Momma went home in 2012
Copyright © Marilyn Jennings
Hera precious, gorgeous queen of splendor,
of mighty Ares,and Enyo,the mother,
to thee I write my gratitude and thanks
for all thy blessings showered upon my head.
Thine is the pomegranate and the diadem,
with which you rule all worlds and human lands,
with magnanimous mercy and charity.
of rainbow colors dressed divine thou art,
the sunny smiling matron of the arts,
Thou,queen, who favorest the pure of heart.
Copyright © Victor Chavez
I love you with all my heart we will never be worlds apart
If by chance you went away
Please just trust in what i say
Your in my heart each and everyday
My love for you will always stay and it will never sway
Even if time stood still my love for you never will
You are my hero I must admit and that I will not forget
You held my hand when I was in pain and it was not in vein
I could not ask for more
Your the reason I was born...
Copyright © Tiffany Flowers
A wonderful wife and mother,raising her sons and tending her flowers were her love. She was called home to be with God when her love had taken root. Now she will forever be with God to tend His flowers.
Copyright © tim bledsoe
Grandmother never allowed us to call her “Grandma” or any
of the other pet names you call your Nana. Mom never cared
what we called her, as long as we came when she called us.
She demanded obedience, made us do our chores. She cared
where we went and what we were doing. She cooked our faves,
sewed, mended and cleaned. She worked many hours to provide
for our needs, sacrificing her own needs to insure ours were met.
I never heard her gripe, though her life was difficult. Only two
kinds of people inhabit our world: Givers and Takers. Most are
takers, who snatch and grab whatever they can. Then there are
the givers, who put others first. Our mother was a giver. She
taught us how to live. She taught us how to love.
Copyright © Cona Adams