These Mother Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Mother. These are the best examples of Mother Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
All's not about Darfur
I've seen it, eerie winds
Moonlight through our thatch
We kissed round, one *palmie gourd
Kigali was but a miss
Waist-beads - beats to love
Have you heard the talk-drum,
*Fela's horns of brass,
Or the *Aladuras' joy of Alleluia?
My grandmother still walks miles
Just because her forbears did,
And shame on malaria
For the dearth of men
Oh, on Mandela's earth
Of Soyinka's nobel ideas
Africa - a big breast,
the good, the bad, the ugly. . .
all, as sucklings!
*palmie - palm wine
*Fela - Celebrated afrobeat musician
*Aladura - a popular african instituted christian sect noted for heavy prayers
All I hear are sirens echoing off tall buildings; a drunk man ranting, a prostitute looking for her next trick, a drug addict looking for his next fix. Young teenage kids who seem to have just learned the art of curse. A young couple fist fighting in the streets---more sirens. A homeless man pan-handling, picking up cigarette butts and smoking a hole into his neck, gum pushed deeper into concrete marked blacker with every step. All I hear are sirens and I say a little prayer for the person in the back. Trains and boats chiming in the distance, a stray cat limping into an unknown existence...must be nice to have nine lives! Yet, all I hear are sirens in this concrete urban forest, where trees are replaced with buildings and cars are the only waves I hear, street lights in place of the stars, sirens in place of the wind.
I close my paper eyelids tight, i can hear in this concrete urban forest of man-nature, for a glimpse, a stolen second in time, the sound of Mother Nature...she still sings and she's crying. She's crying for the people in the back of all those sirens. She cries for her bush the drunk man urinated on; the puddle of blood collecting on her blades of grass that a young man drew from his womans lips. She cries for her branch the teenage kids snapped for fun. She's crying - Mother Nature - is crying, because man - nature takes her place. In this concrete urban forest...all I hear are sirens and I close my paper eyes; i try to reach out and steal the tear off of - Mother Nature's - face. All I hear are sirens and im saddened, man-nature takes her place.
We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,
Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...
These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken
Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"
God created hands for building things. Sometimes before you build something, you must first destroy something else.
Wildfires are never supposed to be put out. Their sole purpose is to burn the entire forest to the ground, transform living things to fertilizer, making room and preparing the soil for new growth.
It is almost paradoxical,
that there must be death before birth
My hands have stared the grim reaper’s reflection inside the pool of my best friends blood. An old student I used to tutor told me that I am the best brother she could have asked for
She said she will always love me
This was after I burned every bridge that traversed the gaps between us
Stared at her from across her desk
Told her that she will never be my sister. That our bloodlines will never match.
Our gene pools are just strangers that made the same wrong turn.
I spent so much time trying to find my way back that I never realized I was home in being lost I found something comfortable, without expectations. I only corrected myself after she spoke,
because I heard something familiar in her voice.
She sounded like family.
I have the scarred and wrinkled hands of a senior citizen
I’m only 22 years old
I once got my palm read
This gypsy woman told me that my lifeline should have been cut short when I hit 17.
That was a year ago.
What do gypsies know anyway
I have defied the odds my entire life.
Been broke down and built back up too many times to count
My fingernails chewed raw to the cuticle out of anxiety
I enjoy the taste of my own pain
Sometimes I use my own hands to destroy myself just to see who my real friends are who will build me back up when I can’t do it alone
My hands have a desire to learn how to cook, but I’m not that great.
So when I am alone,
I tend to be hungry, not just for food though.
I starve for someone to talk to
It never satiates, because it’s not you.
I know what it tastes like to completely give myself to someone.
My biggest fear is being abandoned.
When I look into your eyes, I am not afraid.
I need to cook you up a feast of myself, then feed it to you every day for the rest of our lives
Please tell me what I really taste like,
Years after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother moved into my aunt’s house.
Since I was 5, every time I speak to her she asks me:
“Spenser, did you thank God for waking you up today?”
I think to myself, I never did tell my eyes to open themselves. It just happened.
So I don’t know how to respond to her correctly.
I tell her that I love her, that I am writing a lot.
She tells me that she puts her hands together for me every night
Prays that I will get the job I want
I guess some prayers do get answered.
Sometimes two hands in the right position, matched with a conversation with God,
Can change things.
I even accidentally call that place home sometimes.
My dream is that my hands evolve into wolves, become part of a pack and work together with other hands to make a difference
Some days they will be the alpha male.
Full of confidence, at the head of the pack
Other days I need someone to show me the right way to go
Because if I’ve learned anything
It’s that I am not always right
I can not always be in control of everything
The only thing I have ever really wanted is to know
That my hands were truly
A part of something.
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.
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...
Have you ever imagined the world we live without women?
It is like a lung without some oxygen, agonizing and inevitably dead
A face never with a smile, boring and unfriendly
A cup of tea without some grains of sugar, bitter and foul
A pool without some water, dry and boring
A good ride on a bad untilled road, rough and uninteresting
The earth without some drops of rain, a honeymoon in Sahara desert
But how come with the great number of women on planet earth
We still live to cry as a reggae legend sang “no woman no cry”
It is because they permit evil as much as they permit good
Gullible and instrumental in the hand of the wicked ones
Ugly and nice, beautiful and dangerous
Cunning like a serpent, deceitful like chameleon
Holy but a liar, having a form of godliness but highly ungodly
Lovely like a white puppy, sweet like bees honey
Women control men while the men rule the world.
My father painted
western landscapes and bluebonnets
in a manner that can be described as “primitive.”
He painted with his heart to stay sane
in the never-sane world
of the mens’ tubercular sanitarium.
From what little I actually know of him
he was a man of conscience
and love for his family.
He may have been other things too,
but I can’t possibly know for certain
except from the stories I’ve been told.
In these stories he was almost a saint.
When I was twelve he was sent home to die,
although no one told me.
I remember him lying in bed in our front room.
I touched his puffy leg, leaving a white dimple.
He said we would make plans for time together,
just the family,
when he was better.
One anonymous night
I stayed with my grandmother
for no reason I could figure out,
although I really didn’t give it much thought.
In the darkest part of that night
my mother woke me
to tell me he was dead.
I don’t remember my reaction,
but I don’t think I cried.
Men didn’t do that, you see.
I do remember eating cake after his funeral
at what I recently heard called
a “funeral party.”
I have a way of forgetting painful times.
For a long time after his death
my memory is a blank.
Now, I am a painter.
I don’t paint his landscapes or bluebonnets,
but, like my father,
it brings a breath of sanity to my world,
completing the long-delayed circle of his life.
"Love me when I least deserve it, because that's when I really need it"
All the while I went my way
Hot hostility halt my been gay
Anger defiled my melodious voice
Frightened love, fled far from been mine
Each dawn grew my melancholy phase
Still you cared, it made me amazed
Each of thy smiles slightly faded my repugnant scowl
It a little, shamed by burning anger
My heart pictured if thy world was true
I began to believe for I was always at rest with you
Many a time I would have gone back
But amidst my distressing scowl,
Mama smiled like my scowl was a charming smile
Felicitations of envy I'd give to men
But you were ever gentle and patient
An insolent child is not thrown away, I'd
Hear her say
Just before hate could ruined me
You gave me reason to believe love is true
Slow ridding years mended my heart
Your incessant warmth refined me
Your warm embrace taught me the
Way of love; comforting, reassuring
Ever patient and forgiving
You showed me the beauty of love
Now the world is a mirror
When I smile they smile bright too
You are the constant sky in my life
I love you mama
For the contest “The Right Time” written by Ingibo Benson
Fourth July 2011
Cody was questioning the lettering on the doctor's plaque on the wall..
He asked me to write letters in cursive which I did ...
He said that the plaque's lettering was not anything like cursive..
Then he wrote in cursive "Once upon a time"
I wrote: "there was"
He wrote: "a Granny"
I wrote: "Who had a Chihuahua named Princess"
He wrote: " They were so alike that they both even had the same spoiled look on their face.."
I wrote: " Princess wanted a new coat and a new harness so we went to PetSense to shop..Princess wanted a rhinestone studded harness and a sequined coat..Of course, she got what she wanted its no joke"..Ha!!!Ha!!!Ha!!
Cody came away empty handed..Ha!!!
Just for fun...