My mother’s hair hung thick and to her waist.
But seldom did she wear it in that way,
for always in a bun she had it placed
til it was loosed and on her pillow lay.
She sometimes tells me how I'd kidded her.
When I was small, I said, “Your hair is pink!”
From how she tells this story, I infer
I must have caused her tender heart to sink.
She aged, yet grey was sparse upon her head.
We said, “An older woman cuts her hair.”
Mom acquiesced and lost those locks rare red
she’d humbly worn for years when young and fair.
She’s nearly eighty now, bobbed hair turned brown,
And how I miss her once “pink” glory crown.
By Andrea Dietrich
Dancing butterflies and laughter
without a care. A day full of sweet
smelling blossoms fill the air.
Sister's golden hair glistened in the
Summer sun's glow, as Mother blew
colorful bubbles that bounced off
her little nose.
Mother's heart was always full of
love to share and the day of blossoms,
and bubbles will forever in my memories
be kept with loving care.
Precious and few are moments shared
together. This wonderful day of blossoms
and bubbles, in my heart will last forever.
April 6, 2015
In the Christmas Freeze of 1983
Mama thought she lost her Oleander tree
Some called it a “bush,” but at 14 feet tall
Its shadow cast wide on her home’s southern wall
How she mourned the loss of this beloved plant
She begged the Lord for any blessing He’d grant
The freeze ended soon, though her tree appeared dead
The scent of water each day clung to its bed
On January twenty-fourth, the call came
Dad said mom entered God’s heavenly domain
A neighbor had found her, lying in the yard
Next to remnants of a plant she’d not discard
In May a miracle appeared to occur
The strong plant revived, as if waiting for her
*True occurrence based on my mother’s death, January 24, 1984.
Poem written July 12, 2014
She brought me into this world with her love,
One of the precious gifts from up above,
From her womb ‘til I stand on my own feet,
She did everything for my benefit.
She was my first teacher and she was stern,
For her, in life I have so much to learn,
Sometimes, with her great love I’m also hurt,
She is not perfect, but she wants the best.
I salute her for being a martyr ,
Serving her family who is so dear,
She is my sunshine during stormy day,
My guidance and strength when I lost my way.
I’m so lucky that she is my mother
I am of what I am because of her.
May 14, 2013 5.30 pm
A dedication to my loving mom. That's really her. Ever since, she works so hard for the family as a dressmaker. She'd sacrificed a lot for us especially when we were young( my 2 brothers and I) because according to her and my dad, we were so sickly especially when we were still babies ;))).I love her so much and I'm so proud of her. HAPPY HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
Contest: Mother and precious poems
Sponsor: My loving sis & greatest poet, PD
Shall I compare thee to your mother's arse?
Thou aren’t more lovely, but more flatulent.
Rough winds do shake it; and bring on a farce
And all her clothes hath all too short a rent
Sometime too hot-headed of hell doth burn,
And often is the true nature exposed;
And every foul from fowl; my stomach churns,
By reason, or by nature's raging closed.
But thy infernal diet shall ne’er start
Nor gain possession of which now I grasp;
Nor shall we meet again; let’s stay apart,
When in eternal sounds the voice does rasp,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can cry,
So long lives this, and I bid thee goodbye.
I bet you didn’t know about the fairies
assigned to all the infants that are born.
At night beside her precious charge each tarries
while softly crooning lullabies till morn.
An extra special fairy will be sent
to first-time mothers of a girl or boy,
for when the harried fretting mom is spent,
she only has to look upon her joy.
As magic dust releases from above,
the mother sighs and holds her baby near.
Then particles illuminate the love
of one who coos while cradling her dear.
As fairies go, there simply is no other
as blessed as she who serves the child and mother.
A mother carried you in her womb,
Her happiness moment is when you were born and she met you.
A mother is tender and nurtures you.
She does everything to take care of you.
A mother is your protector who keeps you out of harms way.
She worries about you night and day.
A mother is your supporter and inspiration.
She guides you in the right direction.
A mother is your comfort when you need an ear,
She is the only one who is true and dear.
A mother sets an example,
There is nothing too great for her to handle.
A mother's love is unconditional,
All the decisions she makes are rational.
A mother is valuable and strong,
Not afraid to tell you what's right when you're wrong.
A mother does everything to give you what you need,
She's there cheering you on to succeed.
A mother will always be your mother,
She is irreplaceable because you will never get another.
A mother goes over and beyond,
Nothing can come in between a mother and her child's bond.
A mother is truly a gift that needs to be appreciated,
She is the reason why you were created.
A mother would die for you,
She lives her life for you.
A mother sacrifices her wants for yours,
She is your own personal super hero and more.
May 10, 2014
~The One and Only~
The pool grows green through the leaf cover.
Large pears hang upon ancient tree.
Mocking Bird sings chanting to his lover;
As the dew sparkles, like water in the sea.
Crepe Myrtle has turned red how time has passed.
Moma admired some trees said they were pretty.
Daddy dug up a few runners, oh! memories from past.
In most things, think of daddy how witty__
Daddy brought (them) here to brighten moma's life
To give her something pretty to enjoy.
Today I enjoy them, this is reallife.
Now as I look at them they are my buoy
Clouds are coming in hiding the sun rays
But their light and life brightens my days_
For Nancy's contest;
Contest name: Gratitude
Inspired by; Constance La France’s Native American Portrait
Nikan is a man who once stood proud and true all across this land
in symbiotic relation with nature endowed by the great creators hand
passed onto him by his ancestors to never take more than his fair share
and always be kind to this land for it’s the Mother to all whom she shall bare
When times are lean we all will grow thin together for together we are one
with one voice to sing in harmony for bountiful harvest to our Father the Sun
and give him thanks and praise for warming and making fertile our Mother
who blessed new life into the birthing seasons for every Sister and Brother
Great spirit hear my song of hope that I sing for my people who will cry
we are mighty on the earth give us protection or your children they will die
and our people’s blood will flow upon our Mother like deep rivers of raging red
O’ Father I can see no solution will you spare us from the white mans dread
I could never make claim to imagine this great man’s woeful sorry or despair
Nikan's song is a lonely tune played for the spirit of his people upon the air.
Nikan traslation from the Potawatomi "MY Friend"
Baamaapii Nikan.......until we meet again my friend
Billions of journeys round a fiery eye
This watery celestial traveler made.
Untiring, spiraling route through the sky
Always returned from yearly crusades.
She carried her children on top her back
And nurtured their needs until they have grown.
Some may have suffered; those may have cracked
But never through any fault of her own.
Forever and always maternally
This wondrous, aging beauty shall remain
Our source of life atmospherically.
Through time and space her dimensions attained
Despite her journeys she managed to bring
Her gifts: summer, autumn, winter and spring.
When you miss a child,
Of your very own,
That is your flesh and blood,
You begin to wonder,
Where did you go wrong,
In your own life,
Instead of looking,
At the beautiful life,
This you must remember,
So many of the difficult times,
Cause of the times you did share together,
For your children will remember more,
Than you really want to give them credit for,
And they will always remember you,
As their loving parent,
For loving them so much,
More than you will ever know,
And you will never forget them,
Just as you hope,
You will never be forgotten,
From their lives,
On this September’s mild evening
I watch blue stars flicker, to glow
Around your hair like angel wings
How fair the dance ‘neath our window.
That in hushed tones, I speak your name
Enshrined in warmth of timeless grace
My hands fold yours with love aflame,
While eyes rest deep from my embrace.
Although weak heart quivers in ticks
With faith, a miracle is done;
Your birthday nears at forty six
As prayers trail for more reruns.
For health anew, may God restore
The gift of life from heaven’s door.
In loving memory of my deceased mother
who suffered heart problems at age 46 ,
and survived a few. She celebrates
her birthday this September 17.
Elly Waterouse’s Maybe The Last Letter
by nette onclaud
Sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
By the sea, she oft let her spirits clench
to the lore of love where I once grew.
She watches seagulls dive for a quench,
as waves predispose to catch her view;
sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
O, look how she put the sun to blench,
giving her the sea in note less mew,
which let a startling night, to unscrew
stars to dance, anew, that in elench
sweet mother loves sitting on a bench,
the spray painted seat she only knew!
- inspired by Brian Strand's A Rondel Poetry Contest
A Dirty Basement Room
In a dirty basement room a baby cries
Weakened mother was defiled
Forced my law to birth a child
Upon a dirty pillow she lies
In a dirty room the mother dies
Mother and son soon reconciled
Victims of government gone wild
A time to live a time to die
Angry rapist walks streets free
Will they listen to her plea?
In a dirty basement room a baby cries
Angry rapist runs streets free
In a dirty basement room mother dies
Will they listen to her plea?
Can I tell you, Mom, that I love you?
You smile so bright it lights up a room,
I can’t help appreciate all that you do,
Like you make luscious flowers bloom.
Rough winds do try to shake your beauty,
You stand tight and hold steady.
Raising me was your solemn duty,
When being there for me, you were always ready.
But though your age, your job shall not end,
For your job as a mother will be vigorous,
You will always have a helping hand to lend,
And that is why you’re marvelous!
When your brown hair gets all white and gray,
I’ll be there to help you like you do today.
Little doll with curly hair, how did God
Make you so fair? With big eyes color sky
And with skin as rose as a healthy child...
Fall asleep as you hear my sweetest lullaby!
The radiant moon has come into your dreams,
What can she offer you: if not moonbeams?
And as you breathe, you resemble a cherub
That Rafael imagined to be you in that crib
When happy angels gathered and whispered,
" Little doll, gently lay on your golden head."
This nursery rhyme you will learn in time,
And sing it to yourself when church bells chime.
You'll long for a hand to caress your cheeks...
feeling its warmth while you will float on dreams.
A mother’s face you rarely touch and kiss
You go on with life without retrospect
Mother waits longer but with finesse
Many flowers withered from willful neglect
A short respite giving fresh breath inside her womb
Empowering new life without remorse
Her presence helped you strive with aplomb
With your mother, you’ll be on the right course
Such a lovely face you cannot assess
A portrait to paint with high pixels of respect
Her smile that relieves all your stress
Today is Mother’s Day and try to recollect
Now her face wrinkled but beyond compare
Like heavenly bodies with unique flare
12 May 2013
Our rising worship! Oh, perfect love of Mother and Child
is understood by adoring eyes. Eager hearts pray,
from the eternal breath of babe. Lifted high, strong yet mild,
He foretells of forgiveness and whispers agape.
Upon Mary's chest, lie His heavenly dreams -
a love of no measure born unto a Virgin
and sins evermore are assuredly redeemed
as God's blessed Mother cradles creation.
Her womb brought forth Light, the Savior of man.
Her gentle touch nurtured God's only Son.
The sacrifice, His blood shed to quench a dry land.
Prophecy fulfilled, so no soul shall be shunned.
Inspire us precious babe upon Mary's chest.
Mother's unfailing love gives comfort and rest.
*Inspired by Anguissola's Virgin and Child.
I remember the days of emptiness
no one seemed to be anywhere around
Love and warmth became lesser than less
the killing silence the only ear deafening sound
I'm Cathryn(*) and you're Elly I presume
"feel and be your own you and it's totally okay with me"
my dearest second mom entered the room
she sat simply and silently right in front of me
I felt no longer like a worthless black swan
her tender love and care made me feel fine
suddenly there was that shoulder to cry on
and my mother who recognized me and what was mine
she shared her inner beauty now mirrored in me
she gave birth to the little girl I always wanted to be
Written for "Sonnet on a Intimate Relationship - Poetry Contest"
(c) Elly Wouterse
(*) in Dutch spelled "Cathrien'..
DEMETER AT THE CHINESE OPERA
So, I invited you to the Chinese Opera impulsively
Thinking of masks and dragons and triumphant mystery
I though it was time we threw off our coats
Of mourning, you for your daughter
Stopping one night, on the way home from a party,
So randomly, cruelly, killed by the monster
Who has slain more than all the century’s wars
And my private sorrow for which there is no funeral.
I remember your straying husband also
Loved the Chinese Opera. What will happen
If we all meet between the acts?
Surely forgiveness will come like snow on the mountain
And we will live in a harmony that can never be suppressed
In a slow majestic music that takes account of grief.
(C) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
You left us on the Fourth of July
Now my heart is filled with unexpected pain
I remember when you would say to look at the sky
To find the moon, now that is on memory lane.
You would sing us the sweetest lullaby
Even though you were far away
And simple phone call to pacify
The miles traveled in a day
But ever since the day you've been gone,
I've succeeded in many things you'd be proud of
It has been so hard for us to move on
I just keep thinking of you up above
No matter the miles that keep is apart
You will forever and always be in my heart.
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!
"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!
The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
and on his heels--I made my promise good!
We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Maybe I'm Amazed
When I talk to you I often wonder
How you devoted your entire life
To me, I'm just a blunder
But you were Mother and wife.
Seven to feed and care for
Plus a man whom needed care
Dug deep always more
Reading,prayers forever there.
Educated and refined
Unknown by most,
Only with us you'd unwind
Kept your cards close.
Only those she raised
Know the sacrifices she gave.
Jennifer Marie Oliver
Afore falling in his arms they advice to think twice
Unregretful I act beyond my surprise
It’s the grip of a force, a force here to claim
Compelling, like a moth drawn to the flame
Every night encloses the heat of flaming souls
But sun kissed morning plays a wicked role
To my realization it brings an obvious question
What next to prevent conception?
Like always, I pop in a pill to save the bill
My guy admires the worth of a contraceptive pill
It causes side-effects. Ah! How would he know?
He enjoys the freedom of reckless show
Nevertheless, I look at kids and admire their innocence
Wish the pill could kill within me my maternal pretence!
In the kingdom of the Waters
She sits enthroned on its womb
Flanked by the silver facet Atlantic-Indiana
As the barking tides wrestle her marble feet
In the court of the Tropics
She is robed in green foliage of ancient savannah
Adorned with pearls of arid sands,
With ivory mountain and cincture of rift
In the mythic boarder of the Equator
She rests at the footstool of the fierce sun
Comforted by cloud’s tears
And caressed by solemn winds
In the royal neighborhood of Continents
She locks horn with Europe
In the witness of Asia
And her offspring Madagascar
Luzerne County Community College
I further my education right there
Being there really increased my knowledge
W-S-F-X was on the air
I was the promotion director there
and I hosted Campus Talk a few times
Associate’s Decree without despair
and having a family more than dimes
back in High School college wasn’t in mind
Working out at sea college wasn’t bad
college did get me ready for the grind
and for a moment my mother was glad
but most of all I learn more poetry
and my writing makes me feel truly free
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou can buy drinks at McD’s for a buck,
Wait, that means thou never want to pay,
Thou went to see a psychic for good luck.
Sometime too hot thou think thou are at clubs,
The ways you act embarrass all thy friends ;
And when we need to drag thou out of pubs,
We hope thy hot behaviour will soon end.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Especially in winter when thou wear;
Shorts too short with legs far too displayed,
“Oh my god, I can see her underwear,”
Thy “summer’s” kind of ratchet after all
Thy friends will wait until you turn to fall.
They’ve traveled from one house to another.
Some may say they’re strong enough to go on
Without a woman to call their mother.
Attachment is pointless, soon to be gone.
Another house that will never be home.
Little children crying themselves to sleep,
wondering where they will be next to roam.
All they can do is to hope and to weep.
Will they love me enough now, I wonder.
Shall I go away or shall I stay here?
At night, I can still hear the loud thunder
of his footsteps drawing so very near.
Though I may never find my one true home,
For love, I’ve found- I’m no longer alone.
Oh Mother, why have you left me on the shores of lonesomeness?
Without you, I amount to nothing.
I miss you, and I miss your bosom’s tenderness.
You protected, you fed, and you were my closest peer.
When I became ill, you healed.
When I crumbled in hopelessness, you stood behind as firm backbone,
For strong you are and steady; I lingered within your fortress, behind your shield.
Forever protective; as a watchful knight that has been sworn.
Seldom, I am strong, without your wholesome feminism.
Oh Mother, I dearly miss your divine presence.
Love you; I do, with undoubted truism.
My heart, you comfort; forever, I feel your essence.
You complete me in every way.
Regardless of age, in your warmth I stay.
< enticing to eyes watching mama's pink roses bloom
fourty years later someone else now cares for them
fresh cut daily and seen in her arms their long stems
tears streaming down face I sit under swollen moon
waiting watching for sun to come up again soon
to catch one more glimsp of mama's planted old gems
unfurling petals before been chopped or condemned
think I'll ask if can take one for my dining room
aroma bursting amidst thy supper's table
bowed heads we come and thank our Heavenly father
somebody still cared though sick and times unable
and answers it's door for which one has come bothered
to let bask in roses empowering fable
and not to be called as it's one's roses robber
French Sonnet is a poem with rhyme scheme
Of ABBAABBA and CDCDCD
Or ABBAABBA and CDECDE
Syllable count is 12 syllable per line.