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Mom Thank You Poems | Thank You Poems About Mom

These Mom Thank You poems are examples of Thank You poems about Mom. These are the best examples of Mom Thank You poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

Message to Mom on Graduation Day

Mom...

   words cannot express how I feel right now....
   I just want to thank you for all you have done for me....
   I do not know where I would be today....
   if you where not there as my crutch when I needed you most....
   you are the most understanding & caring person in the world....
   to have and to love as a mother....
   I thank my prayers from the good Lord up above....
   for the prayers that were answered for the man I have become today....
   I wish all parents were as supportive as you have been to me....
   to talk when we need too stay quiet when we need too....
   thank you for the life you have given me....
   and the direction that you have led me in....
   I will cherish all the memories, advice, & love you have given me....
   forever and always....
   
   Thank you
   
   I love you Mom.
   I love you.

Kevin Ryan Hansen
11/07/98
Revised 10/12/06


Details | Rhyme |

A Mother's Love


A Mother’s Love… How precious is the love of a mother’s heart! Even as a child… It’s there from the start. A mother’s love knows no boundary or limit. It’s often shown by how much the mother gives it! Whether her children are young or growing old… And whatever circumstances in life may unfold… Her love is continually a solid foundation… That can’t be removed, torn or shaken. Her love is what is a “guiding force…” Even if her children’s lives stray “off course.” I’m thankful for the love my mother’s given… It’s surely influenced the way I’ve been livin’! To all of our mothers across our great nation… May we show them our love and appreciation! Their love has stood and endured the test of time… I’m so glad that one of them is MINE! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Rhyme |

Thank you

Thank you – Zamreen Zarook

Thank you is a sweet word in the nature,
You may be a guy of adventure,
May be you are a person of agriculture,
What matters is your architecture.

Never forget the people, who guided you,
In no degree neglect who were with you,
Don’t ever overlook a creature, who gave a smile to you,
Because, you will meet them above you.

People forget the past due to selfishness,
They have no time to remember their unawareness,
Society, most of the times behave in awfulness,
They will understand when their lives come in to bitterness.

Be a person to thank and remember,
Don’t consider them as December,
Because, you might need them in November,
So, always be as a good subscriber.


Details | Ballad |

I'm Sorry

 im sorry ive caused you pain.
i thank you for sticking by me through everything.
and not giving up on me. i dnt no what
i would do if you had given up on me.
 
Im sorry ive lied to your face and you knew it,
but you still loved me the same as before.
so i thank you.
i dont know if i would be here with you if you had given up on me.
 
im sorry ive broken your trust over and over,
and you still wanna trust me.
i thank you again.
i dont know wat i would have done if you didnt trust me.
 
im sorry ive done things behind your back,
even though i promised you i would never do them.
im sure you knw but you never said anything.
i wish you would have. it would have saved us all alot of pain
 
i thank you for never giving up on me.
i dont no how to tell you how much i love you.
 
mom i love you sooooooo much you wont ever no how much i love u and thank you for everything


Details | Ballade |

A Mother Like No OTher

I sing of a special mother
One like no other
One bothered about another

A mother who smiles and care
One who did nothing but share
It is great to know she is always there

When tear drops she brought a toy
Her whispers sparkles unceasing joy
Her love is stronger than the Helen of Troy

You taught me from wrong to right
You taught me the difference between darkness and light
You taught me to recite the Lord’s Prayer day and night

Envelope yourself in a mothers Love
For she is like an angel from above
Never trade her love for the price of a dove

As we celebrate all mothers in a special way
Thank you for your fidelity, even when we went astray
And above all, thank you for what we are today

He grants the barren woman a home, Like a joyful mother of children.
Praise the LORD! Ps 113:9


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...

hope...


(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)


Details | I do not know? |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Free verse |

Mother and son

I cherish you,
If you cherish me.

You brought me to life,
We began to meet through time,
Even though,
Sometimes you don't comprehend me,
Sometimes you don't understand me,
That sometimes time isn't enough,
That sometimes instincts get uncontrolled...,
But still,
You were designated for my life,
And you profile my living...
We share lives...

Although,
Time brings maturity,
And time doesn't last forever,
As well as we don't last forever...

There is no such thing,
As total perfection,
Even though,
Thank you...


Details | Free verse |

My Gift

It turns out, I'm still a little kid.
The little kid who cries.
The little kid who's afraid.
The little kid who clings on to mom.
The little kid who falls every time he runs.
The little kid who gets bruises, wounds, scars--- patching band aids over it.

Now I understand.
I understand why She would leave me, while dropping my siblings off to school
She didn't have enough.
She would come back and bring Champorado. Spaghetti when she has enough.
She would help me dress for school: putting socks over my feet, fix my imperfect uniform, give me kisses for luck.
At times, I would cry when she drops me off.
At times, I would cry with them, every time their parents drop them off.
Most of the time, I would be very happy to see her there, standing, waiting for me.
She would carry me when I didn't have the energy.
She would carry me whenever I'm sick.
She would carry me to show affection.

She didn't have enough.
She works hard every day.
She works hard to keep the house clean.
She works hard to keep the fridge full.
She prays hard to survive.
She prays hard for guidance.
She prays hard for strength.
She raised us with her own bare hands.
She was our father.
She is my Mom.


Details | Couplet |

Happy Mother's Days

A mother's holiday should be everyday,
To show you the thanks I wish to repay. 

A million word poem could never consist,
Of all that you do - a lifetime of lists. 

So Ill keep it short - a miniature report.
To convey my gratitude for all your support. 

Preparing this thank-you, builds tears in my eyes.
The bulletproof bond we share never dies. 
 
Countless memories we've made as a pair,
Has given me more than I can compare

Your lessons of chivalry I've cherished so dear.
You've molded my heart to love with no fear. 

Your lullaby songs that put me to sleep,
Created a herd of infinite sheep. 

Happy Mother's Day Mom, I hope you enjoy.
Much love from your son, your grown baby boy. 

- Yours Truly


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