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Tribute Mother Poems | Tribute Poems About Mother

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Details | Quatrain | |

Hidden Beauty

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

Eileen Manassian

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:

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/may_17_429673
 
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/my_mothers_daughter_480741

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/march_19__464436

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_remember_you_443028 

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_hypochondriac_429384

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Becoming Mother Nature

What if Mother Nature
 retired,
and I applied for her position?
How would I dare
to assume,
 her un-ending cycles;
 her secret duties?
Could I invoke such power,
 or must I simply become her?
Spin myself
 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
 with crimson?
Command each leaf, each breath
and every symphony 
of living?
Would I wear her gowns
 of argent, lavender and aqua;
step lightly on mossy stones,
 and dance upon silvery meadows?
Grace the heavens
in cloud-white glinting wings
and in
 the depths of darkest night
 bear stars, filled
with the promise
 of every beginning?
 
Suzanne Delaney


Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

YOU'RE MY INSPIRATION - DEDICATED TO MY AMAZING MUM

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 Written for a previous contest but too late to be submitted Placed in Judy Konos' Contest - tell us about your mom 18th September 2015

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

A Rose with no Thorn

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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

A mother's treasures

A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother 
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her 
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this alletrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths 
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job 
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mother Teresa and I

Mother Teresa
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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Heroic Couplets | |

YES, MOTHER

Looking back to memories bright,
I remember she’d teach me wrong from right.
“Clean your plate.  There are others who have none.”
“Do your homework, and let me know when you’re done.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“Save your money for a rainy day.”
“It’s beautiful outside, so go out and play.”
“Let me show you how to clean and cook.”
“If you’re really bored, you can read a good book.”
“Don’t you know that I was young once, too?”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“Take some time to read this book, son.
I think it’s time you know where they come from.”
“Girls are spice and everything nice.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll take my advice.”
“You don’t have to do as others do.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“My grandfather gave us all we would need.
When spring rolled around he would plant seed.
He shot game and lived off the land.
He wasn’t afraid to make a stand.
You could learn a few things from him, too.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“I used to walk a mile to school.
It won’t hurt you to walk a little, too.”
“Do your chores and be nice to your sister.”
“Address adults as Misses or Mister.”
“Do you know that I love you?”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“Why do you want to be in a rock and roll band?”
“Be a leader.  Lend a helping hand.”
“How old is she?  What is her name?
Do you care for her deeply?  Does she feel the same?”
“Where have you been?  I was worried about you!”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“How many hours?  How much does it pay?
Think of your future.  In school you should stay.”
“Do you have food?  You’ve lost a lot of weight.”
“Be on time.  You shouldn’t be late.”
“Did you get the letter that I sent you?”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“You’re too young to get married.  Won’t you wait till later?
Yes, I think she’s nice.  No, I don’t hate her.”
“You need a good job.  Where will you live?”
“How much do you need?  How much can I give?”
“Isn’t life great when love is new?”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“I’m going to be a grandma?!!  You must be joking!”
“How’s the job going?  Are you still smoking?”
“We’re all fine.  How is she?
I was foolish to think she’d replace me.
Tell her that I’m thinking of her, too.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“You sound funny.  Are they all right?
How long was she in labor?  Was it a long night?
She’ll be okay.  She just needs time to heal.
You’ll be a good father.  When was your last meal?
Give her my love, and to the baby, too.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“Tell her not to fuss.  I won’t be a bother.
I remember a few things.  You were once a toddler.
The living room is fine.  You sleep in your own room.
I’ll get her some groceries.  Where does she keep her broom?
It was nice seeing you.  I’ll miss you, too.
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“They’re growing like weeds.
I wish you weren’t so far away.”
“Pay attention to your wife . . .
A good husband doesn’t stray.”
“Call me if you need someone to talk to.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“Get you some stocks, bonds, or an IRA.
If you stuff it under the mattress, that’ll be okay.
You must think of their future . . . and yours and hers, too.
It’ll take planning to see it all through.
Don’t worry about me, son.  I’ve planned some, too.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.

“Are you happy, boy?  It’s important that you are.
There’s more to life than a career or a new car.”
“I’m proud of you and of who you’ve become.
You’re all that I dreamed of and even more, son.
But tell me the truth.  Did I ever get through?
Did you ever listen when I was talking to you?”

Yes, Mother . . . I listened.  I even took your advice.
In many of my choices, I didn’t have to think twice.
I haven’t always been as good as I could be.
There were times that I was glad you weren’t there to see.
Of one thing I’m certain . . . you passed a lot on.
You taught me to be caring, happy, and strong.
Your thoughts are with me in all that I do.
Yes, Mother . . . I heard you.

Copyright © Mike Shoemaker | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose | |

For Mama and Kayla- Falling into His Arms

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:

http://fbshare.sfglobe.com/2014/11/24/coach-catches-teenage-runner-with-multiple-sclerosis-during-every-race/?src=share_fb_new_20016 

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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

ISIS

She's the first image of God
the Alpha    the Omega
the beginning   NO end
the highest evolution of God
God sent
the Black woman is God
nappy   nappy
the master
the servant
still happy  happy
the first image of God
strength that cannot be broken
soul that cannot be bought with a
silver or gold token
YES! 
she’s the first image of God
Mother of the rainbow children
Lucy    Auset   Isis    Virgin Mary
I know  
sounds scary   scary
the Black woman is God
skin as brown as dirt 
divine flower sprung from the earth
she’s the first image of God
Original descender
return of Christ
Nibiru ascender
the universal womb of God
divine womb   divine wombman
holding the knowledge of God
the Black woman is the mystery of God
 Isis   Genesis 
genealogy of God

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2016

Details | Acrostic | |

VIDYA-R

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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

Best of All

Throughout it all, you’re always there.
To guide and teach, to love and share.
To show me things I could not see,
Told me to be the best I could be.
Taught me the values of wrong and right.
In the dark, you are my light.
You’ve stuck by me throughout the years;
Through times of trial, joy, and tears.
Loved and nurtured me and helped me grow.
It means so much, I want you to know.
You’re the kind of person that stands out above the rest.
In a league of your own, that’s better than the best.
You’re not a Father, Sister, or Brother.
You’re the best of all. You are my Mother.

Copyright © Aimee Rodriguez | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry | |

The Steel of a Mother

Her face is invaded by networked wrinkles
For she gave to the world all her valued best,
Her input to the current world has tired her
And she looks up to the grave for final rest.

She chose for herself a deprived lifestyle
So as to give to the young something good,
Cars and houses and clothes and fine jewelry –
All were junk if her children had decent food.

The jingling of up-to-the-minute gadgets
Does not amaze this brave and daring seed
That persisted through the lows of a mean life
To birth and nurture the wits that ages feed.

The ticking of time has forsaken her
And failing strength betrays her fast
Yet the world salutes her undying feats
As she unbowed breathes her last.

Copyright © Hannington Mumo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Monorhyme | |

Mother, Mother My Brilliant Rose

Under the mystical moon she glows.
All obscure answers she knows.
From her heart, love composes.

Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2016

Details | Acrostic | |

Tribute To Mother On Mothers' Day 2015

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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Epitaph | |

The Unknown Soldier

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.
Forever Remembered.

Copyright © Gypsyof Essence | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

A Strong Woman

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
Upside down.
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…
Batman…
Or Superman…
But my hero is my mom…
Because my mom is a strong woman.

Copyright © Kimber James | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy | |

ELEGY TO LOST CHILD

                                        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 | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

A Tribute To My Mother


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


		Curtis Moorman
		13 May 2012

Copyright © Curtis Moorman | Year Posted 2012

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)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Healing Words

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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | List | |

Rules in the eyes of a toddler

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 | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

Momma Has Dementia

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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose | |

Our Mother's Love

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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ode | |

Memorial Tribute

Mother you,
Mother you so beautiful your are.
Mother you,
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.
My Mother,
Peggy Ann Chandler.
You are you.

God Bless You
I will always miss
and love you.


Copyright © Cheryl Chandler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

THE MICROWAVE MAGICAN

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, 
Wouldant you.
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 
Magician.
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
Tools connection.
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
 Solve them.
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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

The Gracious Woman II

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 | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

MY HERO

My Hero

I was once in your womb
Pain of giving birth was like
One foot in the tomb 
The bout that you needed to ease
Because I might be lost
If you don't fight to cease
Thank you for rocking me unceasingly
Thank you for feeding me 
In the middle of the night tirelessly
The naval that I see
Is evident that you never gave up on me
I love you so much Mommy
Thank you for your unconditional love
You are my hero Mommy 
Sshhh don't tell Daddy Mommy!
I love you too Daddy! 
And you are the King and Queen of my heart.



September 30, 2015

Copyright © Meline Ngo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

A Box of Hope and Dreams

I keep my dreams and aspirations,
stored away neatly in this box.
Tied off with a pretty pink ribbon,
secured tightly with key and lock.

And every time I feel like a failure,
I open it, so I can again feel alive.
Arms of dreams tightly surround me,
giving me strength I need to survive.

I’ve hidden this box in a secret place,
where I’m the only who can see.
A beautiful box of hopes and dreams,
finely sewn with love at the seams.

This box is opened quite frequently,
especially when we’re apart –
this rhetorical box of memories,
in perfect synch with each beat of my heart

Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2012

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)





Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Life Can Be Cruel

I cannot get into heaven
God I have tried!
Suicide is a double edge sword
Especially when you survive!
Walking the streets at night
Dazed and confused
Longing to be loved
Wondering...
When is Mum, coming for me?

"Does she still love me?"
"Does she still care?"
"Does she still think of me?"
"Does she wonder, where I am?"

I want her to come find me
I want her to say she 'loves me’
I want her to comfort me
I want her to take me home
And keep me safe
And not forget hat I exist
Like the way she treats me now

I wish God 
Could make my Mum
Magically appear
Making this hellish nightmare
On the street
Disappear!

“Send my Mum please!”
So, all this can end!
Before this last ray of hope
Diminishes for good!

I don’t want to become
The walking dead
Forever forgotten as if 
I was never born!
For this is the cruel, harsh reality
Of living life, feeling unloved
Uncared for, abandoned,
Left to fend for my own

A dangerous killer inside me
Eating away, at my soul
Something, no one can see
As I suffer in silence
My insides crippling!

Lost, alone and frightened
Weeping on a dirty
Graffiti park bench
Dirty tears
Rolling down my cheeks
Stuffing newspapers under my jumper
To keep myself warm

“What am I going to do?”

“Will I make it through the night?”
“Will I get raped and beaten?”
"Will I be left for dead?”
“Will I survive
To see another day?

“Is my life worth living?”

Please God, I beg of you
Have mercy now
Please show me the way!

Copyright © Amy Rose | Year Posted 2013