I have borrowed the first line of this piece from the"unknown scribe" , which I
read many years ago.... The rest is for ALL the great mothers who are SOUPER.
Who took me from my cosy cot
And sat me on an ice cold pot .
To make me pee ,when I could not.......... My mother
Who fed me from the very start
With bosomed milk , straight from the heart
Then burped me, 'till I'd belch and fart...... My mother
Who warmed me from the Winter breeze
Dried the blood from my skinned knees
But told me "fibs" 'bout birds'n bees..........My mother
Who healed me when I had a chill
And nursery rhymed me Jack and Jill
But lied to Dad , about being on the pill...... My mother
Who coaxed me past the school day bell
Smiled and said .. all would be well
But then went home and cried like Hell.......My mother
Who was protector from life's curse
Was doctor , dentist , priest and nurse
Friendly Bank ,with open purse...................My mother
Who lies beneath this cold grey stone
In peace ,at last , and all alone
The first true love that I had known.................. Mam
Copyright © Sean Kelly | Year Posted 2007
God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…
who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.
Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.
Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.
Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.
Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?
Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.
The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.
The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.
Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.
Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.
Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.
Copyright © Kelly Zakerski | Year Posted 2009
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.
Copyright © Flippant She-Creature | Year Posted 2012
There once was a woman named Linda
Who would keep a clean hacienda
Till four children she bore
And then bore she one more...
She now has a different agenda!
Timothy I. Brumley
Copyright © Timothy Brumley | Year Posted 2010
My mother thinks I'm a doctor
I just don't have the guts
To tell her I spent all my college doe
On beer, wine, women and such
So after I faked my graduation
Said I was moving to the South
To help the less fortunate among us
Another lie I let slip out
I'm now in the south of Florida
Where some may call me a bum
Living in a citrus grove along the coast
Not answering to anyone
It's really not such a bad life
This do nothing life I've made
I hear my Moms proud of me at afternoon tea
Telling the girls of all the lives I save
I do my share of dumpster diving
That's where I got the idea
Behind a real doctors office one day
With some of their stationary I nabbed
I did a little doctoring
After all I do play one in Moms mind
Doesn't look to lame where I inserted my name
Then wrote my Mom about the kids and the wife
I've created such an elaborate charade
It's now gotten all out of hand
As I panhandle my way up and down
The Sunshine states surf and sand
Mom now says she wants to visit
Can't wait to meet the wife and kids
Don't know how I let it get this crazy
And how it all lead up to this
Now I'm scrambling to find a vacant house and a woman
With a couple of kids that look just like me
That can go along with a ruse for a week in mid-June
Since I told her that's when I'd be free
I'm thinking I should of studied in college
Instead of being this mind numbing huckster
Telling lie after deepening lie
Just so my Mother would think I'm a doctor
Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2016
Mother may I
Go out and play
Have you cleaned your room today
Are your toys packed away
in your toy chest with care
Yes mother yes
its all in there
Did you make your bed
like i showed you how
yes mother yes
may I go now
Yes son yes
after a brief inspection
son shakes his head
not what I was expecting
I'm going to my room
oh by the way
can you hand me the broom?
Copyright © Lisa Bailey | Year Posted 2012
the sun is mean here
it’s too bright
and i don’t mean smart
it shines in my eyes
i have to wear dark glasses just to drive
yesterday it burned my skin
but today i am ready
i’m wearing lotion
spf one thousand
if that doesn’t work
i’m wearing my long underwear
of course the sun will make me sweat
it is a nasty vengeful sun
i’ll be all wet
i am going to wear it down
that’s the wrong spelling of wear isn’t it?
with all this heat i can’t think
sun stroke maybe
i'm fed up i am going to get rid of it
i'll look mean
scare it down
i'll make it go away
oh my goodness
it’s working finally
the sun is leaving
the sun is gone
i can't believe it
it just mooned me.
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
Where has dad gone, momma dear?
Hush, my little lamb.
Your dad's gone to the thicket dear
And mad old Abraham
That man went early this grim morn, and took his sharpened knife
And with him took his own first born, to offer up his life
With servants and with firewood, both, they journeyed to Moriah
And on the hillside there they built an altar and a fire
And Isaac, when he heard the plan, went willingly, it's odd
That he should let that daft old man, so worship his cruel god.
Your father, he was passing by, and heard but could not see
And foolishly could not deny his curiosity
So closer did your father scramble peering through the thorns
Unaware of how the brambles tangled with his horns
Just to see a crazy man who planned to kill his kin
Your father did not understand the danger he was in
For then again that mad old man started hearing voices
His god was speaking to the loon and giving him new choices
And so his plan to slay the boy came about to falter
And Abraham, he took your pa and dragged him to the altar
But that was never fair, mama, can you tell me why
When Isaac he was all prepared and well prepared to die
And all had been decided on, so what cruel trick mama
Was played upon that grand old ram, who was my own papa?
Life is not fair, my little lamb, nor is it like to change
And fate plays tricks on all of us, both sinister and strange
So you take care, my little lamb, with this advice from me
Do not visit places where you know you should not be
The moral of this story dear, is take heed of the odds
And stay away from two-leggies worshipping their gods
Copyright © Lee Leon | Year Posted 2011
We nurture them within our bodies, birth them in a blinding pain,
suckle them on breasts so swollen, till we think we’ll go insane.
We kiss away each painful boo-boo, bandage each and every wound,
show them that in spite of roundness, peas can stay upon their spoons.
We intercept their nostril’s flowing, be it green or white as snow,
wiping gently ever hoping, for the day they’d learn to blow.
We give to them each ounce of wisdom, try to teach them everything,
suddenly, for unknown reasons, screw it up and give them wings.
We mourn a bit, those cherished moments, when on us they did depend,
days when we were super heroes, possessing wisdom without end.
We watch the journey proudly knowing, as they soar into the light,
Mother’s wisdom, though not perfect, lends the wind that gives them flight.
Copyright © Shelly Berkeley | Year Posted 2007
Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!
And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks,
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"
Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!
It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!
Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
Son, would you tuck in your shirttail
Was something often heard
At home when I was a youngster
With harsher action inferred
My otherwise kind hearted Mother
Had shirttails as a pet peeve
That boys were just naturally sloppy
Was something she wouldn't believe
It didn't seem to matter
That action was big in my plan
Like building a fort or a tree house
Or a game of kick the can
As long as my trouser tops covered
The tail of my shirt complete
Dear Mother seemed quite contented
And smiled at her son so neat
But catching fly balls and gophers
Are surely not meant I'd say
For shirttails tucked in and tidy
From the start to the end of a day
Well now that I'm older I smile
Each time I check my belt line
And straighten my shirt without thinking
Like a habit that's learned over time
Some Mothers have talent for teaching
Their lessons to boys of school age
Who think that neatness can't happen
'Till life's reached a much older stage
You see my reflex for shirttails
Was taught by a Mother with grace
Who sewed to each shirttail bottom
Two inches of fancy pink lace!
Copyright © Bryan Smith | Year Posted 2006
My heritage is a mixture
Of backgrounds. Let's start on
My Dad's side of the family.
My Dad's mom is Irish and English.
My Dad's dad is Irish and German.
My Mom's mom is Scottish and Irish.
My Mom's dad is blood Hungarian.
So in other words,
I'm a mutt! or as others say,
Copyright © Sarah Cassleman | Year Posted 2013
It’s a mother-in-law’s right, her prerogative
To ‘drop in’ on her son almost any time,
But a mother-in-law should always be prepared
For almost anything she may find.
So, Mother Cready dropped in unannounced;
But as she approached her son’s front door,
Suddenly it opened. “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?”
His young wife stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.
“Oh, my word!” Mother Cready exclaimed with surprise.
“Why are you naked? Are you insane?”
Just as surprised, the young wife pulled her inside.
“Please, Mother Cready…if you’ll just let me explain.
You see, when Mac has had a rough day,
When he’s been under a lot of stress,
Sometimes I meet him at the door
With a smile and a kiss in my happy dress.
It always relaxes him and makes him happy,
Then he makes me very happy too.
It works for Mac and me, Mother Cready;
Maybe it would work for you.”
“We’re too old for such.” scoffed Mother Cready.
“Perhaps if we were young like the two of you.”
But, on her way home, she decided
She was definitely going to try it too.
So, she bathed and put on some nice perfume,
Fixed her make-up and her hair.
She was thinking some very sexy thoughts,
But she had to hurry…no time to spare.
She heard her husband’s car in the driveway;
And as he approached their front door,
She threw it open. “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?"
She stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.
She saw a little grimace cross his face,
But that was not the worst.
Then he said, “I appreciate your happy dress, my dear;
But maybe you should have ironed it first.”
ALTERNATE LAST VERSE
“Well…your ‘happy dress’ could use some ironing;
But my birthday suit could use some starch.”
He kissed her. “Bet you and I can work it out.”;
And off to bed they marched.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
***NOTE~TO BE READ WITH A RIDICULOUS "SILKY SOUTHERN DRAWL" (have fun:)***
"Storm over yet...?"
"Well hay'ell ye'ah!
sum'body git me a da'gumm cole beer.
whadda'bou that boy th'er?
sum'body git him'a cole beer too!"
"Diddy! that boy ain't nothin' but 8 years old!"
na'I don't give a jolly'durn, if he ain't nuttin but 8 year'owed!
'dat boy dun' sat him thr'ew a big ol', storm!
torna'durr warnin' too!
he gonna have him'a cole burr;
mama, git him'a cole burr!
ta'days father's day!"
© 2011 ~JSLambert Esquire
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
Mother Superior faced a daunting task,
Like no other in her forty years.
She had prayed it simply wasn’t so,
That Godly intervention might belie her fears.
But sadly, there was no such intervention,
No relief from the duty she did rue.
Despite her hopes and all her prayers,
It had been confirmed. What she feared was true.
So, she gathered all the Sisters after Vespers.
The impromptu meeting caused quite a stir.
There was murmuring as they filed into the chapel.
She hesitated for a moment... but no, she was sure.
“Sisters, I asked you all here to share some news.
It’s something I never thought I’d have to say.
We have a case of gonorrhea in the convent.”
Mary Catherine, sixty years a Sister, said,
“Oh, thank God. I’m so tired of Chardonnay.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
He was sitting cross legged at 15th and Market
The people would walk around him during the workweek
He sat chatting with his cat
The cat was named Mr Johnson and they were friends
The man had skin cancer on his nose in the form of a bloody mole
And there were days when he sat talking with the Mole
The Mole would chastise him saying,"If your mother could only see you now."
"If my mother could see me now it would be a miracle,"said the man
The man's mother had been dead for over 20 years
The Mole loved to get his back rubbed but the man was tired
So the Mole gave him the silent treatment
And Mr Johnson reached up and scratched the mole
"You musn't be mean to the man or I will not feed you Mole."
The Mole apologized to the Man
The man decided to tell the Mole a story and cat would add parts
He always added parts
There once was a flower
'It stood near a Disco tower, "added Mr Johnson
Its petals were yellow
"All good moles shout hello,"sang Mr Johnson
And the policeman was shaking the man and his mole
"Move along buddy."
Attempt at Burlesque
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
He starts singing songs of Ireland and we are home in a jiffy
"What's a jiffy," my mother wonders
"Guess where we went Granny?"
"I don't know but I have a feeling you are gonna tell me," answers my grandmother
"And Don't call me Granny!"
"We went to church so Poppy could ask secret questions."
"The priest gave Poppy a shot and a beer and Poppy sent me next store and he gave me money for taffy."
"He told me not to tell anyone especially you about the priest cause it's only for the priests ears."
"He said God would take away taffy and I'd never get another goodie and God would strike me dead if I told."
"So I can't tell anyone."
"He did," and she starts yelling and grabs a weapon,"what kind of idiot would be scaring a little child?"
Granny is standing on Poppy's toes and and asking him questions of where he'd been and getting a sniff of his breath
"So what did you tell the priest and him giving you consolation and a shot and beer."
"That little rat ," and thinks about the money for candy
Later, Granny is chasing Poppy with that big iron frying pan and poppy running and singing
"In Heaven they have no beer, that's why we drink it here."
"You damn fool I'm gonna bust you in the head, "and throws the pan at his head
Cousin Francis has bill collectors come to the house looking for him
Granny was four foot seven inches and she starts kicking him in the shin
My Mother grabs his Dick Tracy hat and she jumps on it and flattens it
I ask my mom where I was when this happened and she pauses
" You were in Heaven Patrick waiting with your brother!"
The truancy officers bang on the door and want to know where Uncle Charles is
Granny shrugs and says, "He is upstairs and the sound of the window going up sounds
They all run upstairs and see Uncle sliding down the tree and running as fast as his
seven year legs can move
He comes home later that evening holding a goose under his arm
And Poppy has a soft-boiled goose egg for breakfast every morning
I ask Uncle what happened to that goose and He said,"one day he came home and
they had chicken for dinner."
And Poppy was gone to heaven to get me and my brother ready Mom says
And Granny sits my brother and me on her lap and says,"you two knuckleheads listen up."
"This is very important so don't forget it."
"Treat people the way you want to be treated, because you never know who is going to hand you your last glass of water"
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
With soap in hand placed in my mouth
Head hangs over toliet tongue heads south
Dirty words no more
Copyright © Mark Goodson | Year Posted 2012
With only one look it ruptured my spleen
The ugliest creature I've ever seen
You'd know if you ever saw
It's called my mother-in-law
And smells like the gas produced from a bean
Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010
God's glance and a fine memory
Poppy snores away sitting in his comfortable chair
And Granny takes a feather and tickles his nose
He wipes at his face and goes back to his fantastic snore
Poppy from Ireland and his shot and a beer
On payday Granny sends my Mother with Poppy as a reminder
"And don't take any side routes"
He gets his pay and starts to home
They walk to the chapel and just one
It's always just one
He tells my mother to wait outside and he hands her 25 cents
"Now don't forget when Mommy questions you, where did we go."
"We went to see Father Duke and Poppy I'm not dumb."
"I'm gonna have a palaver with this priest," as he goes into the bar
"Keep your mouth shut I need to ask the priest some advice."
He drinks a few quick shots and faster beer's
And my mother buys a taffy
She stands waiting and eating taffy and Poppy happily comes out of the bar
"Now don't forget that we got the pay and I took you to get a goodie."
"But Poppy what about the priest who gave you a shot and beer?"
"Don't be talking and eat your goodie."
For some reason it wouldn't take the whole poem,, That's why I had to continue to Granny2
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
i prefer them a bit tattered and tired
(a slow lick on a hard knife edge)
a she cat sparkling like a pinwheel
on the silky satin hilltops of night..
the ones that make you obsess -why they're one hour
why their mascara is off center,
making you waife their cologned necks,
checking for that strange strong scent
turn you into some kind of burning,paronoid
i like'm a little mousy,
a little off the
a chick that can spit with class
kick the living MAN outta me...
A fireball that contorts and concocts,
attends to every want and need...
(ya know what i mean?)
but in the end what I really need
what we all need
a crisco oiled apron
the one mamma used to don
a lullaby in the quiet cove of a racing mind
way back in Crayola Crayon time
Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2012
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
Last Minute Halloween Costume
Toilet paper wraps;
Costs less to dress as mummy,
Mom thinks it’s funny!
Copyright © Marie Harrison | Year Posted 2010
The tone in her voice told me I had gone to far,
the tear down her cheek another scar
inflicted upon an already bruised loving heart.
The look in her eyes cause me to shudder,
the clench of her jaw arouses a twitch of her lip,
to quell and dissipate words she would love to spew,
but will not,
instead, scream into deep recesses of her brain.
The stoop of her shoulders, hands balled into fists drilled into her waist
with legs spread taunt,
all positive signs to find an escape route.
As I turn and crawl away I hear her say,
if you were not a baby, there would be the devil to pay.
There was not anything I could say,
at nine months,
language was scheduled for another day,
so I just went about my way,
next time I see mom, she will give me a hug, everything again okay.
Until the next time.
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
I wish I could be a fly on the wall,
When my poor old mother gets the phone call,
“He’s here at the bar
Quick bring us your car,
Your husband just got in a brawl”
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011
I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2012
MY MOTHER-IN-LAW IS POISONING ME!
I think my mother-in-law is poisoning me.
The electric range is smelling strange,
She tests the smoke detector by cooking everyday....
Now the entire kitchen is acting deranged.
Semolina at 3:30,
Mercury hits 120 degrees!
Nausea and stomach cramps are rising in me,
Red-sauced tripe is afflicting me.
Outside it's now Celsius 43 degrees.
Now Bulimia is what I see,
I have to stay for tea,
Yes, my mother-in-law is poisoning me,
There's much to said for ...
Copyright © Julie Grenness | Year Posted 2015
She was a tappin' to the tunes...
of those Mississippi blues...
step-pin' out, in her white...
We were a watchin' her a prancin',
all through the kitchen, dancin'...
for she was so...hot & sizzlin'...
hummin' to those Mississippi tunes...
Funny curlers too, upon...
her head...for a new... Hair dew,...
she was, a swirlin'-in that bakers apron,
when her head...star-ted a bobbin' to...
those Mississip-pi blues,
'Pots were a knockin'...
Grandma a sockin' down all she brews,
while that kettle there was whistlin',
in har-mo-ny, with them good ole...
good ole...mississip-pi moves,'
That floor there, was a bouncin'
holdin' hands we were a jumpin',
an-a hoppin' In the kitchen, to those...
Where Grandma's feet were a stompin',
In her new...New-white-sexy-pat-en-
Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013
When tired from sweeping with the storebought broom
I'd lean against not wanting to resume
Momma said, "Nusing your bab?"
I would sweep, under breath crab
Now would love to hear her say, "Clean your room!"
(Momma would say nusing not nursing..Bab is instead of baby..)
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011