TEEN AGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES!!
One day I came home with the flu.
My mother gave me a bowl of stew
All I can say is that the stew was thick like goo.
I still ate it thinking it was chicken stew.
Saturday morning I woke up watching Winnie The Pooh.
Mother made me a sandwich that was hard to chew
In the kitchen I saw 2 strange looking shells
Once I saw them I started getting dizzy spells
Eating turtle soup with out having a clue.
Made my face turn green and blue.
Walked into the living room.
My stomach still felt kind of doom.
My mother was watching the tube and singing along
Singing along to the,"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" song!
NOW THAT WAS WRONG!!!!!!
TWO TURTLE DOVES
During Christmas, I always go hunting in the woods
I set out traps to catch me some goods
I caught two turtle in my first trap
Poor little things where full of crap.
I was singing "On the first day of Christmas" on my way back.
All I could think of was my Two Turtle (Doves), snack!
I took them inside and dipped them in water
They had no idea they where soon to be slaughter
My dad told me that turtle soup hits the right spot.
Silly turtles where already in the boiling pot
Looking at the pot one turtles was swimming around
I can't believe in the hot water he didn't even drown
I had to pull him out, and set him on the rebound.
I'll just cook him on my second round.
I am ready to eat my turtle stew.
Praising this soup with an mm mm thank you!
DARN!! Salt and Pepper was the main thing I forgot
Realizing napkins was the only thing I bought
I put the napkins on my lap.
I was about to have me some turtle snap.
I started singing my favorite Christmas song.
Suddenly the "Two Turtle Dove" part did not belong.
Singing softly to my favorite line
Eating the stew didn't feel fine.
""On The Second day of Christmas
MMMMMMMMMMMy TRUE LOVVVVEE
Gave to me TWO TURTLE DOVVVVEE
With out having the jolly to sing along.
I had to put the stew to a side and be strong.
(now) THAT WAS WRONG!!!!!
((( HAVING FUN WITH MY OWN TURTLE CONTEST )))
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
No mother would fill up her eyes with tears of woman...
if it weren't for God performing a miracle at dawn,
as she cried out in joy and held her baby in trembling arms
but shed many sweet tears hearing his laughter so loud;
oh, he couldn't see her mommy's face through his tiny eyes,
and it will be long before he'll will utter the first word, " Mom."
Now that baby sleeps under the attentive look of his mom,
who's too young to become a mature woman;
many visions of this birth crossed her gleeful eyes
she dreamed of the very same words whispered at each dawn,
repeating them in her silly head as if they sounded too loud...
while cradling a pretty doll in her folded arms.
Will she be welcomed home by her parents opening their arms?
Will they reprimand her and not consider her a legal mom?
Perhaps they will not be angry and speak not so loud:
girls are supposed to be girls, not suddenly turn into woman...
So this innocent girl, deceived by a bad boy, must wake up at dawn
when her baby cries and feed him with scary, childish eyes?
Nights seem longer for her, trying to stay awake rubbing her eyes,
what she beheld in those exciting eyes, now it's a burden in her weary arms;
she remembers that pain was too unbearable, but joy more sublime at dawn...
how will she learn how to care for the infant by watching her mom?
She must have seen a nursery or read a book how to think like a real woman,
and can anyone imagine how she keeps that secret instead of revealing it loud?
She must gather enough courage inside to feed her baby who can't cry loud,
but for now she must carry that baby without sighs of distress into her bright eyes;
and her parents can see the changes making her a loving person already woman;
they may ask questions to why she has gained weight and holds dolls in her arms...
no, they aren't anticipating great news and in doubt, they await a splendid dawn.
Mother and daughter closely together amazed by the coming dawn,
any concealed secret can be easily spoken...somewhat joyful and loud;
they imagine the infant's futures will be part of grandma and mom!
Their reunited hearts come together to show love in their delighted eyes,
and they'll take turns feeding the new-born, tenderly lulling him in their arms;
what if forgiveness hadn't been there to deny her all of the joys of woman?
Would a mother deny her daughter compassion as a good woman?
Even God hurried dawn to offer that gift into her gracious, tender arms...
and those arms accepted it with the gentleness and kindness of mom.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
Quote used "I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.”
Dr. Seuss, Green Eggs and Ham
My mum says I’ve got to eat all my greens
They’ll help me grow strong, guess l know what she means
But why green eggs and ham, I just want to eat jam
For I like to eat jam whenever I can
Jam on potatoes, oh that’s simply delish
I spoon it on carrots and it covers my fish
I eat jam for breakfast and always on dinner
Mum says I’ll get fat and I need to be thinner
Why does mum always think that she’s right
I need to eat jam morning, noon and night!
Every night time I kneel by my bed and pray
I thank God for letting me eat jam every day
But why won’t he listen for he knows I don’t like greens
I’d put them in firework and blow them to smithereens
Sadly mum disagrees and still gives me green food
It makes me all grumpy and puts me in a mood
But I eat them all up as I don’t want to fight
I still tell mum I love her every single night
7th August 2015
Contest – Dr Seuss Quote Prompt
Sponsor Casarah Nance
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
I endured burnt offerings at the table -
A meal ‘cooked’ by my mother in law
If I hadn’t been married her lovely son
I’d have walked straight out of the door!
I heaved at every charred mouthful
Smiled, and said the meal was ‘divine’
She told me she’d had cookery lessons
But her food was only fit to feed swine!
Is my poem just a fairy story
Or is it a clever allegory?
What Doesn’t Kill Us Contest
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017
Delicious, warm, and and tastes of home...
as if you were still here....
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
We said our goodbyes in June,
and the months since blur into mist.
At unexpected moments, awareness
of loss hits; tears spill unbidden.
Family gathering, Christmas Eve
as usual . . . minus one.
We quietly exchanged gifts,
found flowers from her funeral
crafted into hand-made jewelry,
kaleidoscopes, treasured mementoes.
I cooked grapes today, dark muscadines.
I extracted seeds and peelings,
and measured life-sustaining juice
through the metal funnel she used
from the day of her marriage.
It came to me dented and bent,
like her body had been at 93.
I still taste those fresh-from-the-oven
chocolate rolls after school,
garden tomatoes warmed by the sun,
hot biscuits with apple jelly,
squeezed from the peelings after
she baked crisp slices in cinnamon-rich pie.
I'm glad I didn't know then,
about being allergic to Cinnamon.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
That smell so ripe and sweet.
Take me back in time again.
When mother sliced the treat.
Sitting in the kitchen.
With the window opened wide.
Spitting watermelon seeds.
Out to the other side.
Copyright © Samia Ali Salama | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
As far as kitchens go, this one's pretty cool
To miss one of Mum's feeds, you'd be a fool
Thousands of cup cakes and every Sunday a roastà
Every morning she'd make me honey on toast
Learning to cook was easy when mum was there
One day smoke from the oven gave as a scare
Getting your hands dirty making sausage rolls
When I got a bit older, we made coffee scrolls
But every birthday cake was made with such love
Oven trays for a party would fit if we gave them a shove
Pancakes were a favourite with lemon and sugar
Mum would call me over to open a tight jar
The smells that came out of the oven were great
Mum would get up set if dinner was running late
For breakfast, lunch or a snack it was the place
If you felt crook, it put a smile on your face
Mum would walk you over to a hot lemon drink
The meals dad tried to cook, would make the house stink
So to miss one of Mum's feeds, you'd be a fool
Because I think Mum's kitchen is pretty cool
Copyright © mark robinson | Year Posted 2015
Oh for a taste of rhubarb pie!
Home picked, home baked--
Mouth watering, I don’t lie.
A tart and sweet delicious delight;
Tingles, mingles with the tongue.
Mom always cooked it just right!
Some might let theirs go to waste,
But I’ll eat their piece without delay,
I just love that capricious taste!
Note* I haven’t had a piece of Rhubarb pie
since my dear mom died in ‘94
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2010
MOTHER'S WISHBONES, NO DOUBT
All furculae with not a fragment
of dried-up flesh or sinew
to despoil their luster — the slew
of them ranging in size from
Cornish hen to turkey. Funny,
I’d never noticed her extricate
one, strip it clean, secrete it
I took possession of those bones,
pried loose some of my own
from birds broiled, barbequed,
fried; primed each, applied gold
leaf. Made more of them
than Mother could’ve ever conceived
— the gilt, over the generations
of bones brittling whole, striking
beneath the wait of wishes.
Copyright © Ruth Sabath Rosenthal | Year Posted 2014
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,
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
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
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
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
Caring parent feeds.
Babe takes in food. Pretty
smoke rings for dessert
Copyright © Ken Duddle | Year Posted 2012
To taste your tender essence once again
Springy, warm, lovely vanilla infused
Once more to travel the road to attain
A delightful thin slice of fudge suffused
Memories how they cling to your presence
Maybe create sweet impressions of my own
Lasting through time, problems, awesome pleasance
Could my life continue through a subtle sweet tone
Seven layer fudge frosted cake still draws
A picture in the mind's eye of mother
In the kitchen cooking without a pause
My life, her presence did surely color
Memories of seven layer fudge iced cake
To my humble grave assuredly take
Written: October 25, 2015
My parents 96th wedding anniversary
Inspired by Olive Eloisa Guillermo's contest All This Melts In Your Mouth
Since I am now a diabetic, I can only rarely eat a treat like this and also I have problems with the chemicals in cocoa irritating my heart rhythm..
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2015
Copyright © Sharon Smith | Year Posted 2012
Mom, give me a bowl of Lucky Charms,
I'll grow as you raise my arms...
see a taller me,
or much sillier me.
Mom, get me more of those Lucky Charms!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2011
berries we have picked
are still warm from summer sun---
mom has ruby lips
Traditional Haiku Contest: Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
Copyright © John Taylor | Year Posted 2010
A spill of oil
An excessive shower of water
A clump of main substance
A quadrant of eggs
Some naughty words
Allow to bake for too long
A wonderful Mum cake – perfect to touch and to taste
Copyright © Alexander Seal | Year Posted 2015
She stays awake for hours, cutting Xs in the sprouts,
Then peels all the tatties, a ton or thereabouts,
Slicing and dicing parsnips is next up in the plan,
Chops up carrots and a swede, and put them in a pan,
Mixes up her sage and onion and stuffs it in the bird,
Along with some pork sausage meat that’s been pre-prepared,
She takes apart the oven, to fit the turkey in,
Hangs it up with bits of string, there’s no room in the tin,
Wraps sausages in bacon, in case they catch a chill,
But makes sure they‘re all cooked thoroughly, so the family won’t get ill,
Cooks the bird for hours, while the table’s being laid,
With all the finest crockery (and some of lower grade),
Makes space around the table, brings in extra chairs,
Adorns the place with candles and other Christmas wares,
Lays out a Christmas cracker in everybody’s place,
Complete with rather tacky joke, no doubt of a straight face,
And brings out all the condiments, the pickles and the sauce,
The salt and pepper, the mustard and radish known as “horse”,
Next she makes the starter, the simplest course by far,
A cocktail made up of prawns and a sauce out of a jar.
The family then all piles in, and argues over seats,
The children are already full of chocolates and treats,
Grandmother is mumbling, “Kids should be seen not heard”,
Meanwhile back in the kitchen Mum’s wrestling with the bird,
She tries to carve up slices, but ends up with turkey chunks,
While Dad and Gramps have become a pair of Christmas drunks,
They start an argument about which wine goes with the meat,
And restless children run around, not staying in their seat,
Mother tries to keep her calm and bravely soldiers on,
But the roasties are all blackened and the sprouts are over done,
Mum enters the dining room looking very puffed,
She throws the turkey down and shouts ,“There you go! Get stuffed!”
18th November 2012
Copyright © Sharon Smith | Year Posted 2012
Pleasures await you by the seashore,
And in the coming months
Invest in your family; today and tomorrow,
Pleasures await you by the seashore.
Your first choice will be the wisest to follow;
Do not put all your stocks in the market.
Pleasures await you by the seashore
And in the coming months...
(1 Year Anniversary Dinner at Sydney's Buffet)
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2009
Mother Earth spinning on your centre
while revolving around Father Sun
making day and night on your surface
and the different seasons every one
Your flesh provides the vital substance
on which trees, plants and grasses feed
and become food for birds and animals
who partake of them as they need
Some of those birds and animals
feed others higher in the food chain
and become part of the eco cycle
which continues full circle again
All living things decay when they die
and return to you dearest mother
to become substance that feeds plant life
and start off a new eco chapter
Rain and snow from the sky bring water
that feeds the lakes, seas and rivers
which have a food chain of their own
among all their different creatures
Water from the sea becomes vapour
and rises as a cloud formation
which precipitates as rain and snow
and water after condensation
Sun and Earth combine in harmony
doing so since before our birth
Thank you for feeding all living things
Our dearest blessed Mother Earth
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2014
or tired love?
and weak games
Look at you!
Your such a lame!
Me cry?! Ha! Not no more!
Five point five years
What a joke?!
All you do is lie
Keep smoking your life away!
Wake up before its too late!
Before this love turns into hate!
Your too old to act this way!
Your too comfortable
You cant stay!
In my life!
In my way!
Goodbye to you!!!
Copyright © MARGARITA VERA | Year Posted 2012
I sit on the floor and wait from dusk to dawn, for a new day will soon be reborn. I count all
the blooming flowers, and count down the long hours, while mum takes her shower.
Today's the day, for it's my birthday. I hope I get A car, or A guitar or maybe even become
A movie star, but that's asking A bit too much of me. I walk around singing out A loud,
acting proud feeling as if my heads in A cloud. To my surprise I start stumbling over my
words and begin mumbling. Maybe mum just forgot about me, or are they just hiding the
presents from me? I walk through the hall, with my head dragging looking at the floor,
and go to bed with my heart feeling torn. It's getting late and I can no longer wait. I turn
off my light, and close my eyes and cry having so much things go through my mind. I
drift to sleep but then I see, mum walking in my room in the middle of the night with A
light. It's so bright. She raises my heart like A kite, taking of it flight and she says, good
night, and turns of the lights. She raised my hopes high and then shot them out of the
sky. I break down and cry, it feels as if I've just died. No one remembered why today was
A special day for it was my birthday. I look at the sky and wonder why? I light my candle
and close my eyes, tears dripping down onto my thighs, and I start to whisper in my
mind. "I don't want A car, or even A guitar. I don't even want to become A movie star. I
just want to be free of this disease called poverty, I just want people to stop running away
from me. Free me of aids so I can stop feeling afraid. Stop me from being poor, so I can
afford to stop sleeping on the floor. Make me smile for there is no reason to smile, but
please make my life worth while. Take me away from Africa, for all I see is people being
raped and all the kids hearts filled with hate, I'm loosing my faith for I am living each day
even though there is nothing to live for". A Tear drops on my candle, And puts out the
flame I whisper in pain,This is "My Birthday Wish"
We wish for luxuries that only money can afford. They wish for water for they are poor.
People need to learn to smile, for kids living in poverty have A legitimate reason not too.
Be happy for what we have, and never complain for what we don't have.
- Wiko Te Maru
Copyright © Wiko Te Maru | Year Posted 2011
Golden, Full Moon Shone
On All The Harvest, That’s Grown
Welcome In Our Home
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
its a child
with a smile
who loves mother taste
its not a waste
it not how old
some or just bold
so mother reload
with there seeking
BABY AND MOTHER
Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012
Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days
Emund is busy
partners who’ll put
him to the test.
His pedigree line
has proven with time
that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay;
there is not enough
food for them all.
They dip and they
weave as they mingle
that each has a
With his reputation,
there is no
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin.
Others move to the
side as he leaves
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
He matches her mood.
His movements are
as they twist and
twirl in their
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
With steps that are
light he glides to
he meets her, bows
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
It matters not
whether we all stay
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
to deliver these in
your own way.”
After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect,
so with care he
covers every one
He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure
as he, turns each
egg every three
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.
The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
This egg will be
food for his hungry
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
He’ll sit day and
night until the
He knows, that time
to be continued...
Copyright © J Eliza JAMES | Year Posted 2012
“Mother…for whom love was enough”
Love and a sense of humor were Mother’s tools of trade
and a judicial wisdom with every judgment made.
She used no threats, no whips nor straps to discipline her brood.
No swear words or shouts did she employ to force us to be good.
We each were quickly sorry, if misbehaviors or our lies
brought signs of disappointment to her beautiful gray eyes.
Daddy and Mama were a team and didn’t sabotage each other.
His one firm rule that he enforced was a simple “Mind your mother”.
My mother’s meals were evidence of her enduring love,
She turned out her delectables on an ornery old iron stove.
No one ever had to be called twice to one of Mama’s meals.
We came eagerly anticipating the treat each bowl reveals.
We were so happy at that table, with Daddy at its head,
as we sat thinking of the food, throughout the prayer he led.
She cooked to please our daddy with Pennsylvania Dutch dishes
And on our birthdays pampered us with our selective wishes.
When we were sick our mama used her love potion to kill
all of the foolish bacteria that had dared to make us ill.
She never was too busy to attend our little bruises,
to wipe our tears with her clean apron, one of its many uses.
She raised her seven children in those days when times were tough.
We didn’t miss the luxuries. She had taught us, “Love’s enough”.
By: Joyce Johnson 8/25/11 For Constance’s contest “Mother”
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011
It's funny how we associate things. They become one with each other. Who can imagine an Easter without the bunny, or losing a tooth and not being paid a visit by the tooth fairy. And Christmas would be unthinkable without Santa. So that is why, I guess, that I still remember one particular Thanksgiving from my youth.
Back then, turkeys at the market were fresh, not frozen and encased in plastic as they are today. They also represented an extra expense on an already tight food budget. So my mother made arrangements with the market manager to set up a layaway of sorts, paying some each week, and they promised to hold one for her.
I remember when, on the afternoon before Thanksgiving day, she sent me over to the grocer to pick up the turkey. I jumped on my bike and rode downtown to Converse Market. Walking up to the door, I found it locked. Shading my eyes, I pressed my nose against the window and saw that all the lights were off. Turns out they had closed early that day to give their employees a little more time to spend with their families.
When I returned home and told my mother what had happened, the look on her face was one of devastation. What would Thanksgiving be without a turkey? I thought my dad would be mad, but instead he just said “we've got food in the house don't we”? And we did.
So, although the letdown of a Thanksgiving without the traditional bird could have been a disaster, on that particular day, we chose instead to give thanks for what we had, and, as a family, dived into our pork chops with all the fixings.
Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2011