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Prose Poetry Mom Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Mom

These Prose Poetry Mom poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Mom. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Mom poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry |

My God on Earth: My Mother

A heart that cries more than me 
in my pain. 
Whose congenial and benign teachings 
make me sane. 
A warm touch that dispels from me 
the gales of worry. 
Whose proximity ensures me that I'm 
protected by her under furry. 
A helping hand that always hold me 
whenever I'm about to lose. 
& my first teacher who makes me to 
distinguish between donts' and dos'. 
A voice and nothing more, an Angel 
who is entirely mine just after my birth. 
And she is none other but 'My Mother', 
The God on Earth. 
Although to define her in words is 
beyond my skill. 
Nevertheless I can say that her pace in 
my life, none can fill. 
She is the one who needs not a single 
word of me to understand. 
In my devastation, she is always there 
to provide effusively her hand. 
In the weariness of my life, with her, 
I may lose to be in link. 
But she ever remembers me whenever I 
breathe or my eyes blink. 
I can say that in search of heaven, 
I needn't to go anywhere. 
I would like to put my head in my 
mother's lap, as its only there.. 

Copyright © Hina Saxena | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


I never quite knew
what it meant.
And, if explained,
I never understood.
Shoot!  I've never even LIKED the game!
And, I never thought that I would.
The fear...  The pride...
The gleam, in my eye...
The joy in my heart...
could only mean one thing.
I'm a football mom...?
I love you, sweetie.
Now honey, you get out there,
OH! Did I just say that?
Where did that BASS come from?
Now, you be careful,
OH MY! Well, anywho...
I've got my blanket, rain gear, 
and my thermos (minus the toddy),
so, I'll still be nice and toasty, 
when you HIT SOMEBODYYY!!!
I may not care for the game,
but I love the kid, who plays it.
Proud football mom, am I,
and my heart is just ablaze with it.
This feeling right here, is the BOMB!
So, whether home or away,
I'm in that thang!
Hecks YEAH!!!!
I'm a football mom!

Copyright © Danita Michelle Allen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Ever Lasting Love Of A Child

             ~The Ever Lasting Love Of A Child~

You live and still living through thee only love that can last a 
whole life time between us,that same love we knew yesterday 
when we were born remains with us today, tomorrow, and after

A love so deep that only you our mother can feel it,as it
Is an unconditional love that has no end,your giving,your 
love that knows no boundaries,Its real we feel it in our depth
daily when you are not surrounding us,Its for good,Its not an
illusion mom,because Its pure.

A love which transforms our shadows to experience the 
need to stay alive,your existence in our lives will never 
fade away,our respect,our missing you allows our tears
to leave traces on our cushions during the night.

That instant love of the moment when we were born Is an 
everlasting love,we feel it,our loneliness vanishes,memories 
do not seem far away,that reality will always remain in 
process of becoming even when aging.

A love without pain this is what you made us feel,a love that 
cries out loud even be heard with the rumbling of thunder. 
That same love can be felt between electric wires,our phoning
you everyday,its so full of truth so beautiful it feels like 
a spiritual love, our beloved mom.

Seconds never pass unaccounted for,you even wipe away 
our clouded eyes,that kind of love mom can even predict
our happiness no matter what the outcome of our 
coming years would bring.

That same love has so much emotions it illuminates our souls, 
its untouchable,immeasurable,unforgettable,it is a reason 
for our existence,your love cures our pain even when 
too much time has passed away.

Mom, we both your sons will love you,forever an everlasting love.
Sorry Mum we couldn't be with you in person, but our heart
cries out for you, Happy Mothers Day. Your Sons.

Contest for PD. Happy Mothers Day
                13/5/2013   (Win No. 8)

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

A teen age girl complains her mom

You always run after me,
In playful and angry mood;
You scold loudly, 
Take stick in hand to bash;
You play with me,
As if you play with doll;
Hug me hard,
Soothes my heart;
Take me in your lap,
Embrace gently, 
Gives me warmth;
Care my dress,
Care my look,
And braid my hair;
Unending gossip,
your chat does not end;
You sing a song for me,
lyrics are so sweet,
My ears too rapt,
Don't feel being bored;
You are always after my life;
Don't do this, don't do that, 
don't talk like this,
Don't sit there,
Don't go there,
Don't stay late,
Worry appears in your face;
Wait near the window,
Lips move complaining me;
You feel relieved when,
Watch my glimpse;
'O' Mama, my Mama,
You are always after my life;

© sadashivan nair?

Copyright © sadashivan nair | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


I love you with all my heart we will never be worlds apart

If by chance you went away

Please just trust in what i say

Your in my heart each and everyday

My love for you will always stay and it will never sway

Even if time stood still my love for you never will

You are my hero I must admit and that I will not forget

You held my hand when I was in pain and it was not in vein

I could not ask for more

Your the reason I was born...

Copyright © Tiffany Flowers | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |



Wearing her crown of pearly white hair,
Her sunken orbs glowed with a regal glare.
Her ebony hued, wrinkle hands, strong as stone
Are monuments of the burdening labor she had owned.

As her broken body has known sorrow and pain,
It remains a mystery how she has managed to remain sane.
Though her life has known despair and great depravity,
She’s never succumbed to the indignities of social gravity.

Indeed, “life for her has been no crystal stair”,
Yet, for us, she has always been there with loving care.
She’s the sturdy black bridge which we’ve crossed over on;
To travel along the jubilee road towards our liberation.

Indeed, this raven skin queen reins supreme like no other:
Praise God for the blessing me with this sweet sable saintly mother.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Lucky I Guess Part I

Today was the big day! I bought a scratch-off ticket two days ago and won $25,000.00! Can
you imagine that? Me, a lonely unemployed nobody, strikes it rich. Yee-Hah! So, I'm off to the
lottery collections agency to cash in my lucky windfall. The polite gentleman handed me
the necessary forms. I feverishly completed them and within 36 minutes was awarded my
check. Wow! Me, a single, unrecognized nobody, is clutching a mild fortune. 
“Zippety-Do-Dah!” Whistling a happy tune, I venture home. Three blocks before reaching my
domicile, I spotted a young lad on the corner of Clark Street and 9th Avenue. He was
sitting on the cold concrete playing with an energetic puppy - yet, he was crying. "Hey,
kid, that's a beautiful puppy you've got." The young boy looked up at me and stammered:
"He's not my puppy, Mister. I found him here in the street a little while ago. The doggie
has no home." My heart skipped two beats. "Where do you live, son?" The tearful boy
crooked his head towards a dilapidated house two lots away from the corner of Clark
Street. I didn't think anyone lived there. I paused for a second and then:

"Hey, Mister? Do you have an extra quarter?" I was speechless for a moment. 
"Excuse me, Mister...um, do you have a dime or a quarter? I have two quarters in my pocket. 
If I get one more I can buy the puppy a can of dog food at the corner store." Containing a smile, 
I lost my breath. I regained my wits and asked: "Would your Mom and Dad approve of you 
having a puppy?" The young lad kept his head down and replied: "Well, my Dad is dead.
But I know my Mom would like this puppy. It's just that my Mom can't walk and, um...
I take care of her and, um...we really wouldn't have enough money to take 
care of a dog, anyways." My heart was breaking. "What's your name son?"
I didn't understand who's tears I was envisioning - his or mine.
"Charlie, Mister." "My name's, Charlie."


For: Carol Brown
I Hepled The Needy contest
(This is Part I of the story)

Copyright © Kory Calhoun | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Necklace

My mom and dad bought a necklace for me from
Scottland. It is sterling silver with a pendant and in the 
middle of it is my birthstone. A purple Amathyst stone.
I wear it all the time and never take it off, because I love it
so much and it is a gift from somewhere I have never been
to before. If I get to go there someday, I have no clue.
This necklace is my favorite one also because it is chosen 
for me, with love. I hope it never gets lost or broken, or I will
be very upset. As pretty as a sunshine on me and as bright as a 
star shining at nighttime out in the still beauty of the background.
I believe it means alot to me to keep me calm and to remember
My mom and dad, all of our good times together, as a family.
They are getting older in age , and sometime we need to
think about how much time we are spending with them.

Copyright © Angela Yousef | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |



Seven years I’ve been waiting for
A Christmas with you I wish for
Just like the other years that passed by
My wish for Christmas never gone by

A thought bothered my mind
How do you feel fine?
How do I feel fine?
If it breaks your soul it breaks mine.

Everything you have to sacrifice
A tear drops in your eyes
I wish I could make it dry
But I too can’t stop myself to cry

I hope he will grant my wish
If not now, maybe next year
I would still be waiting here
The same wish that I wished.

Copyright © jaycel frances tamayao | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

To Mama

Dedicated to my mother who, in my youth, I did not fully understand.. 

I wish my callings be sweet to thee; 
Abate not Oh lady the tenderness I'd missed 
Prolong thy tenderness and never a dreary; 
Your genteel should I suck from thy breast. 
From being a toddler remember I; 
That not so often I heard thy lullaby. 
And thence I asked Oh whence I came? 
I sought for answer; I didn't think ‘twas fine. 
Then years rolled by I attended school; 
Why art thou the source of my ridicule? 
The boys would laugh by what thou hinted; 
That I didn't fit a sport; I couldn't hit a target. 
It confused me much – yeah it hurt me badly 
The way thou saw me was never comely. 
Mama! Oh mama! I beseech thee 
Tell me the truth in anyway thou tell me 
Thou needest not to be subtle in telling the truth 
Let it be that I can have peace in my youth. 
The future is waiting and thither I goest 
Wish me luck; I don't want to be the lowest. 
Oh Mama, Willful as thou art, bestow in me some courage 
That even in my lowliness, I can live my life the fullest… 

                                    Date & Time of Writing: 
                                    October 4, 1988 
                                    12:03am - 10:10am 

Copyright © Jecon B. Nadela | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

My Mother's Art - New Eyes

I was young when I realized my mom was different,
Different from me at least, for sometimes 
She would draw or paint and miracles would happen.
Her penciled or charcoaled strokes on paper projecting life
Into two dimensions, though color, of course, was absent,
Like God, a multi-dimensional entity, manifesting Himself
Into the three-dimensional flesh of Jesus Christ,
God’s Presence too much for mortal man to take in.
Her images drawn from a world of fragmentary illumination,
Pre-dawn scenes where mind supplies the missing detail
That eye cannot quite gather in, so soft, so colorless the light.
Proportions too are faultless: contours never flat,
Roof lines never too long or short, you are with her,
Mountains exactly where God put them,
Though not strictly photographic, as if aware of her gaze,
And truly wanting to look their best for …. the Artist.

And colors too, the amazing blend of watercolors that
Always complimented even nature’s imagination.
A few strokes of her brush and a girl’s face would emerge from
What would be mere daubing on my part, believe me, I tried.
But for mom, the colors always ran, flowed into perfection,
Making it seem sometimes like gravity was up not down.
You wanted her to win, and somehow, she almost always did.
The paint itself would evolve with time to become
Who the girl herself would be, if only she knew how,
Perfection shining through the textures of mere colors,
Even the rose colored light of the rising sun wherein she posed
Erupting from her image as if Venus herself broached the shore,
Floating as it were, erect on shell, on a sea born of man’s tears. 
Oh, my mother saw everything with the genius of new eyes.

Only with my words do I dare to paint images that so touch 
The emotions that shook me to the core of my being as a child.
Did my mother wreck me, did she draw me into coral reefs
Of her imagination like a siren might a forlorn sailor.
I leave that for you to judge, my reader, my friend, my lover,
Whose mind is the intangible parchment of my self-expression.
Her parting legacy to her son, the gift of my very own new eyes.

Brian Johnston
August 14, 2015

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Mom, I'm home

I can feel my mother’s thoughts
All these miles away
She needs a pick-me-up
So I get on a big machine
Way too big to be in the sky
How does that work anyway?
Centrifugal force attempts to infuse
Your center to your spine
For one moment
The universe holds its breath, 
Then lets out a long howl
And follows along behind, sucked back into place

With a pronounced sum of mayhem
The wheels descend and kiss the earth 
The kind of kiss that rocks your whole existence
A shocking, wet French kiss
A long tongue that jolts you right out of
Taking life for granted

Copyright © Janet Lorenzo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |



Children look into your eyes,
Savor the sound of your voice.
They cherish your every touch,
It makes a mother's heart rejoice.

Behemoth monsters on the bench,
Professional football is their game.
They turn to face the camera,
"Hello Mom" are the only words that came.

Men are what their mother's made them,
Smothered in love right from the womb.
The future of society is in her hands,
From the cradle to the tomb.

I think a law is overdue,
That the virtues of mothers must be told.
Each child who enters this earthly world,
Must tell the story until he is old.

A father might turn his back,
Leaving his children to endure.
But a mother's love lives through it all,
Her children's future to secure.

Even He who died upon the cross,
Looked down on all who were there.
He said, "Behold Your Mother",
It was His final prayer.

We pray this Mother's Day be a blessing,
May your children honor you.
Praise God and His Holy Mother,
It is the thing to do.


Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


 I saw you Mom!

I have passed through the thin silvery mist. 
Scattering the letters, like feathers.

Watched them fly over hills ,and then disappeared. 
Ah _ how young I was in the dream!

Too young to know, 
how death would take your smile like wings, 

How would made of it strange heavenly birds,
In strange unearthly place,

Where nothing withholds the sun! But fog.  

Copyright © Fatima Nusairat | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


When you left us
The window was open
There was a single star in the sky
Wind was breathless
A sudden cry ripped the darkness

That night was a book’s last page
Frayed by time and solitude
A lamp was burning in the corner
To thicken the whispers of coming souls
We were speechless 
Touching my mother’s feet
Lean and wilted 
By thousand years ‘march.

September, the cruelest
You did not know the weight of pain
One’s heart endeared 
And cried in a land
Islanded by silence.

Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Home schooler

I come over home schoolers house
He looks me up and down
am no looker 
But the boy's looking

"So am suppose to help you out or somein?"
I nod without a word
He grins like satan
And im burning up in hell

"So hows it like being home schooled?"
He looks at me,use to the question and knowing the answer by heart
"Ive got free food"
And i laugh,he throws butterflies in my stomach

He sits me down
and he bends down for my bag
And looks up
I seductively say:Are you high?

He nodds
And i gap
He replies:High in 7th heaven
And takes my hand

The next thing i know im trying to get on his lap
But that chairs in the way
He flicks the chair
And he carries me easily onto the couch

But before i could get his lips
He collides onto the ground
his mom staring at us wildly
No more crazy fun for us

He looks at me with a frown
"Sometimes,i wish my mom would leave off school grounds"

***Humour and lips are a great combo=) ***
For a missing friend Booboo who knows awwe to well

Copyright © sajdah al-riyami | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |

To a very special person-MY MOM

Over the fields,through the meadows,
I roam about with glee
My joy has no bound 
when you are close to me

When in my dreams, terror I see
I feel like wanting to cry and plea
but nothing do I ever dread
when you are close to me

I scamper about on the grounds 
whenever I am free
when I fall , I do not cry 
when you are close to me

When you call for studying
I reach at the count of three
I study very hard 
when you are close to me

I can strike the highest peak
I can swim in the deepest sea
I can reach even the moon
when you are close to me.

Copyright © Mrunmayi Mungekar | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

Only sweet memory of my Mom

                 Only Memory of my Mom 

        I was a most unfortunate child
        deprived of mother’s affection and care.
         Her deliberate discrimination
         regarding my food, dress, daily needs
          in comparison to my other siblings
          pricked me, hurt me, insulted me.
           Bonus points were also added to my credit
            From her crescent comments.
     All these left ugly scars scratching a child’s tender heart.
            Every day I had to feel how much unwanted I was.
                     I remember, I was twelve then.
             On an occasion, school closed early by three hours.
                         I went to my friend’s house to play carom
                 On excitement of game I was not at all aware of the time
                      When my senses reacted, it was already dark in the evening
                        I rushed home to find my mother waiting at the gate.
                            She didn’t inquire about the delay,
                                  but just slapped me forcibly.
                                   This type of abuse was expected by me.
                                     But surprisingly mom suddenly burst into tears
                                             She repeatedly went on saying 
                              ‘Why are you so late? I am worried..worried…worried
                                        It seemed as if I lost my child.’
                        That moment I achieved a beautiful scar on my hear.t
                                   First and only expression of my mom’s love
                                               The precious memory still I cherish.

Copyright © Anisha Dutta | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Wishing you could love me too

You mean so much to me, more then you'll ever know. 
More then ill ever be able to describe.
But I'll try.
Voice of a angel, touch ever so soft you would think its a feather.
Eyes so beautiful seeing them on a sunset day, medusa stare ever so hypnotizing locking eyes can't look away.
Baby in the tummy, heart just started beating giving me a rush that I really needed.
Love so old I feel defeated.
Even though I do everything for you, I'm looking out for me just keeping a close over view upon you.
How can I fix your life if mine isn't alright, but i don't know where id ever be with out you by my side.
And I thought I'd never know but as of now I'm pushing through. 
Now that your gone, I miss you every night.
But I gotta be strong.
Cause if not you'll be gone and ill be with a baby missing its mom.

Copyright © Mark Ramon | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

It Must Be Puppy Love

Love and faithfulness live together - Psalm 85:10

Throughout the ages,
Family pets have served.
Faithful til the end,
Many have observed.

Do they know how to love,
As humans think they do?
Look into their eyes,
The rest is up to you.

Watch those tails a swinging,
There's a story to be told.
This is how a puppy loves,
Worth much more than gold.

They do not need a reason,
As many humans do.
It is their gift from God,
Especially for you.

But if you do not understand,
This passion that is so.
Follow our little tails,
They will show you how to go.

Chicken fresh for breakfast,
Roast beef at dinner time.
Sirloin steak so often,
Am glad that you are mine.

Snacks available all day long,
Special ones when you depart.
Is it any wonder then,
That you control our hearts.

Today you are special,
We thank our Lord above.
Thank you for being my mommy,
We will smother you with love.


Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

My Annie Dedicated for the Belief of My Adoptive Mom and Dad

. .. ... .. . . . Funny as I remember now - I went out to the animal shelter to-rescue my little Annie one day- some time not to long ago; and-from outside, on my way in I saw her - and as I walked-in and looked-around, I asked-to-God, "What-kind of- day is it going to be-for me-today?" and then in that moment, I saw her again, and she was cute, as a button-a very fun and-smashing, playful; innocent-young-lady, this tender little girl - and I new I was going to bring-a new light, into her tired-and-lonely and- vacant, quiet-little-world - and as I heard this-shy yet eager, raspy-little-meow-from behind this-pen she-was-sitting in - I walked over to have a look see; and there she was looking up at me - "My little kitten Annie!" - with-twinkling and starry-eyes and a warmness-and-passion for-life I could-have-never-imagined - (nor have-ever; ignored) and so I reached-down-and picked-up... the-kindnesses-of my- soul - and the-simple touch-on my-skin of her-warm fur, was of- the sensation of the purest beauty, I had never-known, and as she placed-her cool-nose and a soft-little paw... on the-lips of my-face - we looked at each-other... a quiet-while with such an-intense - and simple-feeling - you know that feeling-you-have when to get-to-hold the one-thing you have long-for so-long... to hold - finally you know you-couldn't have asked for more. So-yes-it's funny-to me; what God brings to the weary soul, a love- and-loss so-unique and precious; opportunistic... . Always I'm coming to find-offered to everyone; given to all as-its-own-equal... ! It's been some years and-sadly, gone-from-me-now she-is... but I know as my- heart is-hers and-hers mine I know-we'll-never be-apart... ! I had a little kitten-named-Annie one day some time-ago, and oh how I loved to hold her, because she rescued me from my tired-and-lonely; vacant; quiet-little-world. Author Notes Inspire by the greatest of all the plays I have ever seen, and as I was an orphan myself early on in my years - and was as well adopted - I went to see it five times in three years as a child. My new parents took me without recourse or woe-yes, the play-well of course, it was little orphan "Annie!" Hyphens used in conjunction with one another for recording purposes for the disabled. Songs I give for my Mom and Dad. Thank you both so much, truly I feel I can never thank you enough! Love Jamie http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBZACUxTFLU http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nnjkb4q6FKU

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |

Mom's Death

I will always recall the day
my mom died.

She was in recovery for 
congestive heart surgery.
The work itself had gone well 
but brought on massive clots 
to the lungs.

I was an hour and a half away
and when I arrived, 
Mom was talking to the doctor.
He had tears in his eyes,
apologizing for getting hopes up 
where there was no hope now.
She looked him straight in the eye
and told him that she didn’t want to die.
But, if the Lord was ready 
the doctor didn’t need to cry.
“I know you did everything in your power 
to make me well”, she said. “So don’t you feel bad, 
don’t apologize for trying to help me.  
God is the one to have the final say.
I will resist going until my absolutely final breath. 
Because, I think that is what he expects of me.  
When I know it’s time I will be with him.”
The doctor left, I don’t know if he felt better. 
Probably not. He had promised her five more years.

I stayed and talked to mom for a while, 
before my brother came back in.
“Now Bunky, you know your brothers
are not as strong as you.  
You will have to help them through this.  
That is what I know you will do.”  
I said “yes Momma,” 
no longer fighting the wetness profusely rolling down my cheeks.
“Where’s Carolyn” she said of my wife. 
“I called her and she is on the way shortly. 
She will get here as soon as she can.” 
My brother came back in 
and I went out to the doctor again.

He said her lungs were completely clogged 
and she would slowly suffocate.  
But, it would be painless because she could breathe.  
She just couldn’t process the air.
She would simply go to sleep.
And that is the way the next four hours went,
with Mom going little by little.  
She napped, 
and woke up once in a while 
to ask about my younger brother 
and his wife and my wife. 
Telling all how much she loved them. 
She slept a little longer each
time she closed her eyes
and finally the only one not 
there was my wife.  
We thought a couple of times she had passed.  
But the nurse said she just wouldn’t give up. 
She sunk so low they couldn't find a pulse
or read blood pressure. 
I don’t remember how they knew she was not gone.  
Finally just before my wife
came in they actually didn’t know 
if she was still alive.
My wife came in and Mom spoke.
“Carolyn, Carolyn", very weakly and 
they talked softly for a while and Mom died. 
She had held on beyond a readable pulse.  
Beyond blood pressure. 
To tell my wife good bye. 

Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |


you know and more
on that day
we here them say
if theyer bad
thats sad
there be no gifts  for the stiff
and the christmas tree
tho theyer heavenly
so many kids being had

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


it was tree night
under blinking light
at christmas
was not dust
they held hands
at the gifts stand
i coundn't miss

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

In the full view of things

In the full view of things 
people will always be harsh 
People will always be stuck up 
Nobody will ever try to help 
Whenever I cry for someone to help 

Nobody comes....

Sometimes I think I am not crying loud enough to hear 
But then I relize,
They only pretend not to hear 
He tells me he cares 
But I know he lies 

He ALWAYS lies....

No matter how hard I try 
No matter what I do 
He still is not satisfied 
He and his frankinstine bride 
Be forwarned... the tale about step mothers.... is true.

They always lie....

They think I am insane 
So they send me to this person
She calls herself a consoler... haha.....
She doesn't have a clue 
She lies, she knows nothing of privet thoughts, and should not be called a counsoler.

What do they know any way....

My mind is my mind 
No one elses to invade 
But if you're brave enough to try 
Good luck getting out... well ...you could say the same 
My mind is always busy 
I can't remember a time when I wasn't thinking 
About the past 
About things I could have said or done 
Or about the future I wish could be true 

I don't know who to trust..... except for one........

My mom 
My sweet and loveing mother 
She is my everything
I love and trust her  
More than I can say

I trust her I love her....

My mom knows me better than anyone I know
She knows my fears, dreams, and hopes
She loves me 
She trust me 
She is the one who helped me when no one would 

I hate him......

The man poseing as a father 
The man who was never there for me
The person I want to be the farthest away from 
I am forced to live with 
By a boges court 
Full of hypocrits and morons 

Why should they get to pick.......

They tell me where I get to go 
They tell me I don't know
OH but I do 
I know more than they could possibly dream of knowing 
Seven years I had been hideing 
Seven years I have known 
He is a heartless monster 

I was there.....

All they had was papers 
I wasn't even aloud in the room 
I had all the proff they needed 
Seven years of experence
But it didn't matter 

One day we will be home with our mother where we belong.

Copyright © Shelby Trisler | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

Sorry Mom

You are my best guide
 As you always guided me to be good son
 You are my inspiration
 As you always inspired me to dream
 You are my best teacher
 As you taught me the lessons of life
‘You are my best friend
 As you shared my bad moments
 You are my best company
 As you spent quality time with me
 I could not do anything for you
 When you are growing old
 You sacrificed everything for me
 And gave me all happiness
 That a child needs
 What I am today
 Just because of you
 I am the luckiest son
 Because you are my mom
 And you are the unluckiest mother
 As I am your son
 Sorry mom
 Now I realize that
 Old age is a curse
 But also I remember'
 That tomorrow 
 I will be in your place

Copyright © KISHAN NEGI | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

I Thank You Mom

A lady I love went away not so long ago,
I sit & weap for I never got to say farewell,
It's raining now & it hides my tears for her, she was a very special being;
She touched so many in so many ways.

She was my friend, my light my Mother,
now she is my beaken of light that guides me & will bring me home to her side again,
I wonder if she sees the true love that fills my heart, Also i wonder if she is at 

She did so many selfless things in life & in death that were & are a testament to her;
giving ways, In her passing she is still teaching & giving to others.

I've always thought of her as an angel and now she truely has her wings,
She sits & watches over us in hopes thatour lives will be long & full of love.

I miss her so much & love her for the loving way she poesses, for the gift of life,
for the passion she had for life, 
In my life I've been through some hard times but she with a smile & a kind word;
Always pulled me thorugh.

               Moon Dog Art

Copyright © Brian Douchette | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |

The Way

 The Way
By Curtis Johnson

One wet and cloudy day I was in the way
Until someone shouted, “get out the way!”

Mr. 9 to 5  got real tired just the other day.
He emailed an old friend simply to say;
Someday I am going to find away without delay;
To get away and find a place to hide away.

Mr. 9 to 5, who lives up the street not far away,
 Said one day, “my house, I would love to give away,
and pack up my things and move far away.”
Then Mrs. 9 to 5 said, “no way, put him away.”

Mr. and Mrs. 9 to 5’s kids want to all run away.
They want to stay away, because Mr. 9 to 5 says,
It’s going to be his way or the long highway.
So all the kids got upset  one day and ran away.

We all get upset at times and don’t know which way.
I remember Jesus said one time, “I’m the way.”

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

By your side

I wish you were here by my side
To keep me calm on a scary night
I know I’m not strong enough 
To face this creepy night…

I am alone in this lonely room
Feeling scared under a big moon
My mind won’t stop thinking 
Of the shadows and noises 
Of my surroundings

Today, I’m scared like a child 
My heart is falling apart
I’m frightened and wanted to run
To hide under your arms...

Mama, please come here
Kiss me on my forehead
Fill me with your warm embrace
Hug me till the morning light
Hold my hands till I sleep so tight..
And whisper into my ear 
“My dearest child…
It’s alright, I’m here by your side”…

Copyright © Eiza Evangelista | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Spirit of mom

Spirit of mom,
Follows me;
Strews her odour
Revealing presence;
The supple spirit,
Tickles me,
Gives touch of her feel;
She feels me,
Solaces me day and night,
Embraces my heart and soul;
Chats with me,
Through my mind;
Blesses me for my,
Wish and will;
She always lived for me,
Still she lives,
In my heart and soul;

© Sadashivan Nair

Copyright © sadashivan nair | Year Posted 2017