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Sestina Mom Poems | Sestina Poems About Mom

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

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Details | Sestina |

Dear Katrina

The TV showed a tyrant tumbling towards our house.
I was weary and wanted to leave before it hit, but
My mom was too weak and too old to leave her bed.
She couldn’t leave so I sat, sat and prayed.
I boarded up a window standing on a chair—
Waiting.  It was hurrying our way in the shape of a hurricane.

My mom said, “Remember Hurricane
Betsy back in ’65, we survived that in this house!”
She was trying to comfort me in my chair.
I was trying to stay calm for my mom, but
I was worried, so worried and again I prayed,
Watching, waiting and wondering over her bed.

As I walked to the window; I looked at my bed
Of roses freshly planted and hoped the hurricane
Would spare their lives, ours too! Then, me and the roses prayed.
Suddenly and without warning the power left our house
And a window cracked and crashed close to my mom’s head, but
She was ok. She was calmly asleep. Then, I sat in my chair

With a flashlight and waited. My old chair
Was calm and sturdy like my mom’s bed.
Throughout the night I sat confident that we would hold, but
Finally the overwhelming weight of the heavy hurricane
Broke the levees and lunged an ocean into our house.
I cried “Mom we have to go!” She woke and then she prayed.

And as she prayed
The water rose and knocked over my chair.
I picked her up and carried her to the roof of our house,
And we waited and waited—she missed her bed.
At last a boat came, on the side read “HURRICANE
RELIEF”. I told my mom it was time to go, but

She didn’t want to go, she was sad. But,
I convinced her that we couldn’t stay. We got in the boat—everyone prayed.
Then we waited and waited in a big silver dome with other hurricane
Survivors, all were thirsty, none were cold. “Mom…Wake up!” She lay dead in a chair.
So, I got some rubbish and filth and made her a bed.
I covered her up—I missed our house.

When I returned I found my chair though it was not the same, but,
I sat anyway and then I prayed.  I put my mom’s ashes in a brand new rose bed
And begged another hurricane doesn’t take away—my mom and our house.

Copyright © Mike Butler | Year Posted 2010



Details | Sestina |

Stay At Home Mom

I spend my time changing diapers
Wiping tiny faces and drying little tears
My days are filled with giggles and wails
Nights are symphonies of snuggles and hugs
Never do I get time off or a needed vacation
Even sick days are not granted to my position

But I would never leave my position
Not even if it meant no more diapers
Or a three week long tropical vacation
I don't mind quieting the tears
I love getting paid in kisses and hugs
Though I could still do without the wails

I would love peace but I take the wails
Because they come as part of the position
They are often at least paired with the hugs
Yes, I get tired of wet, stinky diapers
But I get to be there to ease the tears
And a toothless grin is better than a vacation

Time at the park is like an all day vacation
Sometimes those days pass with no wails
And unless we skin a knee even no tears
Then we get to cuddle in a sleepy position 
With sand and gravel still stuck to the diapers
Holding each other tight in hour long hugs

I love when they wake up and bring me hugs
Naps are my own little mommy vacation
Then off come grimy shirts and wet diapers
Of course taking off tops always bring wails
Until they see the bath toys all in position 
Then immediately giggles replace the tears

We scrub away dirt and wash away tears 
Wrap up in soft cotton towels and hugs
These are the moments I love my position
And cannot image why I would need a vacation
Then clothes being put on bring still more wails
As they wiggle and turn while I fasten diapers

Soon they won't need me for tears and I'll be able to take a vacation
But I'll miss all the hugs and I'll even miss the I need you wails
So I'll cherish every moment of my position until the next stinky diapers

Copyright © Christi Kopp | Year Posted 2010