Best Familymay Poems
Her personality blooms like a daisy.
The peace and prosperity her presence brings.
The warm feeling of love people have for her.
Her voice is recognizable.
She cannot be replaced.
She is a caregiver.
A mother.
My mom.
My mother may not like to cook.
She may not like to shop.
She may not be like a lot of moms,
But she is my mom.
My only mom.
She is unmistakably the best mom.
Do not be offended,
This is my personal opinion.
But yes,
She is the best.
Mothers are kind,
Mothers are sweet.
Mothers guide us in everyday life.
Mothers are there to give help and advice.
My mother.
Ode to my mother.
For all the hard work you do,
To keep me alive,
Healthy,
And most of all,
Happy.
Thanks mom!
Her beauty is no more and the light has faded in her eyes
But the mind still works she is a young woman in disguise
her legs may not work no more, but the mind still has plenty in store
Though she may not be able to speak well, her mind and wit are still sharp you can tell.
By hand gestures.........
Sweet Erika I miss not seeing you,
as often as I use to.
I may not tell you how much
I love you, like I use to.
You are my only Grand Daughter
and you are so special to me.
You are still cute as a button,
I am amazed with how grown up you are.
In a few short years you will become
a young woman, I may not live to see it.
Knowing that whatever you decide
to become, success will surely follow.
I want you to know, how proud I am
to be your Grandfather.
Written 4-17-11
A poet looks intently at our world through a visible but very delicate lens/
Does all of the wishes that they aspire come true ?
Well ! It all depends ?
Yet through those delicate eyes we derive a most solemn surprise/
For some maybe their grace has not fallen on them ?
I don't think as a poet as a liar per say,
Rather, someone who connects with that half of the brain/
That no one bothers to tap into,
Although for now though dimly,
Yet what one does today will forever be echoed throughout all eternity !
Poetry/ Hits on many topics and aspects of life,
Relationships and material/
There can be no substitute for the real you/
Hence, it's all based upon choices,
For the materialization of the given subject matter,
To equate one's whole being as squeezing the tooth paste out/
Hence their is always still some **** left in the bottom of the tube !
Still what may be true for you may not be for someone else ?
The poet should have a keen sense of vital improvisation/
Yet to not relent when critics start bashing one's subject matter,
This is a clear indication that as a professional writer/
One must pay real attention to the mere tone of the subject matter,
People could see through the lies/
Lastly, a true poet never dies,
Rather lives on in the many hearts of their adoring fans !
Cancer is a scary thing
And might not make us sing
All the people we hold dear
Just seem to disappear
Before they find a cure
They may or may not get rid of it
But no one forgets it
I loved her right from the start
Willingly gave her all my heart
And when she walked down the aisle
I could do nothing at all but smile
When we moved into our flat
I thought to myself, that was that
Once we had our home together
We would just grow old together
Then I saw the pregnancy tester
When she had reached the first Trimester
And then came another level of joy
We would have a little girl of boy
Now I may have tended to fuss
My devotion may have been uxorious
But she was all important in my life
So I fussed around my primiparous wife
And when the great day finally came
We still hadn’t even settled on a name
But our daughter blessed our union
And I had two loves to dote upon
Oh Elderly, aged but wise,
Give us the young all the advice,
We can learn allot from you all,
For life isn't what it appears to be a ball.
No one may understand the thoughts in your mind,
And words for you may be hard to find,
However, whatever non-verbal expressions you make,
Should just be enough for us to take.
Some of you may have been left behind,
But you all never ceased to be kind,
However, all the experiences that you bring,
Is all, but enough to hold unto and cling.
Your physical appearance may not be what it was,
But only if you could put it to a pause,
Fot it is the soul that shall be with you the path ahead,
So let us not treat it as if it is dead.
This poem should be the only one coming to an end,
For we the young offer our hand,
You may have taken the steps ahead of us,
But we are all traveling on the same bus.
Never despair when a loss hits home and you desperately seek
anyone to embrace, to let the tears decrease the unbearable pain,
which persists until you release it to your powerful faith;
only then the dreadful shadow is suddenly lifted by revelation...
Death may be the only desire you invoke,
words and hugs that impart sympathy, can increase the yoke;
what is needed is more time to mourn by yourself,
sitting alone, meditating and delving into those forgotten images...
It may be an improper time to squeeze sweetness
out of memories that have turned overwhelmingly
bitter, but out of a tragedy another miracle happens:
life is valued more and lived more fully and deligently...
Never despair, or let the tears increase the unbearable pain,
that can make your spirit much weaker and delusive; denying it a desired stride
and that certain confidence to count how many tears you have shed,
and see each one as a dewdrop absorbed by the warmth of the awakening sunrise...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci