Best Mothered Poems
A Tribute to my wife, Vera S. Hinshaw (4 June 1935 - 19 July 2018)
Honey, it has been just a few days since they lowered the lid on your coffin.
Oh, how I cherish our sixty-six years together - I recall them so very often.
I thank God each and every day for bringing you into my life.
I was truly blessed and the happiest man on earth to have you as my wife.
Dear, we endured the many vicissitudes of life in the journey that we shared.
Your concern was for the welfare of others and it showed you truly cared.
You sincerely loved everybody and everyone loved you in return.
You made my life complete - for that the flame in my heart will ever burn.
You mothered three precious children that made our life complete,
And they in return gave us treasured grandchildren with such joy replete.
I miss you so very much but I have this certain consolation,
That you now rest in the arms of Our Savior with His promise of salvation.
Dearest, I'll always wear my wedding ring - there'll be no other in my life,
For you, darling Vera, for all eternity will be my beloved wife.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
mothered, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Argent moons myriad known, beneath an endless zenith sky
When hotter suns unaltered and stars ruled as aperture fever of a night
Around a fire this Naabeeho song begun, sung louder than a heaven's choir
As “Soaring Feather” was tuft mothered, from Navajo out of Chief Eagle Gray's desire
But, now less wild panes opaque of Dine', behind leather eyes am I
Brittle bone to withered dust, a desert sage that dries
And I plead one last dream before doors beyond forever
Gazing east, out cross, fallen white of Navajo still November
I am blinded into vision winds, so quickened unto rapture
Swept along the swaying prairie grass, messenger of earth then after
The billowing, ghosts of buffalo left innocence roaming over head
And I rise in the morning mist, wings tall on Appaloosa's empathic wrath
Regrets ascending gallop to step upon plateau in reach of raven's tail plumose
Reborn as Yei to hunt the sky, shed the herds of swifting nimbus
A changeling caught within a current writhe, transcending into tempest, high
Quelling ages and ages of limitations, let the lightning bolts of redress fly
A warrior of the Holy Ones, my tabernacle on mother earth drifting dies
But, on painted horse run rising up, a brazen spirit storm comes alive
Free amidst the gale, thunderous beats in temporal instrumental
As clouds begin to blacken, past native spirits dance ceremonial into tornado
Hozoji drums beating round and round, whirlwind roar of nightly chants
I, Navajo dreamer stampeding across the azure plains of my once pure native land
Recompense only to scourge prejudice away and humble the most of evil men
And then stillness, a silent healing song, as forgiveness is a welcome friend
Copyright 2012 Micharl G. Smith
Categories:
mothered, native american, earth, prejudice,
Form:
Lyric
Motor is nudged to life in an arcing motion, arm pulling
cord. Vein-furrowed hands grasp the fishing pole,
slinging bait and tackle beneath one arm. Another
arcing motion, arm casting pole. Bobber spins
a helicopter course through sun-nipped air.
Loons call a soulful greeting, the moans of centuries'
separated lovers in mourning. Time trickles through
the notes of their songs. Meanwhile, bass glide
with their loud-mouthed sass,
perch and blue gills play tag. A lone
blue heron bills the murky depths for lunch.
Man baits his hook, readjusts his hat. Eyes squint
into the dark undertones of the pond. He casts
his pole, a fermata in the song of the loons. When this man
was a boy, he drove the spires of the Rocky Mountains,
frequented the five-and-dime, nuzzled
a nightly routine next to his wife, who mothered six children, raised
in a house far away from any pond. They bustled themselves
along through school as well as any fish pouncing on
supper-flies, dabbing napkins to the corners
of their mouths. This fisherman sliced their steak, knotted their ties,
held their hands crossing the street
until they were old enough to
mail college resumes,
pay for first dates.
Five years,
fifteen years,
thirty-two years and here is Granddad,
with his child's toddler learning to walk in the bowed
belly of his fishing boat. They stumble,
clanging clumsy feet on the metal, frightening
the fish away. The old man bends low,
a note in the song of the loons.
He places the toddler on two feet, guides her hesitant steps,
each pendulum swing carrying them a moment
further toward separation. In twelve years, the grown child
bends low, a note in the song of the loons, to kiss her
grandfather's forehead, as he casts off on his helicopter
course of afterlife.
Categories:
mothered, childhood, children, emotions, eulogy,
Form:
Free verse
Does the all mighty Buddha have it right
on the subject of life as suffering?
I sit here and contemplate, day and night,
scrunch my brain up in remembering
just how I have really ever suffered.
First, as an upper class young man of ease,
sheltered by family and mothered,
minimum efforts brought above average
success in most all that I tried in life.
One problem is I have no attachments,
no long held beliefs or fear of death's scythe,
the prescriptions for Buddha attainment.
Giving up suffering, a conscious act
makes Buddhahood hard for privileged, in fact.
Categories:
mothered, truth,
Form:
Sonnet
Dreaming of a pot of gold, you came to town
It was sprawling, this metropolis, you knew none around
Your earnings were scant and engagements, irregular
The overseer assured steady income in lieu of a favour
You succumbed to ward off uncertainties, and gradually sank deeper
You were born of impoverished stock, high up in the Himalayas
Your clean looks and youthful age were your kin’s panacea
Your home, the arid plains, where land is mostly barren
Starvation a reality, your innocent world was broken
When it comes to sacrifice, inevitably you are chosen
You were a country girl, pubescent and barely thirteen
Travelling to the big city with a distant kin
To serve an urban family with mop and pail
A drug laced cup of tea made you vulnerable to a cartel
You woke, imprisoned, in a dingy room of a highway brothel
Battered and beaten and raped to submission
You forgot the gods and your daily oblation
Your escort paid dearly for his betrayal and malice
Was it your homage to the gods or backstreet justice?
You languish now in jail, but the brothel still exists
You were in your second year, studying BA (Honours)
With a weakness for the life of the upper class
And the knowledge to achieve what you felt, you must
The initiation was debasing – no niceties, just frenzied lust
The payment was in cash –the first time wasn’t the last
You are not alone in your tainted existence
Women arriving at the metropolis in suburban trains
Working by day and exiting before the peak hour rush
Living in opulence, in times past – barely middle class
Very discreet, these devil women and financially flush
You conceived, a professional risk, and the baby you resolved to keep
Now nineteen and actively trafficking, his misdeeds make you weep
His latest catch, a tender ten year old, the same age you were shackled
Your flesh and blood, the son, you had mothered from the cradle!
Your agony was incomplete, now it had completed its cruel cycle
Hail lady of the night
With time, you’ve overcome both fear and fright
And blended the distinction between wrong and right
You’ve lost your vision, though you retain your sight
In a world shrouded in darkness where the sun still shines bright
Categories:
mothered, life, sad, social, world,
Form:
Narrative
Many years ago I lost a friend...
memories of her will never end !
All the times we spent together
are now etched in my mind forever !
It wasn't perfect all the time...
yet our relationship was prime !
Mother and daughter through the years,
wiping away each other's tears !
Celebrating when times were good...
getting together whenever we could,
for shopping sprees and lunches too.
Through all those times our closeness grew !
From the cradle she mothered me;
it was impossible then to see
that Mother Nature had a plan
to change things from how they began !
In her final days roles were changed
for the future was prearranged !
Now Mom relied upon my care...
it was time for me to do my share.
Mom became a child again
and I took on the role of "Mother Hen" !
It wasn't easy playing the part
but the love was from heart to heart !
Categories:
mothered, caregiving, heart, heart,
Form:
Rhyme
I asked the desert
to carry me from this place
of the Qubbanet El-Qirud’ infertile soil
suddenly, that whisper of wind
took my hand, and walked
along and alone with me
I, heard a voice, in tones of angels
“we see your beautiful life within”
one that we do not understand
yet, I do not remember this life
as having beauty
I see a life that I have
wasted thoroughly; jealously
and unrighteousness ruled
my empty daze, before
this; please do something
do look closely into me
I asked this of both the angels
and my desert friend
the desert smiled…
as all of Heaven’ Angels
swooned and said, “your life,
from infinity you have come”
an infinite and [i'n(y)o?om?r?b?l]
probability, willingly mixing
yourself in all particles of life; you are of
infinite scintillae; that blend
into; the “special purpose”; that you
is urbane, decipherable, and vestal
becoming a fertile soil, to accept
those ill wills and innumerable sins
of humanity, all whom have broken the trust
of that which was given…
impurity therefore, is humankind’ “Portae Lucis”
for in the realization of;
you gain your last chance
for a one time, "Contact with Eternity"
you are but dirty and
impure and infertile; I, have cried
upon my friend; this barren desert
begging to become, a participle
of a fertile land; enabled to produce
squalls and outcomes, and sublimed sulfur
I will enjoy, these powerful urges, these
lovingly nudged immoralities within me
and when, I finish with the each of you
I shall enjoy a long and lovely “Desert Sorcery”
verdancy, will be the [?ks'pe? tri?e?t] of thee
across this entire Earth; out of me
the sons and daughters of inequity will be judged
and their eternal ends will be welcomed
each of those who is as Adam, and Eve; will be left
out of a home, upon this Eden’ mothered globe
you, who have made burgoo of your lives
know this to be your truth
those who have suffered the dirt and impurity
of the oppressors will be made free, instantaneously!
Oh my lord! Once again, remake me as thee!
and reproduce me, as the very last; God Particle!
Categories:
mothered, analogy, inspirational, psychological, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
A tree of height dreams was vast Sweet gum it seems,
when I chance to retrace tender childhood thoughts.
Young dreams of enemy's luck in classic schemes.
Thoughts would drift as wars with my demons were fought.
An old Sweet gum tree, my womb of strong support,
she mothered my dreams, fetus did not abort.
Divine boughs call now I Godly dedicate,
my witness by grace, as I still meditate.
======================
4/19/2011
Categories:
mothered, faithsweet, sweet,
Form:
Rispetto
Passing the grains of rivers
mothered by the your sun,
tossed copper wind and shores rail
inch by inch--
meter by meter--
they drift along of a violet dayfall.
And glittering borealis slopes
on emblazoned hem;
until land, sea, air and dazed fire,
wrap the colors of your grasses;
as a hundred villages await
the first notes
of your opening sonata;
a tingle from a raw desire
circling a bonfire of wildflowers,
in heat like a maiden, restless!
Open Poetry Contest
Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
11/30/2015
Categories:
mothered, summer,
Form:
Personification
A Man Of Your Own
The day is filled with echoes of olden time
In shadows of pain- I watch the skylark climb
Into the sun so far above the grain
In fatherly love, my son I think of you again
Oh father, life is too short to contemplate
a mysterious journey to learn one's fate
New adventures waiting to be discovered
not existing to be smothered or mothered
Son, in your life when pain starts to break,
In clouds of dark- This wise advice please take
Remember this, in the short of it all
Help comes from each sincere heavenly call
I'm leaving now - there are roads one must travel
explore the world - hidden mysteries to unravel
Like my brothers - every bird leaves the nest
life is a journey - one must master to be the best
Your dear brothers have done our family proud,
Finding silver linings in every dark cloud
Son, now time comes- For you to do the same
Add goodness, pride and honor to our family name
Thank you father - I will return to my family tree
remember me in your prayers, while I roam free
Look after mama and always remain content
I will never forget the times, together we spent
Collaboration between Robert Lindley and Silent One
This poem is about a father speaking to his son, before he
is ready to embark on his journey into the world on his own.
This is the first part of three poems.
17 December 2015
Categories:
mothered, appreciation, art, beautiful, blessing,
Form:
Rhyme
"I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart).
I am never without it."
E. E. Cummings
Grandma was my hero in childhood days
comforting me with hugs, kisses and praise
I loved her house because it was so old
Sweet peas in her garden, purple and gold
She'd brush my hair when it was in tangles
let me wear her gems, earrings and bangles
And then I mothered her as time unfurled
Brushing her long white hair in waves that curled
Her tender smile soothed my heartaches and tears
Held me in loving arms to stop my fears
I will never forget her gentle touch
Dear Grandma, I miss you so very much
I wept like a child on interment day
Wished she was there to wipe my tears away
September 16, 2022
Writing Challenge-In My Heart S Forms Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Lost to Heaven - Grandmother Marceline
checked with howmanysyllables
Categories:
mothered, grandmother, love,
Form:
Sonnet
MORGANITE
You sprang up like a shoot,
And art translucent to form.
Acrylic with tears the norm,
Brush strokes of life; resolute.
MAW SIT SIT
My memories are dim
Of me and him,
Breaches of birth. Strangers
Now, dear mannequin.
SPHALERITE
Lost in a world of make believe,
Trying to be human of sorts,
Touching life's Eden to perceive,
His favourite tipple! Vintage port.
SUGILITE
Troubled heart, troubled mind,
You fled our shores abroad,
You spoke with an accent kind
Your sorrows of life you stored.
SPHENE
Champagne fizz, popping the cork,
Nightclub Madonna to dance.
Dreaming of high rise New York,
So much better than France!
MOONSTONE
Tot 'n' Ham labours two,
Mothered to your breast,
Redwood trees, how they grew!
A familial love and blessed.
ZIRCON
Travelling through mythical days,
Chains of law untethered,
Stonehenge Rigveda praise,
Countenance aglow; weathered.
This poem is about a particular aspect of my siblings, including myself here and the name of each gemstone is quite rare and unique as we all are as individuals
Edward
Categories:
mothered, family,
Form:
Rhyme
Billy was a loner,
Rotten to the core.
Fathered by a bastard,
Mothered by a whore.
Grew up mean and dirty,
Took it on the chin.
Stole to make a living,
Killed to save his skin.
Sheriff caught him napping,
Hanged him from a tree.
All the preacher said was,
“Better him than me.”
Categories:
mothered, allegory, death, judgement, western,
Form:
Verse
You were supposed to love me,
Unconditionally.
Called the hotline,
I'll be fine.
Wait for the "someday",
Surely the sun will shine.
I just want a new life.
Way away from yours, mother.
Why do you hate me anyways?
Did you forget who created me?
I didn't mean to be this way,
The way I am today,
You forced me to be.
I tried your visions on me,
You know, you saw it too.
I saw, you weren't happy
Or proud ; just made me
Feel like a fool.
Mother,
I wanted to live, you know.
To honour the life you gave me,
But you took it many times too.
I promise, I love the sound
That makes when the word
"Mother" is said ; I just,
I can't see you this way.
I promise I've tried to,
Way more times than I'd ever admit.
More times than I should have.
I'm sorry, mother, forgive me.
I really tried to forgive you,
But I've failed, you failed me.
I mothered me better than you.
Categories:
mothered, forgiveness, mother, mother daughter,
Form:
Free verse
Out of a neon jungle the big cats prowl
the wind in the willows unrecovered,
for when the cats and wind begin to howl
I am stoned and the boys truly mothered!
So I rip in and bowl an inswinger
and rap ‘em on the pads…”howzat?” I shout,
pivoting to see a pointing finger,
but the bastard umpire says “Not Out!”.
Behold the shot, the call of “no, yes, no”…
a sledge and slog on the concrete wickets
and puffs of stupefying herb billow
the post-match bar in the oak tree pickets.
For a play and a prey the big cats reign
when the Leopards are loose in The Domain.
Written: November 1992
Pic above is of Auckland Domain.
*The Leopards are a cricket team.
*Cricket bats are made from willow trees.
*Mothered is slang for extremely drunk.
*Inswinger is a type of bowling delivery.
*If a bowler appeals to an umpire for a
dismissal and he agrees the batsman is
out he points and raises his finger.
*Sledge is a cutting insulting remark.
Categories:
mothered, friend, games, sports,
Form:
Sonnet