Get Your Premium Membership

Best Mum Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Mum poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of mum poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Mum poems, articles about Mum poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Mum poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New Mum Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Mum poems are below this new poems list.

Birthday Limerick For Mum by Connell, Carol
mum by risden, darren
As Close As Mum by Pinet, Emile
We Love You Mum by Yeates, Owen
GYMSLIP MUM by ALLISON, JAN
Single Mum Done by brewer, Jenny
Happy Birthday Mum by Garcia Howard Bramble, Patricia
mum by Seidu, Iyaji
A Note To Mum by Riabi Dziri, Besma
MUM AND DEMENTIA by Ashton, Darryl

View all new Mum Poems

The Best Mum Poems

Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Ode to Mum


Brown paper memories she puts in my hands
Twine roughly tied in a bow slightly askew
Part and parcel of a humble life once led?
My defiant eyes meet hers of black velvet dew 

Give me back my Mother I care not for memories Don’t pressure me into accepting that she has gone
Paper gets ripped - just a supermarket album More nostalgic memories which I toss to the side With sadness not disguised my sisters eyes meet mine Grossly callous I have been - her tears she doesn't hide
These are more than just old photos Are they not? I take the album - turn the first page
Monochrome pledges they made to each other Loving adorations on their wedding day Her calligraphic script embellish each page I read this in the ink of her thoughts that say
'So dreary was my life till we met - My Love You asked for my hand so to make you complete Placing a twinkling star in each of my palms With a gentle bow you laid the moon at my feet’ ‘You are the tea leaves I am the tea pot I the tiny snowflake and you the snow’ You are my Sunshine and I am your Moon I am the dew on the roses you grow’
‘A true friend is a person who knows you Yet likes you anyway - complete with faults’
My Mother a poet? I am amazed! Inspirational thoughts in true poetic form Wondrously I leaf through - turning page after page Different quotes for my father and her children Sapient wisdom over years as we aged
‘Wisdom without action is as useless as hot ice’
Though the poetic words soften her trials a shade There it all is - her tribulations - thoughts and fears Recollections of ‘Her’ in memories and rhyme Red grows my eyes trying to suppress these tears
Do not be afraid to take your chances Sweetest fruits hang from the farthest branches
She scripted herself on every page she had written A beautiful rose preserved for now and ever more Our Angel of love embraced tight in her persona Our lovely Mother - My Model - I loved and adored
‘Your Religion is Life To preach is to practice’
‘Be grateful for the Angels put in our midst Even if it is but for a little while ‘Cause they are borrowed and strictly on loan’ Mum PS I love you ***
Footnote: My Mum and Dad on their wedding day many moons ago. Video Clip ED SHEERAN - Supermarket Flowers – sung by BIANCA


Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2018


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

JAN ALLISON

I am from Great Britain – it’s not a rumour I always try to write with a sense of humour In 1996 we moved to live in the Isle of Man I can say with hand on heart that I’m Jan NOT Stan Work with youngsters who have ‘special needs’ Very rewarding occupation - but challenging indeed! I am short in stature – guess I have low ‘elf esteem’ Tall greying men I adore – I love to see them in my dream I love to eat plain chocolate – don’t need to watch my weight I’m really quite petite – my hubby thinks I’m great Met my husband Bob at Radio Lollipop Both were volunteers – he loved my low cut top! Love to listen to music and go to hear a live band Best gig ever was ‘Queen’ - the best band in the land I have a wonderful son he is my pride and joy He’s at university now – no longer my little boy Started to write poetry when my husband got cancer To get my thoughts on paper to me it was the answer My friend Jenny Brewer introduced me to poetry soup Took me a month to join but I’m so glad I joined this group Wrote thirty poems with Darren as Jadazzle United When Daz returns to good health I will be so delighted I am happy when with friends but like my solitude too Try to do my best in everything I do The past 14 months have been so challenging for me With writing I can escape and set my emotions free Now my dad has passed and mum is in a care home I am now ‘free’ and my self-confidence has grown 12th April 2015 Contest: Bio of a Poet Tammy Reams ~awarded 1st place~


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

ENGELBERT EFFLEFLUMP FOR DR SEUSS CONTEST

Engelbert Effleflump put on his disguise Climbed in his orcetector and rose in the skies For his mum hated flying and must never know That Engelbert’s job was in an aerial show Poor Engelbert hated deceiving his mother He’d go out of the house under cloud cover He’d loop the loop in pink polka dot skies Twirling in his orcetector each time he flies Over mountains of candy and lollipop trees Floating on green clouds and lemonade seas Only children knew his secret, they’d point with delight Look there goes Engelbert - he’ll be home by midnight! But disaster happened on one foggy day Poor Engelbert crashed at a flying display He was not badly injured - only his pride But how could he tell his mother he’d lied Unable to continue flying he told his mum of his work When she discovered his secret life, she went BERSERK She shook her gold furry arms high in the air Now confined to his room Engelbert did despair Engelbert begged and he pleaded, but she wouldn’t listen Tears formed in his orange eyes, oh how they did glisten That night he decided that he must simply be free Couldn’t live with his mother – how they did disagree Next morning he munched on his wigglerly grub Drank his foaming juice from the chocberry shrub He announced to his mother that he had a plan We would get a new job, become a delivery man Engelbert moved into a chocolate house He lives there with his purple pet mouse His new job lets him work at his own pace Delivering dreams to Effleflumps in outer space * an orcetector is a word that was made up by the little girl I used to be a private nanny to - she was just 2 years old and she couldn't say helicopter. Contest:- Children’s story Dr Seuss Style Sponsor:- Casarah Nance ~awarded 4th place~ 08~21~15


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Too late for tears

Oh, my brother..
I can see storms causing havoc in your eyes.
All you can do is stare,
seeking comfort from a tombstone.

Beautiful marble cannot reach out to you,
nor can it hold your hand.
Tell me who will wipe away those sympathetic tears?

For I have no sympathy for you.
Because
I still remember happy tears
rolling down her face,
as the nurse placed you in her arms.
You were held so close,
as she kissed your tiny soft cheeks
to ease your cries.

Like every child,
before you called for God,
you called for your mother.

Yet, you abandoned her...

You won't remember, 
but, You slept so comfortably,
oblivious to her pain, as you found solace.

You won't recall the sleepless nights,
the pangs of hunger, nor her broken heart.
As your father, a coward, walked away.

Not once did she fail to attend your needs.
When you were sick, she sat by your side,
soothing your infant cries.
Instead of crumbling, her spirit remained strong,
in the hope for a beautiful future for her son.

I remember
how everyday, she awaited your return,
cooked your favourite meals
and bought you clothes, she could not afford.

Whilst, I became invisible..
You had everything a child could need.

Through the years,
you never noticed her fatigued eyes,
nor her wrinkled hands,
tired from working so hard to provide for you.

You lived your life, without a care.
For everything you needed
was provided.  Yet not once
did you listen to a word, she said.

You met a girl, became obsessed, 
and wasted all of mother's savings.
Running after materialistic needs.
Fancy restaurants, exotic holidays,
you thought you were 'living the life.'

Not once did you remember mum,
ignoring her calls, rarely coming home.
But, still she waited in anticipation.

You fool!
As you laughed, she cried;
as you danced, she sat worrying about you.

You got married. 
Where was her invitation?
Were you ashamed?
Or did she have no money for you?

Your ignorance became your curse,
as you lost all respect.
But still it broke her heart.

Now you stand here, 
staring at her name,
engraved on marble stone.
Your tears water flowers of regret.
No point
muttering mother's lullabies,
as you call her name,
disguised under deep sighs..

Who will ask now:
"Son when are you coming home?"
Who will replace her scent?
Never will you taste food cooked
by such compassionate hands.
Never will you be able to see the love in her eyes.
Never will you feel the warmth of her arms,
nor the love of a mother's kiss.

Turn your head in shame
and walk away.
Mum is in heaven now,
free from your torment..

Simple Musing
14 September 2017
Silent One

Example for Poems that paint a picture 2




Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Trying something new

Trying something new , If you think you see something or someone you recognise .
It is purely coincidental.


I met a romantic queen
and made love to her in a dream 
Her mum said . Put him down 
Drive him out of town 
You've no idea where he's been . 

I have a friend named A.D.
I adore all of her poetry
Her writing puts me to shame
but when she mentions my name
I feel like she's flirting with me.

A beautiful lady named Nette 
Said she wouldn't be kissed for a bet 
but a gentleman I aint
If I kissed her she'd faint
and she'd be forever in my debt.

Our very good friend Tim
Swore a beautiful woman was stalking him
but since he's been missing 
He's discovered French kissing
Now our chances of finding him are slim.

I know a young lady named SKAT
When she makes love, She purrs like a cat
She is such a cute kitten 
I admit I am smitten
and I wouldn't mind hearing that.

We have a beautiful friend named F.J.
I asked what she knew about kissing one day
I could tell from her wink
She knows more than we think
and a lot more than she's willing to say.


LOL 
I'll work on it. 


Copyright © DARREN WATSON | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Titillating Experience

Mom caught her boob in the washer’s wringer
Rotor made Mom an opera singer
    Tit for tat, she got redder
     Pop struggled with the lever
I pulled the plug, was able to spring ‘er

Wow!  Mum is the word on this awful day
We don’t refer to this deed of foul play
     “Hah! Your Dad’s a dud," she cried
     As with pain pills she was plied
Now under the radar Pop stays away




*Entry for David William’s Palindrome Mad Contest
By Carolyn Devonshire

Palindrome Words:
Mom, boob, rotor,  tit, tat, redder, Pop, Wow, Mum, refer, deed, Hah!, Dad, dud, radar


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2012


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

YOU'RE MY INSPIRATION - DEDICATED TO MY AMAZING MUM

How do I begin to describe you Such an incredible person Yet even now you doubt your abilities You lost your own mum when you were eight - you never ever got over it You worked all your life, started off by working in a bank for almost 20 years Then when you had children you ran a village shop from home But also helped run the smallholding where we lived You even had an evening job to bring in extra income Then you began working in a care home and that had a big impact on you At 50 you changed direction in life and studied and trained to be a nurse No mean fete with two children to bring up When you retired you continued to work in a care home Then you undertook charity work every week still continuing well into your eighties In fact you were on your way to work at the charity shop when you fell You were found lying in the street … Two bleeds on your brain and over three months in hospital How you pulled through I will never know Yet you battled on and are still with us still Now you have short-term memory issues and are going blind Fate struck a cruel blow when dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer He passed away in February Your lifelong partner for nearly sixty years Your world turned upside down and now you live in a care home We are selling the family home - gosh I find it tough emotionally I know we have lost dad but I feel like I am losing you too You are helping me clear out things from the house Items you have known and loved for many years Sadly we can’t keep everything It must be so so difficult for you, yet you never complain I just want you to know how much I love you How much you inspire me We only have one mum and I am so lucky I have you still Written for a previous contest but too late to be submitted Placed in Judy Konos' Contest - tell us about your mom 18th September 2015


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Wishes and Dreams

I wish I could walk without feeling pain
I wish I could live my life again.

I dream of a time when I could run like a deer
I could jump like a gazelle with nothing to fear.

I could climb like cat and swim like fish
I can not do these things and yet I can wish.

I can dream of a day many years gone by
I could dream and pray for that bus to pass by.

I could dream my mum missed it and didn’t get on
I could dream she forgot my vaccination had not been done.

I can sit here and daydream day after day and wish that jab had gone right
I can dream I am fit, but I’m not, it went wrong, and now I have learned how 
to fight.

I can if not careful, wish and dream my whole life away
But there is no point in that, that’s what I say.

But the vaccine went wrong, and no wishes or dreams can it change
I just have to get on with my life, there is no sale or return or exchange.

Wishes are for kids and dreams are for bed
I wish I was a kid and could lay down my head.

I am tired and fed up and the wind is so cold
I wish I did not suddenly feel old.

I am reading this back and thinking boy, this isn’t me
I am going to get up and with a certainty

I am going to fix that toilet for once and for all
Even if I have to rip it off, that bloody bathroom wall.

Self Pity is over and I feel a bit of a nit
And my last dream is I am back in bed with Brad Pitt.




Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A mother's treasures

A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother 
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her 
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this allotrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths 
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job 
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s


Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A cinquain for Mothers Day

Raindrops
I must collect
In a jar on my desk
For all the tears my mum shed through
My storms


Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

He's Just a Dog

He’s just a dog, a mongrel pup that fitted in me hand,
short haired, tan and white, with needs of high demand,
he’s whingy and he’s whiny, I s’pose he misses Mum,
but now his Mum and Dad are what me wife and I become.

And the recommending is that we must take him to the vet,
to have all his virus shots with rates that put us into debt,
we had to have him micro-chipped in case of getting lost,
and then de-sexing and to register all added to the cost.

We made a fuss of him and spoilt him rotten to the core,
even after peeing on the carpet on the lounge room floor,
we fed him ‘smackos’, munchies, and tins of high-class meat,
and let him lick our plates for a special little treat.

We knew we shouldn’t feed him sitting at the dinner table,
but when those eyes stared through me, I just wasn’t able
to ignore the little blighter who was pleading for a crust,
and of course I’m feeling guilty, so ignoring is unjust.

He mightn’t talk, but body language gets his tale across,
by demanding his intentions with a bark “I am the boss!”
That can mean our double bed, becomes one of his beds,
it’s a God given right to scratch a pillow into shreds.

He’s just a dog, but as he grew from pup to fully grown,
there are more human aspects that our little dog has shown.
He’s believing in his own mind, we are not his Dad and Mum,
because now he is the King, and slaves we’re now become.

Dogs shouldn’t have to take a bath; a chain should be denied,
and a dog definitely should never have to sleep outside,
to prove his point before its dawn our actions are defied,
he’s barking at the back door demanding to be let inside.

He’s just a dog with habits that does reimburse our training,
he licks his bum and then me face, and thinks it’s entertaining,
then rubs his bum along the carpet, so we have to come to terms,
that we have to medicate him… ‘oh my God it’s bloody worms!’

The more we tried to train him, then the more he’s training us,
for he always gets his own way when he’s kicking up a fuss,
his wicker chair and blanket are for him and him alone,
and every week on shopping day he gets a king size bone.

And doesn’t he love visitors; it’s all ‘welcome to my joint,’
wagging tail and somersaults, but to get more to the point,
if he can’t grab the sole attention when he sits up and begs,
then it becomes acceptable to go humping people’s legs.

It took him very little time to claim the television set,
he’s the closest to the heater, and he does get quite upset
if we don’t take him in the car… and now when being fed,
he’s expecting us to feed him, his brekkie in our bed.

The house is rearranged these days to suit his every need,
each day by his insistence he is walked upon the lead,
we bow to all his wishes, to his commands and dialogue,
but for anyone who drops in… they only see a bloody dog.


Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Playstation blues

It"s ten to one  in the morning. 
i"m lying in my bed. 
I have so many men to kill
there buzzing round my head. 

My thumb is sore and aches 
and hurts each time i press,
but i got to kill those suckers
i"ll teach them not to mess. 

The bedroom door bursts open. 
My Mother storms inside. 
I quickly pull up covers
and vainly try to hide. 

What the hell is this? 
Don"t you know the time? 
Her voice explodes in fire 
I mumble humble fine. 

The room decends in darkness
silence reigns supreme. 
I"m grounded for tomorrow
my Mother she is mean. 

The next day at the table
my behaviour is discussed. 
My Father nods his head 
and says i am the worst. 

A whole day without gameing
God my lifes the pits. 
I"m sure i"ll die of boredom
I bet I get the yips. 

But soon the day is over
it"s midnight in my room 
I can"t resist temptation
to pick up and resume. 

I switch on my Playstation. 
and put it all on mute. 
My Mum will never know. 
I think i"m pretty cute. 

But what the hell is this
i"ve been taken for a mug. 
that bloody devious Mother. 
she"s taken off the PLUG! 


Copyright © ned flanders | Year Posted 2010


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

HAVE I TOLD YOU LATELY THAT I LOVE YOU

Recent events in my life have made me think about love
 and saying the words ‘I love you.’
My father was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer
Every time I see him and mum I say how much I love them both
  - one day soon I will never be able to say those words to them again.

The words ‘I love you.’ We use them with our partners in a romantic way, 
maybe we don’t say it often enough and just take it for granted that they 
know we love them.
I say ‘I love you’ to my son – maternal love – to me it is simply the best feeling 
in the world 
Close family – we love them but in a different way to that of our partners 
and children.

Darren Watson’s unexpected recent illness has made me appreciate how 
lucky I am to have wonderful friends and I just want to let people know 
how very special they are to me.

You may have noticed that I always sign off my comments
 with ‘Hugs Jan xx’ – two expressions of love
 and we all need a hug and a kiss from time to time.

Jan Allison
22nd August 2014

I have reformatted the poem a bit so you can see my words in full


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Princess Diana

1981, the Royal Wedding
     Charles and Di, sweethearts of the world
     ‘Til the Queen of Hearts’ hopes unfurled

Pomp and circumstance
     Parade, white gown, bride so demure
     But her prince’s love did not endure

Camilla waited
     When Charles wished to meet his mistress
     He ignored his sad wife’s distress

Humiliation
     Di withstood her mate’s trespasses
     By reaching out to the masses

The “People’s Princess”
     Di was England’s warmest, kindest
     Perhaps, indeed, too good to last

Popularity
     Was hers, though it proved a burden
     Royal image tarnished, uncertain

Bluebloods had been stained
     By a charismatic flower
     Who cared naught for title, power

Strong undercurrents
     Prince of Betrayal, Queen of Rage
     Would pale beside Di on history’s page

Separation came
     Enough she’d had and made it clear
     No longer silent, shedding tears

Scandal in headlines
     Queen Mum and Charles were mortified
     When the public eye favored Di

Coincidental?
     The night a foreigner proposed
     Her life came to a tragic close

Was it media
     Who pursued Di to her demise
     Or was she hushed by royal lies

Weeping world
     Precious Princess Di
     Was far to young to die



*Entry for Chris Matt's Contest


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Bingo

Animals have moved in next door 
That must be true somehow 
I swear I heard my mother say 
She's a sour faced old cow . 
Now she is a dirty cow 
For not keeping her curtains shut 
and my dad has had a rollocking 
For staring at her butt .

I didn't know cows should wear a bra 
but mum says ''she's showing all she's got''
To a teenage boy fresh out of puberty 
That cow next door sure looks hot .
Now mum is going ballistic 
She swears the cows neck is made of brass
Just because she wears a skirt 
That barely covers her ***. 

Now they are the best of friends 
We've torn down the garden wall 
Girty next door loves bingo 
So there must be no barriers at all 
Its not a game for me to play
but I choose my bingo ball 
Dirty girty number thirty 
Please give me a call.



Copyright © DARREN WATSON | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

KIDS HAVE EARS THE SIZE OF AN ELEPHANT AND A MOUTH TO MATCH

I read Darryl Ashton’s poem Called Pinocchio Rex and this brought back 
memories of a childhood incident

When I grew up we had a smallholding – the house was called ‘Longacre’ as we 
had over an acre of land.  Over the years we had chickens, pigs named Pinky 
and Porky and a goat called Susie… she had kids called Billy and Nanny – guess 
I was no good at names back then… but I digress
Attached to the house was a small village shop but my parents also made a 
small income from selling fresh eggs and in the summer home grown 
strawberries – I would help pick washing baskets of them and bag them up to 
sell.
Every week a little old man would arrive for his dozen eggs and if the shop was 
shut he would ring the doorbell. He wore a pointed felt hat, had steely blue 
eyes and the most enormous nose you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to him 
my parents nicknamed him 'Pinocchio'.
When I was aged about 7 years old the doorbell rang – mum was busy baking 
in the kitchen so I answered it. There in front of me stood this old man wanting 
his eggs. Mum shouted from the kitchen
‘Who is it Janet?’ 
I replied ‘Oh its only Pinocchio’ 
At once mum appeared from the kitchen, her face was the colour of beetroot. 
She apologised for the comment from her ‘cheeky daughter’ The man 
purchased his eggs and walked away – never to return!
The moral of this true tale is that parents ALWAYS tell the truth and that 
children have ears the size of an elephant and a mouth just as big … so if you 
don’t want them to repeat something YOU have said keep it zipped!

Jan Allison
11th August 2014


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

WHO ATE ALL THE PIES

When they married he was as thin as a rake But his wife she loves to bake She thinks the way to his heart Is to practice her culinary art He’s been eating all her pies You should see his thunder thighs He’s in love, this he cannot disguise Now his tum is as wide as his eyes His wife puts on a good spread Has his fill then he falls into bed He’d love a bit more bedroom action But he can’t get no satisfaction Apple pies make him tired and sleepy His mum thinks he’s looking quite peaky He would love to go on a diet But his wife wont let him try it She says cooking is her passion As for sex that’s now on ration He can’t live like this any more Packs his bags and heads for the door Moves out and joins a new gym Loses weight and starts to get thin Meets a girl on an exercise bike Tells his wife she can 'go take a hike' Now he’s happy with the girl of his dreams And his clothes aren’t bursting at the seams 10~08~14 Contest:-Plentitude of Pies Sponsor:-Sheri Fresonke Harper ~awarded 15th place~


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tiddles

“Can you smell something burning,” Dad frowned and I said “Yeah.”
It had the smell of cooking meat, as well as burning hair,
Dad stopped the truck, lifted the bonnet… “Blimey look at that!”
Something was mangled by the fan, looking like Mum’s cat.

“Strike me pink” Dad shook his head, “Mum’s cat’s been on the motor.
It’s been killed by the fan”; and we knew that Mum did dote her.
Dad looked at me with steely eyes, “Get the spade and dig a hole,
I’ll tell you now and only once… don’t tell a living soul”…

… I was halfway through my tea, staying quieter than a mouse.
Mum asked “Has anyone seen Tiddles? She’s not around the house.”
All Mum got was puzzled looks, and the shaking of each head…
Dad glared to remind me, ‘don’t tell a soul the cat is dead.’

Mum loved her cat so much; she’d have Tiddles on her lap
out on the porch at evening time. Contented she would nap.
I hated seeing Mum distressed, but Dad just acted bored,
when Mum said, “I’ll write a note, with an offer of reward.”

‘Ten pounds for her return’; I thought that Mum would smell a rat,
when Dad said “Make it twenty, if you really love your cat.”
The Ad’s printed in the paper, in the column ‘lost and found.’
Dad said to me “I’m feeling guilty now, with Tiddles underground.”

Dad let me drive the tractor while he spread the ragwort spray,
and then blackberries copped a dose before they shoot away,
he emptied out the tank and we went home to wash the gear.
The Evans’ car’s parked in our drive… “What are they doing here?”

Laughter’s in the kitchen; a joyous Mother’s voice did say
“Young Misty here found Tiddles; she was hiding in their hay,
no wonder she would not come home.” I watched Dad’s eyes and jaw.
… Twenty quid, the cat is back… a box of kittens on the floor.


Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I LIKE JAM ON MY LAMB - FOR CONTEST

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 Jan Allison 7th August 2015 Contest – Dr Seuss Quote Prompt Sponsor Casarah Nance


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I want my dinner

Dripping doorsteps or bubble and squeak
I ate so much I couldn't speak
Apple pie and clotted cream 
Used to make my taste buds scream.

Home made parkin or treacle toffee
Steaming mugs of dads camp coffee
Corned beef hash or dumplings and stew
Onion gravy with a Yorkshire pudding or two.

Roast beef sarnies covered with mustard
Sherry trifle with banana custard
Hot steak pie and mushy peas
Cauliflower and melted cheese .

Lemon curd tart or angel cake
The sausage rolls my mum would make
The massive helpings on my plate 
Turned me into a heavy weight.

My mother thought it a wonderful sight
To see a child with a healthy appetite
After years of dieting I'm now much thinner
Though I must admit I want my dinner.


Copyright © DARREN WATSON | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Alzheimers Train

Im taking the train to alzheimers, cause it aint taking me, I might wait forever for a drug to 
set me free.So remember family,when my mind is truly gone,To tell me tall stories to keep 
me well informed. remember mum when you were the queen of sheba,and you had hair of 
silk.and then i'll chuckle to myself and think you's have lost your mind.So tell me im 
important and ask me for advice.and even when i put you wrong smile and say im 
right.Cause now my mind is like a childs and i need some reassurance,and Alzheimers has 
stole the best of me and i dont have much endurance.But just remember while you can the 
good things in your life, cause once its stolen in the night its gone for good you see.


Copyright © Kate Mcnaughton | Year Posted 2009


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

HANGING ON THE LINE

I was young and innocent and I only had eyes for you You were my constant companion the whole day through But you fell into a puddle and mum hurried you away I was oh so sad, I cried and cried so much that day I found you hiding from me, high up on the washing line Pegged up by your ears, but my teddy now looked fine When I look through old photos its plain for all to see ‘Lying on teddy’ you really meant the world to me 21st June 2015 Penned after looking through old photos of me from aged about two My teddy bear was called lying on teddy because I used to lie on him in my sleep and he went from a cuddly round bear to a flat bear


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

HOLD ON DARLING - I'M COMING

He’s always waiting for me – he’s as impatient as can be The car engine is running - I shout ‘Darling I’m coming’ But we don’t need to be with mum until three! MEN! 30th March 2015


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Bronte Inspiration 4 - Specially Written For Tim Smith

TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THIS POEM PLEASE READ BRONTE INSPIRATION 1, 2 and 3 


Little Patrick in the nursery playing with his toys 
Asks ''MUM'' can I have a sister like the other girls and boy ?
His friends have told him in playschool about their expanding families
Our little boy wants a sibling and we are only too happy to please 
With every waking moment , we climb those Bronte stairs 
Or get cosy on the sofa, the foot stools and easy chairs 
We felt that we had tried so hard and we had little left to give
The doctor told us that our test had come back positive 

We are so very blessed Patrick’s a lovely little boy
He looks just like his daddy; he is our pride and joy
Despite the fact he’s young and only just aged three
He is so excited at the expected addition to the family
Only yesterday he brought me his favourite teddy
Put it in the nursery for when the time is ready
He would love a sister and has chosen a lovely name
I’ve told him to be patient we must play the waiting game.

Patrick often cuddles up and touches your tummy 
Says ' I can feel her growing inside you mummy '
His much loved chicken nuggets he shares with you 
Come on mum , you know you've got to eat for two 
We giggle as Patrick’s patience grows shorter
I'm just hoping that we have a beautiful daughter 
He wants a sister with every ounce of his heart 
I'm praying that we can do our part.

The time for the birth is now drawing near
With you by my side I have nothing to fear
Patrick is due to stay with his little friend 
To keep him amused on them we depend
Finally the waters break and the baby is on it way
We hurry to the hospital we have waited for this day
At last the baby arrives she has such a lovely face
Patrick’s name is so apt for her, so we have named her Grace

We take care to involve our son in all we try to do 
Taking every opportunity to inspire hearts and minds a new 
Our children have their moments and sometimes they misbehave 
With love and careful guidance, we have a million memories to save 
So many children's giggles and demonstrations of love and care
We give thanks to God for the happiness we share
We've ensured the Bronte house is a happy love filled place
A sanctuary of our own for our children Patrick and Grace

13th June 2014
Written by Jan Allison & Darren Watson


Copyright © JADAZZLE UNITED | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mum Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Jess

She was great with sheep or cattle, and would bound beside the horse,
always full of energy… a border collies best of course.
We’ve never owned another breed, but these collies we address,
we’ve had a few upon the farm… but none as good as Jess.

Two of her pups still work for us, and both bear her working trait,
Jess always kept them both in line, and ruled the dinner plate.
When de-horning, crutching, shearing, or the time of need to press,
one whistle from our Father… and first on the job was Jess.

And when her time came for motherhood, Dad never feared the worst,
because he knew that top security, for her pups came first.
If us kids were out of order, one growl would have us guess,
pat her pups then move away… leave the mothering to Jess.

Jess never was the playful type; she preferred her working life,
a stranger walking to the door would often feel the strife.
Not that she bit to leave a scar she just needed to assess
the territory that they stood on… did all belong to Jess.

Oh yes she would protect us, and front position she would take.
Once stood between both Ron and I, and a big red-bellied snake.
But that’s just one of many times, for our Mum to say, “God bless,
we could have lost one of you boys… if it hadn’t been for Jess.”

But time became her master, her sight got dim her legs wore out.
Instinct made her struggle, in the only life she knew about.
The pups were leaving her behind; she was coping less and less.
Many evenings Dad sat on the porch… looking down at Jess.

Dad took the gun and slowly walked. Jess followed down the track.
Mum, Ron and I cried at the table, when only Dad came back.
What broke our hearts most of all, and left an anguish inside me,
was little Brucey asking, “Why won’t Jess come and eat her tea?”


Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015