Mother To Daughter Poems | Examples
These Mother To Daughter poems are examples of poetry about Mother To Daughter. These are the best examples of Daughter Mother To poems written by international poets.
I cried all night waiting for you
But that didn't matter to you
I called for you hoping you'd come to me
But you were to far gone to notice me
So I say Mother is no Mother
Mother is no longer here
Mother just made me feel like I didn't belong here
I waited many years for mother to change
After waiting for so long my emotions turned from sad to range
Mother is is no Mother
She never loved me
Mother will never be my mother
My love
just one look in your eyes I’m mesmerised,
your lips, hips and your thighs.
The softness and Beauty of your skin
you’re as stunning on the outside as you are within.
The best mother to our beautiful daughters,
perfect wife and friend
I love you forever and always
,my love ,
everyday until the end.
You had brought me into this world
when you were only twenty three years old
you must of had the word "mine"
in your thoughts when you named me "Mia"
You had trained me from an infant
on curbing the challenges of life no matter the size
even after I have blossomed into a matured woman
you never stopped training me
I have always been your most safeguarded child
because of my hidden birth defect
unlike my teachers and many others
who had failed me on a daily basis
you could have aborted me, miscarried me
forsaken me in the maternity ward or even born sleeping
but you never gave up on me
you were tenacious enough to overcome it
I knew you have missed out
on receiving legitimate parental support
when you were growing up as a child
but that did not precluded you from becoming a stern
but encouraging mother to my sister and I
The love and affection we may recieve from
our friends, teachers and significant others
would always blow hot and cold thoughout our lives
but your love and care for us would never drop out of sight
As I beheld a flower of rare beauty
In the silence choked heart of wilderness
The facsimile of a pretty woman came alive
From the coagulated heap of images
A woman…….!
Isn’t she God’s supreme handiwork?
An animated form of chiseled art
A joy to behold
A figure of curvaceous ups and downs
God’s beautiful calligraphy
Her skin glowing as satin
Hands and fingers of creamy softness
Eyes reflecting love and gentleness
Voice, musical and sweet
Moving with measured cadence
Walking with fluid ease
And one who smoothens the rough edges of life
A loving daughter to her parents
An adorable mate to her man
A forgiving mother to all
The fountain spring of new life
The lovely mother to her children!
A marvel of creation,
A miracle worthy of adulation!
In every drop of adversity,
Glistening like a diamond.
But Alas! A treasure rarely valued.
She is often branded by many
As frail n’ fickle, infirm n’ impish
But how empty is a man’s life
Who hasn’t known a woman,
As a mother, sister or daughter
A lover, a companion or wife!
Imagine if they took your loved one away
If she was the mother to your child, what could you say
Imagine the pain and suffering of not knowing when you would kiss and hold your loved one again
Imagine if your country didn’t care
If it’s a question of money that she’s still there
Imagine your daughter growing out of your sight
Tell me that doesn’t cut sharper that any knife
Imagine what life would be like for you
When they cast these lies, when they act so cruel
To keep a mother apart from her girl
To keep a wife apart from the man who loves her so
I am ashamed that she’s not home
I am ashamed of what we’ve become
Imagine Christmas when she’s not there
Imagine the pain, the bleak despair.
Nazanin deserves her country’s love
She deserves her daughters love
She deserves her husbands love
She deserves all our love.
A picture crept in,
Through all those memories,
Where I found myself ,
Besides my mother's knees,
When her brown hairs,
Gleamed red,
Fell on her shoulder,
Then dropped over my head.
When her hands fondled my forehead,
Stroked through my hairs,
When her words formed my babbles,
Her scolds,my care.
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
And make me again her four year old child.
Does the turkey look done? The young bride asked her husband.
She was having both families to Thanksgiving and she was nervous.
Her husband had no clue. He had not ever cooked a turkey either.
His mother was on her way. She had a meat thermometer in her purse.
She did not want to seem pushy, but she was ready to use it.
What do you think? The young bride asked her mother-in-law.
The young bride’s mother tried to give a suggestion, but she got snarled at.
So the mother-in-law kept the meat thermometer in her purse.
Fearful of the wrath of the young cook.
Not realizing women are never as mean to anyone else
As they are to their mothers as she was the mother to six sons, no daughters.
"Seconded Away"
The Primary input
third person,you were I,
you were seconded away
the interloper sashayed
laughed victorious through lies
stole the gift given to you
from your mother line
a mother to a mother to a child
dead - born, 18/09
The True Mother never dies
A message to the child
a wrinkle in time
You are you
yet you are mine
I’m programmed
in your heart,
I am seated forever, always in your mind,
read and receive
LOVE
no matter the force kept Pretender's
bribes and standard pantomime
A mother in a mother in a child
Souls matched perfectly
Your story among the forgotten pages to find
Here find your story
For all time
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
ljb/llb/gvlm
Hans Zimmer – "Time" - (Magdelayna Remake)
https://youtu.be/1oBkoiMEhVI
Heavenly Mother,
How could you bear to lose your son?
I weep reliving your agony.
Born from anxiety and despair, beneath
My stomach the babe which the State
Will judge and find guilty.
To shackle, beat, enslave, and murder against
My motherly will.
Beginning with you, beloved Mother,
Inherited from mother to daughter
My damnation of motherhood.
Praying constantly unable to stop.
Perhaps my child will be spared?
As I am their mother,
There is no guarantee.
Cursed inheritance, an unbroken shackle,
Hated fate, branded into the flesh of the heavenly son.
Reborn in children who bare his image, thus branded.
The child peers over a shoulder awaiting punishment
Whether they committed a crime or not.
It matters none to the State.
Devoted Mother, how could you know
Your son was not to be the last?
Centuries after his crucifixion, children following
His death and mothers overwhelmed with agony.
The scars on soul and flesh echo over the centuries.
Fresh and deepening, your trauma’s lifespan grows.
Fracturing my heart.
The child is out of control, angry, mad, mean.
Teachers have their theories about what the kid wants as a reward
For doing his work, to stay in his own space,
to leave his classmates alone to stop yelling.
They think he will want to eat lunch with the principal.
He will want to have extra computer time.
He will want to have a talk with the coach for ten minutes a week.
They come up with a list of one hundred things he probably wants.
One teacher asks the child. What does he want?
He wants his mother to put him on her lap and say she loves him.
The teacher calls the mother to put in the request.
The mother says “I don’t have time for that nonsense.”
The teacher thinks she is kidding, but she is not.
Where do they go from here?
Loveliest blossom of my life:
All you have done is mending my life.
From you victory to your happiness,
It was my esteem and your radiance.
As you curled around in a motion of dance:
Your happiness gave me a desire to prance.
A prance of happiness, full of proudness,
For my heart raved at the spectators’ loudness.
When you closed your eyes and sang:
My heartbeat raised and with you, it sang.
When I see you as you smile along:
I even forget my darkest days of all.
My darling, you showed your spirit to me
Where only honesty, truth, and humanity are free.
But the world outside…be careful, please be:
For that’s where anger, hatred and pain roam free.
My Angel, I tell this to you because:
One day you’ll go there, without my comfort,
Then bad may come to you, without a cause,
So be careful: you’ll obey, I hope.
08/13/2018 (MM/DD/YYYY)
Mother to me
is a bittersweet deed
signed in blood
from which
I will never be freed
circa 2007
The young girl looks in the mirror, she says ‘what do I see?’
She wonders to herself, ‘what will become of me?’
She clasps on a necklace her mother had bereft
Puts bows in her hair to the right and to the left,
She sprays on some perfume that smells of ocean breeze
Brushes on some blush, she looks deeper in to see,
Her mother’s reflection is subtle but there
The beauty of youth is none to compare,
She imagines a lifetime of love and content
She misses her mother but takes in the scent,
She will always remember the bond that they shared
From the moment she lost her, she was so scared,
Having to move on and grow up alone
No mother to nurture her, she’s all on her own,
With the strength of the memories the both of them shared
She’ll grow up to be confident in life, best prepared.
A little tiny girl, you will always be for me,
And you surely have to agree.
I remember those days when I used to put your tie,
And also those days when you used to bid me bye bye.
The notorious smile of yours,
That everyone adores.
Has brought my life to light,
Making it valuable overnight.
A pretty young lady,
You've turned out to be,
Flying out in the sky, all heroic and free.
Just to say that you are,
My only precious star.
Remember day and night,
That never stay quiet,
In the hardest time of your life.
Cause,
The world might seem a miracle at times,
But can even turn into thorny spines.
People might accuse you, for something you've not done,
Just stay calm like the sun,
Don't wait for your turn,
And show them that you are like any other son,
Brave, bold and precise like the gun.
And just that you are the air that I breathe,
The beat of my heart.
When I die, choose a star and name it after me,
So that I will be able to see.
Leaning on my knee.
(This poem is written from the perspective of a mother to her daughter. Who is now no more a kid and is going to face the real world).
Dark hair Anemic skin Soft misty eyes
So young how could I know
T’was only on her good days
I was allowed by her bedside
In an ever quiet house
Shades drawn Kids told to hush No reason given
I vaguely remember relatives
Their silent grim faces Lined up taking turns
Down to the end of the hall
While I eyed in the corner
That tall off-limits piano No one ever played
Too young to understand
My ever pensive solemn uncle
Was dealing with becoming a widower
Losing the mother to his daughter
My twelve-year old cousin
Somehow she’d need to cope
Growing up in a grief filled home
Where laughter would never be heard
The blinds kept drawn
For death to linger ever present
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on February 19, 2018 for STANDARD CONTEST NO 70 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND