Long Mamma Poems
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Its only 4-2
and with nothing else to do
I pen you a poem from my new temporary home
I am in Grants Pass Oregon for 5 days a week
And it's the temp home of which I speak
I put up a Facebook friends looking to hang
but ran into a bunch of dudes who wanted to bang... ah yeah
So I modified my post, made it clear it's karaoke or a meal
and not a come on for sexual appeal
lets be friends hey, well opened it up to ladies too
and bam, I got a slew of... women wanting to date ( and a few who want a sugar mamma...
So ... My days have been spent reading mostly
And a bit of naps, this radiation is frightening
And I hung out with a local friend for a day
and I am watching webinars to educate my ways
And I am working out to get fit
and I am eating well, home made
last night was salad and shrimp.. scampi (yeah)
And I am only 10 more days in the bug zapper YAHOO
and then its recover my mojo a bit and take stock too
And life begins again in 10. - Artimus (C) Susan Manley 4/2/2024
"All that I am, or ever hope to be, I owe to my mother."
Quote by _ A. Lincoln
I am on a long journey to see you today,
it will take many hours on the bus mamma;
I am bringing a flower bouquet bright and gay,
promise, not to bore you with my melodrama.
It will take many hours on the bus mamma,
as I get close I feel our forever love;
promise not to bore you with my melodrama,
not to weep for beloved who left for above.
As I get close I feel our forever love,
on Mother's Day I wish to honor my sweet mom;
not to weep for beloved who left for above,
it will be a visit tranquil, serene and calm.
On Mother's Day I wish to honor my sweet mom,
I open the ornate gate and walk beneath trees;
it will be a visit tranquil, serene and calm,
at your grave I lay flowers falling to my knees.
I open the ornate gate and walk beneath trees,
I am bringing a flower bouquet bright and gay;
at your grave I lay flowers falling to my knees,
I am on a long journey to see you today.
My Mamma cried
When she'd heard what I'd done
My Daddy went back inside
And he grabbed his gun
I'd met a girl on the other side of town
Of course I am white and of course she is brown
I don't rightly care cause we're both in love
And I ain't gonna let her suffer none
We's from Birmingham
Down South Alabama you see
If'in you must know the year
I'd say a shameful 1963
There was unrest amongst the people
Which was bad enough
But it was doubly troublesome
On our taboo love
Deep segregation kept our worlds apart
Something the youth of the day couldn't see
Outside color don't matter, it's what's in the heart
That's the hold she has over me
Not really sure things have changed all that much
Though it's our nature to want to pretend
I'm not much into caring what others might think
Sometimes you gotta stand up like a man
I'm telling this tale from my front porch swing
As I listen to my Grandchildren's playful screams
While holding hands rocking back and forth
My lovely brown skinned beauty and me
How i begin? expression thought delight!
beautiful womb! sacrifice gently smile.
Your pain has too pains, yet ye endure.
little one encircled ye feast.
But silver desires as rainbow awhile,
and ye go at last sure!
Your motherly affection equalize, i sought,
i wearied ye made by love-flesh.
Whenever i fell, ye rich hand hug, my boon gush!
your lullaby in my first anthem, hear this sight.
The way of thorns, ye bearer my injury,
Mamma! ye sublime, my just tears dropping into pouch.
Silky divine before, green memories bloom!
god's gift of the earth, ye symphony.
I beg your holiness in my womb!
your best lessons, i hold a lamp.
Lo! lonely leaves, returned past, my sympathy.
the gold stains, your precious recollection where, my heart gleam!
Adorning the walls at Brigham and Women's
Head on his hand quite comfortably resting
The subject distinctive in his smiling position
Inspires the asking who is this physician
Over his shoulder an old time sea captain
And over the other what looks like the Kremlin
A scene that recalls something seemingly Russian
What is its significance in this bastion of medicine
And so the commencement of careful researching
Reveals the story of which we'll be learning
A Harvard professor with numerous contributions
To the field of anesthesia including ischemia-reperfusion
This skillful practitioner of inducing unconsciousness
Was born in the Soviet Union in Nineteen and Thirty-Six
The whitebearded mariner is his belov'd Granddad
Who perished unaccounted for in the blockade of Leningrad
When Simon was young he was frequently hungry
Simochka said Mamma for food do not ask me
Life as a Jew in the society of Stalin
Was hard but instructive for the mensch now ascending
At that time in Russia was no concept of charity
Because the state cared for everyone and no one was needy
But the pogroms and politics couldn't kill his generosity
And as soon as they could his wife and he left their country
Emigration to Israel where he learned to be Jewish
In the sense of the word that's proclaimed and not whispered
And he saw for the first time a community helping
And he knew gum zu l'tovah was how he'd be living
And many years later ensconced at the Brigham
The giver, the teacher, the lover of freedom
Fortunate I who discovered his portrait
And learned the legacy of the man
Its my birthday every day just because I awoke to see another day
a new breath an extra hour beneath my belt, I am God's living ray
Defying all odds I am still here stumping the experts with my drill
dancing in the sunlight like a dervish mendicant ascetic, no pills;
I remember being six and blowing out the candles on my frosty cake
mamma asked me sweetly to make a wish before the first snowflake
I wished to live forever so I could find the secret of a well lit firefly
and summer after summer I watched them as they lit up the sky
It is my birthday today, every hour succinct to the next I like it this way
twirling like a wild baton in a parade I bang my drum and I sing all day
A new breath an extra hour beneath my belt, I am God's special girl
a Mystic soul that refuses to lay down and die, while the stars unfurl
I'll lay on the freshly mowed lawn and watch the stars shine from on high,
while I recall mamma's birthday cake and the fireflies that once lit up the sky.
Date: April 22, 2021
Sponsor Name: Charlotte Puddifoot
Contest Name: Open Poetry 3
.
i were there
yep
whence reality emerged 'bout hern torso
but patiently
as mine recallz
well
not patiently
yet until mine almost
old
mine eyne
duke's digits
likewise
mine quivering moist
lips
tarry'd
'til yup my
locked eagerly
hern excited
swollen
I Won't Say It
buuht
sum wear
'round hern long'n
t!ts
*whence used correctly vide supra
*mamma; merriam-webster.com
Latin, "breast" ') whoooo luvz yuh
Written By: D. Collins 9/20/19
I'm just ripping and scripting all of this out.
Imagining if I was out there in the crowd.
This poem is written with a little "Bootsy" in it.
A baseline that turns it into a clinic.
"Wayman Tisdale" definitely was nowhere near scrub.
Some bad Mamma-Jammas that I am speaking of.
Hold it right there! I ain't quite finished, yet.
If you heard "Flea" you'd see what I'm getting at.
I'm talking the best in the biz. "The Cream of the Crop."
My man from "Limp Biscuit" certainly ain't no prop.
Ramming "George Clinton" funk all down your throat.
The best of the best. Known all over the globe.
There ain't nothing better than a "Beast Bass Man."
One that can carry us to that "Promised Land."
They can start at the bottom, and go way, out front.
And, when they finally get there, it ain't nothing but funk.
Chatter of women fill the streets
Happy screams of children in perfect harmony
A beautiful world I see
A knot holds me steady
My mother's back a safe haven for me
As my head rocks slightly from the rythm of her feet
She runs, my head rocking rapidly
children cry, their hands not held, abandoned
As their screams turn into cries of agony.
Like a drum it continues to play
A rythm only played by death I hear
She runs, her heart accelerating
My head bounces, as I cling to her
She runs, as one carrying precious cargo
She runs, to a location not known to her
It all stops, then calamity
As cries tear through the slience
She's breathing heavy, she stops
Warm scarlet colouring her already coloured dress
Oozing as it frees itself from my vessel
She screams, as she sees the remnants of my life dripping from her hands
The knot She holds refusing to let go, a prayer for me
If I were to speak I would console her
But fear grips me, spreading as poison
I'm not strong but this my burden I must carry
Goodbye mamma, This world can't hurt me anymore.
Form:
ruckus on my porch
perked my ears
last night
at the wicked hour I
flicked on the light
to hear
thumping and
chairs rattling
but in my window--
--no body
wayfaring thief
or wandering troll
must be hiding
crouching down
I know
more scared than smart
I opened the door
"Hey! Who the
f***'s out there?"
rumbling round
the side of my house
a fat javelina came
running out
and about eight more
on his tail
what the h***
little baby squealing
barely bigger than
a chihuahua
lost it's momma
and headed for
the road
and certain death
"come back" I cried
more scared
than smart I
ran after
and stopped
in my drive
when momma
came out
and met my eye
her little precious
found her
and its sibs
and left the danger
as I did
backwards climbing
steps to my door
"you could
do more,"
said the sweet city girl
I roll my eyes
"build a little
house for them
on your porch."
more scared
than smart
I smile at
that pretty voice
mute my phone
let out a laugh
unmute
"Yeah, I should
do that."
And along the way
catch a Starling
and teach it
to say
"nevermore"
all night and day
it can perch
on the porch
with the javelinas
and keep the
thieves and trolls
away