Long Mother child Poems
Long Mother child Poems. Below are the most popular long Mother child by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mother child poems by poem length and keyword.
I was so glad to welcome you
And it was such a joy to hold you
Never wondered how life could’ve been without you
For I wish My womb could never have carried you
Feed baby feed on some milk
Do not cry with fear i am right here
Close your ears listen to what I want you to hear
If I am to protect you with my life I would cover you in arms
I know you are starving and my body is drying
I can’t produce any more milk for I am starving too
Oh child
If I had knew tomorrow would bring war and harm you
I would never wished for your existence
My heart is bleeding my eyes are flooded with bloody tears
Can’t imagine how lonely you might be
Are there no mother angels please cuddle my child and tell him not to cry
Oh my dear child
I plead for peace
I plead for Justice
I plead for calmness
Is it not what we are fighting for less worth than our lives
Than the young children
Is pointing guns at one another necessary than a talk on a table
A talk on a table would save our tomorrow
Mother, child are you bleeding
Watching the world come down
The doors are locked, the streets are cold
Are you buried in the world's soul
Spiritually entwined
To live until you die
Mother hold my soul
And sew my pockets full of rubies
Take the candy from my teeth
And be please buried with me
Child holder of my soul
Asking help and talking tall
Bury my hands in your eyes
And let the both of us die
Caring earth holding faces
Of those we both hold dear
Hold us close
And bury both
Inside the home
Where we had grown
Mother, child are you bleeding
Watching the world come down
The doors are locked, the streets are cold
Are you buried in the world’s soul
Spiritually entwined
To live until you die.
“Within”
Shadow dreams
down silent roads
never taken
less than travelled,
the winter breeze
of the world within,
pulls out the hidden
message planted,
within
the quickening
attempts slow
anchoring,
the call persistent,
beckons, like the music
drumming softly,
lulling, calming
the rocking boat
in the heartbeat
rhythm of a contract
seeking solace
heard from the seat
of forgotten being,
a ghost banging
on the doors
of empty vessel,
conversations holy
for the supping
You open ;
the unseen
stands holding out
its hand at the
door of your
conscience,
you are
escaping back to
what is real
within,
the awakening ;
the quickening
attempts slow
anchoring
the call
hauntingly familiar
beckons you forward
away from the
time confining
sands of your shores
rippling cool
all those times
all those stories
you loved
over your bare feet
now walking
across seas
annointed
by water
the call,
like a dream
hauntingly familiar
beckons you
forward
like the sound
of your beautiful
Ocean
True Love
is calling
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
ljb-llb-gvlm
ljb-klb-mlb
jk-ak-iob-tob
“Non-Eternal”/Max Richter
https://youtu.be/9zkQX2FrRLM
“In the morning of life,
before its wearisome journey,
The youthful soul doth expand,
in the simple luxury of being;
It hath not contracted its wishes,
nor set a limit on its hopes;
The wing of fancy is unclipped,
and sin hath not seared the feelings:
Each feature is stamped with immortality,
for all its desires are infinite,
And it seeketh an ocean of happiness,
to fill the deep hollow within.”
“Know that we have met before
and that we will meet again.
I will find my way to you
in the next life,
and every life after that.”
“The Soul selects her own Society -
Then - shuts the Door -
To her divine Majority -
Present no more - ”
rev 3:20 KJV
The Mother-Child Soul Contract -
https://www.ascendedpresence.com/blog/mother-healing
https://energyboutiquehome.wordpress.com/2019/05/11/the-mother-wound/
https://in.toluna.com/opinions/3421285/How-Souls-Choose-Their-Parents-and-Families-An-amazing-and
My mother was a life-long keeper of photo albums.
She had several of them saved from her youth
filled with black and white faded to yellowy-grey
family photos of long-dead relatives
posed around a new grave or
an infant in a tiny coffin,
in horse-drawn buggies on the way to church,
my grandmother in the chicken yard.
The albums had faded brown covers,
crumbling black paper pages,
photos held in place with paste-on corners.
As a child I spent many hours looking at them,
asking who the faces were. Some she could recall;
many were lost to her.
There was one photo, taken in 1957,
according to the date printed on the edge of the photo,
which seemed odd to me, a puzzle.
In it I was a child of twelve,
dressed in what must have been
a borrowed boy’s suit and tie.
I stood next to my mother
on the front porch of our little house in Dallas.
The image was taken looking slightly upwards towards us
(the photographer was on the bottom step),
perspective exaggerating our facial features.
It occurred to me when I was older
that there was a paradox in the photo:
I was smiling and squinting into the sun;
my mother’s shoulders were stooped,
her face twisted in something internal
that I couldn’t see.
Perhaps it was the growing awareness
of my own mortality
that led me not long ago to look again,
to decode the message:
the photo was taken the day of my father’s funeral.
My mother was compressed by the agony of my father’s death,
a weight and loss almost impossible for her to bear.
But what was happening with the child me?
I suppose it could be called denial,
but I had moved into the now-familiar space of not-knowing.
Perhaps this blankness contributed
to my taking so many years to understand.
Whatever the cause, I wasn’t there;
my mother was too much there.
Stand looking at life
Straight in his eyes
Wait for good to arrive
Tough blow, cold as ice
Right in-front of me
Murders, collisions...
No way to break free
Blinding explosions
Rape, hate, you name it
Baby's in the trash
Mom's full-time bandit
Life weakens like mash
Those who used to care
Nowhere to be seen
Those left, would not dare
Help those who can't win
To even at pain flinch
To dare lend a hand
At terror to cringe
Though able to mend
Would shake off the dust
And straight onward march
For selves, save they must!
Others don't mean much
For self a great love
They have acquired
Love that's not enough
To care, to be shared
Self-love which forsakes
Father, mother, child
All things sour it makes
And all it turns wild
What life is this
In which all's not fair
What life is this?
E'en "love", all's unfair
What life is this
Where war we must bear?
What life is this
Where seen oft is death
What life is this
Where so scarce is mirth?
What life is this?
We hope, hold last breath.
What is this life?
I keep asking
What is it, this life?
Rainbows I'm missing
Life, what might you be?
Meadows, joy, dancing?
In awe, still I ask
What is this life?
she came from a broken home
where the parents at each other
would throw stones.
every day they would argue, bicker
and fight, all the way till the night.
not realizing their Childs plight.
the child to them in turn would scream
but in the battle she was not seen.
from her father she had sexual abuse
fighting with him, was of no use.
he forced himself upon her at a very young age
from there on, her life would never be the same.
living in fear of what he would do
and who she could turn to.
where could she go
the judicial system moves very slow.
when she had told her mother.
her mother said it could never be
why would he go with you
when he has me?
she knew then, that she would have to leave
and with her being gone, no one would grieve.
she would pack her bags, with everything
she owned, and on the road she would go.
with tears in her eyes, she walked out
the door, to return never more.
and as she got to the swinging gate
her mother screamed to her
but it was too late.
on her dresser bureau, her mother found this note.
you gave birth to me, and brought me
into this world, and you had always said
that I was your little girl.
but when I told you what had happened to me
you laughed and turned your back on me.
so now I am leaving, because I can not
continue this abuse, don't look for me, it will be of no use.
I love you mom, or you are my mother
just watch out for my little brother.
I am a child from a broken home
and I know that I’m not alone.
(9/27/12)
A man is so glad to know- that inside you
His child grows.
The most beautiful thing on this earth
Is a woman giving birth.
As her stomach starts to grow
And her soft caressing hands begin to show
You’ll see her face take on a radiating glow.
She will see life in a different way
As her motherly instincts come into play.
her body which she had taken for granted before
Is about to open a new door.
This is the door to life
and as you do the pushing pains
From this moment on your life will change.
And when you feel that child stretching
Those walls of life
You’ll know it was worth the pains and sacrifice.
You may see its head and then its face
Searching this unfamiliar place.
Looking for the warmth that it knew
When it was inside of you.
It will take some time for the child to adjust
But it’ll recall your gentle touch
Now the first step comes into place
When you look at each others face.
An indefinable feeling that you can’t put into words
But for nine months this child has heard.
The beating of its mothers heart
Had become as one
And a new life had begun.
Now you have become what GOD intended
A mother of life - of hopes and dreams
And all that is seen and unseen.
Look deeply into that child s eyes
And it will take you where you’ve
Never been before - as it opens
Up its souls door.
This is what - “as a man”- I see
And you can’t take that away from me.
© L . RAMS
That day is very much vivid in my memory,
I was holding a baby who was weeping inconsolably,
and I did not know how to make him smile,
was sobbing myself!
My father saw me and said,
"I couldn't imagine my bookworm daughter would make such a beautiful mother",
And the doctor said,
"How is it that both Mom and the baby are crying together? "
That day I became a real mother,
who tried to do everything in her power
to raise one little human being,
That tiny human being became the centre of my universe!
One little being, who just came to the earth
to be a part of this cosmos, to find his place.
I and my Baby both grew up with one another,
We were blessed with the love, the laugh, the joy, the bliss
of being together!
His laugh was my laugh, his cry was my cry,
There was no gift comparable to the bond we had.
Spending too many sleepless nights, I didn't know I was capable of,
I was walking every step after him when he started toddling,
I was climbing every step up the stairs after the little baby, in case he stumbled and fell,
I was swinging him on the swing till he was tired, and I was exhausted,
How many songs did I sing till he fell asleep?
I was bursting into ecstasy with every word he babbled.
Pored over Tintin stories together, and giggled,
Daubed canvas with bright colours, and marvelled,
at our artistic creations,
Strolling on the streets licking Buskin-Robbins,
And gazing with fascinated eyes
at rainbow-coloured fishes and turtles floating in the aquairium!
One day I realized, my baby was not a baby any more,
It is time to let him fly.
With immense pride I watched him soar, and thought about my mother and my grandmother,
about all the mothers in the world,
who had done the same in every generation.
You sat next to the fire pit
Sipping your martini, looking for secrets at the bottom of the glass
I bounced on the old trampoline
Dirty
Covered in sticks and leaves
And I jumped avoiding the small rips in the polypropylene
As the sunlight faded
And the fire flies came out
Neither of us even had the thought
That in just two months
One of us would be dead
And the other would be
Running
So fast in the opposite direction
But right then
The air was full of mayflies and the smell of bug spray and summer
And the season is too new.
Too young for its very own tragedy.
I really loved you then
I’ve loved you since I was old enough to remember your face
And I asked you if you were happy
To be there with me
And you told me that you had never been happy And you didn’t elaborate
And I cried myself to my bedroom
And fell asleep with no Kiss goodnight.
Love has a gentle grace
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth on Mother’s Day
Love has a gentle grace; you have not seen her
unless you’ve looked into your mother’s eyes
and seen her faith
—serene, composed and wise—
that you’re the center of her very being
(as once, indeed, she carried you inside.)
Love has no wilder beauty than the thought
that you’re the best of all she ever sought.
(And if, perhaps, you don’t believe my song,
can your mother be wrong?)
###
Your Gift
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Counsel, console.
This is your gift.
Calm, kiss and encourage.
Tenderly lift
each world-wounded heart
from its fatal dart.
Mend every rift.
Bid pain, “Depart!”
Save every sorrow
for your own untaught heart.
Keywords/Tags: Mothers Day, mother, child, children, family, love, grace, faith, beauty, wise, wisdom, courage, gentle, tender, tenderness, care, caring, nurture, nurturing, mom, maternal