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.
Mothers stay up late when
Their kids can’t sleep..
A mother’s affection
Will always run deep.
A mother silently watches
Her child asleep in their bed.
She looks back on her life before she
Was a mother and her soul was dead.
How could she have been so lucky
To get this precious angel?
Knowing that if anyone hurts her baby
They are sure to be mangled.
A mother’s heart swells with pride
As her baby takes her first step.
When a child says “ I love you Mommy”,"
It was so emotional she wept.
To know that she is a parent
Is her greatest title.
Hoping that her child will be
Someone that others will idol.
A mother caresses her child’s
Face when she has been crying.
A mother comforts her child
When her grandmother is dying.
A mother hopes she’ll be
As great as her own mother.
She hopes she won’t fail
And be like the others.
A mother protects her child when she
Caught a tennis ball with her face.
And beating her step-son
Was definitely not a waste.
A mother sneaks down a phone when
Her child is unjustly grounded.
A mother makes damn sure when her
Husband insults her daughter he is fiercely pounded.
A mother looks over her mom
Perming her child’s hair late at night.
She pretends she doesn’t see her
Hiding so there won’t be a fight.
A mother comes to her child’s aid in her
Time of need when her own child is sick.
A mother cries when her father dies at the
Same time and she is forced to pick.
Does she go home and bury her father?
Or does she stay and comfort her child?
The fact that she’s put in this position
Is nothing short of wild.
A mother lets her child and her best friend
Plus their kids move back home.
Living eight hours away while her grandson
Is sick, she might as well have lived in Rome.
A mother comes to visit her sick
Grandson after a hard day’s work.
A mother comforts her daughter
When stress and chaos lurks.
A mother loves her children
No matter what the future holds.
Whether it’s life or death or
Runny noses from their colds.
A mother loves her daughter
In spite of all the troubles and tattoos.
A mother loves her daughter
In spite of their difference in views.
A mother loves her child
No matter what they do.
The feeling is mutual and
Mother, I really do love you.
Malibu fades like a postcard worn,
peach light bleeding through wingtip torn.
Dorothea sits, unfocused, still,
as coastline slides against her will.
The shore drifts past, the engine sighs,
along with truths she never tries.
Blood and bone flash across the screen,
girls should not love so loud, so mean.
Bodies collide, then break apart,
hands on throats, teeth, ribs, and heart.
The sound is sharp, the motion wild,
then headphones ripped away by mother, child.
The screen goes blank, the violence gone,
like it was never playing on.
Just silence left, abrupt and thin,
all that noise still trapped within.
Bathroom air is tight and pale,
thin as a truth she cannot tell.
Her comb slips down, strikes tile below,
no time to stop, no time to know.
She drops the parchment folded flat,
a life bent neatly, just like that.
All the things she never tried,
all the hours that passed her by.
It is not a letter,
not a plea,
not a truth meant to set her free.
A photograph
staring back at me.
Under a lamppost, Sixth Street light,
burning small suns into the night.
Salt wind tangled through their hair,
someone laughing, unaware.
Someone already turning away,
heart half gone from the street that day.
She freezes there, then shoves it back,
like guilt she keeps on quiet track.
Like words she wishes she could erase,
like doors she slammed in softer days.
Like bruises hid beneath the skin,
no one asks where they have been.
Outside the window, Malibu
melts to clouds of washed-out blue.
The pier stands thin, a splintered line,
the ocean barely marks its time.
She steps away,
slow and small,
soft as shadows on the wall.
Gone,
but not like wind that flies,
this leaving lingers in her eyes.
She thinks of those who never knew,
the one who knew her through and through.
The fights, the heat, the summer glow,
that held them fast and would not go.
It is strange how years outrun,
how people fade, how moments run.
Planes lift off, the past grows thin,
but photographs
do not give in.
They stay the same, they do not bend,
they do not soften, break, or end.
Still and silent, sharp and true,
time held frozen in the blue.
You might not like me
after you read this—
but this poem has been
simmering in my soul for years.
If what I say
doesn’t sit well with you,
please know:
I’m just a girl who loves Jesus,
and a girl with a pen.
They come first—
this little soul.
They come before
the teacher’s job,
the nursing degree,
before the sales assistant role,
or the receptionist desk.
If you would go hungry,
or be left without shelter,
then this poem
is not for you.
But if you can survive
without the pay—
then could you dare to say:
I can…
but I chose not to.
Because, instead—
I chose you,
little one.
When four, I knew my soul had claustrophobia in it.
More than once it has caused me public panic fits.
Once, I declined a job located in a super high rise
for fear it would sway or rock me to an awful demise.
As cures I plan no coffin, avoid full planes, tight spaces,
roof edges and elevators with terrifying glass faces.
Often before sleep, I think the devil visits from hell.
He attempts to solidify my fears of sorrow that dwell
on my Mother’s death which is a normal eventuality
and my treasured love’s death which none can foresee.
I can bid the devil to depart back to dark fairly easily;
changing my head's channel often works as a remedy.
But I cannot grasp, shake, rationalize or compromise make
a fear that causes my angst to quake, my emotions to break.
I turn to God in constant prayer, seeking my answer there.
I ask God for His soothing and a solution He will share.
Thoughts of my challenged son’s life after I am gone
grow my despair and tears from the worry they spawn.
Who will hug him good night and then again each dawn?
Who will love him to ensure his self-value dwells on?
He will need a loving touch and acceptance to lean on.
I fear and hurt, knowing such blessings are not foregone.
I would rather be sealed in a coffin on a roof way high
than my precious one be love abandoned after I die.
Coldest day yet, 'fore new bairn was christened,
mother's muse foretold as hearth embers failed.
Scripture held tight, she quietly listened,
as cradled creature withered, weeped, and wailed.
What secret kept a mother by proxy,
pallid face adorned in humanlike form.
Life borne so different any other,
unabashed at life's ex utero norm.
Green-gilled coveting mother's pride they wait,
singing forgotten changling's mirthful strains.
Off sibling snatched by fae's strange fostered fate,
sad imposter never thrived, yet remains.
Mother's cast away changling unwanted,
yet child's love remains true and undaunted.
Good counsel guards where love alone may fail,
It trims the winds that swell a reckless sail;
A mother's womb gives life, wise words give sight,
And guide young feet from darkness into light.
The breast gives milk to make the body strong,
Good counsel keeps the wandering heart from wrong.
A child is born by one, but raised by two:
A mother's love, and wisdom firm and true.
The hand that warns is kinder than the rod,
It turns young feet from dangerous roads to God.
The womb gives life; wise counsel shapes the soul,
For truth, not time alone, can make one whole.
Blessed are ears that welcome wisdom's call,
For humble hearts are slow to slip and fall;
The child who treasures counsel while still young
Will leave behind a life well-lived and sung.
A pink flower to smell, watch a red ball bounce, see
a clown, a puppy to embrace, a mother's smile.
A child laughs at each new discovery--all a mystery
To see the world through a child's eyes
would be like looking through an unchipped
glass and suddenly see ourselves before
we became time-worn and world-wise.
A new lesson we'd learn daily, canceling
those tired tries. Everyone would be a friend,
even a tiny, interesting bug: no exceptions.
Think about this: a child assumes the world
is wonderful and wants to give it a hug; while
we've become complacent and accept wonder
with a shrug.
enchantment is seen
through the eyes of the children
we should open ours
June 6, 2022
for Like a Child contest
by Regina McIntosh
Softly, starlight slippers through silver leaves,
salving slender branches where willows keep their weeping vigil.
A sighing wind weaves grief’s misty purple veils,
hesitantly floating before sweeping down;
valley tears, fern quivering, blend with those heavy clouds weep.
Moss in variegated green feathers, paves paths primitive,
moonlight lends gray gloved hand to guide faltering feet,
trembling on cliff-sharp edge of blackest night,
stumbling forward, tracking an unmapped grief labyrinth.
Heart of mine, spent by the merciless beat,
lean hard upon hoarded memories, bittersweet.
Life, after such sharp parting, shields her flame,
tended as a mother tends her sleeping dear,
softly repeating through the night one poignant name
that only she who bore the pain can hear
in accents of the heart so sweetly clear,
echoing faint chords from the heavenly sphere.
Perhaps time dulls the sadness, keen,
or drives it deeper to a place unseen.
Copyright, July 1, 2026
Waves of thoughts hover over you my dear,
my precious pearl, my prince perfect, my pride.
As you gently grow up and glide with cheer,
I hide my love in pain when you I chide.
Why do I always put you before me?
Answer to such questions only God knows!
With bliss, joy and peace I wish you to glee,
when mother's instinct blindly overflows.
You leave me in awe with your deep insight,
In your light let many smiles of hope gleam.
May the path you tread illuminate bright,
as you give wings to your most cherished dreams.
You will be my priceless jewel ever.
My devout prayers will shield you forever.
Date: 12/22/2020
Submitted for: Completely Your Choice (41) Any Theme Any Form Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
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.