Long Mother daughter Poems
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I love to travel anywhere, the more foreign the better for me,
Strange lands and how other people live is very interesting to see.
This travel bug I caught got started when I was only eighteen years old,
A college friend and I went to the Bahamas, we were fearless and so bold.
Then I started my career and I knew to take advantage of this time,
Each year I’d set off somewhere new, after saving my every dime.
I traveled to beautiful Hawaii followed by South America the next year,
One of my favourites was Bermuda, I was young, memories so dear.
I flew over to England and stayed for a fortnight to visit a new friend,
We toured all around Scotland traveling as far north as Land’s end.
After that I spent a lot of time in the Caribbean, the trips become a blur,
Many islands look the same, palm trees and beaches, others will concur.
Mexico was interesting studying the Mayans from Chichen Itza to Tulum,
Manzanillo to Puerto Vallarta, high cliffs where the waves crash and loom,
Got engaged in Myrtle Beach, so it holds a special place in my heart,
Then honeymooned in Jamaica where we spent not a moment apart.
Once the children came along, the travel plans required a major adjust,
We would go away on 5 year anniversaries, this was an absolute must.
A Caribbean five island cruise then the next trip two weeks in New Zealand,
But my favourite place remains the Greek islands, windmills, sun and sand.
Liechtenstein, Austria and Switzerland was a mother-daughter trip,
I showed her the ropes of travel and how much to leave for a tip.
Seems this travel bug of mine has proved to be a little bit contagious
My daughter now loves travel but her destinations are more outrageous.
While traveling is usually an educational journey, one that I just adore,
I’ve had moments in Egypt and the Holy land, that chilled me to the core.
But even during these very scary times, one thing that stands forever true,
The people there were kind and caring, someone always willing to help you.
I think that I still have a few more trips left in me, if my pocket book holds out,
Need to see eastern Europe, China and Africa, there’s more to learn, no doubt.
For the meeting of new people and learning their culture, gives my life new lease,
It provides the burden of proof that all should know, we need to work for peace.
Written by Lee Ramage
For Contest "Close your eyes and click your heels"
Today’s the day they bury the woman who birthed me.
Not my mother.
There is no sadness in my thoughts.
No tugging at the heart.
The tender bond between a mother and daughter we did not share.
She was merely a woman in the world of billions who chose life over abortion only to give me torment and agony during the life we breathed in air together.
I will not miss her. I will not cry over her. I will not give credit to her.
This woman never loved me. Never consoled me. Never gave me the warm hugs a little girl needs to have. Never kissed my forehead in loving affection. Or told me I was beautiful inside and out.
She never encouraged my dreams, my goals, my aspirations.
She never instilled confidence that every little girl needs to survive in this cruel world.
She never taught me the essentials of being a woman as I emerged into one.
She never said, “I love you” gently into my ears.
She didn’t protect me from the devil, who night after night, raped and tortured me.
I was the enemy. The one who invaded her sacred vow to my father. The other woman I will always be. Not the daughter she was blessed with.
I clawed my way out of the hole she so viciously threw me down in. I let go of the victim and embraced the survivor.
She can never hurt me again. Never pour salt in the wound. Never hurt my daughter as she wounded me.
Somehow I was given the grace to shower my daughter with love and affection. I pour my love all over her. I console her when she is sad. I embrace her with hugs. I kiss her forehead with loving affection. I tell her how brilliant and beautiful she is inside and out.
I encourage her dreams and goals in life and push her towards her aspirations.
I have made sure she has confidence that will get her through challenges in her life.
I have taught her how blessed she is to be the young, emerging woman she is becoming. I have taught her to embrace her body, her mind, her soul.
I tell her every day how much I love and adore her and how much I am blessed she is mine to keep.
I protect her. But also allow her to fall so she can learn to pick herself up.
I let her know she is my everything and my life with her is an adventure.
I am blessed beyond all treasures.
I am nothing like the woman who birthed me. We only share DNA.
I will forever be a motherless daughter. But I will not be a daughterless mother.
Form:
" My mother shed her protective love around me and without knowing why, people sensed that I had value." ~Maya Angelou
" As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. " ~Kristin Hannah
“ I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind"
Born female, and upon my brow the magic mark ,
as my mother's mothers before me.
Red pigmented and shaped like a broken heart,
the very heart of my story.
From generations of wombs and bloodlines before,
I am chosen to take up these stones.
And being apart of this family,
I am yet destined to be alone.
The Amber, with whiskey color glowing within…
pumpkin tinged and power singed.
Giving its wielder healing power and
protection through the midnight hour.
The Sapphire stone, deepest indigo,
as the depths of the ocean's foaming folds.
Granting wisdom within it's warming light
and discernment of truth, of wrong and right.
And the third stone is a Ruby of red,
whose clarity muddles the mind and clouds the head.
Releasing passions once held in check,
while you see clearly, their pulsing neck.
Combined the three, passed down to me,
from maternal bloodline flows.
So now with these words and the heat of my hands,
I part the veil to long ago...
Though darkly, I see, far back through time,
this several great-great grandmother of mine.
And watch as she, undeservedly,
is made to lie in an early grave …
No knight in armour in this tale,
Herself alone she must save.
These stones that I now hold, she finds,
as in darkness they begin to shine.
All air is gone, her breathing stops
and the heart inside can beat no more.
Until the magic finds a home in a wronged woman's maternal core.
Then hearing
a weak pulse,
somehow
MISPLACED...
upon her brow I see
the red- pigmented mark,
the broken heart
Upon her brow,
BEGIN TO B E A T....
And now we know this history,
the story that began my own.
I await the rest of my family tale
from inside the stones, I'm shown.
When I know my true life's purpose,
when I am connected with all of them…
then my hearts blood will stop beating...
...but my magic heart beat will begin.
When I was born, my life sucked. I wasn’t important, nobody really cared. Some bad things happened, and eventually it led me to you. I was only three, and didn't have much. Then you gave me a home, and became my family. You made me feel safe, and I was happy. I finally felt like I meant something to someone, I found self-worth because you made me feel as though I had value. Treated me with kindness and with care, as if I was your own. And I knew then, when you held me in your arms, that with youI am loved.
You were patient with me when I couldn’t understand. You stayed calm when I freaked out. You stayed strong through the struggle. You made me feel like I was enough when I was doubtful. All those nights I would cry, wishing I could be normal, to be like everyone else, just wanting to fit in. You hugged me and said that everything will go the way it’s supposed to. All those years I would take my anger out on you, didn’t change how much you loved me. But made me love you ten times more.
You gave me a life worth living, and I wouldn’t change anything. Because of you I wake up every morning, continuing my life that you gave me a shot at. Everytime you push me to be my best has made me stronger, and makes me better. I can’t imagine life without you, and not sure I’d make it without you. But I will always try harder and harder, in hopes that maybe one day I can give back some of all you’ve given me. I will always push myself to succeed, just to make you proud. Maybe one day I can give a better life, of which you are much more than deserving of.
I thank you for all you have done. For all the times you cheered me up when I was feeling grey. For all the opportunities you have given me. For pushing me to be a better person, so that I will get far in life. I will never choose for this to end, because you have given me something to love. I love you with all my heart, and that love will never end. You have done so much for me and there aren’t enough words to express how grateful I am for you. Hopefully one day I can repay you for it all, though I doubt that is even possible. I am so much more than blessed to have you because you truly are better than the best.
I love you to the moon, the diamond stars, infinity and beyond…and then back again. To my universe, Momma Bear, Happy Birthday! And may all your wishes come true.
I see…
red splotches on her night gown
still oozing down her face
“I fell again.”
She looks at us
with that same wobbly smile
“I’m Ok! Don’t worry. I’m OK!”
I can’t see
a clear liquid oozes down my face
I see…
Mama is dazed
clutching her face
Couldn’t light the stove fast enough
An explosion
We thought a bomb had hit the kitchen
War time years
Everyone running around
Mayhem
Mama burned her face
“I’m Ok…I’m fine.”
She tries to smile
I scream
I can’t see clearly
watery haze of tears
covers everything
along with the smoke
I see…
Mama gasping for breath
Mama going red in the face
“Mom, are you ok?”
Another coughing fit
Can’t get the food to go down
I pat her on the back
I pray…
Will this be it?
Will she choke this time?
Muscles that don't work
I see
I see
I cry
I scream
Raspy voice
Tears streaming down her face
I’m…Ok…..I'm OK now."
That lying smile
Her hand goes up
I can’t see
Double tear vision
Life is unclear
I hear
I hear
“You’re afraid I’m going to die, aren't you?”
I see
Kind brown eyes
Looking into mine
They are filling up
the wobbly smile is gone
she lets her tears speak
Oh….to talk to talk about it
Release
What can I say?
What can she say?
We feel
We feel
She crushes my body to hers
Neither of us can see
Blinded by tears
I see
Clouded eyes
She’s in a place I can’t reach
I shake
I shake
“Mama, can you hear me?”
She tries
I cry
I scream
ANGRY
I SCREAM
“Mama, listen to me!”
“GOD?
God…HEAL HER!!!
HEAL HER!
NOW!
A miracle
For ME!"
I beg
I plead
I demand
“Mama, do you believe?
Jesus can heal you!
Do you believe?”
“Yes,” a whisper
Almost inaudible
I pray
I can't see
Eyes of mustard seed faith
Shut tight
“Forgive our sins!
In the name of Jesus
Be healed, Mama!”
Eye lids fluttering open
I see
I see
Mama is still on the wheel chair
She’s bound…not free
I don’t see anymore
My head drops to my knees
I get dizzy
I drop things
In the shower
I fall
Cracked ribs
I cry
I scream
Alone
I hear
I hear
“You have MS TOO!
It has come for YOU!”
I can’t see
Shower water mixes with tears
“God?!
GOD?
Do you SEE?
DO you HEAR?
DO you FEEL?
GOD?
I’m here!
I’m….here!
No wobbly smile
No one to be strong for
I'm not alright!
See me!
SEE....ME!"
Eileen Manassian
In dedication to her MAMA, Angel Manassian!
Contained within a simple poem, a few words could never describe my mother.
A child bride at seventeen; a city girl became a farmer's wife.
She never complained about tending the fields, one row after another.
My mom loved her new husband and her new way of life.
A mother at nineteen, thank goodness for my Aunt Chloe.
"No hospital for me," my young mother said. "I will not go!"
Delivered by my granny, I was told Mom kissed my head to show
she loved me though I'd caused her cries of pain and woe.
Cooking was not Mom's forte'. She burned so many meals,
but Dad loved her anyway for giving him two girls and a boy.
Times were often rough but to us it was not a big deal.
We were happy to be loved, a gift better than any game or toy.
Mom was always cheerful, except when we did something wrong.
A spanking was on the agenda, and we knew it was deserved.
A smack or two was all she delivered, then she sang us a song.
No lack of love did mom have for me, it was never reserved.
Farming was not an easy life...crops ruined by summer hail.
In just a few minutes everything was lost, but Mom wore a smile.
"Don't worry. It'll be okay. I'm getting a job delivering the mail."
She left early in the morning, walking to mail boxes mile after mile.
Bereaved as a widow, my mother cried softly upon my shoulder.
I gave her comfort as she did me for the loss of husband and dad.
Always close in times of need, I took care of Mom when I was older.
Hurricane Katrina took her house, but not the memories she had.
I moved away for several years but came home to visit in June.
Mom's hazel eyes reflected her love for me and the man I married.
Six months later, I sat on the porch gazing at the full moon.
My sister called, but her voice was sad. I knew why she tarried.
I knew what she couldn't put into words. Mom had passed away.
Oh, the agony of not being there... my tears fall as I write.
To my mom, the beautiful young wife and mother, I'd say,
I pray you knew how much I loved you...
A star fell from the sky tonight.
_______________________
December 25th, 2015
About My Mom Contest
Sponsor: Judy Konos
"The Spite Syllabub"
The daughter
is not
The mother
Sylvia’s bees were
left milk, bread and butter
Plath by name
but not
the daughter’s path
in evolving nature
not the mother
nor the father
Love for art’s sake
Art not for Love’s sake
Amy G. Dala
a spoonful of honey
taken with the medicine
This is Love
The tincture labelled:
The Spite Syllabub
three measures
the mother, the father, the son
take
swallow slowly
survive
daughter is the legacy
daughter learns to run
a lesson in love
Love for art’s sake
Art not for Love’s sake
Done.
(Ladylabyrinth / 2020)
"Moonlight" / FOALS
https://youtu.be/s9DMDulMIz4
1.
"The Grief Equation" /Frieda Hughes, Plath's daughter
https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-27377434?SThisFB&fbclid=IwAR0-rAuEMLovUMiMndUcme2Sic3A-OoDiJkHd857ulBwxlk4KXY3cAxHb9Q
2. "Poetry and Co-dependency" / Plath & Hughes
https://youtu.be/hmArLszft3w
3. "Sylvia Plath" (1 of 6)
https://youtu.be/V1QA985lhSQ
(2 of 6)
https://youtu.be/k1ecb6bRfk0
(3 of 6)
https://youtu.be/uDq0trKqyj8
(4 of 6) Bees
https://youtu.be/7lJPFA2JXnk
(5 of 6)
https://youtu.be/Ef5Zypngx6o
(6 of 6)
https://youtu.be/iK6b39hoeGM
4. Hughes & Assia Wevill (Mistress)
https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/1999/apr/23/features11.g21
5. Frieda Hughes (daughter)
https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2016/may/28/frieda-hughes-i-felt-my-parents-were-stolen
"Frieda Hughes, daughter of poets Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath, is the author of Stonepicker and the Book of Mirrors (Harper Collins, 2009), Forty-Five (Harper Collins, 2006), Waxworks (Harper Collins, 2002), and Wooroloo (Harper Flamingo, 1998). She lives in Wales."
Poetry, books / Frieda Hughes
https://www.friedahughes.com/books.html
"45" / Frieda Hughes
https://www.popmatters.com/forty-five-poems-by-frieda-hughes-2496154001.html
"Moonlight" / FOALS, Lyrics:
https://genius.com/Foals-moonlight-lyrics
Suicide Prevention / Global Hotlines
http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines
Dear Mama
I'm older now and so much has changed
I miss you don't get me wrong
but I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place
and I can't even tell you to your face
so I'm writing because my cowardliness has forbidden me to speak
like my lips have been locked shut and somehow
I lost the key
and my mind is overflowing so please don't hate me
I'm trying to balance my reality and form a friendship
without hurting your feelings
and I know I sound insane
I get it, you don't think it's that deep
but you don't see what I see
we haven't imagined the same future for me
you're so stuck on what you think is for me
that you're to blinded to witness
that I'm suffering Mama
I'm suffering
Dear Mama
thanks for keeping in touch
thanks for all the over-text lessons
but I'm good
I don't need a schooling session
I have teachers
I have counselors
I have coaches
For God sake I have a mom
who puts me in the right direction
you missed your chance years ago
So you need to hear this
let me go
I'm only hanging on by a thread
yet you still dangle from my leg
WHY? because when it snaps
we're both dead
Can't you see that I'm not just gonna hop up and leave when I turn 18
classified as a runaway
and for what?
so you can just go back to you old ways
Can't you see that you've broken me
caused my head to spin uncontrollably
I want to please you but I want to be happy
Can't you see that I'm suffering mama
I'm suffering
Dear Mama
I realized that I really don't know you
we had visits and sleepovers
I was a kid, you were all I knew
But I'm older now and so much has changed
I don't see things the same way
I've found somewhere else where I feel safe
I hope you will understand one day
I want you to be in my life
when I graduate
have kids
and heck when I'm a bride
and yes I'll still take your advice
but Don't turn advice into teachings
I hope now you can see my reality
and your heart isn't broken into a million pieces
just know I'm always here to be your friend
and if you never want to talk again I understand
but you see that would just add on to why I'm suffering mama
I'm suffering
Dear Mama
It's time
to say goodbye to that title
Dear Renisha
I love you always
-Angel
Note* (I have two moms)
I call my biological mother "Mama" and my adoptive mother "Mom"
The Seconds
[Excerpts]
(c) 2019, Anita Lerek
Section 1/4
First Generation - Before the Holocaust
Lvov, Poland 1930s. Mother, you were a Jewish girl but you were not expected to enter history. You played outside time like a star burning for trillions of years. Hands of pleasure created fire, and tossed in rags of exotic oils and sunflowers to heighten the mingling of school yard bodies barely formed. You lived inside bushes filled with chocolates, ghosts of guardians, and boys measured by swagger and expensive shoes
Your lives were handcuffed by words, set in the grammar of racial separation. But there was no one else, just you and your friends, beauty marooned in floodlit trance
————————-
Section 3/4
The Survivors
............
You lie on the beaches. You lie in the fields. You are bits of debris, tufts of life stuck together, shadows thrusting and contracting in search of embodiment
So many lost, beyond mouthing. What history removes, language cannot restore. Rather it is a burial ground, an anti-galaxy of boarded up stars. How many forms are there of nothing?
Ancestors cry out to you from pine trees and flowers, from buds and branches. You hear nothing. You seek out strangers. By touching them, you try to rouse a sleeping god of your lost civilization, to reach the boys, the sunflowers, the shadows begging to return
Your limbs touch, boxes smacking against each other, filling, releasing. You barely move. You let him have his pleasure. Then without a word, you leave, and return, to release the one valve, day after day; all others seized by horror. You never exchange names
—————————
Section 4/4
The Second Generation
..........
I was of the same cloth but not the same cloth. I did not occupy the same land as you. I grieved our severed skin
I come closer now, hover at your borders. Mother, your elements are wearing down, motions slowing, your fragments crumbling
Stop, stop, stop the cycle
of trauma: its birth, hardening into splintered towers, falling apart and re-forming
Let me into love before you leave me, here in this final land
where love crystallizes
into the expansive images
that cradle me
in beds of rock,
the last images
that I send up
to mend babel’s darkness
for trillions of years
“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