Long Mother son Poems
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All of my children did come home
One at a time, almost like a metronome.
It made me happy, as I felt needed
Yet, when they wanted advice it was never heeded.
I love them all with my entire being,
Yet, not long it felt like they were fleeing.
They are now adults with lives of their own
However, for their past, some refused to let me atone.
My youngest one always acted entitled,
Then when he started working he made me feel vital.
Then one by one, as their lives moved on, it seemed they forgot about me.
Only on holidays or my birthdays did they act around me with glee.
Once festivities were at an end they found a reason to flee
They always seemed to prove my fear that they were there out of duty.
Then my youngest started calling me every day to say I love you
I started thinking I was forgiven for all he had gone through.
I was soon to learn how wrong I was
As he started rumors, making a buzz.
And soon most believed these rumors so heinous
He was showing everyone he was a Janus.
Somehow the others believed him
It left me feeling my future with my kids was grim.
Then one son came to me to talk about my actions
Talking to me and making it look like we were doing transactions.
Yet, he was telling me the things my youngest had said
Then he gave me an ultimatum that led me to feel as if my heart had bled.
The very next day, I woke up to a message from my other mother
Another lie told by my youngest made me feel like he wanted to separate me from his brother.
Now that son and daughter will not returns text or a call
Making me think they believe the lies one and all.
All because I was tired of my youngest using me
Threatening me that in my life he no longer would be.
All because I told him until he could talk to the respect I deserve
Somehow my telling him this must have struck a nerve.
Now he is trying to turn all his siblings against me
Using lies and my fears in order for me to beg and plea.
There are two he cannot turn
Oh, how it must make him burn.
He is not being an adult, but a deceitful child.
I am praying my other two can help me get reconciled
To the two who believed their younger brother
And have them understand what is going on with their mother.
Until that time comes, I sit here and wait
I have to leave this all to God and to fate.
© Kristy De La Keur Scoville
These are poems for children and poems about children and their mothers, fathers, grandmother, grandfathers and extended families.
The Desk
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy
There is a child I used to know
who sat, perhaps, at this same desk
where you sit now, and made a mess
of things sometimes.I wonder how
he learned at all...
He saw T-Rexes down the hall
and dreamed of trains and cars and wrecks.
He dribbled phantom basketballs,
shot spitwads at his schoolmates' necks.
He played with pasty Elmer's glue
(and sometimes got the glue on you!) .
He earned the nickname 'teacher's PEST.'
His mother had to come to school
because he broke the golden rule.
He dreaded each and every test.
But something happened in the fall—
he grew up big and straight and tall,
and now his desk is far too small;
so you can have it.
One thing, though—
one swirling autumn, one bright snow,
one gooey tube of Elmer's glue...
and you'll outgrow this old desk, too.
Originally published by TALESetc
A True Story
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy
Jeremy hit the ball today,
over the fence and far away.
So very, very far away
a neighbor had to toss it back.
(She thought it was an air attack!)
Jeremy hit the ball so hard
it flew across our neighbor's yard.
So very hard across her yard
the bat that boomed a mighty 'THWACK! '
now shows an eensy-teensy crack.
Originally published by TALESetc
Mother's Smile
by Michael R. Burch
for my mother Christine Ena Burch and my wife Beth Harris Burch
There never was a fonder smile
than mother's smile, no softer touch
than mother's touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than 'much.'
So more than 'much, ' much more than 'all.'
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother's there, nor how we reach
from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.
There never was a stronger back
than father's back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,
then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, and flew.
But, oh, a mother's tender smile
will leap and follow after you!
Originally published by TALESetc
Keywords/Tags: children's poems, child, children, childhood, family, mother, father, son, daughter
~ for Mom ~
it seems …
like yesterday
and it seems like forever …
I can see them clearly
I can feel the soft wrinkles of skin
her little hands -
clutching the round disc
skin as thin as tissue paper
veins winding their purple-ish way
across bone and tendon
not always so delicate …
I think of all the miracles those small
appendages worked -
all the wonders taken part and witnessed
many times for the benefit of my
own rather undeserving hide …
almost obsequious in their regard
(when it came to me, anyway)
unspoken, that bond
since before time,
at least in my awareness of it
and that alliance has been my salvation
more times than I can
put number to …
that amazing woman -
small in stature, yet anything BUT in
energy and spirit -
saw the activity of her sweet hands shrink with
her height and strength
until she could no longer perform all
but the simplest of tasks …
oh, her mind stayed as clear as a glacial rill,
sharp and witty and creative
and the spark in her eyes
always shined bright
but moons and miles took their toll
and I became her legs and
arms and ears …
it was a job that blessed me
beyond imagination
and one I see now that she
trained me for …
so …
while her small hands came to lack the
vigor for most daily tasks
she could still press the call button on
the little disk that hung around her
neck like a pendant …
it was ME on the other end, you see
as our unspoken bond had become a very
vital electronic one …
I didn’t give that button much thought, really
until one night I was putting her to bed
and she grabbed my arm with one hand,
grasped her call disc with the other,
looked deep into my gaze
and said to me …
“I always keep this close to my heart,
because I know that whenever I press it,
my angel … will come”
now …
those little hands are but memory
(tho I held them ‘til the warmth was gone
then lay them upon her) …
but I keep that buzzer near me
for it means so much more than I can express
and sometimes I press it,
(as silly as that may seem)
sometimes I press it … and pray -
I pray even harder than I prayed when
I was faithful …
but nothing happens
there is no sound
and no one ever comes
for SHE was the angel …
and I …
was the needy one.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 18, 2024
( photograph taken by Gregory R Barden )
If they shoot, tell my story
A boy writes a letter to his mother
She will know nothing of it
Until
Something bad happens
But he knows something will
He knows the colour of his skin
He knows that it means a possible death sentence
He gives his mom direct instructions
Of what to do if they try to silence his existence
He wants the world to know that he is the real victim
And his killers are the real villains
He would not allow the world to be ignorant
All the time He saw kids like him being killed
He wanted it to end with him
He had a plan
To expose the violence
Of a system trying to erase innocent kids like him
He wanted the world to know the truth about politicians
Who fake their sympathy
To change the narrative
As a distraction
For their evil actions
He knew she would know what he meant
He didn't want his death to be in vain
He wanted everyone to feel the pain
The type of pain black people experience everyday
Even if it means he has to die to make them pay
He wanted his mother to tell their story
Of when she found out she was pregnant And how she had already began to mourn him
Of her labour and how she faced discrimination
How her pain was ignored
Even though there was something wrong
How she feared losing her son
Because of their racism
He wanted the world to know about his childhood
How he grew up
And about his neighbourhood
A place where everyone understood
That many of their people might not make it out the hood
How the corrupt system locked them up
And collectively stole every back kids innocence
He told her to talk about his intelligence
How he beat the education system
And was preparing for college
And looked forward to his 18th birthday where he would get to experience adulthood
How it was all he could talk about
His final words was about how much he loved her
About how thankful
He was for her protection
Her love and affection
And said no matter what happens she will always be appreciated
A few weeks later
A month before his 18th birthday
One of his racist neighbours
Decided this would be his last day
Later his mom found his letter
Cried for her sons murder
Promising her son She would avenge him
She would get justice and make the world better
She would make sure the world remembers
______________________________________________________________
It still hurting alot
Mother, it hurts so much
methinks my head is about to, I can
fathom that thought of my head will o
explode, bits and pieces of me scattered________________t
around for all to see the shiny in's
of me because of my denied dues
not to be like autumn trees and
thrush of life's breaths shedding
whites off my hair expose its amber
If I surrender will I get my summer,
our talk that soured will sweeten
the hour? Query on hold. Hold, 'tis
aching yearns for its light skin tones
some shade, some toning to
hide. A walking dead
they'll see--weird, beach
sand, I face yet ere me
a challenge be ca ut io us ly
taken out thy sullen pose fates
a wild, wild guess, be my knees subtly
repenting. Nay, not knees, essence. A noun, trickery. Shall I count the days spent within your tummy,
Mommy? Oh very well I will clean my room until the
day comes when I raise my hand and that all five fingers, you'll see thee racist who had emerged in my mirror of late, and cast then shadows just out of sight seize d--arrested in plain view by America's finest doing bet review to say
that justice is well seems to be in order
from what I see,
there are fingers of
contempt and to my
mirror grip negativity,
I offer thee the pleasure
of my knee, lest my feet get
in the weigh ..., of a deserving
kick, one goes awry like a brat such as I.
O mother, who was so beautiful, yet, troubled with everything
that may affect on the son’s well being; and therefore, grew old.
O mother, who was so elegant, yet, was so concerned about her son;
she always worried and was thinking what if the son wet from
the spring mist, or what if the son falls on the flowerbed;
and therefore, grew senile.
O mother, such a great and virtuous, is well stricken by the years of moons, winds, stars, and clouds, and now, clumsily clinging on the trunk of a big tree, the grown son who stands tall with the root taken deeply in the ground, as a withered thin branch.
When a rain poured violently, the mother who never had a day
of peace thinking of her son, became an umbrella over my head.
When a blizzard raged, the mother who never had a day of serenity
worrying over her son, became a blanket over my body.
Although the umbrella was old, beaten, and spokes were broken,
a drop of rain was unable to wet me. Although the blanket was the rags
sewed here and patched there, the blizzard was unable to take my body heat away.
To give a life to the son, I know the mother,
you underwent the excruciating labor pain,
the pain that is more painful than the chopping yourself with an ax.
To bring up the child as a decent man, I know the mother,
you underwent the trouble after troubles of trials caused by
your mischievous son.
You were the woman of great heart and sagacity,
you, therefore, were able to accept all circumstances with equanimity,
good and ill, joys and sorrows, honors and dishonors;
you offered your life and all to your son with love,
understanding, and patience.
O mother, though you knew it was useless,
you stretched the withered thin branch out in air
to shut out a wild wind that was shaking the tree from the trunk.
O mother, though you knew that the wind was
beyond your strength to hold, but you did anyway,
because you loved your son so much; and as a consequence,
you were violently blown out from the trunk to fall on the ground.
Dear mother, you are, from the tomb where you are lying
as a little stone pillow on the grass,
recalling the memories of happy and joyful moments
while looking at your son proudly; recalling the memories
of tired and sorrowful moments while looking at your son worriedly.
“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
Jayden Makieh Kelly
As each day and the third month passed by I was still shocked. But, my love for you was solid, set firmly in place and locked. At four months pregnant I felt your fluttering, and at first, thought it was quite bothering. I also got to hear your tiny heart beat. The sound was so sweet and pleasing to my ears of course, but at the same time it reminded me of a galloping horse! At five months I started to feel a little less sick and even got to feel your undeniably, strong kick! Now the feeling of you moving around and kicking, nestled in my stomach where you resided, comforted me because it allowed me to know that you still safely existed right there inside me. From the beginning, my family and I had been hoping that you would be a girl and allowed that feeling to deeply sink. We went to stores looked at all the girls clothes and imagined how pretty you would be in pink. At twenty-two weeks on October 13, I had the ultrasound that would determine your health and sex. Deep down inside I knew that I wouldn’t hear the news that I had expected. The doctor typed on the screen ‘Boy’ alongside your little wee wee, and I must admit the news kind of upset me. I was upset because I had gotten used to thinking about all of the pink and the girl names, however no matter what my love for you would undeniably be the exact same. Boy or girl it makes no difference, because for life my baby boy I am in this. At almost six months, your name was decided and planned with good meaning behind it. Jayden Makieh Kelly is who you will come into the world as. Your name starts with the letter ’J’ just as your dad’s. Your middle name is Makieh and was derived from a very special person in my life. He recently passed away and his name was Mack William Sandidge, Junior. I could not give birth to you and not include him as part of our future. For almost twenty years he did things that I don’t think could be done by no other. He provided and took care of me as if he was my father. Even though biologically he wasn’t, psychologically, and every other way he was. There wasn’t a limit to all that he gave, all that he shared, all of his love. I still don’t think I could ever thank him enough, so with your middle name I provided a small token of such.
Form:
Dear Jimmie, where ever you are,
I want you to know that I do fail to notice you by far.
You ill-treated me to no end when no one was there,
Around my mother or anyone you would not dare.
When I understood, I labeled as a coward at his best,
I often think about your anger towards me as you rest.
Praying to God about the son you left behind,
He turned out like you over a period of time.
Very abusive to women and others he meet,
??That devil??…I will defeat!
As I grew to understand that what you did was not cool,
Your intact being so cold and cruel.
Why were you so filled with rage I must ask?
Relationships…and marriages should be a Blessing and not a task.
I guess you never learned to love anyone you met,
A sadistic cycle…I am willing to bet.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my son with ALL of my heart,
Through my loving mother’s quest to help me with him, we grew apart.
Now born, living and descended from your evil soul,
An inquiry from him about you I pray remain untold.
“Rest In Peace” I would NEVER say to you…
The pain and hurt you caused me my mother never knew.
Seeing you again is certainly not something I wish,
Forgetting what you done is something I can not accomplish.
Because I see you in my son each and everyday,
I pray to God…that that vicious cycle will go away.
I will not say thank you for my son…because it was God
...and God alone,
I will love him dearly until I am dead and gone.
So again, as I live life I will continue pray…
to God that my son will change 1 DAY!!
Hell,is where you should be…
Thank God there was NEVER a you and me!
Your son's name is J***** jus' in case.
Again, I never hope to see you again face-to-face!
Seems your family tried to cover up why you took your own life,
But it came out that your father, abused you, G**** and your mother B*****, his first wife.
It sad to know that you were probably molested like[ our] son by YOUR dad,
When he died, I was not sad.
All I could think about was that he hurt everyone around him and you were the worst end result,
And that he was born and raised to be a monsterous adult.
How for back in the family this abuse go,
With him gone, I guess we will never, ever know.
If you are listening from above,
The ONLY thing I regret is that you were never taught to love.
Sincerely Yours, "Jackie"
Primordial begs a question. Precursor answers,
prior request. Clarity necessitates perspective
anchored. Pre-Genesis /\ Chapter 1: Verse 1 of
it being OUR EARTH-- / \ Verse 3 is the FIRST
LIGHT as our Daystar/ \as ALL LIGHTS trails
allies like------------ ------------Flora and
Fungi, plus \ /Fauna. Then
all four seasons.\ / Winter, Summer,
Spring, and Fall./ \To four elements
known matter, / / \ \ Earth, and air
water, and / / \ \ fire. Lastly,
humanity. / / \ \Man is Adam
And the / / \ \ Woman is
Eve. Says/ / \ \ clarity
cites / / perspective \ \ in a
lengthy / / expounded detailed \ \ point
of view./ / ALL LIGHTS, closing this \ \SHAPE
POEM \/FORM. Second LIGHTS that \/ came
post ALL LIGHTS—describes the Daystar that’ll
highlight in several varying details elaborately
formatted. Being that its duly noted as wisdom
dictate, values bring a wealth of common home
knowledge that everyone soon knows the truth.
of THE BOOK of GENESIS. Mom confessed to me
into its TRUE LIGHT as THE WORD OF GOD BE A
LIGHT AT OUR FEET--A BEACON UPON THE HILL.
Earth was made for humanity, we’re ALL LIGHTS
created as a sharing amongst ALL other LIGHTS
as it was written—now elaborated. Daystar are
LIGHTS that precedes ALL LIGHTS, plurally. The
WHYS & WHEREFORES like GENESIS, was written
and elaborated as well. GOD IS THAT LIGHT and
POINTS NOT TO GOD, AND DAYSTARS LIGHTS, US,
AND ALL LIGHTS. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THAT LIGHT IS
ON RESERVE AS ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ALL SAINTS--
KNOW “HOLY ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TRINITY”:
GOD THE ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~FATHER,
GOD ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~THE
SON, AND GOD VWVWVWVWVW THE HOLY SPIRIT.
PONTIFICATE: "Take to the floor and raise the roof -- Matthew 5:16"
Why? GENESIS Wherefore! REVELATIONS
"The Holy Trinity, THAT LIGHT, on a universal eternal role as THE CREATOR, cometh EARTH'S dawning as predecessors were processing, and an unsuspicious dark universe were ripe for there dawning by THAT LIGHT."
IN THE NAME OF GOD THE FATHER, GOD THE SON, AND GOD THE HOLY SPIRIT, AMEN.