Long Mothers Poems

Long Mothers Poems. Below are the most popular long Mothers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mothers poems by poem length and keyword.


Take Me Back

Take me back to my days with you
Are you listening to my prayers O’ Mother
I want to rush into your arms and play
To see you lift me like a feather

I sneak into your clothes like old
You scold me and fight like a child
I crib and cry, you take me in your lap
Sharing with me, little stories with claps

Where are you, My Dear Mother
I glance up at the starry sky
You cannot leave me behind O Mother
This place is hell, I want to fly

Why do those live, who dump their child
Yet call themselves Mothers
Why should you leave when I need you
You cant do this to me O’ Mother

Tomorrow when I will awake,
Will I not hear your gentle tone?
I think not for my heart will break,
With thoughts that are still so unknown.

Oh, tell me, Mother, tell me now!
Please give me answers that I seek
So tell me why and tell me how
Now who will listen when I speak?
Form: Lyric


Premium Member Far and Below

far and below   you will find-
my favorite poem   written in 
free verse    it is not just the theme

but the style of     eecummings
                               that brings me pride 

love the flow and no capitalization
  and no need for punctuation
    the gaps to create pauses
      the crunched words
        the made up words so silly
                               and wonderful

written-
at a time of cliques and bullying
by a few      faded away
now into nothingness
proud         they did not push me away

so come take a ride
   on my- diaphanous   gossamer filmy cloud
sumptuous
to where      the blue birds sing

______________

my cloud
written may 28, 2015

on my-
diaphanous    gossamer filmy cloud-
sumptuous I float woebegone

flowers   far    and below

and bluebirds come
fluttering in the azure sky
twittering and its
beautiful

gossamer filmy cloud-sumptuous

the goobledygooks with their nonsense
far    and   below
and bluebirds come drifting

from the garden and forest they fly
to
my diaphanous
gossamer
             filmy
                   cloud-sumptuous

the dullards with their yada yada
far
and
below
come with their hokum nattering

and I
yell     hey you
get off my cloud-
sumptuous      you you
nincompoops

bluebirds
twittering and twittering
beautiful
assemblage    of fluttering

whispering     hissing
with meaningless words
you keep off my diaphanous
gossamer    filmy   cloud

oh gentle breeze

        take this dreamer and flower picker
of buttercups     violets
           dandelions
I see them swaying far    and below
                            in a meadow lovely
and I recall the little girl       me
who picked them
                  for mothers kitchen ledge

oh    let me drift   and see far and below
on my
diaphanous    gossamer cloud-
sumptuous

______________________________
November 7, 2015

Free Verse

Written by Broken Wings

For the contest, Your Favorite Poem, sponsor, Judy Konos\

First Place

Premium Member HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY 2026

“Mommy!” a daughter asked her mother…
as she sat atop her knee…
“Do you know when it was…you fell in love with me?”

“I’’m going to let you in on a little secret.” Her mom smiled
“And I swear that this is true…for as long as I can remember…
I’ve been in love with you.”

“The idea of you was always in the back of my mind…
The thought of you…alive…
and I spent a good deal of my life…waiting for you to arrive.”

“You were the wisp of a dream when I was young…
A wish, a hope…I knew one day would come true…
And I was so excited and happy…
when I found out that dream…was you.”

“So for an answer to your question…here’s the best that I can do…
As long as I can remember…there was a place in my heart…
I had reserved for you.”

“A safe, warm and comforting place
where my love for you has thrived…
And there it waited patiently for the day you would arrive”

“And though the moment I first held you in my arms
while crying joyful tears…
was the moment I first whispered ‘I love you’ in you ears.”

“With all those years of love stored up
waiting for the day our lives would intertwine…
the truth is I did not fall into your love…
you fell into mine.
© Jim Yerman  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

My Matron 1

She is a matron who possesses strong beliefs 
She remained substantial despite the vastness of her griefs
She was so young yet a mother she was to become
Her path filled with obstacles, trying never to forget from where she had come.

As a child all I could see was my Mother, my hero only there for me!
Unknowing of the battles and her story so incomplete. 
She held my hand through every storm 
She is my refuge on her shoulder is where I mourn

She has been frail from life’s course
She would stroke my hair as her cancer spread, whispering my angel it’s not sore
I would shed my tears for my Hero was wounded so by the human race
Yet she would perpetually cup my face teaching me that we are saved only by grace

Through the years she had taken lashes with fragnet repercussions
She is always open for my questions with patience shell engage in my absurd discussions 
My Hero may have been un-movingly strong
But she too has fallen and felt the thrashes of feeling her doings are all wrong

Being a mother is one of the gravest callings of them all 
Incessantly our mothers try to make every decree in hopes to always prevent her child’s fall
Children often forget the sacrifices made by a mother, forgotten are their hearts when all we covet are our intrinsic will
Bending over backwards and some, just to see our faces gleam from a windowsill

continued....
Form: Rhyme

Christmas Eve

It's the 24th day of December
Christ was born tomorrow
Two thousand twenty-five years old
He still cries in his crib
Breathe through Mary’s labor unscathed
Children are dying, still immaculate
What if He were never born?
Like It’s a Wonderful Life
George Bailey out of the picture
Crusaders will keep it in the pants
Manifest Destiny, a fable dismissed
But history can’t stop TickTok
The mental still commands guns
They still post their Good News
Black Friday deals waiting for clicks
But, birds on a wire will go on
It’s Christmas Eve in Bethlehem
My son is far from me like a diaspora
I'm left as a midwife to little Jesus
Do you wish you had never been born?
Jesus must have felt the same
Tell the wise kings to stay home 
Burn down the manger with spirits
What is history without the Good News? 
Even if it was just yellow journalism?
Unlike today’s whitewashed headlines
Announcing greed Trumps babies
Dead children of Gaza do rise
School kids in Somalia are found
Mothers of Ukraine find a home
Ghettos in America flourish
Christmas is a morning light
That never gets off the ground
But we will survive another year
As children and mothers of Christ
We need milk and are milked
History can’t be rewritten
But it can have fresh eyes
Even if Jesus can’t be undone
Ressurection happens
Hope is beyond history
Like a child in a trough
Growing to manhood
Turning water into wine
Needing salvation Himself
Then evaporating
Like Selma, addicted to blood
On Christmas Eve, unavoidable
The day before holy labor
When hope becomes 
Incarnate, reserved
For another year
Wanting connection
Ever still born


Premium Member Mothers Day 5-11-2025

Thoughts whisk me away to a foregone time,
when things were peaceful with much less crime.

Of a Mother who never complained of tired back,
from a ten hour day pulling a twelve foot sack.

She had six children and still worked in the field,
her sleepless nights worrying she never revealed.

A tub and rub board always kept our clothes clean,
we got new duds at school start and not between.

She used a sad iron that she heated on the range,
that kept jeans pressed for a twice a week change.

As older one’s grew up we quickly left the nest,
and all helped mother through each life test.

Mothers day retrieves thoughts of my first lady,
and God called her home at the ripe age of eighty.

God blessed our family and all life wasn’t bad,
because we couldn’t miss things that we never had.
© Tom Wright  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Couplet

Premium Member Mothers Day Contemplation

MOTHER’S DAY CONTEMPLATION
 

She towered over me; she frowned.
So tall til we could see eye to eye.
Dad would growl, “Don’t talk back!”
What does that mean?

As I rounded the corner of motherhood, myself,
my mom’s always been there with an inclined ear.
I kept my smile but I would duly growl at my kids —
perhaps at times, a bit insane.

There’s a reason for a book such as
Diary of a Mad Housewife — I’ve
never read it, but the title captivates me.

A mother looks back through the pages
of her children’s lives - the smiles and hugs,
the punch out screams and tears (not
just for two year olds but for teenage years)

We’re glad to see them leave. We miss them.
The atrophy of family. The added branches
to the family tree. The contrast battling.

We love them, most of all. They break our hearts.
They melt our hearts when they recall our names.

I think I hear the phone ring.
Hip! Hip! Hooray!
The one who religiously calls me at midnight
has dialed me on a bright May morning.

As I sip my coffee and contemplate
this thing called motherhood,
let me never give up on those I’ve raised
                                               to be good.

5/10/2020

Premium Member Simple Math

Simple Math
By David J Walker

100 seems to be the magic number
Numbers less than 100 are the lesser…More than 100 are the better
100 on a test …100 meters to run…100 miles per hour…100+ for fastballs…100 $$$

My father lived 26 years  
and  still smoke cigarettes and drank
A shot of honey bourbon whiskey every afternoon at 3

I knew a man who died  suddenly 
At 48 years < , one afternoon alone
They said it was the curse of genetics and
There was nothing they could have done

I wonder how 100 holds its magic over us
A simple goal of getting old
And then you’re gone

Premium Member Teach the Children the Alphabet a Dedication To Child Advocate Poet Teacher Eve Roper

TEACH THE CHILDREN THE ALPHABET 
 A Dedication to Child Advocate Poet Teacher Eve Roper

It's up to us, the parents and other adults
What has happen to the village
Caring for children is an honor and privilege

   teach the children the alphabet
 so they can build the words
   teach them how to read sentences
 so that they can read God word

It's up to us, the parents and other adults
What has happen to the village
Caring for children is an honor and privilege

it's the fathers, mothers, grandparents
 -our teachers and neighbors
we all have a commitment a service
 -to teach the children
so they all understand learn how 
-to praise the Lord
the world would be so much better
-if we teach the children the letters
to form words, read the words from the bible
-to learn about God and Jesus Christ

It's up to us, the parents and other adults
What has happen to the village
Caring for children is an honor and privilege
So let us TEACH THE CHILDREN THE ALPHABET 

Dedication Poet  Eve Roper
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.2018©
4/18/18
Form: Rhyme

Not Just Mother

You r my mother my guide my light
U tought me what is wrong and right 
Ur my sunshine, making my day bright
U stand by me in darkest of night
Ur my shining armor my knight 
In any situation u give a tough fight 
U r my teacher, my doctor my lawyer
Wd u around me I don't need to care
U r synonym for love and care
Where everyone hv abundant share
Stuck in sm situation or any confusion
I just close my eyes to find u for discussion 
So many Gud and bad times we share
So many memories to look back and stare
Words fall short to describe ur love
Even God's cm to earth for this motherly love

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