History Mom Poems

The Greasy Saddle Resturant and Night Club!
I blushed as I conceeded: she wished to name her nightclub "The Greasey Saddle". I had been seduced and...

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Oh my darling 
My Sweet 
Russian Queen
Mother of my home
Born of my dreams
Mother of my heart 
Hope sewn through our seams 
In our troubled history
Lost...

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This the Devil Will See!

1960.  New to our new neighborhood,
I wondered how mom and dad had gotten so rich?
For the first single-family home of...

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My mother does not believe in snow
When the news mention that it will snow
She thinks it must be a hoax or worse a conspiracy theory

Philadelphia...

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Note****I wish everyone a Merry Christmas.  I do know it is December, but this poem demanded an outing, so here it is.  When...

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Looking back, one thing comes clean-glass clear
you were always there for me subduing every fear.

I tried to do my duty, be a husband strong and...

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In open playing fields on muddy ground,
little fight amongst us children abound.

Petty things would spark arguments to fight,
sans reason so hard to say who was...

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I
Oestre was a name of a fertility goddess, in Iran, then PERSIA
What a rich history, what an embattled people! Cyrus their King
Did great things for...

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Hmmm... let's start with the Saxons, 
and not forget when they got their groove on. 
If it wasn't for the seax, and the -ons, 
we...

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My mother died young, she was only sixty-nine,
we had a history that was not always wonderful;
she said and did things, and I said and did...

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I am taking the bus to you,
   holding a red rose on my lap-
      The sky is blue,
and...

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Everyday I miss you guys more and more
I always recall all things we did before
I left you and became a man

I said I wanted to...

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Celine Dion singing quietly in the background
It's all coming back to me now
There were moments of gold and there were flashes of light...
You made growing...

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If you hadn't died, today you would've become sixty-seven.
But God called you home and you're with him in Heaven.
Because of your bad infection, you had...

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It's already hard enough to say anything accurately
without further obfuscating and camouflaging the soul.
The faces in the funeral pews are impassive, impatient
and the dead woman...

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