In the wind the Holy Spirit
Has turned and twirled
He has orchestrated conception
To all the Mary's around the world
One Mary she stands alone
The mother of our Savior
Blessed among women
Still in need of saving
Another Mary stands alone
The first to the risen Christ
As we all need to witness to
The Resurrection and The Life
But we are all broken vessels
Our fractures need repair
His Way, His Truth, His Life (and kintsugi)
Will help us, to get us there
So not every Mary will birth a Messiah
Or will see Him with their eyes
But every Mary who is able
will be blessed to be with child
Shadows creep along
sunlight chases them away
moon light unites all
Life lost, she bore;
The cost of war.
With soft touch of hands
mother smooths creases of fear—
folding in embrace
touching quivering candle
fingers humming haunting hymns
Love requires no hands
it invents its own language—
wing, beak, paw and lick
a body curled up to care
whispers —'you're safe'
Whales cuddle up close
dolphins ring rosy halos
seals seek safe harbors
penguins bow against the wind
birds soothe with beaks and feather
Love without fingers
a current that wraps and lifts
a tide unbroken
it cradles the heart within
steadies the faltering steps
Such love needs not touch—
it listens, watches, imbibes
hovering in care
joining two hearts together
with spirit of motherhood
That quiet-ness,
middle of the night,
insomniac,
sleep as it gets bright
toss turn sides & back....
drift to afternoon wake,
stomach rumbles,
to an oven that bakes,
and is humbling.
The fall is a mind's wrap
of how the co-existence
leaves us in scrambles,
Our mother gave us our names,
and euphoria is always the blame.
Scrambling in dirt and even worse,
Limo carries another hearse
In the meadow, a tragedy befell
a mother butterfly by a wishing well.
She'd wished for a son who could fly all crooked,
but a witch's curse prevailed, so wicked.
Her firstborn had the preposterous trait
of flying up and staying straight.
I'll be free to kind-ness of daisies
gently trembling through the void,
and the softness of held hands
which are offering raisins,
without a trick of quicksand.
There's seeds that has a need
of watering & the showering,
Grows into roses with its thorns
defense mechanism vulnerability
can be sweet and leave you torn.
A mother cradles her newborn
and will show her teeth
if you interrupt her breath
into her child's new lungs,
and a simple harmony sang
She's now a bee to become....
a shriek,
a high-pitched scream echoed against the walls,
lightning flashed,
thunder rumbled deep and hard into my chest.
pain,
tightness,
ache,
sorrow.
it cannot be real, this is not happening, I cannot believe it.
to never again see,
talk,
hug,
love on,
joke,
dance.
our son was –
our only boy was –
our eldest child was –
our headache was –
our heart was –
our angel is –
forever 26.
Feeling warm,
Mommy’s cold,
sense of duty,
Mommy stays,
First of four clouds,
She clears the sky,
So light can shine,
On the cloud she raised.
when I was
too small for words,
my mother would dream me.
I’d say
“A”
and she understood I wanted eternity.
The next day,
she’d place it in my spoon.
her hands
did not turn on light bulbs.
they were light bulbs,
they were clay vessels through which flowed
a light tired from too much godliness.
when she entered the room,
it wasn’t her who entered,
it was a silence that had lost its voice
in a burned temple,
and had come searching for it inside me.
the angel beneath the bed
came out like a healed shadow
and whispered to me:
“Now you can sleep,
your mother’s hands are keeping watch.”
and I,
a child uttering
his first prayer,
looked into my mother’s palms
as if into a holy book,
unknown,
but true.
once,
an old woman from the village told me:
“Women like your mother
do not come into the world, they pour forth,
like light from icons
or like God from a child.”
since then,
when I think of light,
I do not see the sun,
but my mom’s hands
wiping the dust
from the face of the world.
George was a prankster, at least one screw loose
Peed in a bottle, tagged it orange juice
His mom drank it all down
Then she started to frown
Her face turned red, then white ~ then chartreuse
You were my first and truest guide,
With open arms and heart so wide.
A listening ear through sleepless nights,
A steady hand in all my fights.
You taught me love, you taught me grace,
You held me in your warm embrace.
But I, your son, was not always kind—
I lost my way, left truth behind.
I broke your heart with foolish pride,
Got in trouble, chose to hide.
The law came knocking more than once,
And I played the part of the reckless son.
There came a time I wouldn't speak,
We went for months, or maybe weeks.
A silence deep, cold and wide—
The pain we both felt, hard to hide.
But love, it lingers, doesn't fade,
Even in the mess we made.
You never stopped, you never ran,
Still saw the boy behind the man.
And when the time was right, we talked—
On softened ground, together walked.
With tears and hope, we both forgave,
And chose to heal, not dig a grave.
You are my mother, my truest friend,
The one who stayed until the end.
For all the wrong, I made it through,
Because of love—because of you.
Scott W
It was on one early summer morn
that the voice of a watchful Mama Corn
told a frightful story, meant to warn
her son, Pop, just recently born.
"Pop", it said, her darling boy to save,
"Once, in a cornfield, I too would wave.
In the sun and breeze, I was brave,
but you must listen up and behave.
You're a special kind of corn you see,
the 'zea mays everta' variety,
in everyday speech, 'popping corn'.
You should be proud, but I forewarn:
Special dangers lurk for folks like us
You're old enough now, we can discuss.
If, at the door, your darling greets you
for a movie date, she wants to eat you.
All corn loves to dance in the hot sun,
but be careful how you have your fun.
If you go to the beach from dawn to dusk,
please remember to wear your husk."
Instead of listening with respect and fear,
Little Pop would not lend his...ear?
So, while his mother's ghost did beseech,
the sun popped Pop all over the beach.
So what’s your excuse for a blind date?
My boyfriend cheated on me, what’s yours?
Caught my mum in bed with my girlfriend.
Did you say anything?
No, she was on top, so I didn’t want to do anything
Did you tell your Dad
No, my Dad's girlfriend killed him when she found out he was married.
Wow, you don’t have a sister, do you?
I do, but she’s not allowed within ten miles of the house.
Is she a psycho or what?
No, she smashed a chair over Mum's head when she caught her in bed with her boyfriend.
What, your mum was on top again.
I suppose so, it’s not really a picture I want to see.
Do you have a photo of your mum?
Yes, that’s her there.
Wow, I don’t usually have lesbian tendencies, but I’d do your mum.
Yes, a lot of people want to do my mum, I don’t get it.
Can I meet her?
Why the hell would you want to meet her?
I don’t know, can I be your girlfriend?
Is this so you can meet my mum?
Of course not, can I go home with you now?
My god, what is wrong with you, woman?
Can I meet your sister, why don’t we get married?
We’ve only just met.
I know, but I already feel part of the family.
Related Poems
Definition | What is Mother Son in Poetry?