Health Mother Son Poems

The mother loved him before she met him. 
On days when her love posed a threat 
She gambled with her health 
And cradled him against...

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It's always Aldi on a Sunday afternoon.  You're always waiting with your shopping bags in hand, slowly trudging along with your walking stick. ...

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We’re worried about your son.
He’s missing too much school.
If his attendance drops below 90%,
It will break all our rules.

I can’t go to school today, Mum.
My...

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A mother lulls her son to peace
to loose his fist
and calm his arm
and sleep his chest

To make lion of his throat
turn roar his nose
and bow...

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My favored Muse
mysteriously asks
muted
kinda sexist
win/lose 
either/or 
complex bilateral questions.

Oppositional
defiant
nearly despairing quests
exploring why I have yet to find
Faith
Hope
or delightful Joy
as names for a boy

Who might be...

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This moving poem is inspired by a friend whose mum is struggling with MS. It's a terrible disease that affects the whole family. May we...

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Walking across the grass, tall, unopposed, well dressed as always.

I say to my brother, must we talk?
He nods.
I hug and kiss his cheek.
He appears a...

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Join us in our blissful meandering spree
Circling around our yard, leisurely free
My special child and I --- bonding with glee
Expressing partnership of “Mom and me.”

Guiding...

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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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She associated awe with unvoiced age.

Her son often enthused
about awesome tech-paced change,
empowering opportunity,
but, for her,
youth is an age for voicing wonder
as elders remember awesome quiet...

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Harriet Harris, née Kuritsky gave up the ghost ~ May 4th, 2004

Often these days
the following genuine sentiment
Matthew Scott Harris
doth wish to share one son,
cuz fifteen...

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Just as I seem to have a great deal
to eco-healing say
in favor of positive energy democracy,

I long to hear much more
ego-healing positive win/win communication
highly regarding...

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My first great faith journey
involved exiting EarthMother's nighttime womb,
without even a first language
except what RightBrain inherited
from noticing emotive taste and feel
and healthy/pathological touch
memories prehistorically Win/Win
and...

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My mother-in-law
drinks her morning gin
out of a pint-size Mason jar,
and self-righteously prides herself
for not wasting water by adding any in
and for not pouring or drinking
before...

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This aggrieved papa
of two progeny, (female)
holed himself in a
rigorously fortified fail
safe impregnable invisible monastery
barely room enough to exhale

decades before their conception,
when I hapt tubby
more hearty...

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