Motherhood Poems

The silence of black innocence

What should be an atmosphere of excitement 
Becomes something more deadly - more violent 
A child's first sound should be heard
Instead silence echoes

Even before life began 
A black baby understands
That in order to survive the world outside 
Their cries should be kept on the inside

How painfully sad 
That before it's existence 
It inherited generational silence

The Dragon Weeping in her Bones

They say happiness is a flame,
brief as a match struck in rain.
I held it once—
a home, two sons,
a husband who smiled like promise.

Until his arms curled elsewhere.
Until his mouth tasted betrayal.
Until I learned beauty
was something I could not hold
no matter how tightly I bled.

The dragon woke in me that night.
Not scaled, not winged,
but clawed in

The Ones Not Forgotten

So many names on the page today, so many more gone— vanished into silence.

Does the world still care? I know they do.

I hope they do.

Children stolen, ripped from the arms that once held lullabies.

Teens slipping through dusk, running from homes that never saw them, or saw too much.

The ones who cared are left holding echoes.

Dear Mother

For Dwina, in celebration of Talia's
graduation from high school.

Dear mother, warm around me--
tender home for just this while;
so close together, you and I
I feel good when you smile.

Dear mother, here you've brought me
to this world so vast and bright;
oh, hold me close, protect me
and we'll rest here, for the night.

Dear mother, I'm so hungry--
right away,

Desert Rose

If I ever had a daughter like me,
I’d call her
my little desert rose
so she knows I’ve lived it too—
a brittle-stemmed rose
blooming through sandstorms.

Were I to have a daughter—
someone soft like me...
I’d tell her I’m sorry.
Not for bringing her into a world
where cruelty exists—
but for letting her live in it
when her petals part
before her thorns remember

Motherhood

When a slap brings joy
A voice cries out 
Newborn girl, boy
Angels in Heaven shout

A voice cries out
Happy tears flow
Angels in Heaven shout 
Trumpets in Glory blow

Happy tears flow 
Breast milk fed
Trumpets in Glory blow 
Gentle strokes to the head 

Breast milk fed
Forever to enjoy 
Gentle strokes to the head
When a slap brings joy

Duality of Motherhood

Shifting crown of thorns and a crown with the finest gold,
for the most challenging but most rewarding title  
set on woman’s head: All Humans’ Most Honorable Role.

With grandiose bouquet of roses so fresh
yet, frequently withers;
But once her tears flow down her eyes,
her molding hands firmly flail
and her dreams flow lovingly 
at fertile lands for

What She Gave and Took

She taught me to pray
with hands that bruised the bread
and sometimes, me.

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon,
but the corners were quiet with grief.
I was loved--loudly, then not at all.

Her laugh could warm
a whole December,
but silence followed when I needed June.

She carried me like gospel,
until I questioned her scripture.
Then, I became her quiet sin.

Still--
I make her biscuits

High-Profile Job --- Motherhood

Being a mother is easily, the toughest job in the world -
Although it oscillates from "delightful", to "exhausting" to "thankless",
It is at most times, a demanding and overwhelming one.

Motherhood's main requirements are patience and love
Along with the ability to teach, discern, protect and nurture.
 
It needs a lot of resolve, to look into those pleading,

Picture this

Picture this
You're eight years old, in your bedroom,
playing with your favorite stuffed animals.
But not far from your door, the sounds of raised voices echo-voices that do not sound happy.
You shift your focus back to your toys:
Three different teddy bears.
One is the daddy, one is the mommy, and one is the daughter.
You make the bears do

Giving Up Their Motherhood

If mothers didn't bear children,
laughter would turn into monotony:
can we imagine mankind's misery?
No infant would cry when they are hungry,
no noisy kids screaming and having fun!

Wouldn't God be mad at us,
calling us evil, selfish beings?
Wouldn't empty cribs not be rocked
while a sweet lullaby is not whispered?

A mother's duty is to bear healthy children,
God gave his

Three Generations Of Motherhood

three generations of mothers created a fourth-
    mine, my children's, my grandchildren's
         between the late fifties and April this year
    I have welcomed thirteen births- my three
five grandchildren, five great-grandchildren 

generations unfold in ways of the times
    as

Oenomel

a practiced smile on her face 
a mother’s  oenomel breath puffs  wind under gossamer wings
reminiscent of the translucent wings of green lacewings—
mistaken for a pest, but beneficial—
to strike out and explore a thorny world
resisting  the siren call of spring’s scent
turning their heads with songs of love

emerging personalities 
unravel the cocoon spun in

Motherhood

Smile, Care, Love unconditional,
sacrifice
Mother, so should be

Smiling, Caring, loving, sacrificing,
bearing it all
Mother, so she was

Burdened, ridiculed, caught up 
in tangles,
Struggling to find a way out
Mother v/s I

Thinking, questioning, fighting, 
making her way
Mother in pursuit
Father, brother, sister, mother all can
mother
Mother is not alone
Mother is not just she
Mother is duty, a ritual, a celebration
to share

Lineage

I sit here with guilt and recent understanding.
I didn’t know what I didn’t know.
I sit here with remorse, and now I’m rebranding.
Because to live is to learn and to learn is it grow.

It is like I stepped in your shoes when I became a mother.
You were doing your best, one foot in front of the

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