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She’s the one we could rely on
when things were sorely scarce,
to always find a way to get by
when it went from bad to worse.

She’s the one true matriarch,
the gel at the center of all,
never too far away from us;
never more than a call.

Sacrificing all she had,
for us, her flesh and blood,
always standing second place
to the family’s common good.

She’s the one who bore the pain
and then kept us safe and warm,
to make it through the cold and rain,
protecting us from harm.

She held our hands so tightly
through all the scary times;
our first days at nursery school,
stood in terrified lines.

And at the end of every day
when we'd really had enough,
she'd be stood at the door waiting
with a heart so full of love.

...

When illness struck
me down so hard;
laid up and oh, so low,

I had the comfort
of knowing she
would never let me go.

Yet on that long
and lonely night
so many years ago,

when deaths dark door
stood slightly ajar,
beckoning me to go,

my overriding memory;
much more than
my own fears,

was the lost and mournful sound
of her beseeching,
terrified tears.

...

As we go about our daily lives,
through times so thick and thin,
through pure and innocent laughter
and such pain from deep within.

From days of sunshine and flowers,
to wind and driving snow,
there is one thing sure and for certain;
one thing that we always know.

She is the bedrock of our lives
and the one above all others,
the one we can always turn to;
she’s our sweet and loving Mother.



Written by Darren Scanlon, May 2013.
Revised 4th August 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
 Aug 2015 nesrine ben
Danae Rae
Summer is fading
Hot days are ending
Ice is coming and I am not ready.
T**ime flies by all to quickly
I [cry] because the "pain" needs to "rain"
So I have to let my [eyes] "drain"
But no umbrella to stop the rain from "falling"
An flood of dam of tears is "drawed" in
I cry because I need to let the "pain" free
Cause the pain "contames" me
Only I can wipe the tears "away"

So every time I cry it's an storm in my heart an my eyes let's you know it's a rainy "day"
Inside my soul,spirit, heart
My mind an it's thoughts
So we were meant to "cry"
I wonder why????
Because in this life we will feel "pain"
 Jul 2015 nesrine ben
D W
Inspiration hath spoken to me, in my loner nights dreamless nights of woe,
"thou shalt write this, take it as thine next poem, the next about her in row!
Thou shalt take it easy, her sublime beauty, thy cause of awe".
Make it thus as a masterpiece of beauty, a reflection of her countenance for which my wicked desires bow.

Her eyes begged me, her lips thrived me, that smile made it all come slow,
To a pen and a piece of paper here I am to share and show,
How deemed my soul is with affection and inspiration she overthrew,
Whelming my feelings, as another string, many strings tied to her bow.*


© copy right protected
 Jul 2015 nesrine ben
D W
Goldfinch
 Jul 2015 nesrine ben
D W
I sat there, alone.
I sat there alone, for hours.
I sat there alone, for long days and nights.
I sat there alone, for months depressed and sour.
My Goldfinch, in a clumsy state of being,
In the same corner, she got sick of seeing, the same walls around her, the same walls around me.

I took a moment in that inspiring hour.
I wondered what made her so sick of a life of a coward.

I wondered what if,
I wondered what if I had her wings,
I wondered what if she had what I had, being free.
I thought of how things would have been,
Of her soaring, wandering in places I've never seen.
I took her to the roof in a rush, opened the cage, and sat her for once free!
She spread her wings, in a joyful spirit, free.
Time froze that iternal moment of hope, of her to fly with my dreams far, further than I could ever reach.

She flew, shaked her wings. For once, twice then thrice.

To the ground, she fell, unable to fly.
It is too late, that cage got the best of her. Those four walls got the best of me.

Free,

We will never be.

© copy right protected
 Apr 2015 nesrine ben
Mike Hauser
i've got your picture
sitting on an empty shelf
it's been there for years
all by itself
i might  dust it off
every now and then
wiping at the memories
of the days when

i've got your picture
that sits by my bed
last thing i see at night
as i lay down my head
you'd think i'd dream of you
more often than i do
with all that i have left
being my dreams of you

i've got your picture
inside of my billfold
so when i'm out and about
i still have you to hold
it's a bit torn and tattered
much like my life
still i've got your picture
to remember you by
For every heart broken, a story is gained,
Every hypothetical forever I entertained,
Now merely an anecdote
Of how I used to dote
And I wrote, and I wrote
And I'm so sorry that all you are now
Is just another story I tell
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