Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lala 1d
She is the creator; created you with her blood.
She celebrated the hell of pain as your birth.
And her eyes seen your heart first before anyone in this world.
She is your mother❤️.

Her womb became your light for almost a year
And she made you as her own eyes.
The only women loved you before you see this world.
She is your mother❤️.

She welcomed your mistakes with open arms.
Her hair and skin grown older she stood their holding a stick still loving you as the same she took you first in her arms.

Now waiting to see this world through your eyes.
She is your mother ❤️.
Mothers know best, or do they?
We get used to anything these days,
It is all conditioning in these ways,
Why was Pavlov's hair so soft?  I say,
Because he conditioned it! Hey, hey,
Mothers know best, or so they say,
Who is conditioning whom today?
Feedback welcome.
women are more than being
pretty or a lady
more than your sidekick
more than the push behind your back
more than making sure your food is ready
more than the person to hear about your day without asking her how she's doing
women have a mind of their own
women have dreams
women have things to achieve
women are soft
yet inside they are tough as ****
they would save your lives without thinking twice
women are your mothers
your sisters
your daughters
your wives
your ***** calls

women are humans too
and they're worth so much more.
Kellin Sep 11
The lonely child in me will forever search for you in the blue eyes of  strangers that show me an ounce of kindness
Days like these, when she sits there bright eyed
And her constellations whirl in accordance with
Sacred geometry
And the rabbit and horse know their names
Days like these there are breezes in the mountains
Rains in the valleys
And softly, lavender scents the moon

The clarion call wakes dreamers and thieves
The night brings its own lexicon of perhaps
Useless speculation graces our table
Tears fall in disarray again
The cutlery of thought clanging and ringing in discord
Ghosts in the ivory tower
Ghosts in the ivory tower

Days like these, when the hour hands stutter
And she burrows into the sacristy of almost sleep
Angels sing lullabies
The open gates of her world welcome Summer
Days like these there are beaches in the living room
Sandcastle sofas
And tomorrows grow in the sunshine

The clarion call wakes dreamers and thieves
Stealing her away, stealing her away
Prayers and bargainings rise and fall
Sepia photographs frame us
Moments of pleasure and joy pause for remembrance
Then all fall down
Then all fall down

Days like these when fate has no excuse or alibi
Love is sole mercy...
Days like these
Fade too soon
For my mother...we are facing her Alzheimer’s together, everyday
Steve Page Sep 2
I don't think she'll hear you.
- I'll give it a try.
I don't think she's listening.
- I'll try it again.

I don't think she's worried
about the high tide
and I don't think she cares
about the late time.
She'll return when she's ready,
let her drift while she can.
Just give mum this moment
of peace on the Seine.
Have a look at this painting and read this again.
Francie Lynch Aug 23
I never knew him to do wrong.
He left me here last Saturday week;
I never saw him again.
A terrible shock.
God was cruel to me.
Words cannot express... my heart is torn.
I have the others.
God spare them to me.
He was the loveliest of all.

My heart breaks day in and day out;
I am just now living for when...

He took a pain,
In the head;
He went to the hospital.
We don't know
What happened -
They didn't,
Until they got the blood test back,
From Dublin.

The next day the baby was born.
At twelve o'clock  there was a crowd,
Neighbours waiting on the news.

They did all in their power.

He was dying.
Words that will ring in my ears...

It was the saddest... most respected
The teachers and children formed
A Guard;
A hundred met him at the Creamery Cross;
Carried the little coffin up the steps
And into the chapel.
Six school pals carried him,
From the chapel,
And left him to rest.

He'll never go off this earth
Without first coming to see me
(Mary, at two o'clock in the morning he came up the hall,
And rapped on the room door
I do hope and pray
I'm not keeping him
From Heaven.

I wanted to write you to give you a surprise...
It was little thought it would be this sad news.

The baby... is the image of him.

My heart is torn.
I  could be washed in tears.
This is called *Found Poetry*.  I came across a letter my mother wrote in 1953, just days after the death of her first born son, Michael. My brother, Gerald, was born at the same time, so my mother never saw her son alive again. I hope I did justice to her grief and anguish.
Kayla Aug 22
She was only 6 years old
When her mother caved to a substance
So bittersweet
That it
Peter B Aug 21
Flowers can speak
and beautiful is their language,
their voice.
You can hear their whispering,
when silence falls.

But when they wither and die,
they scream
louder than mothers of the children,
taken away from them
to be killed.
Donna Aug 10
Fears worries and tears
Pushed aside to remain strong
A mother’s burden
My son Conner had a terrible allergic reaction his been in and out of hospital all week and even been prescribed a eipen , doctors think he may have caught a viral or bacterial infection on our family hoilday in Tenerife , his own immune system was attacking itself  , Thankfully his home now and slowly on the mend , we just waiting for appointment to get a allergy test done x I love my children so much and will continue to always be there for them and will forever remain strong and positive no matter my own fears and pain x poetry helps to shift a little x
Next page