solfang 7d
mothers might know best,
but they are not always right.
Her advice might be what's best for others, but it's not always right for me.
----
I grow up listening to my mother's advice.
Before college, I am not allowed to have my own thoughts.
--

I changed my job recently, and honestly speaking, I am not too happy about it.
Called my mum, and she stated some obvious facts.
But I feel like she isn't even trying to be in my shoes.

--
Sharkey Poems Jun 28
When I was six or there about
My father
Strolled out
Smugly from our family
He took all the money,
And left his four children
And wife to pay his debts.
It was the 70s scene
When wives married for
Twenty years, raising kids
And had little value to create the career scene.


If you google the 1970s years
You may read or  listen
And hear of
The Feminization or Poverty.
To me women today still have so much to learn.  The world doesn’t care
If you are not pretty and fair.

Yeah the Me Decade that portrays
Young women without bras
And holding their fists in the air
Yeah, I didn’t know any of those.


I knew my Mom.
Married in 1954
She believed that old wives stories
Men told.
She paid the dues for my father
To be schooled.
As we prospered
He disappeared.
As did our home
The repo man
Became well known

When my family was clean
And the world was the scent of citrus, and sea air- my mom gave me a present of some coins
Her father had given my mom as a girl.
To her; she was giving me a piece of her girlhood world.
I would play with each coin.
Study the back and front
Notate the year
And ask who what happened that year?
I would stack the coins and flick them down. Then stack again.
My prized silver was kept in a
Cherry red teeny drawstring purse.
At 4 or 5 - whatever age I was
I felt so grown up with coins
Of my own.

Well the years went on
And my father blew town
Like I wrote above.
My mom had four kids to feed
And there was so much need.
Note: we always had fun
In some odd poverty way
You learn how a burger becomes a
Feast and how
Duct tape is always the best fix.

So the day came when my silver had to be pawned.
By this time, nothing phased me about societies lies.
I knew the day had to come- it was money after all.

Mom asked for the coins.
We each got
In that old rambler with no heat
And to the pawn shop we drove
down the street.

I remember being numb.
It was just part of life now
People taking anything of
Value for less pay.
“Of course I’m ok”
“You’ve not said a word.”
My mother replied.
“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m ok.”
I lied.
She had me wait in the running car with no heat.
I was silent.
Concentrating to see if I made fist
Hard enough, my nails could break the skin of my Palm.
I could and saw my own blood. I did.

Mom opened the car door
I hid my hand
I had cut.
I said not a word.

My mom with as much pride as she could muster said
“I am sorry. I have nothing to give to replace those coins.”
I wished she wouldn’t speak.
I just wanted to go home
And read some book.

“Mom, it is fine”
I lied.

When we got home.
I went into my room
And picked up some book.
A knock at my door and Mom came in.
She had a black clay doll that she loved.  It was some artist in Bordentown, NJ
Mom was amazed how the artist
Made such a work of art from just clay.
“Look at his arms and legs are jointed. Looked at his old clothes with
Patches and a safety pin
To keep his shirt in.
This is my favorite piece I own.
Now it is your doll.
To replace your coins.”

I could not take it.
My mother had lost so much
Then my heart broke even more
Cause my mother was just helping us eat. Honestly, I didn’t care about the coins.
I hated the pawn shop.
I hated the stories of treasures of others being undersold.
I hated my father who made my mother walk into that store.
No. I did not want her doll.
But I couldn’t articulate
That feeling is sorrow
The pity I felt for her,
Not me.

But she loved the Black Doll.
So I said thank you so much.
I see what you say how the artist made such beauty from brown clay.”

So my mom said the day will come and you will take the Black doll to a home of your own.

“Sure” that would be centuries away.
Decades passed
We all survived and thrived.

Then the day came.
The Black Doll lives now in
My home.

My heart is now worn and torn
Because the person who loved me most is no longer here
To guide me when I am lost.
So I hold her Black Doll and
Wonder how my mother
Saw such beauty in my
Pitiful soul.
Terry Collett Jun 27
Sonia watched her parents
drive off in the car.

They never waved,
nor did she,
just watched them go
out of sight
to some dinner dance
for Polish veterans.

An evening to herself.

Benny couldn't come:
he was going to an opera
in London with his mum.

She went to her parents' room,
opened drawers,
scanned through
the wardrobe.

She selected a few
of her mother's dresses
and laid them
on the bed.

She liked the red one
without sleeves.

She took off her jeans
and blouse and tried
on the red dress.

It seemed
to fit her well.

She hadn't seen
her mother wear it.

Her mother must
have been slimmer then.

It zipped up
at the back.

She zipped it up
and did a twirl.

It made her look
like some actress.

She smoothed it down
with her palms.

Put her hands
on her hips.
Wiggled her hips.

She wished Benny
was there.

An evening
without Him.

She took off
the red dress
and put it back
in the wardrobe
with other dresses.
Just as it was.

She closed the door.
She put on her jeans
and blouse
and went to her own room.

She imagined Benny
was there with her.

She undressed slowly,
pretending Benny
was removing
her jeans and blouse.

She lay on her bed
and hugged her pillow,
pretending it was him,
kissing him slow
and long.

But it wasn't the same,
something was wrong.
Abdul Musa Jun 26
Son
Son, your mother, your mother, your mother.

Son, never succumb to comforts
Lest you forget the less of.

Son, honesty is what makes men
And karma is kind to an honest man.

Son, true wealth is in giving
Charity is not an expense.

Son, your mother, your mother, your mother.

Heaven is under her feet.
A letter to my sons
Emily Jun 26
My grandmother had the face of a duck
My mother has the body of a duck
And I am happy like a duck
Tyler Matthew Jun 23
Babe, you know I'd love to go and
meet your mother,
but I've been hearing that she
kicks like a mule.
Maybe I should just go
undercover
so I don't seem like such a fool.
David Boff Jun 18
She was a homemaker
a trained Baker
four kids
and a dog named Jude
she dreamed big
of something new.

Always a smile
no matter the weather
willing to go that extra mile
to try and keep it together
but no amount
of gritted teeth
could ever surmount
to what laid beneath.

All the big ideas
and grand ambitions
stifled by fears
and inhibitions
but now was her time
to break the mould
makeover her mind  
and never fold.
To mothers, never give up on your dreams.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 7
"May her breasts satisfy you."


Breasts were made to feed the
seed that grows in a woman's
womb, born between a couple's
love.

                                                                     When the seed has finally
                                                                      sprouted, they drink the
                                                                      milk of the mother to help
                                                                      their growth.

The beauty of a woman is to carry life
The beauty of sex is to make new life
The beauty of breasts is to strengthen
that life

                                                                          Not for your filthy mind.
                                                                         Why would you hate on a
                                                                          mother strengthening her
                                                                          child?
                
A life that a man helps to create.

                                Must everything be sexualized?
First off, thank you everyone for liking my poem, They May But They Won't.
I saw it was trending and I was so excited! I literally jumped from having 65 followers to 75! That was crazy! I'm super grateful for the comments and the support! I'm becoming more confident in my skills as a poet, knowing there are such wonderfully supportive people on HelloPoetry! You guys are awesome!

Secondly, this poem is dedicated to an incident I witnessed today. Some teenage boys were mocking a mother for breastfeeding her child. I was so angry but several women and men stood up for her, and the boys were kicked out! I approached the woman and we had a brief conversation about it. I don't get why people hate on such a natural thing. That's what women's breasts are for! You can give a baby formula but nothing beats breast milk! The boys attitude towards it was absolutely disgusting! So breasts are only used to attract and can only be playthings now? Anyone who has that mentality seriously needs to grow up!

I'm a young person with an old-soul. Fitting! ^.^
So, this poem is dedicated to all mothers everywhere, specifically breastfeeding mothers. I know how much of a strain breastfeeding can be (I'm 22 and my mother never lets me live it down loool) but still, people shouldn't be hating on this natural act, just like sex. Sex is a beautiful act but in this day and age...you know, I'm not gonna get into this now! Maybe later.

Thank you everyone, really!
I'm super grateful.
Be back soon!
Lyn xxx
Kind,gentle,humble,my dear daughter,
To me you are my carnation flowers.
Which sprang from Virgin Mary's
tears,
For Jesus's plight of carrying the Cross. (Christian Legend).
Pious,a fairy, an angel,
Sent from the heavens up above,
The flowers of God.
Affectionate, motherly,loveable,
White and pink carnations,
Mother's Day flowers.
Strong, active and wise,
Long lasting after being cut,
Carnation blooms.
A treasure I cherish,
A perfect piece of my heart.
For my daughter whom I miss
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