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Leia Spencer Jan 30
I bought a bouquet a week before Mothers Day
So when the fateful day came
They were crisp
A beautiful bow
Wrapped around something
Once living vividly with beauty
How else would she be able to enjoy it?
This is for my mom, who died far too soon
Adam Prime Jan 29
Up at o'four thirty
And down to bed at twenty-two
A mother's lad he is,
And a mother's lad he was.

The trumpet's sound is the call of day
And the call of the trumpet ends the day,
But not the same.
A mother's lad he is,
And a mother's lad he was.

The sounds of boots in perfect sync,
Is interrupted in a blink.
A mother's lad he is,
And a mother's lad he was.

A battle rages between the groups,
But defeat is near to the troops.
A mother's lad he is,
And a mother's lad he was.

Men and boys cry alike,
As no help from allies is in sight.
A mother's lad he is,
And a mother's lad he was.

War as it seem is not lifelike,
Instead it causes death and fights.
A mother's lad he is,
And a mother's lad he was.

Up at o'four thirty
And down to bed at twenty-two
This is a tale of a mother's lad,
A mother's lad he was.
Irina BBota Jan 27
Who in this world is the dearest without a crown,
and takes great care of us when we're ill?
Her gentle glance calms our demons down
and in tough moments encourages our will.

Who has the blond hair of late and gray autumn
to whom we owe thousands of poems of affection?
She has the bluest eyes, that never will be forgotten,
teaches us how to always win and perfection.

Who is the joy that surrounds us every time we blink?
Teaching us the love for books, country, and nation,
she tells us that the stars know everything we think,
she helps us to fulfill our dreams, without hesitation.

Who has the mouth like a rosebud in bloom?
For she was hurt so many times in her struggle,
she comforts our anger, our anxiety with her perfume,
even if her life is continuous adrenaline and trouble.

Who has the smile like after the hot summer rain,
even if this creature is wearing the eternal burden
to be the teacher of our lives, over and over again,
although she's overseas, of her love we're certain.

Who's the psychologist in our moments of dilemma?
There is no time for herself, not even for a short break,
with tears in her eyes, never complaining, she's a chimera,
she gathers all the concerns that worry her, all the ache.

Who loves us unconditionally, no matter what?
We are her frisky angels day by day, we are her shade,
we capture her eyes swollen by crying, but
her soul is agitated, strong, and she's never afraid.

Who is the strongest, but for herself, never?
The pressure is always colouring her thoughts.
She follows her own imperfect destiny, however
she's the architect of love, not for profit, but for loss.

Who wouldn't want to radiate of quiet and peace?
She does not. She does everything in her own way.
She's the picture of endless love that will never cease,
answering to our millions of questions every single day.

Who is the sea nourished with tears of longing? I admit.
When we think of her, we get hot chills, I can tell.
We love her, for we don't know the way not to do it,
without her, we would be voiceless in our own shell.
Johnny walker Jan 23
I'm so lucky to have a home video of my Wedding to Helen can watch whenever I
Helen had this Incredible
**** voice and a very naughty but nice
I'm happy through the Wedding video I can hear
that Incredible voice and can see her laughing and joking
Something photos can't do
but to be able to see her organising taking control
everybody would say she was like their own
I used to call her mother of all mothers such a good heart she had help anyone
so much was her
So I am a lucky man to known and loved such a
beautiful kind lady to whom I shared twenty wonderful
Such a lucky man I was to have known and loved such a beautiful kind hearted lady for twenty years
elle Jan 18
through the slit of her mouth
where dandelions smiled
begging to be
uprooted, undone
in a cosmic sigh across this endless leaf, the Wind she
turned her back to us
what felt like a yawn across a fatal gorge
and down below, the tremble of her core
lifting up our dreams in outstretched fists
of flower dust, from a time before
close our eyes in unison
breathe out
the tune   of our birth,
which our mothers' hummed in their sleep, our being
only imagined
in their unfathomed dreams
Deb Jones Jan 4
This is my heartache
To bear witness, to listen
As one of my adult sons
Cries from a heartbreak
Only to me will they cry
As I make soothing noises
Day is long here at the start of the year
Summer birds are all in love with their lives
The flowers call to us as they swoon in the heat of the sun
Colours swirling in the ether
While thoughts pool in your faraway eyes
Tell me, before the cotton clouds gather
And the clear light of your thought is smothered
Tell me the colour of your memories
Paint the air around us with any yesterday
Plant the seeds of your dreams in the garden where poetry is born
Embroider the quilts with every birthday, lavishly
Thread that one year into the tapestry cushions
Weave my grandmother’s smile into a lullaby
Sing it to me now, like the songs you taught me when I was a child
And l promise I’ll find a listening smile
There are Sundays to be made into lace curtains
Friday afternoons to entwine with the sage and thyme
Before its gone into the fog please, tell me the colour
Of the day you first saw his eyes
Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid
I am strong enough to carry any shadow
I’m here, right by your side
Tell me, while the wind is gentle and the scent of life is still bright...
Was it raining, was the sky tumbling into the sea
The day she went over the bridge
Leaving just you and me...
Please tell me and sew it extravagantly
Whisper if you need to...use the tiniest stitches
Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid
Gather every morning and cast them all into the river
Wash them clean then bring them home
We can put them in our rooms, in places of honour
Decorate the world with your life
We are inside a castle of mirrors and tea sets
I’ll pour you a cup and stir in my childhood laughter
You can carry it with you, always...
Read my tea leaves and l’ll nurse those wishes that might never be
Those unclaimed parcels of you and me
Dont be afraid, l love you
Take all my prayers and wrap yourself tight
Safe safe you’ll sleep through the night
Take my hand, mama, the day is still young and you are not yet undone
We can sit outside and watch the remains of the light
While the world listens and gathers
With a mind beyond time
The world and, holiding tight
Remembering all your memories for you
Naoki B Dec 2018
I called her righteous
Bold she fought for justice
And her mind always
Thinking what was right for us
From stormy nights and bright days
A person who loved all who came
Mother served God, in every way
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
Thank you mom for
Telling me that I am beautiful
When I feel like
An **** mutt.

Thank you mom for
Saying I have a beautiful mind
When I am
Feeling like dummy

Thank you mom for
Reminding me
If the one important
Things of Buddhism....
Be yourself.
Blake Dec 2018
For he with the blonde curls,
Who set you from stone to glass,
For he with greyness and age,
Who set you from virtue to ****,
And for the fathers who warned,
Who set you in a statue of shame,
With his constant looks of disbelieving.

For she with the stars of freckles,
Who set you from glass to shards,
For she with the condensation of coldness,
Who set you on route to loneliness,
And for the mothers who neglected,
Who set you with no comfort,
With no help after the males visited.

For the creaks of floorboards,
Threatening unholy arrival,
For the thousands of bed squeaks,
Helping by gifting distraction,
For the hotel clerks gentle knowing smiles,
As the ***** within my mind soften,
For the cheeks I can force upwards,
For the sacred of tears that disappeared with new numbness,
For the child within me who had such urgency to grow up,
And for me...for me.
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