"mums" poems
Christmas is traditions
some last and others die
some leave you feeling fuzzy
others leave you asking "Why?"
There's rules that must be followed
And most of them we know
About gifts and cards and Christmas trees
and then there's mistletoe....
We all know the tradition
We all know what it is
You meet under the berries
And then you both must kiss
But, there's etiquette surrounding
The dreaded mistletoe
And there are things you aren't aware of
And I thought you all should know....
Always kiss your Aunties
Do it quick and on the cheek
Their lips are full of slobber
and sometimes they just reek
Grandmas, get a quick kiss
And ignore the sounds they make
Don't hug Grannies too tightly
They are brittle and might break
Avoid the pervert Uncles
With hands and eyes that roam
They act one way at Christmas
And another way at home
The little kids, won't kiss you
So, it's fun to give them chase
Make sure there's lots of slobber
So, they can wipe it off their face
Make sure kissing Grandad
That he has got his teeth
That they're not somewhere in a glass
or worse, smiling from a wreath
Always kiss your Mum though
Beware, Mums will always cry
and they will get you going too
No matter how hard you try
Kiss the one you came with
Let them know just how you feel
That your love for them's eternal
And your love for them is real
Kissing is tradition
and at Christmas can be great
But, don't kiss all the women
And forget about your date
The most important rule of all
If you don't want your bell rung
When kissing 'neath the mistletoe
DO NOT USE THE TONGUE
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
I battle my identity,
As people try to label me,
My mum tries to show me the right path,
But is this really destiny?
9-5,
Zero hours,
Holiday and sick pay impossible to claim,
Expected to work for 20 hours a day,
Minimum wage,
This society makes me insane,
On the weekends I can I run away to raves,
Take what ever I can to create waves,
Not like the sea, like to much Dizzle,
Party all night society says that's crazy,
But whats crazy is the war on drugs,
Some users just victims,
Can't get enough.
Instead of giving criminal records,
Affirming our behaviour,
Turning us riot, ruckus,
snapping wires,
How about a little support?
After all how bad must life be,
That children as young as 13 turn to drugs to escape?
It's medical,
Some say medicinal,
But when your mums crying,
Her heart dying,
Because her baby boys been lying?
No one wants police at the door,
But it was gunna be the last night you swore.
A new batch, strong stuff, you didn't believe
And now your six foot under
Rotting, deceased.
But maybe this could change?
If the right support was in place,
For all those getting spaced,
People will always seek a fix,
So why not monitor, control and safe proof it.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
“Do you have children?”
“No” I reply.
“Did you not want them?”
What's with the why?
Oh I wanted them alright
But try as I might
Their father never materialised
So neither did they.
Don’t assume my career must have got in the way
Or hypothesize that I’m gay
So proud all you mums of your legacy
Well,
it just didn’t happen for me.
some of you think I’ve missed out on life
And to an extent
I’d agree this is true
But how many of you
Have seen as much of the world as I?
I think with a sigh,
At least I am free
But, yes at times
Incredibly lonely.
So please don’t ask that question as though kids are a given
BECAUSE THEY WEREN’T GIVEN TO ME
By anybody.
And I have to get on with life
Hearing that question
Which cuts like a knife
I'm sorry
It's fine
It just makes me sad
This reminder that I’ll never meet
The children that I never had.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
Stuffed full of toys and ribbons,
Tinsel and baubles,
Santa and his reindeer,
Deliver to all,
Presents for children,
For their mums and their dads,
For Aunts and Uncles,
Nans and Granddads,
There’s perfume and clothing,
Chocolate and sweets,
Santa delivers the nicest of treats.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
Cicadas whine metallically
In trees along the sweltered streets;
Wasps and hornets arc angrily
Enough to cause me fear.
Late summer’s not my favorite time of year.
Flowers nearly done;
The tulips, irises, and poppies
Long since seeded out;
They’ve had their fun.
Bedraggled day lilies remain,
This is the beginning of the mums.
Bees seek latent nectars
Or tap into their golden stores
To supplement their bumbling runs.
Lawns foist a burnt but stubborn edge
While only thistles still refuse
To bow to August's incessant heat;
Their spikes sprout poisonous defiance.
The dog’s left yellowed pools of dying grass;
I admit the neighbors’ lawns surpass.
I suppose the time to gather
Drying excrement’s returned, alas....
Keeping up appearances is hard at summer's end.
Ennui of season full and just past ripe
Leaves tired old men like me
A chiding cause to gripe.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
Weeping Zaire, her Bleeding Flannel blew
Over the Land this Serenity bequeath
What happened, then, to the Children you knew
Took out their Armites; And shot Mercy beneath
Salt from their Riches they greatly export
And infected your Brothers in the Dark
With Mums, Flesh-Spermed Tales of Horror consort
Lost all but their Shelled Samples in the Park
Our Dear Hands sprout! And cry to Heaven's Name
Asking the Saviour when this Madness ends
As the Radio's Red Tape is all just the same,
All just Light-Shows; But very few Amends.
These Congo Apes weep black at the Event
Not just the Brother; But Habitat meant.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Need to clear my head
On the cross-over of insanity
Words and emotions running rampant
Pulling in all possible directions
Scratching at the door
The main personality is under threat
Turmoil created, but clarity is needed
Paper my only solution
Mums ashes disturbs my beauty sleep
My aunt is withholding it from me
Or can’t face the truth
It was just a task to be taken care of
Her front is empathy
When I needed it the most
I saw evil with a smile
Claiming to miss and love her sister
I am her image and legacy thrown with garbage, away
Someday we all will have to give word for our actions
Grandma took a whole year to die
She fought dying to the bitter end
Indeed the end was overly bitter and painful
This happened because she had no peace
To die you need peace and forgiveness
Was a very controlling woman
This was her downfall in the end
The same will be the fate of the last daughters
She was not tough on them
Today they are spoiled women trampling the family children
Their children is paying the price
God works with generations
For me healing begins when I share these words
My family used mum when alive
In death they give her no second thought
I miss her dearly because I was dependent on her still
In the least, the rest can honour her memory
My dreams are coded messages
My maternal grandma didn’t like me much when she was alive
In death she visits me by dreams, angry ****** expression
The dream fills me with negative emotions
Why she visits I do not know
I am afraid to find out, but curiosity is my master
I do miss her, but I do not miss the person she became in her senior years
Mean, isolated and bitter
The matriarch I revered, allowed favouritism to bring divide in her family
This is my in heritage I have to build on
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
The Albatross
Lone de-odorizer of the toilet
Its smooth contour covered in a clear blanket
Wrapped around with cheap plastic,
Adorned with cheap silk, the semi-lucent plastic
Like unwrapping a yema
It smells very sweet. Very, very.
You seldom notice this white bird
In your long hours of comforting, brooding
Hungering for attention beneath the swollen toilet
Asking for unwanted pleasures
The toilet asks "why must I feed?”
The Albatross mums in its silent reprieve.
Still you didn’t notice the wounding
Of your smooth oily toilet
In long comforting hours of sleep;
No, only excretion is wanted here.
The albatross takes away the scourge
The scourge beneath your noses
And still you didn’t notice
The glory in its inexistence
(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 28, 2008)
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
I'm fine.
The lie I say every f**king day.
The lie I say multiple times a day.
I wake up from a sleep that hasn't rested me,
And I lie. I'm fine.
When the woman I love asks if I'm okay, I lie to her.
I'm fine.
When she's breaking down due to her own issues,
I stay stong for her. Tell her it will be okay.
Possibly another lie.
I bury myself in these lies, to make sure everyone else is okay.
I'm fine.
The only reason, the ONLY ******* reason, why I haven't attempted for the 3rd time, is because I am scared of the impact of other people.
I'm fine.
I don't care what happens to me.
I care what will happen to others.
Laurens future. Her own mental health.
My Mums heart. I can't take a son away from my Mother.
My sisters big brother.
My Dads nipper.
My nephews uncle.
I'm fine.
My best friends. I couldn't forgive myself if I made the group smaller by 1.
I'm fine.
It even extends to work.
I can't let others take on the burden of doing the work I should be doing, because I ended it.
I'm not that selfish.
I'm fine.
Its the crippeling debt we're in.
How the f**k can I let the person I love put up with that on her own.
We barely live pay day to pay day.
And how can I do this to a family that hasn't even started.
I'm fine.
I am fine.
This constant feeling of something catastrophic is about to happen.
This invisible ocean I'm drowning in.
This explosion that is happening in my head, that I'm constantly holding back.
The thoughts that flitter in my head so easily.
I'm fine.
I say it with a smile.
I say it with purpose.
I say it with a heavy heart.
I'm fine.
My mouth says I'm fine.
My eyes scream for help.
I've been so good at lying, I've convinced every other communication I have.
My actions.
My words.
My mannerisms.
The jokes I flood into every conversation.
I'm fine.
I try to laugh as much as possible.
It helps convince others I'm fine.
It helps supress.
If I don't laugh, I die.
Or so it feels.
I'm fine.
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 8:58 AM UTC
I can't question how my mum will feel
my dad, my sister,
my brother, my nan
*****
when I go home and tell them the news
that the once gone cancer
is truly back
*****
I can't get out, that look on my mums face
when I tell her it's back
another cancer has been tracked
*****
but why me?
Why terminal?
What's the point of being alive?
*****
I'm only 25,
why I should be here
how long will I survive?
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
Bewitched in the bass
Too much tail ta chase
Say he like tha way i slurp, no straw
Just Raw, Joint-click-lighter-flick
herb's tha word
mums out for the night slammin her beau just like the dough
to my room,
pop a shroom in Cancún
**** the doom of that mother ****** test.
due in a few
This ***** slew molly be on me
Pop an ollie
flip the switch bae
lets ditch this day and ****
like its flowin poetry SLAM
thighs thunder for dat lightning ****
Crocs...
Imma bring that **** back.
We've seized this moment by storm
Now Lets tear the walls down
Rage
Pillage
Prosper
Party
This land is our land
Now let your freedom flag fly
Lets get higher than the sky
And cry cuz nothing tastes like forever
Baby's powder makes the urking voice louder to DO SOMETHING instead of this hollow nothing
I stuff with stories and dress in Lubriderm
Cuz that ***** soft, baked
this cake ain't delicious
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
I remember nothing of my childhood.
I just remember red. I
remember mum crying in my arms when i was 8.
I remember you- not a lot.
I only remember those last moments.
The ***** running down your legs. I remember the knot on the bed but not your face.
I remember becoming the family therapist after that. I remember all the times I had to grow up before I was 10.
I remember what was suppose to be my childhood.
But I never got to have one.
Once our sister was old enough to remember I wanted to save her but now when i look at her and what she does I'm sure I failed her too. But someone who is 10 should not be raising her sister.
She grew up never knowing you.
I grew up even faster after losing you.
It's selfish i know to want you here to take some of the responsibility away from me. So that I don't have to deal with mums stress seizures alone. Or raising our sister. Because if you were here we would have a childhood.
And i could lean on you, just like you could have always leaned on me. I wish you were still alive.
you are the only other person has has gone through loosing her too. But you instead saw what she did as a lesson to learn not something to avoid, I hate you for killing yourself when I needed you the most. I hate you for not ******* talking to me and leaning on me. but we were kids. you never got to grow up. So I did it for both of us and started early.
I can't really remember my childhood.
And could really use the memory of ours right about now.
Even if it never happened.
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC
It's London, all the time,
when at night I close my eyes,
it's when and where I get to roam and dwell,
in the city I know inside-out so well,
where all the narrow streets and cobbled stones,
teacups, pint glasses, and fresh scones,
lend themselves into the misty English air,
of London's ancient, yet so modern flair,
of Piccadilly, and Hyde Park Corner's box,
riding Black Cabs, or a big Red Double-Bus,
evening gas-lamp walks with ol' Saucy Jack,
fish and chips and shandys for a perfect snack;
then the changing of The Guard at Buckingham,
where native Cockney's and young mums with prams,
gather for a view of Lizzy's Royal Family Show;
but, my, how rich the April sun sets and does glow,
over the rolling raging river Thames of yore,
where ancient Roman armies marched to shore,
proclaimed: LONDINIUM! -the regal rest,
of civilised peoples and the Royal Crests,
where lives and deaths would go and come,
yet The City despite all odds has lost and won,
in the hearts, souls and minds of all who take,
great London as their true hearth and home to stake,
and arise and fall the poet's versing nights and days,
whilst Big Ben chimes his toll in the foggy haze;
and alas, London from my slumber dissipates,
to that of which I yearn and love, asleep or wake,
knowing where my home of soul-keep lies divine:
in London, my dear London; it's London, all the time.
______
London:
http://beautyineverything.com/3366195864
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
B-E-N-J-I
Come on you're way outta line
Hey, Hey
Say Hey
Out on the foreshore
Looking for some more Y'all
Come on you *****
Get out on the dance floor
Call for some more Y'all
Take me to the mall
Thinking bout you walking down the hall
For sure
Hey give me that
Picking up that shat
Put it under the mat
Ha...Ha, **** That!
I ain't no gangsta
Just a Prankster
Just wanna thank ya
For listening to my crap ya
Gotcha in the middle bit
Working for a Lil bit
Did ya see that ***
Y'all gotta go
Y'all wanna know
Where do I come from
Where is ma show
Yo Gotta Know
Yeah I Love you to
Playing it single
Looking for some insults
Running from my result
Of being an adult
Just wanna let you know
I think ya mums a ***
Oh, oh **** ya wanna blow
I'll show you where to go
There he is now you know
Ya ******* wanna throw a punch
But I'll eat ya for ma lunch
Come on bring me down
And I'll take you downtown
Oh No what the **** you know
Ya know nothing and that's how it goes
Whoa, whoa!
Back up the chorus
It's not all for us
It's all for one
But I'm not done yall
I ain't no gangsta
Just a Prankster
Just wanna thank ya
For listening to my crap ya
Gotcha in the middle bit
Working for a Lil bit
Did ya see that ***
Y'all gotta go
Y'all wanna know
Where do I come from
Where is ma show
Yo Gotta Know
Yeah I Love you to
They call me Benny
Just got change from a twenty
Y'all know so many
Wanna get me
But now you see
They all wanna leave
Because I ain't all that great
But still, they wait
Another rhyme on my hands
But I can't defend
Every man on this
God Forsaken Land
Show Me Where
I can put ma hands
On ya body
Can't touch me
I ain't no gangsta
Just a Prankster
Just wanna thank ya
For listening to my crap ya
Gotcha in the middle bit
Working for a Lil bit
Did ya see that ***
Y'all gotta go
Y'all wanna know
Where do I come from
Where is ma show
Yo Gotta Know
Yeah I Love you to
One More Time Y'all
One for the money
Two for the show
Three to get ready
And **** you to
I ain't no gangsta
Just a Prankster
Just wanna thank ya
For listening to my crap ya
Gotcha in the middle bit
Working for a Lil bit
Did ya see that ***
Y'all gotta go
Y'all wanna know
Where do I come from
Where is ma show
Yo Gotta Know
Yeah I Love you to
©2017 Written By Benji James
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC
I catch glances
As I walk through town
Daughters
Out with their mums
Who pretend to look off in the arbitrary distance
As I scan them
From top
To toe
And then the glances of their proud mums
Old women who huff
As I have the demeanour
Of a stargazing ******
The odd freak
Who cheers me on with his eyes
Machos, who like to hold the gaze
Which I like to hold right back
Thinking of my father in a coffin
To return a calm, worrying stare
Sometimes a fleeting beauty will appear in a metro window
And both knowing of the ephemerality of our encounter
We **** with our eyes
Before she is whipped off
Down the dark tunnels
I can hold a gaze with almost anyone
People are fascinating
I can hold all these gazes
Until
Some men stare back
And I melt
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
when he said, "this is
my note, after all, thats
what people do, right?
leave a note?" my heart
completely caved
> in. <
when my teacher said
that a lot of people
commit suicide due to
bullying or because they
feel unaccepted,
i raised my hand to
speak up about the
facts.
the true facts.
how more than half of the
homeless teenage population
are gay. they were kicked out
by their mums and dads.
how its not just the
bullying, how its
them too.
they feel so alone and
we always wonder why
there is a new name in
the paper saying,
"Suicide--Age --"
and yet because of
someone being p u s h e d
to far
it made them take
their own life.
i wish i could stop
suicides,
i wish for once
i could be the one who
closed the door on
death.
but im no rolemodel,
i always let death
back in.
but that doesnt mean i
wont help you take
him out.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
Poseidon reared his unkempt head
Above the waves today
An ocean monster dripped in dread
Chest to chest with the bay
“Today, or any day at all!”
The shore-side heard his plea
Salt shucked shoulders tall as islands small
“No being shall ever challenge me!”
One gull omitted a thoughtful word
Which sounded much like “Rak!”
One offended brow raised at what he heard
Poseidon countered with a slap
Five foul fingers touched the sky
And fell upon the sea
A wave as great as mountains high
Sighed upon the beaches knee
With a drunken beat of lazy wing
The gull escaped his perch
Finding another on which to cling
Without a moment’s search
Fists clenched around the shallows
Poseidon was enraged
With urchin riddled lips pursed he bellowed
And blew the beach away
Up went beachgoers along the coast
Into the sandy storm
Sun chapped mums beginning to roast
Castling children, One man named Norm
Gull glided softly on the wind
Providing a flap or two
And to the defeated Poseidon's chagrin
Let out a cantankerous coo
In one last fit of aqueous rage
Posiedon surfaced to land
And in a briny blind rampage
Grabbed the gull with swole hands
Gull in hand Poseidon yelled
“What dare you mean sly poultry?
My kingdom is unparalleled,
All pilgrims seek my choultry”
But the oily gull slipped through his grip
And flew quite far away
And as he watched it dive and dip
He came to see the bay
Debris was strewn across the sand
His subjects were in ruin
Disaster spread across the land
And it was all his doin’
A desperate shade turned Poseidon
As he returned to the great deep
“What use am I as a mighty king
If protection I cannot keep?”
That is how a seagull won
Against The God of Sea
Who forgot about his job, just one,
To keep the big blue world carefree
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 9:17 PM UTC
I.
A louse in a house
or a mouse on a blouse.
A bell that goes ****
or a gong that goes ****
A gap on a map
or a cap on your lap.
A drink in the sink
or an ink that stinks.
A spleen on a screen
or a queen who is green.
A bow in the snow
or a crow that glows.
II.
A wash or a whip,
a lip or a lop,
a top or a tip,
a car or afar,
a bar or a war,
a door or a snore,
a bore or a nail,
a flail or a whale,
a run or a bun,
a sun or a moon,
a spoon or a bus,
a fuss or a sigh,
a cry or a cheer,
a fear or a smile,
a while or a pen,
a den or a cat,
a mat or a hat,
a bat or a glass,
a vase or a weight,
a mate or a fork,
a cork or a mop,
a cop or a stop.
III.
Apples and artichokes, ants and antelopes,
bees and beers, books and brains,
cucumbers and chimneys, ***** and coats,
dogs and drains, dots and dominoes,
ears and eejits, elephants and exams,
flies and flutes, files and friends,
grasses and guts, giants and gyms,
horrors and hiccups, horses and hills,
igloos and irons, irises and idiots,
jumpers and jackets, jodhpurs and jellies,
kings and kettles, kites and kittens,
lions and lamps, lemons and lunches,
mums and monsters, mosses and moths,
noses and notes, nightmares and needles,
oblongs and orang-utans, organs and oranges,
paintings and pennies, ponds and pants,
quiches and quizzes, questions and queues,
rainbows and rings, rascals and rabbits,
snakes and sprouts, sweets and salts,
trumpets and trains, tables and toasters,
umpires and ukuleles, umbrellas and uniforms,
violets and vests, violins and vials,
wheels and wings, windows and weeds,
xylems and x-rays, xylophones and xysters,
yachts and yoghurts, yards and yaks,
zigzags and zephyrs, ziggurats and zombies.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
ANZAC CHUMS AND THEIR MUMS
In Oz the possum grinds on thorn and gum
Far too stretched to visit mum -
Things are hard outback of Bourke
And there’s no time for anything but work.
But Kiwi possums like to visit ma
With flowers for her crystal jar -
They’ll even take a shopping bag of buds
With some greens and beans and spuds.
In Oz the possum is protected
As indeed might be expected -
Beset by fires and drought and prickles
And parched out creeks that slim to trickles.
But Kiwi possums are heaven sent
To slurp and scoff to heart’s content -
When they dine they have the best
And not surprisingly are deemed a pest.
In Oz a treasure - in NZ an imported glitch
There are mixed opinions either side the Ditch –
Mum’s the word on making possums able
To visit home with veggies for the table.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
Shoppin wiv Albert.
I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.
He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
You know you've had a good day when
You're still wearing a whistle and tail
At 8.10 pm.
You've brought grins to the faces
Of mums, little children and seated old men.
You know you've had a good day still
When it isn't the everyday run of the mill
But a street pounding, tub thumping
Banner waving parade on a hill
With the sun streaming down on our painted faces
Far better than any happy pill.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
Ok so there is something called a blue moon coming July 31st this year, which happens to be me mother's 53rd b-day ...so happy soon b-day mum... As gods blue moon shall be a wonderful gift to you... As I just looked at the blue moons pics.. It really does have a blue color to it... Mum will love it... Just thoughts (::::
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Mothers b day blue moon/july31st
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
The mums at nursery like me.
They are reassured by dark rings beneath my eyes,
blue jeans, clean-scrubbed smile, pulled back hair.
A soul more boring and more tired-
Just knowing I exist makes them feel better.
Not today:
Today I’m wearing make-up.
And my shorts are, well, short
which I think is against the rules.
My hair shines like a barley sugar sweet
and my finger nails sparkle
like long forgotten jewels.
Today I dodge dressing-up hats, snotty noses, spilt milk,
play-dough, paint and mud-puddle splats
with practiced precision.
Today, just this once, when I give mums their children back,
I look more together and more stylish than them.
I run home, cross busy roads in record time,
wave to total strangers who want to say hello.
I get the polish off my nails,
scrub my face under the shower,
dry my hair, pull it back,
grab yesterday’s jeans and baggy sweater.
He returns from work and asks:
Did you have a good day?
I think:
*Yes. Yes **** it. Yes I did.*
Do you know-
my eyes are pretty, and I can get into shorts
I wore ten years ago?
Stop traffic - check.
Turn heads - hell yeah!
The roofer down the road nearly fell and broke his neck.
Your wife is, without a doubt, a ********* **** thing.*
So many words, like popping candy on my tongue.
I imagine his reaction.
I shut my mouth.
Danger passes.
But lies won’t come. Mouth’s gone dry.
I swallow back the truth then feel like I’m gonna gag.
Panic rising in my chest on top of bile.
Then:
My day was fine
I say. Just that.
My day was fine
And I am saved.
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 3:08 PM UTC