This is our 'Send A Poem' page. Write a poem or send one you've already written. Send to me at LaraOct7@aol.com)
Mother I wonder
Do you see us down here
The ones you held dear
Do you garden
In heaven up above
As you once did on earth
A garden of love
Mother do you see
The sweet little girl who
Is so special to me
Do you see Papa
Who misses you ever so
Do you see the birds
Flitting to and fro
Mother are you with
My uncles and aunts too
The ones who went first
In preparation for you
Mother we are doing
Just fine as you can see
As you prepared us to do
brothers, Sis, and me
ALL BOXED UP
Here I sit, going through, sorting out, keeping
and throwing away
things from a life that is past, memories of another day
So many pictures, old bills marked "paid", diary entries
from years ago
that mean nothing to no one anymore, but they did to her, I know.
Letters in bunches, tied up in blue ribbon like soft satin locks
Placed with loving hands and heart inside an old candy box
The tears freely flow as I run my fingers over a poem she wrote,
see the intricate work of the doilies she crocheted, and a note
written in her hand, telling how to make this beautiful
piece of lace
with its lovely design, to be used on the table, under a vase.
The time has come now to put away these treasures
to be gone thru on a rainy day, to savor again the pleasures.
Things of my mother's, all boxed up, that time cannot destroy.
But, for now, there are the memories I can take out and enjoy
susi Taylor (Texaswishr@aol.com)
A little bit of heaven
Held in mother's arms
And then a little toddler
Full of winning charms
A little bit of trouble
When going off to school
We knew she was a winner
We're nobody's fool
A little bit of heartache
When she left her mother's nest
She had to break the ties
Knew it was for the best
Now it's time to gather 'round
To pay our homage to
The mother who is remembering
The stages you went through
We honor moms this day in May
And come together in one accord
To thank the One who made it so
Thanksgiving to our Lord
She was tiny, petite,
A true Southern Belle
But her eyes held peril,
I was afraid, you can tell.
Her look could freeze,
As no iceberg bed,
She could make me quake
And wish to be dead.
She could make anything beautiful
With her delicate hands
From carving wood roses,
To gardening the land.
On a pedestal she was placed,
By her husband who loved her,
"Like your mother, you must be"
I tried, Lord knows I adored her.
She was sweet and giving
She was a cold hell-cat,
She was an loving angel,
And because and in spite of that,
I miss her always now
And if there were anyway somehow
I could bring her back for just a while,
We would hug and cry and forgive and smile.
Mither, dear Mither speak to me,
tell me about how it used to be.
Tell me about when you were a child,
tell me about the buggy rides.
Mither, dear Mither, speak to me,
tell me about the flowers on the hill,
and your trysts with dad down at the mill,
are they how I did come to be?
Mither, dear Mither, sing me a song,
Let me hear your sweet soprano,
a Celtic ditty, or a Germanic one,
oh please just sing to me.
Mither, dear Mither, tell me please,
about how it was, when you were three,
about the rock walls, and shamrock too,
tell me about your childhood.
Mither, dear Mither I too must go,
for my eyes too grow dim,
things are fading, but Mither dear,
I do so love you, and thanks for the cheer.
Watch these pages for more 'Send A Poem' features.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.
A Ghost Story
A Quiet Spider
A Snow-Covered April
Flowers Tell A Story
The Red Hat Ladies
And.......for many others, click the index image.
Graphics by Marilyn