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Poetry about mothering

post #1 of 71
Thread Starter 
Post your poetry about mothering here...it can be dark, or full of light. Heartwrenching, or ecstatic. Short or looong. Prose or rhyme...anything.
post #2 of 71
nice to have a space to do this! I'll see what I can do. curious what others write too!!!
post #3 of 71
Thread Starter 
I have a really sad one, hopefully i'll find time to post it later today. My son is a deep source of inspiration for me with all of his turmoil (early onset bipolar) you can't even imagine, hopefully i can shed some light on the phenomenom through my poetry...
post #4 of 71
Thread Starter 

Mirror Broken on the Floor

Winding up, he talks fast,
panicking about the next day.
Blonde hair covering his eyes,
spinning in his own stratosphere.

The nightmares feel real,
wild eyed, morphing into a fiend.
Wide eyed innocence, out of control,
objects hurled across the room.

The nightmares feel real,
they come in the form of threats.
Imagined blood oozing from the knife,
embedded in mothers chest.

The nightmares feel real,
doors slam hard enough to crack plaster.
Obscenities shrieked,
following the trail of threatened blood.

The nightmares feel real,
they come in the form of abuse.
Sister, hiding in the corner,
as he shouts her into submission.

The nightmares feel real,
rolling in the form of waves.
Ten years old, dreaming his death,
hating the body he came with.

The nightmares feel real,
fading in the soft shape of whispers.
Gently calming, talking him down,
the mirror broken on the floor.

by BelovedK

Author's Comments:
"Life has been difficult, poetry helps me to pinpoint the moments, the feelings, the realities. I don't know what i would do if i didn't have a creative outlet. Thanks for reading this poem."

I am open for any kind of feedback
post #5 of 71
BelovedK, Good poem.

I seem to recall you had written one earlier in this forum about your son and you... I think after an argument or something. I know they were different subjects, but for some reason that poem came to mind when I read this. This poem comes across to me as the better poem. I like the repeat of the first line. That is a good choice with the subject matter. The repeat of that drives home the point.

I have an inlaw with bipolar... a pretty severe case. It's difficult.
post #6 of 71
Thread Starter 
Thanks Quaz, I'm learning everyday and appreciate the feedback. I hope it painted a small picture of what life is like for a family with a bipolar child (I hate labels but don't know how else to describe it)
post #7 of 71
Thread Starter 
In fact, i wonder if i posted the unedited version of this poem earlier, I don't think so but maybe.....
post #8 of 71
Mama is still a word
that catches in my throat
all day I
goo goo baba ma ma
to my baby girl
and her smiles opens
a face covered in the
softest skin
and drool
and bits of milk.


Running baby
with legs full and fast
trips spills tumbles
through leaves fallen to
green, yellow, red
brown and golden
fall blossoms
and fills me up
and I am tired
always chasing you
fat feet
plop flap
splat on the sidwalk
legs bustling round with newness
you follow me through days
shot through with sun and leaves and sky.

Hands grabby grabbing
reaching fingers
feet dancing
pick me up pick me
up pick me up.
Mama mama mama
hands and legs and breath
soft sweet milk smelling
hair like new spring grass
your eagerness explodes through
new muscles
growing strong.

post #9 of 71
Thread Starter 
Emey, I just want to pick up and kiss your sweet child, the way you used words to describe the magic of growing from babyhood to toddlerhood describes without 'telling'

That is important bc it really draws the reader in, it sure drew me in. Great poem. Was it something you just wrote?
post #10 of 71
Thanks! I wrote that poem when my daughter was about a year old (she's 2.5) now. I keep a compact little notebook nearby to write short poems in and I have two dozen or so since she was born.

post #11 of 71


is seeing the light reflected
in your child's eyes

and then yelling
around or into them

the pain bounces back

like glass

or throwing a
rock into settled silt

reflecting you
the clarity is clouded
post #12 of 71


My baby Ian is touching
his hands feel like silk
solid droplets
when fingertips gently stroke
the surface of warm water
post #13 of 71


tiny bones soft neck
new naked spirit

openly wounded
freshly healing

spiritually trusting

at your mercy
post #14 of 71
Thread Starter 
OMG zenful, good to see you back

I especially like Echo, it reminds me how tender their little spirits are that even yelling around them could disturb the silt (I've always loved that imagery) I can only imagine what yelling*at* them would affect. Our DC really do echo what is going on with us inside, even when we don't let it out. You didn't ask for feedback, I just had to say that.
post #15 of 71
Not much of a poet but I can try lol

Being a mother, what does it mean
Is it just something that happens naturally
Or is it a skill we must nuture and feed
Maybe its both all wrapped into one

At times it brings saddness and it surely brings joy
From whiney little girls and wild little boys.
And it is our job to model them into who they will be
That can be so fearful, all of that responsbilty

Who will the become I wonder everyday
Will they love their life and remember us in a good way?
Will they look back and remember us in good light
Or will they hold grudes and remember those fights.

We set the rules and try to be fair
We hope what we say takes them everywhere
So mothers remeber this to be true
We pray they remember all that we said
We hope their hearts and their minds were, by us, fed.

Amazing what our bodies can do
Create a life, bring it into the world too
Then our hearts and minds raise them
from little girls to women and boys to men
And no matter how hard of a job it may be
I would do it over and over again.
post #16 of 71
Thread Starter 
Tina, I like it, poetry can be hard if you're trying for one (for me) my best poems have just flowd out of me unbidden (another one of my favorite words). BTW, what you say is sooo true. I esp like the last stanza about the miracle of what our bodies can do

Do you want feedback from the other members?? If so , what kind? (see Jesses sticky about feedback)
post #17 of 71
Any would be great. I am not a poet by any means lol I thought I would give it a try.
post #18 of 71
Thread Starter 
A good depiction of a party, esp the 'musical grown ups'

The last stanza had me in tears remembering the tenderness of their babyhood, it felt like i was there
post #19 of 71
jenneyrebecca -- I felt like I was right there with you: as a new mom, a loving parent, and also as one who longs always for more glitz but has a life. Thanks - this is bittersweet and lovely.
post #20 of 71
I posted this on my weblog this morning, under a scanned image of my right hand.

This is my right hand. The skin is dry, there are places where my skin cracks and bleeds. My nails are short. That is a tattoo, from a time when I thought I was in love.

These hands change 18 diapers a day. They zip up jackets, and wash dirty faces. They sign permission slips and hand my money away so that my children can have the things they need. These hands cook the food that my family eats and in the summer they plant seeds and pluck weeds from the earth.

These hands bring wood up every day from the basement to keep you warm. They scrub the bathtub and the toilet, and fold 3 loads of laundry every day.

These hands turn pages of bedtime stories and put bandages on "ouchies". They wipe the tears away when the children at school have been teasing you. They can be so soft, although they are so hard and calloused from the work I do.

These are your mothers hands, may they always be kind, may you never shy away from them.
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