A child doesn't breast-feed from a stepmother if its mother is still alive.
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Being A Mother
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS A WORD
MOTHER IS A PERSON
MOTHER IS A WOMEN
BUT WAT IS REALLY A MOTHER?
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS WOMEN WHO GIVES BIRTH
NO........
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO CARES OF HER BABY
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO IS WILLING TO GIVE HER LIFE FOR THEIR BABY'S
ANY WOMEN CAN HAVE A BABY
ANY WOMEN CAN GIVE BIRTH
ANY WOMEN CAN BE CALLED MOM
BUT ONLY A REAL WOMEN
ONLY A REAL MOTHER CAN TAKE OVER HER RESPOSABILITIES
ONLY A WOMEN CAN DO WHATS BEST FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! !
A MOTHER LIKE ME
A MOTHER LIKE U
A MOTHER WHO CRIES FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO PRAYS FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO GIVES HER LIFE FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO STARVES TO FEED HER CHILD
A MOTHER WHO IS WILLING TO SLEEP IN THE COLD FOR THEIR CHILD,
A MOTHER WHO MAKES HER CHILDREN FEEL SAFE IN HER ARMS,
BEING THAT MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
BEING THAT MOTHER TAKES ALOT OF WOMEN N A PERSON
BEING A MOTHER........
poem by Leticia Sanchez
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Breastmilk
Of craftiness and subtleness!
But if i have breatsmilk,
I will feed my child all day.
Like a caring mother who cheerishes her children,
I will feed my child all day long.
Your baby needs breastmilk like,
A woman after hwer own heart;
And you are a devoted woman of a higher rank.
Sisters, Mothers, Women!
Of the sweet smelling aroma of your breastmilk;
But the family in heaven is like a child with the mother.
Stand the test and be obedient in all things,
Give your baby food and forget about your phone calls!
For you are not my mother and,
You are not an African woman.
I know how it feels and,
I know who you are;
But feed your baby with breastmilk at all times.
Like a house without hands,
Give your baby breastmilk to keep the child healthy;
For out of the blessings of the Creator you've got this child.
The door is now open on you,
The truth is now set for you,
The care is now in your own hands,
But your child really need this milk.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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They Don't Quit
You don't want to catch me in a mood that's going on,
'Cause...
I can be a trip.
And I know it too...
That,
I 'am'a trip.
IF you wish to really take it.
I AM a trip.
You don't want to catch me in a mood that's going on,
'Cause...
I can be a trip.
And I know it too...
That,
I can be-a trip.
I'm not looking for,
A breast to feed me.
Far removed from tits and tats,
To chat.
My mood's away from that.
Until it doesn't matter.
My mood's away from that.
And...
I'm not looking for,
A breast to feed me.
You don't want to catch me in a mood that's going on,
'Cause...
I can be a trip.
And I know it too...
That I 'be'-a trip.
I'm not looking for,
A breast to feed me.
When those moods in me don't leave,
And they don't quit.
When those moods in me don't leave,
And they don't quit.
I'm not looking for,
A breast to feed me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Mothers And Their Daughters
they struck him down hard early in life
he slaps me around plenty
i cannot leave
my daughter never cries
to feed my daughter
i will take on the whole lot of you
the young men howl
i am a mother in time of famine
my daughter dying at my breast
my husband wants a son
my first child a love child a daughter
a wedding to make it right
a family joke to keep me honest
they have a one child policy here
he took my first child my daughter
sold her to the americans
as a child they mutilated me
for fear i might become the woman i am
they will never get to my daughter
I am told to hate my burqa
it keeps my secret from him
my daughter will wear the burqa
poem by Paul Bamberger
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A Mother
A mother shows the child the world
A mother is its world when small
A mother shows the child what's love
A mother loves her child like a doll!
A mother makes the home and bed
A mother cares for all at home
A mother trains the child to walk
And stand on own, perfectly talk.
A mother is the teacher prime
A mother moulds the character
A mother shows the child to pray
And trust the unseen God all life.
A mother is the child's best friend
A mother knows its needs and wants
A mother cares for child when sick
And feels so proud, when child achieves.
Children, thank God for a good mother
On ‘Mother's day! '
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-05-12
poem by John Celes
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Song: XI
Mother, mother, do you not hear?
Mother, they come; there is news to tell!
– Give me your hands, my daughter dear:
'Tis but a ship that saileth well.
Mother dear, have a care, give heed!
–They go, my daughter, away they speed.
Mother, the danger is sore, alas!
– Child, my child, it will quickly pass.
Mother, mother, She draweth near!
– It is down in the harbour, daughter dear.
Mother, mother, She opens the door!
– Child, they go, to return no more.
Mother, She enters! I am afraid!
– Child, they now have the anchor weighed.
Mother, I hear Her speaking low.
– Child, my child, it is they that go.
Mother, She makes the stars go dark!
– Child, 'tis the sails of a shadowy bark.
Mother, She knocks at the casement still!
– Child, maybe it is fastened ill. . . .
Mother, mother, my sight grows dim. . . .
– Child, they sail for the open sea.
On every hand I can hear but Him. . . .
– O child, what is it, and who is He?
poem by Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck
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Loving Mother Goes Too Far
Loving mother goes too far
when she says her child is everything
but doesn't allow anyone including her child
love her back
Loving mother goes too far
when she protects like a knight
even from single dust particle
and forget the child should learn to survive without her
Loving mother goes too far
when she thinks that her child's happiness is her happiness
and keeps her heart hurt because it can't be true
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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My Stepmother (for Edgar Andrade Baguio)
When my stepmother first came, her eyes were sharp and bright as little
knives. Her youth and my childhood ran into each other - she was the victor.
Although my father was still alive, I felt orphaned, depressed and alone,
crying by myself, grew up alone. In the first year of peace, everyone drifted.
My father went out - returned with gray hair. I have my father to compensate
me for the loss of my childhood. Sometimes vague envy found father sitting
in silent expectation...
A decade goes by. My stepmother is still as beautiful as at first, though older.
She returns to ask my father to forgive her mistake: My half sister has
another half sister. My heart was no longer jealous - I only felt sorry for my
half sister, who was really too young... I hoped she would not find herself
once more on a tipping wagon. My father died, rain poured down in the
courtyard. My tears gleaned some contentment: Mother and father together
now, forever.
After that she aged quickly, solitary, silent as a shadow, her eyes no longer
sharp as knives. When my son entered the world, she was the first to carry
him, she who changed him the first time, placed him in the gently rocking
hammock. My half-sister asked her mother, only half-joking, Will you favor
my first child this way? Lullabies contain no riddles and tears run down
forever. My stepmothers silent eyes smiled brightly when my son threw
himself into her arms: 'Grandma! '
- Thanh Nguyen's narrative poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tommrow world
Today
Mother's
Not feeding
For child...
With the beauty..
Milk was given
The child...
Spoil the beauty...
Some body lie..
Emmaging too;
Not feeding
Mother's for
The child...
World bigest
Rong for;
Tommrow world..! ! .
OH!
Mother's please
Feed your milk
For the child...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A Mother
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is conceived nine months in the womb
the child that is cradled at daytime,
night time until dawn?
How can a mother forget her child?
How can a mother forget her child
the child who after the flow of months
has learned to stand and run?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child whose mouth imitates her mother`s tongue,
the child who after a year or two can say,
'Mama, I love you'?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is so dear in her own heart and mind,
the child that reveals the mystery of creation,
the beauty of growth and human interaction.
the infinity of our own universe
within its finite linear time?
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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A Mother's Lament
my child, my child, i am so afraid
my child, my child, please forgive me
for losing myself
for losing myself
please forgive me for losing my mind
i miss you
i want the very best for you
and my constant worry
what i fear
is that i am not the very best for you
but who is, who is?
i fear noone else is either and
sometimes i am sorry for bringing you into
this world of struggle
There are times when I have been strong,
clear happy; and I have to remember
I have to find myself – my power.
For you
my child
you deserve me
you deserve a mother
who is not cowering
gasping for breath
A mother awake.
A mother alive.
poem by Pilar Mogollon
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For why...!
cry child
with milk
For mother...
Mother feed
A bottle...
Cry not cry...
For why...!
Bottle is mother
feed...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Sonnet: A Mother’s Greatness
A mother’s heart has love for all children;
Each child she bears and rears in similar way;
She tends to needs like hen to each chicken;
And gets up early, wearied though by day.
She knows in person each and every child;
She knows their wants even before they ask;
Unlike her husband, she is always mild,
And earnestly she tends to every task.
Each child appears an apple of her eye!
She intercedes for little things they need;
Ignoring faults, she loves to slog and die;
She is the Angel who readies each feed!
There isn’t a soul like mother on this earth!
She guards each child so selfishly since birth!
poem by John Celes
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Warmth, not wealth, feeds
A mother in penury has her child
Suckles her breast and slumber on her lap.
A mother in luxury buys her child
A feeding bottle and a silver cradle.
The child of the poor is rich in warmth,
Though with no silver spoon in its mouth.
17.09.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Gift Of The Sea
The dead child lay in the shroud,
And the widow watched beside;
And her mother slept, and the Channel swept
The gale in the teeth of the tide.
But the mother laughed at all.
"I have lost my man in the sea,
And the child is dead. Be still," she said,
"What more can ye do to me?"
The widow watched the dead,
And the candle guttered low,
And she tried to sing the Passing Song
That bids the poor soul go.
And "Mary take you now," she sang,
"That lay against my heart."
And "Mary smooth your crib to-night,"
But she could not say "Depart."
Then came a cry from the sea,
But the sea-rime blinded the glass,
And "Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said,
"'Tis the child that waits to pass."
And the nodding mother sighed.
"'Tis a lambing ewe in the whin,
For why should the christened soul cry out
That never knew of sin?"
"O feet I have held in my hand,
O hands at my heart to catch,
How should they know the road to go,
And how should they lift the latch?"
They laid a sheet to the door,
With the little quilt atop,
That it might not hurt from the cold or the dirt,
But the crying would not stop.
The widow lifted the latch
And strained her eyes to see,
And opened the door on the bitter shore
To let the soul go free.
There was neither glimmer nor ghost,
There was neither spirit nor spark,
And "Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said,
"'Tis crying for me in the dark."
And the nodding mother sighed:
"'Tis sorrow makes ye dull;
Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern,
Or the wail of the wind-blown gull?"
"The terns are blown inland,
The gray gull follows the plough.
'Twas never a bird, the voice I heard,
O mother, I hear it now!"
"Lie still, dear lamb, lie still;
The child is passed from harm,
'Tis the ache in your breast that broke your rest,
And the feel of an empty arm."
She put her mother aside,
"In Mary's name let be!
For the peace of my soul I must go," she said,
And she went to the calling sea.
In the heel of the wind-bit pier,
Where the twisted weed was piled,
She came to the life she had missed by an hour,
For she came to a little child.
She laid it into her breast,
And back to her mother she came,
But it would not feed and it would not heed,
Though she gave it her own child's name.
And the dead child dripped on her breast,
And her own in the shroud lay stark;
And "God forgive us, mother," she said,
"We let it die in the dark!"
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Mother's Eyes
A line
So thin
Fragile
In a glossy eyes
Mother to child
Love is alive
Hate or love
sincerity
always real
By blood
Or flesh
a mother
A real mother
Either alone or abandoned
mother’s heart
Fear nothing
Fight for the best for the child.
© All Rights Reserved
poem by Malaya Roses
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Mother, I May Have Been A Naughty Child
Mother, I may have been a naughty child,
But I am your child nevertheless!
You own the world, mother, you are the queen of the world,
And look at me, I go about in the habit of a beggar.
You are bent on neglecting me,
But I love you anyway, it is you, only you that I call upon.
Just as a child runs to his mother even after she has scolded him,
So do I run to you.
How could you push me away from you, mother,
You are my mother, are you not?
Oh, why did you cast me away, mother,
Leave me to play in the dust?
I would have been a better child,
Had only you been a little more kind to me.
I am sad and angry, mother,
I shall go away anywhere my eyes and my feet take me to.
I do not care now whether i live or die now, mother,
I am going away.
poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam
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Mother or Momma
A mother gives birth, but a momma raises a child.
A mother brags on how smart her child is.
A momma teaches a child how to live.
A mother gives her child a way.
A momma sets her child free.
A mother tells her child she loves him or her.
A momma shows her child that he or she is loved.
Now that you know the difference which one are you; a mother or a momma?
Mother why do you hate me so?
a mother supports a child and her dreams
a mother tells you right from wrong
a mother provides for you
a mother listens to her child every problem
a mother cares for her sick child
a mother looks at the changes made in here childs life
So where were you Mother
When i needed you the most
poem by Shakeydra Pinner
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A day is sometimes our mother, sometimes our stepmother.