Mother, what is marrying? Spinning, bearing children, and crying, daughter.
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What is marriage, mother? Daughter, it is spinning, bearing children, and weeping.
Look at the mother before marrying the daughter.
Wishing And Willing..
When the baby kicks in the womb,
A few parents touch to have the kick,
Most mothers excited, while the fathers too,
A few miss this opportunity as not bothered to,
The crying of the babies never fails to wake up,
The loving hearts of the mother and father,
The crying of the mothers never fails to shaken up,
The young hearts of children, who see the rift,
Hearts of children love their mother,
As it listened to her beats day and night,
Hearts of children are attracted to the mother,
As she is the one, who listens to their blabber,
The crying of babies never fails to wake up the mother,
The crying of mothers never fails to shaken up the children.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Shadow-Child
Why do the wheels go whirring round,
Mother, mother?
Oh, mother, are they giants bound,
And will they growl forever?
Yes, fiery giants underground,
Daughter, little daughter,
Forever turn the wheels around,
And rumble-grumble ever.
Why do I pick the threads all day,
Mother, mother,
While sunshine children are at play?
And must I work forever?
Yes, shadow-child; the live-long day,
Daughter, little daughter,
Your hands must pick the threads away,
And feel the sunshine never.
Why do the birds sing in the sun,
Mother, mother,
If all day long I run and run,
Run with the wheels forever?
The birds may sing till day is done,
Daughter, little daughter,
But with the- wheels your feet must run—
Run with the wheels forever.
Why do I feel so tired each night,
Mother, mother?
The wheels are always buzzing bright;
Do they grow sleepy never?
Oh, baby thing, so soft and white,
Daughter, little daughter,
The big wheels grind us in their might,
And they will grind forever.
And is the white thread never spun,
Mother, mother?
And is the white cloth never done,
For you and me done never?
Oh yes, our thread will all be spun,
Daughter, little daughter,
When we lie down out in the sun,
And work no more forever.
And when will come that happy day,
Mother, mother?
Oh, shall we laugh and sing and play
Out in the sun forever?
Nay, shadow-child, we'll rest all day,
Daughter, little daughter,
Where green grass grows and roses gay,
There in the sun forever.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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Mother and Daughter Love
Mother and daughter love can be so fun...
A mother should love her daughter at all time
A mother have connection with her daughter
A daughter should love there mother with in and with out
A daughter should talk to her about anything with each other
A mother and daughter should love each other
That what some people call mother and daughter love.....
poem by Valentine White
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Mother To Mother
Mother to daughter, mother to mother
A greater love, there is no other.
You looked towards me for your guidance and my love
But this was given to both of us
From the lord up above.
I protected and sheltered you the best that I could.
And you followed the same road that we all take
We did not stop or hesitate.
A mother is not one who just gives birth
But one who shows her worth.
I was her mother, she was my daughter
Everything according to GODS order.
I raised mine, she raised her own.
But the love we had was always shown.
She was like the sun bringing light into this world
For she was my little girl.
She was like the sun radiating beauty from
The inside out, of that I have no doubt.
As the sun brings a smile to your face
And leaves you with a glow inside.
She could do this, and that’s no lie.
She created life, and loved them with such tender care
And the joys and sorrows, with them she’d share.
She loved and honored her children in every way she could
And raised them the way a mother should.
She was closer to me, more than anyone could ever know
And put in me a strength that would grow.
When it was the time for the LORD to take her away
And I’m sure that she wanted to stay.
She gave her soul to our lord above
But left us with an enduring love.
So to my daughter I say to you, I loved you at your birth
And I loved you till the end, for you was
not only my daughter, but my friend.
mother to mother, I thank you with all my heart and soul
For you left me with beautiful children for me to hold.
poem by Louis Rams
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Mother And Daughter...
Mother and daughter,
Are very close,
They are best friends,
And can be enemy's sometimes,
They laugh and cry,
Call each other names,
And mess around,
And there still as close as ever,
Nothing will ruin their mother and daughter relationship,
Not even boys,
They may keep secrets,
From one another, but there still there,
to care and help,
their still mother and daughter.
Wrote about a mother and daughter love
poem by StaceyLeigh Olner
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Mother Is Dying: Part 2 (Filicide)
Mother is infuriated
Mother is irritated
Mother is agitated
Mother is aggravated
Tormented by Her children
Sickened by Her children
Scarred by Her children
She is beginning to die
Mother was gentle
Mother was accepting
Mother was enduring
Though mother is now corrupted,
Similar to Her children
Her anger boils from her very core
Swirling vortexes of hatred dominate the skies
Her loathe floods Her children’s lives
The incarnate of Her disgust with Her children
Is devastating and cataclysmic
Her children can no longer find
Sanctuary from mother’s mercy
Mother is too enraged to rationalize
Mother will create The Rapture.
Mother will cause The Apocalypse.
Mother will eliminate humanity.
Mother will commit filicide.
poem by Alex Gomez
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When A Mother Cries
When a mother cries,
Her tears stab at her daughter’s heart
As they plummet to the floor
When a mother cries
Her daughter cries too
She cries because she does not know what is wrong
She cries because she can’t get rid of her mother’s pain
She cries most of all because she loves her mother
When a daughter cries because her mother cries
Her mother cries more
She cries because her pain has hurt her daughter
She cries because she does not want to see her daughter cry because of her
She cries most of all,
Because she loves her daughter
Once the tears have ceased however,
What remains is love
The love forever shared between a mother and a daughter
poem by Portia Lane
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A Mother Does Not
A mother does not raise her child for to fight and die in war
Or to kill another Human Being in a Country from home far
That her son or her daughter should at someone else shoot to kill
A person they have never known or who have never bore them ill.
Picasso's 'Screaming Woman' is for all woman kind
The mother weeps for her dead child with grief 'out of her mind'
Mothers do not raise their children for to be remembered on War Memorial Day
For to fight in war for war mongering non combatants and throw their lives away
A mother raises her son or daughter so her seed of life will live on
That her genes will still be around when she herself has gone
From the World of the living to be numbered amongst the dead
I wish for my children to outlive me that's what the mother said.
A mother does not raise her child for to meet with an early death
Not for her War Memorial Day or the words 'Lest we forget'
She wants her son and daughter for to grow old and gray
And she does not wish to hear of War and War Memorial Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The Puddles
Rain bashing, rain crashing,
In the puddles, children splashing,
Mother's tongue has started lashing,
Everyone is wet!
Rain slopping, rain stopping,
In the puddles, children hopping,
Mother's hands have started mopping,
Everyone, I bet!
Sun waking, sun breaking,
In the puddles, children quaking,
Mother's arms have started shaking,
Everyone, she'll net!
Sun applying, sun drying,
In the puddles, children crying,
Mother's breath is now a sighing,
Everyone's upset!
Sun gleaming, sun scheming,
In the puddles, children steaming!
Mother's smile, now is beaming,
Everyone's her pet!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Daughter Cries
when a mother cries
her tears stab at her daughter's heart
as they plummet to the floor
when a mother cries
he daughter cries too
because her heroine is wounded and she doesn't know how or why
she cries because she cannot rid her mother of the pain
she cries most of all because she loves her mother
when a daughtrr cries because her mother cries,
her mother cries more
because her weakness has hurt her child
she cries because it hurts to know she's the cause of her daughter's tears.
she cries most of all because she loves her daughter
one the tears have ceased however
love remains
the love forever shared between a mother and her daughter
poem by Portia Lane
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Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Borders
To say that she came into me,
from another world, is not true.
Nothing comes into the universe
and nothing leaves it.
My mother—I mean my daughter did not
enter me. She began to exist
inside me—she appeared within me.
And my mother did not enter me.
When she lay down, to pray, on me,
she was always ferociously courteous,
fastidious with Puritan fastidiousness,
but the barrier of my skin failed, the barrier of my
body fell, the barrier of my spirit.
She aroused and magnetized my skin, I wanted
ardently to please her, I would say to her
what she wanted to hear, as if I were hers.
I served her willingly, and then
became very much like her, fiercely
out for myself.
When my daughter was in me, I felt I had
a soul in me. But it was born with her.
But when she cried, one night, such pure crying,
I said I will take care of you, I will
put you first. I will not ever
have a daughter the way she had me,
I will not ever swim in you
the way my mother swam in me and I
felt myself swum in. I will never know anyone
again the way I knew my mother,
the gates of the human fallen.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Sharon Olds
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Transformation
To my noble parents sterling,
, I was their Daughter darling;
;
To my affable siblings, three,
I was their elder Sister, in glee.
To my beloved husband, in life,
I'm his devoted, fond Wife.
To my endearing children, four,
I'm their doting Mother spore;
To my nephews and nieces, reasoning,
I'm their dear Auntie, loving.
Alas! The label of daughter, nice,
Vanished with my parents' demise! .
My children, one by one, in course of time,
Were married, in their youth prime.
I begot sons-in-law and a daughter-in-law,
And am their affectionate Mother-in-law.
Ah! My siblings three, passed away—
The call of Sister, with them went away!
Now, when my sweet grand-children seven,
With love and care, me, they smother,
Calling me ‘Paatti'(Granny) 'Paatti'(Granny)
,
I the proud Grandmother
Am in rapture, transported to Heaven.!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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There Are No Children Here
The untrained eye
Walks down the street
And sees children
But they're not children
There are no children here
Adults look back
With hungry eyes
And someone thinks
''They're just children
With a mother and a father
Never any fear''
And they kid themselves
As there are no mothers
No fathers
Because there are no children here
Terror doesn't care
As they cry over there
It lets someone stare
Through the sight of a gun
Seeing everyone
And just for fun
Shoot them
People rush around crying
''But they were just children!
They were just children! ''
A man with a gun
Turns and runs
But as he does they hear
''They aren't children''
And
''They weren't children''
And
''You need to know:
There are no children here''
No one makes a sound
Listening to the truth he's found
And they know:
It's our fault
We didn't save them
We could have saved them
If we cared
There would be children here
poem by Violet Llewellyn
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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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Play Children Play
I came home late one night,
In my door stood my daughter-in-law,
Park your car, I have something to tell you,
As I entered the door, she said, "Mother left today."
Play children play, your mother left today.
There is no where for a writer to start,
When his wife leaves and breaks her children's heart,
When she walked out, she never said good by,
No one has ever known why.
Play children play, today your Mother went away.
Many things we planned to do that day,
For no reason she just walked away,
Twenty years has past and gone,
Some how we took care of our home,
You children have married, but still alone.
Play children play, for the day your Mother went away.
poem by Kenneth McKinley Davis
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A Year's Spinning
1
He listened at the porch that day,
To hear the wheel go on, and on;
And then it stopped, ran back away,
While through the door he brought the sun:
But now my spinning is all done.
2
He sat beside me, with an oath
That love ne'er ended, once begun;
I smiled--believing for us both,
What was the truth for only one:
And now my spinning is all done.
3
My mother cursed me that I heard
A young man's wooing as I spun:
Thanks, cruel mother, for that word--
For I have, since, a harder known!
And now my spinning is all done.
4
I thought--O God!--my first-born's cry
Both voices to mine ear would drown:
I listened in mine agony--
It was the silence made me groan!
And now my spinning is all done.
5
Bury me 'twixt my mother's grave,
(Who cursed me on her death-bed lone)
And my dead baby's (God it save!)
Who, not to bless me, would not moan.
And now my spinning is all done.
6
A stone upon my heart and head,
But no name written on the stone!
Sweet neighbours, whisper low instead,
"This sinner was a loving one--
And now her spinning is all done."
7
And let the door ajar remain,
In case he should pass by anon;
And leave the wheel out very plain,--
That HE, when passing in the sun,
May see the spinning is all done.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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