Van Helsing [summed it all up as he said, with our boy on his knee]: We want no proofs; we ask none to believe us! This boy will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows her sweetness and loving care; later on he will understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake.
line from Dracula by Bram Stoker (1897)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
The Glory Of A Woman...
The Tenderness Of A Woman
Is In The Strength Of Her Hands
Her Power To Touch
And Take Care Of Her Man
The Gentleness Of A Woman
Is In Her Character, To Care
And Her Courage To Bear
All Pains, As A Pair
The Winsomeness Of A Woman
Is In Her Choice To Understand
And A Support Source To Plan
And Her Voice, Cheering, ‘We Can’
The Sweetness Of A Woman
Is In Her Secure Embrace
Her Fragrance, Form, and Face
And Her Hunger, For His Taste
But, The Weakness Of A Woman
… Is That Her Heart, Is Beaten
Surrenders Body and Soul Even
Before His May Weaken
She Stays The Course To Withstand
The Mighty Heart Of A Man
Patience, Like Hour-Glass Sand
Is The Female Force Of A Woman
The Crowning Glory Of A Woman
Is Tresses, Flowing Like Rain Above
But, The Glorious Joy Of A Woman
Is Knowing, She Is Loved …
The Completeness… Of A Woman
Written & ©: 2/22/10
By: The MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
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What Is A Mother (mothers day)
What is a mother you ask?
She is the one who loved you long before your birth
She is the one who knew your worth.
It mattered not if you was a boy or girl
For you would be the one to rock her world.
She was wiping away your pains and massaging you
Long before you knew.
Whenever she rubbed her stomach
That’s what she would do.
Then when you came, the excitement from the start
And she knew forever you would be in her heart.
And as you would grow throughout the years
She would wash away your fears.
She was there when you scraped your knee
Or cut your hand.
She is the one who could understand.
She fed you, she clothed you, she washed your back
Even there when you had a panic attack.
She was there at every game and every play
And at home she would not stay.
Now that I’ve explained- “what is a mother”
I think it’s only fair, that on this “MOTHERS DAY”
She should be treated with respect and care.
Tell her you love her, and hug her with all your might
For this is a woman who’s “ really out of sight”.
What is a mother?
It’s really not hard to explain
That she should be put into the “hall of fame.”
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I still need a mother
I need a mother who would love me
I need a mother who would take care of me
I need a mother who would understand me
I need a mother for who I am
I need a mother to know me
I need a mother who would be there for me
I need a mother who would not yell at her son
I need a mother who won't push her son away
I need a mother who would not throw me out of her life
Even though I still need a mother
Everyday I try to be nice
Sometime she don't care about me
What I need is a mother who would be there for me
I need a mother who would watch me grow
I need a mother who would celebrate my birthday
I need a mother who would miss me
I need a mother to cry on
I need a mother to know that her son loves her
But she won't let me know her
What I need is a mother
Who is no more now.
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I still need a mother
I need a mother who would love me
I need a mother who would take care of me
I need a mother who would understand me
I need a mother for who I am
I need a mother to know me
I need a mother who would be there for me
I need a mother who would not yell at her son
I need a mother who won't push her son away
I need a mother who would not throw me out of her life
Even though I still need a mother
Everyday I try to be nice
Sometime she don't care about me
What I need is a mother who would be there for me
I need a mother who would watch me grow
I need a mother who would celebrate my birthday
I need a mother who would miss me
I need a mother to cry on
I need a mother to know that her son loves her
But she won't let me know her
What I need is a mother
Who is no more now.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Who is a Mother
Who is a Mother?
A mother is someone
soft and kind
Firm not harsh
Someone who is always
willing to give a listening ear.
Someone we cherish each
and everyday
Mothers are rare like
precious gems
Many have children
but few mother them.
Mothers unique
World around
Mother this day
celebrations abound.
Mother who dare goes by that name?
Only them that know, to nurture,
Care and understand.
Mothers near and far stand tall
Be you Aunt, Grandma or Mother dear
Mother – who is Mother here?
poem by Elaine Oxamendi Vicet
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A Piece of This
A son trying to help his mother who’s 83 in to the tub to bathe hears words that cut him to his very soul, “You must want a piece of this.” Now, as he hold back his hurt and wipe the spit of his face that his mother had spat on him thoughts begin to race through his mind. How could the woman who gave birth to me think that I would want to do that to her? She comforted me when I was afraid at night. She fed me when I hungry. Yes she was the first woman I loved just like any son would love his mother. But no I have no Oedipus complex. So no I don’t want a piece of that. Wow, this woman is the Grandmother to my son I wonder if I was not here and he was would she say to him “You must want a piece of this.” I know Alzheimer has taken over her mind and she is not the loving mother I once knew but it stills hurts to hear her say, “You must want a piece of this.”
Welcome Vicissitude
In spite of big bribes given to me,
I understand this is just temporary.
Mindfulness! it brightens my brain.
Dare to welcome any gain.
In spite of being destroyed in soil,
I can stand with stars in my eyes.
Mindfulness! it's my secret suit.
Dare to welcome any lose.
In spite of pukka popularity,
I understand this won't be eternally.
Mindfulness! it directs not to be vain.
Dare to welcome any fame.
In spite of lowest position,
I can stand with brave actions.
Mindfulness! it shows how to maintain.
Dare to welcome any defame.
In spite of speaking in honor of me,
I understand I shouldn't respond conceitedly.
Mindfulness! it's the best way to face.
Dare to welcome any praise.
In spite of gossip to me,
I can stand without depravity.
Mindfulness! it's trump card for my aim.
Dare to welcome any blame.
In spite of typical tycoon,
I understand all will dissolve soon.
Mindfulness! it's my fortune-calculator.
Dare to welcome any pleasure.
In spite of abysmal poverty,
I can stand with honesty.
Mindfulness! it guides me to tame.
Dare to welcome any pain.
poem by Aung Si Myanmar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Mother Combed My Hair
When Memory, with gentle hand,
Has led me to that foreign land
Of childhood days, I long to be
Again the boy on bended knee,
With head a-bow, and drowsy smile
Hid in a mother's lap the while,
With tender touch and kindly care,
She bends above and combs my hair.
Ere threats of Time, or ghosts of cares
Had paled it to the hue it wears,
Its tangled threads of amber light
Fell o'er a forehead, fair and white,
That only knew the light caress
Of loving hands, or sudden press
Of kisses that were sifted there
The times when mother combed my hair.
But its last gleams of gold have slipped
Away; and Sorrow's manuscript
Is fashioned of the snowy brow--
So lined and underscored now
That you, to see it, scarce would guess
It e'er had felt the fond caress
Of loving lips, or known the care
Of those dear hands that combed my hair.
. . . . . . . .
I am so tired! Let me be
A moment at my mother's knee;
One moment--that I may forget
The trials waiting for me yet:
One moment free from every pain--
O! Mother! Comb my hair again!
And I will, oh, so humbly bow,
For I've a wife that combs it now.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Introducing... Me!
I am the woman who was the girl who thought she was alone.
The same girl that pretended to be the life of our group to stay on top.
The girl who was everyone's friend even though I did not like myself very much.
I was the girl who thought that love only came in one form.
So I used it to my advantage and ended up scorned.
I was the girl that found herself in trouble too deep to be fished out.
I was the girl who grew up too fast with no way out.
I had to grow, so that I might learn to be the mother I needed to be.
I was the girl who was a child-mother with only my own mother there for me.
The girl who was afraid to pout who had to be always brave.
The girl who felt as if I never got but only gave.
I was the girl who made all her own choices and stood up to take responsibility.
I was the girl who told the world how dare you judge her because of me.
Now I am the woman who, will fight the very devil for my childrens lives.
I fought him for two of my babies and won, my fourth in God's arms lay.
I am the woman who will stand up and shout for what I believe.
The woman who learned the hard way there is no reprieve.
I am the woman who finally learned how to love herself.
And in doing so found true love at last.
I am the woman who is the life of the party now.
The woman that has few real friends, but they matter more then they did then.
I am the woman who can cry and know it will be alright.
I am the woman who can say,
I am beautiful today.
If not for one woman who was there to help show me how.
I would not be the woman standing here now.
My Mother is the woman in me who I long to be.
My Mother is the woman I emmulate and hope my girls will come to be like.
She is stronger then Breast Cancer. Stronger then Divorce.
Stronger then all the trials I put her through.
If she were not here today what would I do?
poem by Lydie Mathers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A thank you poem to God
My loving god i hope to touch your heart with the words you have given me,
My loving god i want to thank you for taking all of shameful sins in the wodden cross,
My loving god i want to thank you for being brave and taking all the pain you received that dark day,
My loving god i want to thank you for saving me from the burning flames
My loving god i want to thank you for protecting me every single minute, hour, day, week, month, and year,
My loving god thank you for giving me the opportunity to open my eyes every single day,
Than you god for having a plate of food every day,
My loving god thank you for giving me a wonderful, strong, brave mother,
My loving god thank you for sorrows into joyful hours,
My loving god i can't see you but i believe in you,
My loving god thank you for this wonderful country(U.S.A)
thank you for holding it in your loving arms,
My dear god i can continue to thank you all night long but i need more strenght to continue on,
My loving god have i touched you heart yet or should i continue to thank you till i die?
poem by Juan Duarte
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beyond to one’s heir
I loved his mother, my aunt,
Who had done a lot to me,
But I failed to care about him.
I loved her father, my uncle,
Who had done a lot to me,
But I have no contact with her.
I loved his father’s mother,
Who was my mother’s mother,
But I chose to ignore him.
One does good thing to some
So that they would take care
Of one’s heirs on one’s exit.
Gratitude must not die with one
But travel to one’s heirs too.
25.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy Women's Day
As a woman I died several times in this life
But just being a woman, I had to courage to raise again
As a woman, I fell to the gutters of chauvinism
Yet, just being a woman, I took that in stride of my feminism
As a woman, I cried several unending nights
Yet, I showed up a brave face and ready to fight
As a woman, I hurried to several trains to catch
Yet, I never left behind any unfinished match
As a woman, I loved being loved all the time
Yet, I had the courage to withstand ditching too
As a woman, I always liked to be dressed the best
But just being a woman, I did dress up to the situations true
As a woman, I shared my meal and peace all the time
Yet, I also learnt to let go my meal for a cause in tide
As a woman, I got shunned by the people of the society
Yet, I stood back and said, I am proud to be what I am as a woman
As a woman, I know I glorified everything that I liked
Yet, I had the right to reject what is not right in its form
As a woman, I lent my shoulders for friends to lean on
But just being a woman, I warned them not to be vulnerable on
As a woman, I know the struggles are many and always on
Yet being a woman, I know God made us that way to deal on
As a woman, I like the way You look at me and say so
But just being a woman, remember I am not a show case piece
As a woman, I love rest of my women folks who are wonderful
In not just the way they are, but for being great friends too
For being enduring Mothers, efficient professionals, loving daughters
And for being great wives and being Divas in their own Right!
poem by Umasree Raghunath
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood & Honey
I began by loving women
& the love turned
to bitterness.
My mother, the bitter,
whose bitter lesson-
trust no one,
especially no male-
caused me to be naive
for too many years,
in mere rebellion
against that bitterness.
If she was Medea,
I would be Candide
& bleed in every sexual war,
& water my garden with menstrual blood
& grow the juiciest fruits.
(Like the woman
who watered her roses with blood
& won all the prizes,
though no one knew why.)
If she was Lady Macbeth,
I would be Don Quixote-
& never pass up a windmill
without a fight,
& never choose discretion
over valor.
My valor was often foolish.
I was rash
(though others called me brave).
My poems were red flags
To lure the bulls.
The picadors smelled blood
& jabbed my novels.
I had only begun
by loving women-
& ended by hating their deceit,
hating the hate
they feed their daughters,
hating the self-hate
they feed themselves,
hating the contempt
they feed their men,
as they claim weakness-
their secret strength.
For who can be crueler
than a woman
who is cruel
out of her impotence?
& who can be meaner
than a woman
who desires
the only room with a view?
Even in chess
she shouts:
'Off with their heads!'
& the poor king
walks one step forward,
one step back.
But I began
by loving women,
loving myself
despite my mother's lesson,
loving my ten fingers,
ten toes, my puckered navel,
my lips that are too thick
& my eyes the color of ink.
Because I believed in them,
I found gentle men.
Because I loved myself,
I was loved.
Because I had faith,
the unicorn licked my arm,
the rabbit nestled in my skirts,
the griffin slept
curled up at the bottom
of my bed.
Bitter women,
there is milk under this poem.
What you sow in blood
shall be harvested in honey.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What You See Is What You Get
Man:
Aint no hidden treasure
In this pot of gold you see
Aint no way for you to make
No silky purse out of me
Woman:
Well Im never ever gonna change your way
I dig you as you are
And youve got something that I want
And thats worth waiting for
Chorus (together):
What you see is what you get
And you aint seen nothing yet
What you see is what you get
And you aint seen nothing yet
Man:
I told you that I loved you
Right from the very start
Now dont you make me sorry girl
That I opened up my heart
Woman:
Well I know that Im no angel
This aint my first time out
But you can count on what I got
Cause what I gots a lot dont you know
Chorus (together)
Man (spoken):
Woman:
When its cold I want it hot
Ive always wanted what is not
But when it comes to loving you
Im yours no matter what you do
Man:
Oh youre my baby, and Im your man
This is mother natures plan
Woman:
Cant you see, its a fact
Loving you is where its at
What you see is what you get
And you aint seen nothing yet
(repeats)
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Not A Woman...
I am not a woman that loves with a heart
I am not a woman that's silly and smart
I am not a woman with open wounds
I am not a woman that's more attuned
I am not a woman that you hold dear
I am not a woman that has no fear
I am not a woman that's loved or lost
I am not a woman that doesn't know the cost
I am not a woman that's hurting inside
I am not a woman that has no foolish pride
I am not a woman that can't look you in the eye
I am not a woman alone that cries
I am not a woman that's imprisoned with chains
I am not a woman that holds her will in vain
I am not a woman, or mother, or friend
or wife, or daughter, or one to depend
I am not a woman of all and more
Because I gave it away to the one I adore
what's left is all you see
Just a woman that truly believes
When we got home we were talking of the old time, which we could all look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both happily married. I took the papers from the safe where they had been ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that in all the mass of material of which the record is composed, there is hardly one authentic document. Nothing but a mass of typewriting, except the later notebooks of Mina and Seward and myself, and Van Helsing's memorandum. We could hardly ask any one, even did we wish to, to accept these as proofs of so wild a story.
Bram Stoker in Dracula (1897)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Spartan Mother
My mother loved her horses and
Her hounds of pedigree;
She did not kiss the baby hand
I held to her in glee.
Of course I had a sweet nou-nou
Who tended me with care,
And mother reined her nag to view
Me with a critic air.
So I went to a famous school,
But holidays were short;
My mother thought me just a fool,
Unfit for games and sport.
For I was fond of books and art,
And hated hound and steed:
Said Mother, 'Boy, you break my heart!
You are not of our breed.'
Then came the War. The Mater said:
'Thank God, a son I give
To King and Country,'--well, I'm dead
Who would have loved to live.
'For England's sake,' said she, 'he died.
For that my boy I bore.'
And now she talks of me with pride.
A hero of the War.
Mother, I think that you are glad
I ended up that way.
Your horses and your dogs you had,
And still you have today.
Your only child you say you gave
Your Country to defend . . .
Dear Mother, from a hero's grave
I--curse you in the end.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hats Off to the Woman, Who…
Hats off to the woman, who bears children
With labor-pains, completing family;
Hats off to the woman, who rears the young,
Making her babies suckle at her breasts;
Hats off to the woman, who tends to both
Husband, children, others with care and love;
Hats off to the woman, who does all things
For others’ sake, selflessly all her life;
Hats off to the woman, who keeps the home,
And raises her children in forbearance;
Hats off to the woman, who labors hard
And burns the midnight-oil for family;
Hats off to the woman, who contributes
Fiscally by working in a work-place;
Hats off to the woman, who patiently
Toils, to keep the harmony of her home;
Hats of to the woman, who can also
Extend tender, loving care to old-aged;
Hats off to the woman, who has God first
In life, and sacrifices for the rest;
Hats off to the woman, who can smile
To all, despite her grief, anguish and strife in heart;
Hats off to the woman, who turns the home
A virtual Paradise on earth all life;
Hats off to the woman, who loves to slog,
And toils to raise her family with love;
Hats off to the woman, who’s an angel
To all, by being a good example.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-21-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Soldier’s Death
The day was o’er, and in their tent the weaned victors met,
In wine and social gaiety the carnage to forget.
The merry laugh and sparkling jest, the pleasant tale were there—
Each heart was free and gladsome then, each brow devoid of care.
Yet one was absent from the board who ever was the first
In every joyous, festive scene, in every mirthful burst;
He also was the first to dare each perilous command,
To rush on danger—yet was he the youngest of the band.
Upon the battle-field he lay a damp and fearful grave;
His right hand grasped the cherished flag—the flag he died to save;
While the cold stars shone calmly down on heaps of fallen dead,
And their pale light a halo cast round that fair sleeper’s head.
Say, was there none o’er that young chief to shed one single tear,
To sorrow o’er the end of his untimely stopt career?
Yes, but alas! the boundless sea its foam and crested wave,
Lay then between those beings dear and his cold, cheerless grave.
With all a mother’s doting love a mother yearned for him,
And watching for his quick return, a sister’s eye grew dim,
And, dearer still, a gentle girl, his fair affianced bride,—
And yet, with all these loving ones, unfriended, had he died.
No woman’s low, sweet voice was near one soothing word to say
Or gentle hand from his cold brow to wipe the damps away;
But yet why should we grieve for him, that hero gallant, brave?
His was a soldier’s glorious death, a soldier’s glorious grave!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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