Related quotes: Babies, Moms, memories and Aromas...

Babies, Moms, Memories and Aromas

Babies, Moms, memories and Aromas

Young baby, helpless and wee
Head reposes on mom’s shoulder
Nestled in soft arms comfortably
Smells the hair of the one who holds her

Mom’s fresh shampoo scent, becomes imprinted deep
A comforting, soothing essence… in
The child’s vast, and unfilled memory keep
Takes up permanent residence

Small, chubby fingers twirling ringlets of hair
While the singular scent of her mother…is
Being tucked away, with loving care
Memories and scents stacked atop one another

Sweet baby powder is the smell on the palm
Of the hand That gently pats the child’s back
The odor re-enforcing a reassuring calm… and
Promptly being added to the child’s memory sack

Mom’s own smell, sweat mixed with soap, sweet and pungent
By the child is inhaled and sequestered forever within
Memory’s medicine, to be used as an unguent
And in her memory, applied by her mother’s hands once again

Baby oil and baby powder, a heady mixture...
An olfactory delight to store in a child’s mind
Another memory to sequester and treasure
Mixed with mothers scent, unique and sublime

Many years in the future, this child now all grown
Will be reminded by scents of the present, and will measure
Her mom’s sweet scent, mixed with her own
And locked in her mind’s vault, to treasure….
Forever and ever

poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Scents... ' (or) Tea - Baby

S
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N
T
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I So, Love The Scent, of A Fresh, Cup Of Tea
Like, I Love The Smell, of A Fresh-Bathed Baby
Both, Are So Very Delicate, Soothing & Sweet
Both, Are A Unique, Fragile-Moment Complete
And With Rose Petals and Soft Lavender Scents
And Apple-Blossoms, Honey and Fresh Peppermint
All Come In Lotions Or Talc-Powder For Baby
And In My Teacup, These Aromas Are Tasty
I So Love The Scent of Steeped-Leaf Tea
And A Fresh-Bathed, Gurgling Baby
Come, Sip A Cup of Tea With Me
While I Hold & Sniff The Baby

poem by MoonBee Canady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lets Make A Memory

Orbison/melson
Come a little closer
Dont you tell me no sir
Lets make a memory
Come on now
Come on and give me your kiss now
What are you gonna miss now
Lets make a memory, a memory
Lets make a memory
Make a memory
Yes lets make a memory together
One that will last and last forever
Sweet baby
Baby hold me tight then
Squeeze with all your might then
Lets make a memory
Come on now
Just have a little fun for
What do you think were young for?
Lets make a memory
Make a memory
Yes lets make a memory together
One that will last and last forever
Come on now
Let yourself let go now
Dont let love grow cold now
Lets make a memory
Sweet baby
Forget about the past now
Weve got a love thatll last for
Now and forever we will be
Making memories....
Making memories

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to The Scent Of Cinnamon

The heady scent of cinnamon
Upon the opening of the door
The tugging out of memories
From the mind’s musty store

The warm, soft smell of pie crust
Upon the opening of the oven
The revisiting of the memories
The huggin’ and the lovin’

The aromatic aura of apples
Baked with a crispy honeyed glaze
The remembering of the memories
Kitchen memories, happy days

The Smell of hot peach cobbler,
The tantalizing odor of allspice
The callin’ back of the memories
Kitchen memories, warm and nice

Red and white checkered aprons,
Flour dappled, love lined faces
The tearful tug of way old memories
Memorable kitchens, happy places

The heady scent of cinnamon
Upon the opening of the door
Is one of the bestest of my memories
And likely will be… forever more

Ahhh…The heady scent of cinnamon!

poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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A Mother and her Dead Child

Looking back
it seemed
the child

was not to be
always there,
not through lack

of love or care,
but something
that came to her

in dreams of dread
at night asleep in bed.
She tries to retake

in dreams
the child back,
to pretend

that through
wishful thinking
she can make up

the lack.
Arms fold
into cradle

as once they had
when child lay
in arm's hold,

snuggled
and warm,
alive and moving,

seeking out with
eyes and fingers
her mother's dug.

Rock-abye-baby
no more,
the arms

and hands
redundant,
the last time

she recalls
the dead child
in arms,

rocking
back and forth,
as if this might cure

and bring back
to life,
might stir open

eyes, jog open
lips and mouth
to suck.

Not to be
just the memory,
ill luck.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memories In The Old Brain

-the smell of water
a scent hanging in the air
a trail through parched, barren land
now greened by rain
in a time of plenty.

the taste of marrow
fresh from the cracked bone,
touched by a fire
that lights the way
to a time of plenty

the sight of a day
over savanna grass,
sight without mystery
without awe
or the art to feel the dawn
and see the light with a new eye
in a time of plenty

the sound of a wild call,
a beast
stirring the heart,
a heart yet to be gripped
by the savage's siren call
to a time of plenty.

Memories deep in my core
of scent, taste, sight, sound
water, fire, light, howl
-memories from a time undefined
-before memory shaped
light and dark into day and night
-before memory became
slave and master of time.

I am a child of these memories,
before and after.

Dancing to the rhythm of time

I am old
in a time of plenty.

poem by Ronald Shields
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A Child Is Sweet Any Day Of The Week

A child that's born on a Monday
holds beauty in sight and mind.
A child that's born on a Tuesday
is graceful, sweet and kind.
A child that's born on a Wednesday
is a treasure, so they say.
A child that 's born on a Thursday
sees a quest with each new day.
A child that's born on a Friday
is loving and freely gives.
A child that's born on a Saturday
shows great work through how they live.
A child that's born on a Sunday
is happy, carefree and gay.
I guess you could say that a child is
special, no matter what the day.

poem by Christine K. Trease
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bring Me Flowers

Bring me flowers when I am living
Don't bring me them when I am dead
Let me enjoy them in the giving
My mother always had said.
Let me hold them in my hands
and smell there fragrant scent
Then I will reminisce of different lands
Before; I am heaven sent.
I will reflect back when I was young
Or I might think back not long ago
When I walked underneath the sun
Or when I felt the wind as it blowed.

Bring me flowers when I am here
Please don't wait until I am gone
So I might reflect to a different year
And my memories will last on.
I might reflect to a different time
With every breadth and scent I breath
And knowing the flowers are mine
Shows how much that you love me.
Let me enjoy the flowers again
Let me feel them on my fingers
Because I just don't know when,
And how long my memory will linger.

Bring me flowers with a smile
Please don't bring them with any sorrow
And I will hold them just like a child
As I held you, and held on till tomorrow.
I want to see them once again
As I place them on my table
And then they will be my friend
And I will greet them when I am able.
They will be a part of me
My mothers always had said
So bring them now to me please
And don't wait until I am dead.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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