Home After Three Months Away
Gone now the baby's nurse,
a lioness who ruled the roost
and made the Mother cry.
She used to tie
gobbets of porkrind in bowknots of gauze--
three months they hung like soggy toast
on our eight foot magnolia tree,
and helped the English sparrows
weather a Boston winter.
Three months, three months!
Is Richard now himself again?
Dimpled with exaltation,
my daughter holds her levee in the tub.
Our noses rub,
each of us pats a stringy lock of hair--
they tell me nothing's gone.
Though I am forty-one,
not forty now, the time I put away
was child's play. After thirteen weeks
my child still dabs her cheeks
to start me shaving. When
we dress her in her sky-blue corduroy,
she changes to a boy,
and floats my shaving brush
and washcloth in the flush. . . .
Dearest I cannot loiter hre
in lather like a polar bear.
Recuperating, I neither spin nor toil.
Three stories down below,
a choreman tends our coffin's length of soil,
and seven horizontal tulips blow.
Just twelve months ago,
these flowers were pedigreed
imported Dutchmen; no no one need
distinguish them from weed.
Bushed by the late spring snow,
they cannot meet
another year's snowballing enervation.
I keep no rank nor station.
Cured, I am frizzled, stale and small.
poem by Robert Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The mother and the artist
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of wonderfully emollient freshness; every
unfurling instant of impregnably magnificent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of spellbindingly undefeated innocence; every
unfurling instant of symbiotically pristine existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of timelessly unconquerable truth; every unfurling
instant of bounteously magnanimous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unfathomably unfettered creativity; every
unfurling instant of timelessly burgeoning existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of royally triumphant resplendence; every
unfurling instant of unconquerably majestic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of eternally exhilarating vivaciousness; every
unfurling instant of redolently insuperable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbelievably ameliorating optimism; every
unfurling instant of marvelously benign existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of brilliantly liberated camaraderie; every
unfurling instant of iridescently inscrutable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unshakably virgin righteousness; every
unfurling instant of beautifully untainted existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of uninhibitedly heavenly frolic; every unfurling
instant of tantalizingly sensuous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of compassionately humanitarian friendship; every
unfurling instant of magically mitigating existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of miraculously everlasting freshness; every
unfurling instant of invincibly coalescing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of pricelessly ubiquitous oneness; every unfurling
instant of robustly blessed existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbreakably Omnipotent desire; every unfurling
instant of victoriously effulgent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unceasingly reinvigorating fantasy; every
unfurling minute of poignantly charismatic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of insurmountably intrepid enchantment; every
unfurling minute of rhapsodically unhindered existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Omnisciently tranquil serenity; every unfurling
instant of endlessly bestowing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of perpetually fragrant breath; every unfurling
instant of Omnipresently benevolent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Immortally ardent love; every unfurling instant
of limitlessly fructifying existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fantastically alleviating poetry; every
unfurling instant of boundlessly splendid existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fabulously effervescent tanginess; every
unfurling instant of spiritually uplifting existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unlimitedly enlightening Sunshine; every
unfurling instant of infallibly luminescent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of immaculately godly melody; every unfurling
instant of amiably melanging existence,
Because. And Only Because. A Mother is; has and shall for times immemorial
remain the Greatest Sculptor of every organism on this astoundingly
multiplying Universe; A Mother is the Greatest Artist….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Daughter
9 months i carried you
An 9 months i waited for you
9 months later
With 6 hours of labor
Here you are
So cute an so small
My little girl you are
3 years i held you
In my arms you were
In fear and tears
Were you wrapped safely in my arms
Now nearly 4 years later i lose you
My little girl taken away
You were tortured an beaten
left alone to die
You came of a crime
An i didnt love you any less
You changed my life so much
An as fast as you came
You left me so soon
I spend my days down
Crying every minute without you
When i should be holding you
Showing that i love you
That i will always be there
But instead i cry an cry
Placing flowers on a grave for you
My daughter you were made
My daughter you became
My daughter you are
Whether here or far away
My daughter you will always be
poem by Kerrie Maurer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Stringy-Bark Tree
There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.
Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.
And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings its wood was the best;
And for shingles and palings to last while men be,
There was nothing on earth like the stringy-bark tree.
Far up the long gullies the timber-trucks went,
Over tracks that seemed hopeless, by bark hut and tent;
And the gaunt timber-finder, who rode at his ease,
Led them on to a gully of stringy-bark trees.
Now still from the ridges, by ways that are dark,
Come the shingles and palings they call stringy-bark;
Though you ride through long gullies a twelve months you’ll see
But the old whitened stumps of the stringy-bark tree.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Treatments
Six months treatment with oil and myrrh,
Six months treatment with perfumes and cosmetics,
But wisdom is better than rubies!
The treaments of our lives is like the linen from Egypt.
Wisdom is my sister and i am with the lovers of summer,
Understandiing is my kinswoman and it is like the flowers of spring;
But my fruit is better than gold!
Like the eaters of winter and the players of summer,
Ethiopia and Seba are for a price;
But i have six months of treatments with my mind on the moon too.
Drinkers of autumn and the life on the seas,
Like a ritual bath without hope;
But before the dark black of the night,
You need six months of treatments before the flood.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Saw A Child Four Months Old Today
I SAW A CHILD FOUR MONTHS OLD TODAY
I saw a child four months old today
And was brought back to a most happy time in my life
When my children were very young-
Who could have believed this blessing would come again
And this small grandchild would make me feel
As I have not felt in years
That life itself is an incredible joy beyond any I ever could have expected
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The summer it snowed
Blue skies
yards of green
flowers of mulitude
among such wonderess gifts
I walk towards my ever nearing
winter
My lungs full of dirty snow
I hear not the singing of birds
but the calling of my black forcast
Summer
kids play
boats sail
I succum
no longer able to shovel
the snow away
Yet in peace in tread
for months are now weeks
and soon weeks will be days
For me spring brought fall
and the summer brought
snow
and the winter will bring
my forever peace
poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unseen Visitor
You imprisoned in
Mother’s womb
When I was arrested and imprisoned
In social prison womb
Without seeking the sun and moon
Days and weeks
Months and years passed
And in the meantime you released from uterus
Keeping eternal pain
in my heart no one seen
Without a name and a born father
Grew up in a transitional time
And I put a name after three months
Relatives knew
But it concealed to neighbors
“Her father has been in abroad”
After almost six months
My daughter with mother
In front of the prison
Where crowding packed room in prison
Between the wall and through a small window fixed a
Small holes net
They have come to see me
.
Touching the iron bar
She was looking at me
Tears collapsed
Out of eyes of mother
But my eyes dried up
As the heart weeping
“This is your father”
Asked with sighs
She smiled
Looking at me
Touching the iron bar
Udaya R. Tennakoon
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Storage Space
She had been asked to use her uterus,
To incubate the birth of someone else's child.
She was asked if she would keep it baked...
And to become a surrogate,
For a while.
I know my ideals are old fashion.
And a gift wished by another,
Should not be denied.
But if I carried something within me,
For nine months.
It would be hard to see...
Someone take it from my side.
Or denied me the opportunity...
To rush to comfort my child,
When my child cried.
Some have called me a 'mother'.
By another name attached and meant.
And perhaps it is good I am not that kind.
Since I can not perceive myself...
As a storage space,
To be paid nine months for rent!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
June And July
June and July are right in the middle
Of a time that is a period to learn.
The months of our summer in this land
I call England,
Are like these months.
The other months work for these ones,
And those ones that are not these two months
Still believe in the sun and moon and planets.
They trust the stars, walk in the mind
And state our successes, in all our graveness.
The grave has no month, but lives in years
To manage the time in heaven.
For some June is like July,
But I think what they look is what they are.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Just One Of Those days
I'm so tired I dunno why..
I feel like I been working like a dog.
It's funny cus I haven't done
anything the whole day,
but sit lazily on this chair.
Its the weather, there's so much pressure
Its draggin me around
I really hate it.
September and April are the worst months of the year
transition months
I wish i could sleep those two months,
you know, writing a notice that goes like,
'wake me up when October comes' and
sleep all the way through September.
The same goes for April, but change the October to May.
The internet connection is awfully lazy today.
Maybe it is the weather again.
It's not worth downloading anything during the day
Funny how the weather is ruining everything.
I feel like doing something else
besides sitting on the computer
and writing this.
The weather is again to blame.
poem by Arsiema Berhane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Little Man
I watch him breath
As he sleeps in his bed
No longer a child
But a man instead
He gave me new meaning
He gave me new life
He helped me be
A better human being in life
He came into being
From deep within me
Nine months he grew
A kick start to new life
The day he was born
I looked on in awe
At this small baby boy
Who gave me a chance?
At a wonderful new life
From baby to child
To teenager, then young man
I wonder and think
Is he ready for life?
Can he handle the journey?
That is now, his, own plight
Will he make the right choices?
When in doubt, when in strife
Softly I smile at my little man
Will he be the man?
I know he can be
To me he will always be
The small little miracle
That god gave to me
And yes I know
He is just like me
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Change Upon Change
Five months ago the stream did flow,
The lilies bloomed within the sedge,
And we were lingering to and fro,
Where none will track thee in this snow,
Along the stream, beside the hedge.
Ah, Sweet, be free to love and go!
For if I do not hear thy foot,
The frozen river is as mute,
The flowers have dried down to the root:
And why, since these be changed since May,
Shouldst thou change less than they.
And slow, slow as the winter snow
The tears have drifted to mine eyes;
And my poor cheeks, five months ago
Set blushing at thy praises so,
Put paleness on for a disguise.
Ah, Sweet, be free to praise and go!
For if my face is turned too pale,
It was thine oath that first did fail, --
It was thy love proved false and frail, --
And why, since these be changed enow,
Should I change less than thou.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All I Want For Christmas
You could shop until you drop
At every mall in town
Searching for that special gift for me
Cowboy boots, a hunting suit
That would be just fine
But you can't buy the biggest wish of mine
Honey, all I want for Christmas
Is a new year with you
Twelve more months of loving
A heart so sweet and true
Make me a promise
That's the best that you can do
All I want for Christmas
Is a new year with you
I could make a list of my requests
And send them to Santa Claus
Tell him what a good man I've been
He could land up on our rooftop
Bring it all on Christmas eve
But you've still got the greatest gift for me
Honey, all I want for Christmas
Is a new year with you
Twelve more months of loving
A heart so sweet and true
Make me a promise
That's the best that you can do
All I want for Christmas
Is a new year with you
I could be so happy
Holding you by firelight
Listening to you whisper
I'm yours for life
Honey, all I want for Christmas
Is a new year with you
Twelve more months of loving
A heart so sweet and true
Make me a promise
That's the best that you can do
All I want for Christmas
Is a new year with you
Honey, all I want for Christmas
Is a new year with you
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Innocence Died With the Coming of Spring
The snow fell all night
In the morning
The world was transformed
Into a vision of purity.
Six months later
The weather warmed.
The snow melted
Revealing six months
Accumulation of dog turds
Perfectly preserved
And just as fresh
As the day they were laid.
These things can twist a
Young mind
They put the zap on mine
Fifty years latter
I cannot contemplate
Purity without
Wondering how long
It will take
For the snow to melt.
poem by Allan Thorne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Became Grandma
My daughter carries the child firm
In her womb for ten months term;
Like a pearl kept in the shell, the child
grows to be delivered into the world;
Head, chest, abdomen, hands and legs grow
along the internal organs with heart and brain;
I feel longing to see the face of the child
the first appearance in to the world;
I count the days to hug softly
And kiss the baby soothingly;
The beautiful moon has slipped down
Came to the earth upside down;
The doctor and nurse attended delivery
My daughter delivered a female child;
I became grandma instantly
I feel happy extremely!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For six months I'd do movies and make it all about me. Then the other six months, it's not about me and it doesn't matter what my hair looks like or what anything looks like.
quote by Rachel True
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I carry Yeats with me wherever I go. He's my constant companion. I always can find some comfort in Yeats no matter what the situation is. Months and months and months go by and I know I need to switch to Shelley or somebody else, but right now Yeats is enough for me.
quote by Linda Hamilton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My son now is 22 months old, he's been playing since he was 12 months old and he gets standing ovations on the drums. He's been with us since he was 10 weeks old, he's been on the drums. He's got blisters on his fingers before he can even talk.