Related quotes: Anybody can give birth but...

My Mom, The One Who Never Gave Up!

Anybody can give birth but it takes someone with as much integrity and hope, someone with as caring a heart and the amount of strength in which you have shown through out your life to be a real awsome and good enough mother to bring up beautiful girls of which you gave birth to and many other children in which you did not give birth! we thank you soooooooooo much mom and i gauruntee you that god smiles when he turns pages in the book of life and sees only you on one of the pages this page being titled 'The One mother who never gave up! '

poem by Sarah Stetler
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Related quotes

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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He Was Born In Ussr

He was born in USSR
At the hospital there
At 5: 30 am
And that was the time that his mother gave birth to him
But I remember that she said that giving birth was very hard
And I can say to that
Thanks God that men don't give birth
Because I don't think they would want to go through with it
Knowing that there is pain in giving birth to a baby
But when he was 13 he moved from USSR to United States
So that he could get a god education
And a good job in his life

poem by Aldo Kraas
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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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Born On Earth

How many have you given birth,
Mother earth, Mother earth?
Bore them here to drink your rain,
bore them here to feel your pain?

You cannot count them though you try,
not until you feel them die.
One by one they came to you
and one by one they left your view.

They plowed your fields and reaped your seed
and ate of you to fill their need.
Some were kind and pure of heart,
some foolhardy from the start.

How many came and breathed your air
and offered thanks and gave you prayer?
Did you keep a record of each brave soul
or just use yourself to cover the hole

that waits and observes their destiny
and accepts their bodies with sympathy?
How many more will you give birth
to stake their claim upon your earth?

Too many, too many I'm afraid
and for most a terrible price will be paid.
How many have you given birth
Mother earth, Mother earth?

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Mother Moon (prayer)

Mother give me the strength to stand strong
Give me the courage to do whats right
Give me the life to live
And the wisdom to give good advice

Mother give me a life to touch
Give me the emotions to feel
Give me the knowledge to know when its false
And to know when its real

Mother give me the hand to hold
Give me the heart with which to love
Give me the eyes to look upon you
In that glittering sky above

Mother give me someone special
Give me love that knows no end
Your the Goddess in the Heavens
You are my mother and my closest friend

poem by Tatianna Rei Moonshadow
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Life passes through, not being born.

The flowers think they gave birth to seeds,
The shoots, they gave birth to the flowers,
And the plants, they gave birth to the shoots,
So do the seeds they gave birth to plants.
You think you gave birth to the child.
None thinks they are only entrances
For the life force that passes through.
A life is not born, it passes through.
04.01.2003

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Life passes........

poem by Anees Akbar
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Mother, Mother

Mother, mother. My beloved mother,
I hope you know my love for you is like no other.
You do me every favour to show that you care,
And no matter what way we may argue,
I learn that your decisions are all so very fair.

You are a lovely woman and someone to behold,
You're more of a prize to me than any pot of gold.
I see you every day and I think to myself,
"Wow, this angel gave me life! "
This isn't all you're admired for
As I'm sure you make a brilliant wife.

You do every chore around the house;
Where do you get the time?
I'm just surprised that, after so much tiring work,
You're doing rather fine.

At heart, you are very beautiful;
A strong and responsible creature.
Since birth, I have regarded you
As my life-experience teacher.

I'm privileged that you became my mother,
That you were the only one;
You raised me to be me
And gave me hope as big as the sun.

Where would I be without you
Now that every year I've known you,
My endless love for you grew?

I so wish to thank you mother infinitely
For absolutely everything you've done for me.
I have the intention to owe you back, definitely.
Love is all I ask more from you
So you get some back by yours truly: Ste.

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
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The Faces Of Our Women

Mary didn't give birth to God.
Mary isn't the mother of God.
Mary is one mother among many mothers.
Mary gave birth to a son,
a son among many sons.
That's why Mary is so beautiful in all the pictures of her.
That's why Mary's son is so close to us, like our own sons.
The faces of our women are the book of our pains.
Our pains, our faults and the blood we shed
carve scars on the faces of our women like plows.
And our joys are reflected in the eyes of women
like the dawns glowing on the lakes.
Our imaginations are on the faces of women we love.
Whether we see them or not, they are before us,
closest to our realities and furthest.

poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Mother's Son

It should never be done
For a mother to have to bury her son
In a sad tombstone filled place
Giving him over to the grounds embrace
It could have been anyone
But why, oh why was it a mother’s son?
Who decided to let him die?
What is she supposed to do?
Get back up and start to dry
The never ending tears from her eyes
He was her first and only hers
Now she’s living out the curse
Of life without him on this Earth
She remembers from his birth
Happy times, with no hurt
It could have been anyone
But why, oh why was it a mother’s son?
But over there is another
Bending, grieving a mother
But who is she to have to bear
Burdens that will always wear
On the hearts of mothers everywhere
She sees no life left to live
And yet her heart refuses to give
It is strong and will fight
And live the life
Taken away from one to young
It could have been anyone
But why, oh why was it a mother’s son?

poem by Rae Carroll
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Book Of Days

Your life is as a book
Written on the pages are the weeks
For you would give anything to take just one look
Into the next chapter, the next page

Each page is a new thought, a new dream
Sometimes it takes so long to pass that page
And sometimes nothing is as it seams
For you know you can not go ahead or back

You know you are where you are
You know you can't change that
As you read page to page, so near to fear
You write the chapters as you go, with each turn

Each turn, each move changes what's to come
And you know each moment could be the last
With this in mind you go so mumb
So numb to the touch, to the thought

You turn page after page
until you reach the 'end'
And only then, you are freed from the title
The title that has kept your thoughts bound, and tight

You turn the pages one by one
You take the pain, take the joy
Until you are done
And your story becomes another on the shelf of eternity

(1/24/2008)

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Angel's Kiss

An angel stood beside the bed
Where lay the living and the dead.
He gave the mother -- her who died --
A kiss that Christ the Crucified

Had sent to greet the weary soul
When, worn and faint, it reached its goal.

He gave the infant kisses twain,
One on the breast, one on the brain.

"Go forth into the world," he said,
"With blessings on your heart and head,

"For God, who ruleth righteously,
Hath ordered that to such as be

"From birth deprived of mother's love,
I bring His blessing from above;

"But if the mother's life he spare
Then she is made God's messenger

"To kiss and pray that heart and brain
May go through life without a stain."

The infant moved towards the light,
The angel spread his wings in flight.

But each man carries to his grave
The kisses that in hopes to save
The angel or his mother gave.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Krishna Complains About His Older Brother

O mother mine, Dau (Balram)forever teases me.
you never gave birth to me,
and I was bought in the market.
this is what he tells me
o mother mihne, Dau forever teases me.
fed up of his teasing ways,
I don't go out to play.
who is your mother?
and who is your father?
again and again he says.
Yasoda's fair, so also Nanda,
how come you're so dark?
Dau provokes, the gopas laugh,
and all have such a lark.
me, mother, you want to beat,
but Dau you never even scold,
seeing the anger on Mohan's face
Yasoda's joy was untold,
listen Kanha, Balbhadra is naughty,
wicked from his birth,
you're my son, and I your mother,
I swear by mother cows worth!

poem by Sant Surdas
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What The Poet Wrote

What the Poet Wrote
(Birth over an open grave)

A poet wrote: ”Mothers give birth over an open grave. I thought it was harsh, most
children live long after their mothers die. A young man driving behind me was edgy
wanted to overtake thought I was driving too slow. I kept as far to the right as I could,
he saw his chance, but he was not quick enough, front collision. He wasn’t wearing
seat belt, died on the bonnet of his car. So much blood, dark red and sweet, but his
eyes were open and they saw beyond to a place I have never been. His mother,
a widow, collapsed when the coffin was lowered into a an unfeeling ground, she had
given birth over an open grave. I see a field lit by millions of candles in rows a man
walks among them and ever so often snuffs out light with his thumb and index finger.
But behind him new light appear, sometimes he turn go back and snuffs the new
lights out, mothers who have given birth over an open grave. He is now heading for
the part of the field where the candles have burnt out, only the wick flickers, quickly
he snuffs them out, but misses some, of people who live too long, those who death
has cruelly missed. There is no light on my terrace, a car passes by and plants casts
shadows on the wall, they have no colours. I’m past caring; tomorrow will come
whether I’m there or not, mother will never know if she gave birth to an open grave.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Mother’s Day

Mother, I owe you my life and love;
The good things that you did,
Can I forget?
Mother, you gave me my birth on earth;
You nursed me and reared me,
Kissed me and blessed.

Mother, you were my dear teacher first;
Who showed me the wide world,
Helped stand erect.
Mother, you were my role-model/ guide;
Who moulded my character,
Revealed God’s love.

Mother, you toiled for my life’s comfort;
Can I ever repay
Your kindness, care, love?
‘Happy Mother’s Day,2011! ’
From loving daughters, Cathy and Diana

poem by John Celes
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Mother

(Translation To: Mutter)

The tears of a crowd of very old children
I string them on a white hair
I throw the wet chain into the air
and wish that I had a mother
no sun shines for me
There was no breast that cried milk
There is a tube that sticks in my throat
I have no navel on my stomach

Mother

I was not allowed to lick any nipples
and there was no fold to hide in
no one gave me a name
fathered in haste and without sperm
I have sworn tonight
For the mother that never gave birth to me
I will send her a sickness
and afterwards let her sink in the river

Mother

An eel lives in her lungs
on my forehead

song performed by by Rammstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Book, Trees and Leaves

The book
at the used book store
had a leaf pressed between its pages,
its veins showing;
pressed flat
and brown;
an unwilling bookmark-
the pages of the ages.

The tree
its mother,
died for those pages

her offspring
flattened out
upon mother's page breast
tiny lines and squiggles
between the veins;
no tree can read
no leaf can comprehend.

I take the leaf to give it a proper burial
in the compost heap
so that its remains
have a small chance
of one day
becoming part of a tree.

I lay its leafy body down
thinking;
'I think I shall never see
anything a lovely as a tree.'
In years
a bookmark it will make
upon my backyard landscape
marking Nature's Chapter entitled
'Ironies.'

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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