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Mother to Son

VON LANGSTON HUGHES

Well, son, I’ll tell you:

Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

It’s had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor—

Bare.

But all the time

I’se been a-climbin’ on,

And reachin’ landin’s,

And turnin’ corners,

And sometimes goin’ in the dark

Where there ain’t been no light.

So boy, don’t you turn back.

Don’t you set down on the steps

’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

Don’t you fall now—

For I’se still goin’, honey,

I’se still climbin’,

And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

To My Mother

VON EDGAR ALLAN POE

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,

The angels, whispering to one another,

Can find, among their burning terms of love,

None so devotional as that of “Mother,”

Therefore by that dear name I long have called you—

You who are more than mother unto me,

And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you

In setting my Virginia's spirit free.

My mother—my own mother, who died early,

Was but the mother of myself; but you

Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew

By that infinity with which my wife

Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

Mother's Day Proclamation

VON JULIA WARD HOWE

Again, in the sight of the Christian world, have the skill and power of two great nations exhausted themselves in mutual murder. Again have the sacred questions of international justice been committed to the fatal mediation of military weapons. In this day of progress, in this century of light, the ambition of rulers has been allowed to barter the dear interests of domestic life for the bloody exchanges of the battle field. Thus men have done. Thus men will do. But women need no longer be made a party to proceedings which fill the globe with grief and horror. Despite the assumptions of physical force, the mother has a sacred and commanding word to say to the sons who owe their life to her suffering. That word should now be heard, and answered to as never before.

Arise, then, Christian women of this day ! Arise, all women who have hearts, Whether your baptism be that of water or of tears ! Say firmly : We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country, to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs. From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with our own. It says: Disarm, disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice. Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence vindicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of council.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead. Let them then solemnly take council with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, man as the brother of man, each bearing after his own kind the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God.

In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women, without limit of nationality, may be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient, and at the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace.

I Remember, I Remember

VON THOMAS HOOD

I remember, I remember,

The house where I was born,

The little window where the sun

Came peeping in at morn;

He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day,

But now, I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,

The roses, red and white,

The vi'lets, and the lily-cups,

Those flowers made of light!

The lilacs where the robin built,

And where my brother set

The laburnum on his birthday,—

The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,

The fir trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops

Were close against the sky:

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from heav'n

Than when I was a boy.

The Lanyard

VON BILLY COLLINS

The other day I was ricocheting slowly

off the blue walls of this room,

moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,

from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,

when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary

where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist

could send one into the past more suddenly—

a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp

by a deep Adirondack lake

learning how to braid long thin plastic strips

into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard

or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,

but that did not keep me from crossing

strand over strand again and again

until I had made a boxy

red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,

and I gave her a lanyard.

She nursed me in many a sick room,

lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,

laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,

and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,

and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.

Here are thousands of meals, she said,

and here is clothing and a good education.

And here is your lanyard, I replied,

which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,

strong legs, bones and teeth,

and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,

and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.

And here, I wish to say to her now,

is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,

but the rueful admission that when she took

the two-tone lanyard from my hand,

I was as sure as a boy could be

that this useless, worthless thing I wove

out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Her Hands

VON MAGGIE PITTMAN

Her hands held me gently from the day I took my first breath.

Her hands helped to guide me as I took my first step.

Her hands held me close when the tears would start to fall.

Her hands were quick to show me that she would take care of it all.

Her hands were there to brush my hair, or straighten a wayward bow.

Her hands were often there to comfort the hurts that didn't always show.

Her hands helped hold the stars in place, and encouraged me to reach.

Her hands would clap and cheer and praise when I captured them at length.

Her hands would also push me, though not down or in harm's way.

Her hands would punctuate the words, just do what I say.

Her hands sometimes had to discipline, to help bend this young tree.

Her hands would shape and mold me into all she knew I could be.

Her hands are now twisting with age and years of work,

Her hand now needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt.

Her hands are more beautiful than anything can be.

Her hands are the reason I am me.

You Are My Heart And Soul

VON ELIZABETH ROBINSON

Thank you...

For standing by me through thick and thin,

For not giving up on me when I didn't win,

For your patience when I kept pushing you away,

For caring when I said I didn't need you anyway.

I am grateful knowing...

I can count on your strength,

Ask for your support and know you'll go to any length.

When I lose my way,

You help me get back on track.

When in pain,

Your comfort soothes and brings me back.

I am lucky because...

When I was sad, you gave me faith and hope.

When I was confused, you taught me how to cope.

When I felt I couldn't go on,

You carried me long miles.

When I didn't believe,

You restored my smiles.

Mom, thank you...

For your guidance and the faith you've shown,

For giving me a safe place where I have grown,

For showing me how to strive.

Because of your love,

I will survive.

A Poem For Mom

VON CHAMPAGNE BAKER

You are the sunlight in my day,

You are the moon I see far away.

You are the tree I lean upon,

You are the one that makes troubles be gone.

You are the one who taught me life,

How not to fight, and what is right.

You are the words inside my song,

You are my love, my life, my mom.

You are the one who cares for me,

You are the eyes that help me see.

You are the one who knows me best,

When it’s time to have fun and time to rest.

You are the one who has helped me to dream,

You hear my heart and you hear my screams.

Afraid of life but looking for love,

I’m blessed for God sent you from above.

You are my friend, my heart, and my soul

You are the greatest friend I know.

You are the words inside my song,

You are my love, my life, my Mom.

A Mother's Love Is True Love

VON LEOTHA BROWN II

A mother's love is a wonderful love packaged from heaven with special care.

A mother's love is like no other love that you can compare.

A mother's love is purified by angels and flows directly from her soul.

A mother's love is justified by God, and by his hands he created the mold.

This mold that was shaped and fashioned by God has endured the test of time.

This mold that was taped and recorded by women rang out like a heavenly chime.

A mother's love is unconditional, and from her heart this can be told.

A mother's love is nutritional; it is the fruit that feeds our soul.

A mother's love 'IS' true love, and from her heart she cannot lie.

A mother's love is eternal, the kind that won't ever die.

A mother's love is the tie that binds, and her bond can never be broken.

A mother's love is branded in our hearts, even when her words aren't spoken.

God's Special Creation

VON LENORA MCWHORTER

The hand that rocks the cradle

also makes the house a home.

It is the prayers of the mother

that keeps the family strong.

Mother rises early in the morning

and bathes her day in prayer.

She talks to God about her family

and places them in His care.

Mother communicates her love

in a thousand different ways.

When there's a need, she is there,

whether it is night or day.

Mother seasons life with love

and gives so much of herself.

God placed in her the best He had

and made her unlike anyone else.

When challenges come our way

and when trials block our view,

Mother kneels down beside her bed

and prays the family through.

Mother is God's special creation.

She is a light shining in the dark,

illuminating the path for her family

and pointing them toward God.

"Dear Mom, on this special day,

I just want to say

Thank you for your love and care,

For always being there.

You've been my rock, my guide,

Through every twist and every ride.

I hope you know how much you mean,

To me, you are a queen.

So here's to you, my dear mother,

May this day be like no other.

You deserve all the love and praise,

On this and every Mother's Day."