A day asMom

my day begins with a word of thanks

For life for strength for peace for wisdom and yes for grace

Where do I begin i ponder gazing in bewilderment at the nights mass

Get to it already the voice within me childes there's school to be ready for!

In a practised rhythm my labour begins

one borne out of nothing but love

In time mustering my all order is restored alas the readying begins

Cleaned and fed we haste for the door; with a smile on my face my respite to embrace 

Mug in hands I make ready to unwind and 

No O Where did that come from .....

The morning mess meets me with a grin my rest is foiled.....

The joy of motherhood can sometimes be overwhelming 

But I will choose this all over again!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Here I aim to describe my life as a stay at home mom to 5 lovely children. My kids are the reason I get up each day!

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The Stain

The mother stared with great disdain

Upon the freshly formed red stain

With jam her son had made a mess;

A wound upon her new white dress


It was an accidental spill

No conscious act forced by his will,

Apart from that it was but air,

No need to note that it was there


She knew that soap would take it out

With massive ease, she had no doubt,

But still she chose to curse and rant

To spawn a whale out of an ant


The boy who thought this display poor

Was by her cut off from the door

Through which things waited to be done

But couldn’t be until she’d gone


And while her fury held the reigns

She could have rid ten thousand stains

And still had time to contemplate

If mind and matter correlate


The stain itself, no mystery

Seemed to the child like history

A mark not let alone to fade

Wherefrom more dirty specs were made


On which more thoughts and words were built

Then on lush patterns there, not spilt

In turn lit up by scorn or praise

So shielding all from light’s true rays


So violently her anger flew

That vases, pots and pans did too,

Though whence from sight with brush ‘twas torn

She took it for what he had borne



Indeed with all mess cleared away

She saw too also was the day

Though when such thoughts inside her crept

They were the same way outward swept


Yet till she was in casket lain

Her values were not held in vain

For when she came to leave this place

She left not but the slightest trace

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When she wondered if she had ever seen anything as beautiful as her baby

a voice inside her answered


and when she wondered how long this feeling of love would last

that same voice whispered




The longer I live this life the more that I have found

how life is but a circle…and how we travel round…


Our circle begins as a thought… a simple wish…a hope…a sigh

a dream…a spark in our mom’s imagination…a twinkle in her eye.


For she begins our circle…our circle of life on Earth

through the beauty of creation…through the wonder of our birth.


This is part of her circle…part of her design

and this is where her circle and our circle intertwine.


Initially she helps to guide us as each new morning dawns

providing comfort, compassion and love…as our circle’s being drawn .


But there comes a time in every life…a time every mom must know

when it’s time to separate the circles…time to let us go.


For part of drawing her circle is knowing once we’re grown…

she has provided us the strength and independence…to draw circles of our own.


This is how it is supposed to be…our circles are meant to intertwine.

It is part of the natural order…part of the grand design.


We are meant to share moments, memories, children, grandchildren…

laughter, joy and tears…

food and fun, and comedy and tragedy through all the coming years.


Until there comes a time when our mom needs us…when her journey slows

when she looks to us for guidance…knowing her circle’s about to close.


And we’re happy now to comfort her…as she finds her way up to the stars.

Happy to guide her journey tenderly…as she once guided ours


Until the day we say goodbye…knowing we’ve been blessed by a life so sweet


feeling at the same time sad but happy…her circle is complete.

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On the day she was born her mother held her in her arms

her happiness cascading down in tears.

She kissed her forehead, held her tiny hand in hers

then whispered in her ear…


Do you want to know a secret?

It’s crazy but it’s true.

For as long as I can remember

I’ve been waiting here for you.


You were a thought I had when I was young…

A wish that persevered…

A dream that reached perfection

the day when you appeared…


There may come a time..a moment in your life

before your childhood is through

When you might stop and wonder

when I first fell in love with you.


I’m not sure how it happened

I’m not sure how I knew

But there has always been a place in my heart

I had reserved for you.


A place both warm and comforting

where my love for you survived…

And there it waited patiently

for the day you would arrive…


I’ve had years of love stored up for you…

waiting for the day our lives would intertwine…

and the truth is…

I did not fall in into your love…


you fell into mine.

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Windows Painted Closed

Her words spit out as I  
feign interest with a nod.    
Then silence,    
A forceful pause,  
Her stern gaze pries.  
Though I’ve learned to hate her way,  
My words come out wrong.  
“I will not go!”  
“I will not be who you want me to be!”  
We start throwing fire.  
No breaks,  
No giving in.  
The words revolve around  
My spinning head.  
In her house,    
I could barely breathe  
With all these windows  
painted closed.

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She kept it on top of a glass shelf, above the cream colored marble washbasin, there it was the little bottle of that pinkish elixir that I loved so much, my mother’s signature scent. If there’s something about my childhood that I remember clear as water is her getting ready and me smelling her perfume as soon as I walked in her bedroom. If I had to picture the perfume standing on the shelf, as I’m doing while writing these words, I can picture myself contemplating the bottle along with her other perfumes, mesmerized and it makes me think of that scene from the movie “The parent trap” where Hallie is contemplating her mom’s dressing table while “here comes the sun” by The Beatles plays in the background, as she moves her finger through all those bottles and pearls. It’s just an ordinary perfume but to me it means a lot. Whenever I smelled it I could feel peace ruling my body, because that scent meant that my mom was there and she could hold me tight and warm. I’m pretty sure that perfume has been in that shelf standing straight as a statue for ages and ages now, it’s like that small glass bottle was never-ending and bottomless. All throughout my childhood and adolescence when I thought of my mom I remembered her scent caged in that clear diamond shape bottle, and trust me I still do, that’s why I’m putting my love for that perfume into words. My mother had other scents, but the one that would make my eyes water now if I smelled it, its Lancôme’s Trésor, not because the scent itself makes me sad, but it reminds me of her, please don’t think in tragedies, my mom is still in this world it’s just she’s not here with me and it doesn’t feel nice. Many times when I was little I’d wonder if I could borrow her scent so I could smell as magnificent as her. The truth is I never asked her if I could, there was something intimidating about that perfume, that made me think that it was a forbidden scent, because it could only belong to her.

Anyways, I’ll end this saying the following, when the darkness of the sky embraces me at night and when I feel floating in an empty lonely room, all I have to do is remember my mom and her Trésor.


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Missing Son

"Train a child in the way he [should] go; and, even when old, he will not swerve from it." Proverbs 22:6

Growing up, taught to be alone. Moving from place to place

without a place to call home trained in a way to avoid social life

My closest friends, characters on tv, it's a wonder people didn't pity me.

the son of an author who was always on the run trying to escape his problems, escaping none.

Years of my life spent learning from shows playing video games, a person no one knows

Never comunicating with my family or my friends unless, of course, my choices were at their ends.

Only when I needed something, that is how I was taught

it now seems to me the television teachings were simply all for naught

For though they showed values of friends and family

they lacked the truth and happieness of lifes reality

So when I write this poem the truth is revealing

I live my life in secluded bliss without care or feeling

I don't think about what it must do to those who love me most

those who were left out of my life by my father, the television host.

I only call when I need something seldom do I write

yet I know you go on with your life hoping that I might.

I've tried to change and break the ways sadly I know not how

I am your missing son reaching out to you now.

I may never change my loner life I may never be the perfect son

but in all those shows I learned lessons from this is the most important one.

In a show called "Boy Meets World" A Lunchroom lady dies

no one really seemed to care though she touched all their lives.

While at school, young Corey learns that one doesn't know what one might miss

until it's gone from your life with deaths unwelcomed kiss.

But at home a mother strives to have breakfast done

but her family runs out on her each morning she's alone

Finally young Corey stops and sits to eat the meal,

realizing a lesson learned his words sweeten the deal.

You should appreciate those who care for you and who strive to do their best.

He looks at her and smiles and says "Thanks for making me breakfast!"

Though I've not had his life I often wished I did 

Have a family like the Matthews and friend like that Corey kid.

I can't stop to thank you for breakfast It wouldn't make any sense.

All I can do for you on this your birthday. Is thank you for giving birth to me

and for being there in every way,

even though I run out on you and leave you alone for breakfast every day.

I'm nowhere near a perfect son, in any way shape or form

I may never even change my ways, always being a distant son.

But I will not forget that you have always been there for me

and that you are my mom.

So on this day that celebrates your birth I wish the best for you

I may not be the perfect son but these words I say are true.

Happy Birthday to the greatest of moms!

Your missing son loves you.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Dedicated to a great mother, who puts up with the fact that her son never talks to her except when he needs something. Devri Mills

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My mother’s canary

My mother loves many kinds of animals but most of all, she loves canaries. Since I can remember she has always had many types of birds in the house. Some were colorful, sometimes yellow, blue or red and other times they were gray and white. A few of them used to sing very beautiful melodies and others were so quiet that you could ask yourself if they were mute or simply they didn’t know how to sing. Most of them have died over the years or my mother has given them to her sisters, Mary and Marthis. Now she has this small canary with white and black spots, that my aunt Mary gave to her as a birthday gift three or four years ago. My mother says that the canary is a female and she calls her Bonita. She lives in a white and orange house-shaped cage, inside of it is a little blue swing, two sticks where she rests and on the floor is her food and water containers. My mother is very careful and responsible with her little canary. Every morning she cleans her cage changing the newspaper in the floor for a new one and bringing her food and water. My mother says that this canary is very different than the others that she used to have because every time she puts clean water in the cage, the little bird takes a bath. Also, when Bonita wants to go out, she chirps. This little white and black canary doesn’t sing marvelous melodies but if you whistle to her, she will reply. It feels like she is talking to you because she does different tones depending on the sound of your whistle. Sometimes they are more sharping noises than normal. One day my grandfather visited us and when he saw Bonita he did a little whistle that she answered with a chirp. We all laughed. My father also whistled, except it was an offensive sound, which Bonita also answered; we all laughed hard about that. I think my mother loves to have her because Bonita is her company when my sister and I are not in the house. Also, she makes her happy when she chirps, and she loves her color and little shape.  But deep inside I think that canaries remind my mother her childhood and youth, when she used to live at my grandmother’s home because her mother also loved birds. I believe that she loves having birds because of that and I didn’t realize that until writing these words.

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