#poems about mothers

[hersurvival]

My mother's door

Was unlocked for everyone.

Everyone else.

I was removing AC units

From the outside

To climb through windows.

While friends

Were given meals, blankets,

A temporary home.

@nosebleedclub July 2nd - Open Door

[words-i-think]

Don’t look at me,

Unless you are going to love me.

Don’t say my name so sweetly,

Unless you are going to hold me.

Don’t feed me poison,

Unless you are going to kill me.

Please leave me to return to dust.

I fear to be in your gaze.

[wr4thofth3lamb]

As I saw my mother tap someone’s childs head I nodded, I think, it’s easy to love someone else’s child, it’s the easiest thing to do, cause it’s not yours. I wish I was my mother someone else’s child.

[likewedream]

[avanillaopus]

lavender

You walk ahead of us as the afternoon sun beats down, a promise of glorious summer nights and even more glorious summer memories. The cracked pavement is flanked by blooming lavender bushes, their aroma acting as a time machine that transports me back to the most comforting moments of my girlhood.

Alice predicts what you’re going to do before the thought even occurs to you and we watch on in excited anticipation to see if she’s right. You reach out and pluck a flower from the bush as you walk, rub it between your fingers and bring it to the tip of your nose. You inhale as though it has magical properties. 

Nan used to that too and at that moment, you are a reflection of her, a reflection of the woman Alice is becoming, my own fate sealed with pretty purple petals. 

Most girls spend their entire lives fighting to become anyone but their mother, their grandmother, their sister, but not me. If I flower into half the woman you did, have an ounce of Nan’s strength and a fraction of Alice’s character, I’ll have become exactly who I always wanted to be.

- h.w, for my mother

[b0ydyke-g1rlfag]

when a baby bird learns to fly

it’s practically just falling

and there is hope that nature will take its course

but if the bird does not fly

it will hit the ground and die

and yet

no matter the chance of falling and dying

they still try to fly

even though it could destroy them

i think that sometimes i worry i am like a bird that wants very badly to fly away but knows that if it tries the risk of falling is far greater than the chance of flying

i wonder what it is like when a mother bird has to return to the nest to that

does she mourn?

would my mother mourn like a bird even if i did manage to fly?

[maryhall]

to my mother

i love you

like astronomers watch the stars 

i love you

like a dog starves itself

i love you

like we were close when i was young

i love you

[hrokkall]

Mama gave me music lessons,

now I play the saddest songs

[mothmandibles]

🇵🇸 May We Be Free, Together. One genocided peoples to another. We stand with Palestine, now and forever. 🇦🇲

Care for Gaza (Direct Paypal)

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Palestine Children Relief Fund

Medical Aid for Palestinians

Daily Click For Palestine (Help by at least clicking this daily, it may not be much but it counts for something at least.)

BDS's website, remember to follow the boycott.

[asoftepiloguemylove]

I AM NOT BEAUTIFUL BUT I COULD BE

Chen Chen Poplar Street // pinterest // 괴물 Beyond Evil (2021) dir. Shim Nayeon // Janet Fitch // Taylor Swift seven // @girltwinkabigail // 괴물 Beyond Evil (2021) dir. Shim Nayeon // Mitski Class of 2013 // Taylor Swift You're On Your Own, Kid // Margaret Atwood Selected Poems: 1965-1975 (via @freshberries) // 괴물 Beyond Evil (2021) dir. Shim Nayeon // Salman Rushdie East, West // Emily Palermo // 괴물 Beyond Evil (2021) dir. Shim Nayeon // Desireé Dallagiacomo Sink

[raayllum]

—two.bees.poetry

[katakaluptastrophy]

Then the nun came back and knocked on my door and said, John, I think I have it. I know you’re very scared right now, but I’m going to help you. Please let me in.

He said: I let her in. She’d brought P—’s gun.

As they stood in that filthy hallway, he looked down at the brown collection of clothes and body. She did too, recognising, dimly, what she was looking at. He said, “Don’t. This isn’t what she looks like.” - NTN, John 1:20

Are the brown clothes due to the floodwaters, or is this confirmation of Franciscan Cristabel?

Franciscanism has a particular interest in the natural world and solidarity with the poor, and a history of reading these interests through an apocalyptic lense. So of religious orders whose members might take particular interest in a group of anti-trillionnaire eco terrorists, Franciscanism feels like a pretty solid bet for Cristabel.

It's perhaps also relevant here that the same poem by St Francis that gave us the title of the anti global warming papal encyclical Laudato Si also gives praise to God through "our Sister Bodily Death".

[wr4thofth3lamb]

Yes, she is my mother, she is the woman who gave birth to me.

Yes, she is my mother, she is the woman who carried me on her belly.

Yes, she is my mother, fed me, bathed me when I was a baby.

No, she wasn’t my mother.

[likewedream]

https://www.instagram.com/motherspeak?igsh=MXZqMTdhejVydmxpcA==

[gingermintpepper]

So, now that Blood of Zeus has also been given its chance to tell the Demeter/Persephone story (and also, similarly, fundamentally misunderstood the themes of the Hymn to Demeter) can we finally, finally talk about Mother Love?

Because I can scream until I'm blue in the face about how modern, popular interpretations of the myth have become so focused on being 'empowering' to women by fixating on giving power to Persephone in her marriage with Hades and, in turn, disparaging Demeter, another woman, - the mother who grieves her lost daughter - that they've some how spun all the way around and gotten back to being misogynistic and reductive, but I feel like talking nebulously about the fact that it's Demeter and Persephone's story and not Hades and Persephone's story never gets the point across hard enough. So:

Anyone who was upset about Demeter's demonisation in Blood of Zeus S2? Read Mother Love. Anyone who is ever upset that retellings of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter constantly demonise, belittle, accuse and insult Demeter and her grief while making excuses to redeem and forgive her daughter's captor? Read Mother Love. Anyone who likes Hades and Persephone as a romantic tale but yearn for complexity outside of arbitrary romantic antagonists impeding the happiness of the couple? Read Mother Love!! Everyone who has even a passing interest in this tale whether it is for the romance, the mother-daughter connections, the themes of grief and loss and eventual comfort and compromise, the wrath of the mother transgressed, the justice that is served due to a mother's insistence in an unjust society, READ MOTHER LOVE!!!

Because it pains me that such a perfect retelling of Demeter and Persephone's story exists, that it focuses on the mother-daughter relationship by comparing it with the poet's own relationship with her mother and it is nearly obscure in the greek mythology community.

[paintbrushinacoffeecup]

Oh Mother, Mother… Mother of Me.

When you were me, this world was ending. Violence echoed in every hall – every mountain, every valley was a warzone. Your mother gave you the directive to continue it, and what else were you meant to do? You did what your mother told you, echoing the same touch of gunmanship that your mothers birthed you to taste.

Oh Mother, Mother… Mother of Me.

I envy how much you saw the sky, with how little you cared for it. You lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow. Your head could never reach the clouds as mine does, and yet, the smog that covers my eyes banishes the hope of ever calling myself belonging to the Earth I was named for. Instead of seeing the sun, I carry your achievements on my back, the last sons of all. 

Oh Mother, Mother… Mother of Me.

You are like a sister to me – fathers differing in three. Yours, mine, and The Heavenly. I feel the panels on my head shutting down, my legs buckling as my spear raises. I feel our connection in this act, though I never once met you, mother. You were perfect in your creation, your mechanic forging each metal plate with tedious care. You carried the coffin on your back with love and guilt, the most agonizing emotions we were left with. 

Oh Mother, Mother… Mother of Me.

I must take up my quarrel with the foe. Nameless, faceless. Designed by sisters of mine that were never born by humanity’s hand, but instead, by yours. The same shapes, the same goal – without purpose. My only natural talent is wasted as blood is siphoned from your mother, the sky too filled with the remnants of wars too old to remember, and too new to forget. 

I envy how much you saw the sky. I am dying, no Nessus to protect me from the violence we have created… the era you had birthed with the blood on your back and shield in your hand. I am a redundancy incarnate, and I pray, mother, that I will meet you. I shall be the very image of shame the bull was to the King of Crete. 

Oh Mother, Mother… Mother of Me,

you belong to the gutter you were named for, I will utter, as I crumble in cascade to the ground.