Poems for Mom
On this Mother’s Day, May 12th 2024, let’s take a moment to honor and celebrate the incredible women who have shaped our lives with their love, wisdom, and endless sacrifices. From the comforting embrace of a mother’s arms to the gentle guidance through life’s challenges, mothers hold a special place in our hearts. Today, let’s not only express our gratitude to our own mothers but also extend our appreciation to all the moms around the world. Let’s cherish and remember the countless sweet memories we’ve shared with our moms, from bedtime stories to comforting hugs, from laughter-filled moments to silent acts of love. May this day be a reminder to treasure every precious moment with our moms and show them the love and appreciation they truly deserve. Happy Mother’s Day to all the amazing moms out there!
I Cannot Remember My Mother
By Rabindranath Tagore and translated by Sishu Bholanath
I cannot remember my mother
only sometimes in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.
I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air
the scent of the morning service in the temple
comes to me as the scent of my mother.
I cannot remember my mother
only when from my bedroom window I send
my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of
my mother’s gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.
Sonnets Are Full of Love
Christina Rossetti
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome Has many sonnets: so here now shall be One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me To her whose heart is my heart’s quiet home, To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome;Whose service is my special dignity,
And she my loadstare while I go and come, and so because you love me, and because I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath of rhymes wherewith to crown your honoured name: In you not fourscore years can dim the flame of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws of time and change and mortal life and death.
To My Mother
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.
Mothering Sunday
George Hare Leonard
It’s the day of the year,
The one day of the year,
When I’ll see my dear Mother
And bring her joy,
Celebrating Mother’s Day on Sunday.
And now I’m off to get my special cake,
From the baker’s, for heaven’s sake.
He promised me the best he’d make,
A treat to take
And celebrate for Mother’s sake.
I have always known, as I strolled by,
A certain lane, where every day,
Without fail, no matter how they try,
Violets lie,
As I walked home on Sunday.
My sister Jane is serving-maid
To the Squire’s lady, come what may.
Each year, she’s played her part, and stayed,
Prepared dinner, and never strayed
For Mother’s special day.
Mother’ll come to Church, you’ll see –
It’s the day she cherishes the most –
“The one,” she’ll say, “that’s made for me.”
And so it will be:
Every Mother’s Day, for all to toast.
The boys will all return from town,
Not one missing this special day.
And every girl will not let down
To display her gown,
On Mothering Sunday.
It’s the day of all the year,
The one day above all others.
And here I am, my dear Mother,
Bringing you cheer,
On Mothering Sunday.
The Champa Flower
By Rabindranath Tagore
SUPPOSING I became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother?
You would call, “Baby, where are you?” and I should laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.
I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.
When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you walked through the shadow of the champa tree to the little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower, but not know that it came from me.
When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading Ramayana, and the tree’s shadow fell over your hair and your lap, I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of your book, just where you were reading.
But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child?
When in the evening you went to the cow-shed with the lighted lamp in your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.
“Where have you been, you naughty child?”
“I won’t tell you, mother.” That’s what you and I would say then.
Links:https://peacelilysite.com/2024/05/10/cherishing-mom-celebrating-mothers-day-and-sweet-memories/
https://www.panmacmillan.com/blogs/literary/the-best-mothers-day-poems, https://allpoetry.com/The-Champa-Flower
Peace LiLy 