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Last Updated: 8th May, 2021

Happy Mother's Day Poems

My Mother Poem

A Mother Like you

I just want to let you know
You mean the world to me,
Only a heart as dear as yours
Would give so unselfishly.
The many things you've done
All the times that you were there,
Helps me know deep down inside.
How much you really care.
Even though I might not say
I appreciate all you do,
Richly blessed is how I feel having a mother just like you!


Mother

Your love was like moonlight
turning harsh things to beauty,
so that little wry souls
reflecting each other obliquely
as in cracked mirrors...
beheld in your luminous spirit
their own reflection,
transfigured as in a shining stream,
and loved you for what they are not.

You are less an image in my mind
than a luster
I see you in gleams
pale as star-light on a gray wall...
evanescent as the reflection of a white swan
shimmering in broken water.
by Lola Ridge


My Mother Poem

Tribute to Mother

A picture memory brings to me;
I look across the years and see
Myself beside my mother's knee.
I feel her gentle hand restrain
My selfish moods, and know again
A child's blind sense of wrong and pain.
But wiser now, a man gray grown,
My childhood's needs are better known.
My mother's chastening love I own.
by John Greenleaf Whittier


M-O-T-H-E-R

"M" is for the million things she gave me,
"O" means only that she's growing old,
"T" is for the tears she shed to save me,
"H" is for her heart of purest gold;
"E" is for her eyes, with love-light shining,
"R" means right, and right she'll always be,
Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER,"
A word that means the world to me.
by Howard Johnson


My Mother Poem

My Mother

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray
And love God's holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,
My Mother?

Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall reward they care,
My Mother.

When thou art feeble, old and grey,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My Mother.
by Ann Taylor


Mother to Son

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.

by - Langston Hughes


My Mother Poem

A Mother

A mother comes with all different names
Aunts who love, worry and play
Teaches who help you, guide you and set your aim
Sisters, who listen, cry and put your worries at bay
Grandmas with warm cookies, hugs and prayers so you'll never stray
Yes, a Mother does come with all kinds of names.
Thank you ao all women for being a mother to someone's child,
But most importantly to her child.
by Jenelle Mcbride


Rock Me to Sleep

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for tonight!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;
Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears,
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;
Rock me to sleep, mother - rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I tonight for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep;
Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures,
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;
Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead tonight,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;
Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;
Rock me to sleep, mother, - rock me to sleep!
by Elizabeth Akers Allen


Mother's Day Poem Cards

You Filled My Days

You filled my days with rainbow lights,
Fairy tales and sweet dream nights,
A kiss to wipe away my tears,
Gingerbread to ease my fears.
You gave the gift of life to me
And with love you set me free.
I thank you for the tender care,
For deep warm hugs and being there.
I hope that when you think of me
A part of you you'll always see.


Nature The Gentlest Mother Is

Nature the gentlest mother is,
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest of the waywardest.
Her admonition mild

In forest and the hill
By traveller be heard,
Restraining rampant squirrel
Or too impetuous bird.

How fair her conversation
A summer afternoon,
Her household her assembly;
And when the sun go down,

Her voice among the aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest cricket,
The most unworthy flower.

When all the children sleep,
She turns as long away
As will suffice tolight her lamps,
Then bending from the sky

With infinite affection
An infiniter care,
Her golden finger on her lip,
Wills silence everywhere.
by Emily Dickinson


To My Mother

To-day's your natal day,
Sweet flowers I bring;
Mother, accept, I pray, My offering.
And may you happy live,
And long us bless;
Receiving as you give Great happiness.
by Christina Rossetti


Mother's Day Poem Cards

A mother's love

There's no love like a mother's,
Her heart is filled with care.
With Christ as her example,
Her Savior's love she'll share.

A mother's love is endless,
Not changing for all time.
When needed by her children,
A mother's love will shine.

God bless these special mothers,
God bless them every one.
For all their tear and heartaches,
And special work they've done.

When days on earth are over,
A mother's love lives on,
Through many generations,
God's blessings on each one.

Be thankful for our mothers,
Who love with higher love,
From power God has given,
And strength from up above.


Mother o' Mine

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o' mine, 0 mother o' mine!

by Rudyard Kipling (1891)


Mother's Day Poem Cards

Nature - the Gentlest Mother is

Nature - the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child
The feeblest - or the waywardest
Her Admonition mild

In Forest - and the Hill
By Traveller - be heard
Restraining Rampant Squirrel
Or too impetuous Bird

How fair Her Conversation
A Summer Afternoon
Her Household - Her Assembly
And when the Sun go down

Her Voice among the Aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest Cricket
The most unworthy Flower

When all the Children sleep
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light Her lamps
Then bending from the Sky

With infinite Affection
And infiniter Care
Her Golden finger on Her lip
Wills Silence - Everywhere
by Emily Dickinson


To My Mother

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.
by Edgar Allan Poe


Mother's Day Poem Cards

What a blessing a mother can be

What a blessing a mother can be,
A gift of love for eternity.
Nurturing you from the very start,
With the beating of her heart.
A wise teacher to lead the way,
With gentle hands and word so kind,
She always knows what's on your mind.
A trusting friend whose always there,
A caring doctor who knows how you feel,
With hugs and kisses that really heal.
With so many different jobs to do,
A mother is truly a blessing for you.


Sonnets Are Full of Love

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 loadstar 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.
by Christina Rossetti


Mother's Day Poem Cards

A mother is one who understand

A mother is one who understand
the things you say and do.
Who always overlooks your faults
and sees the best in you.
A Mother is one whose special love
Inspires you day by day.
Who fills your heart with gladness
in her warm and thoughtful way.
Who fills your heart with gladness
in her warm and thoughtful way.
A Mother is all these things and more
the greatest treasure known
And the dearest Mother in all of the world
is the one I call my own.
Happy Mother's Day


God's Masterpiece is Mother

God took pieces of everything wonderful to make moms.

God took the fragrance of a flower...
The majesty of a tree...
The gentleness of morning dew...
The calm of a quiet sea...
The beauty of the twilight hour...
The soul of a starry night...
The laughter of a rippling brook...
The grace of a bird in flight...
Then God fashioned from these things
A creation like no other,
And when his masterpiece was through
He called it simply - Mother.
by Herbert Farnham


Mother's Day Poem Cards

Mom

Mom you're like a ray of sunshine
Whose heart is made of Gold.
You beams with happiness
that'll never grow old.
You'll always stay in my Heart Forever.
We laughed, we smiled and we cried.
I LOVE YOU, so very much
and still throughout the years
We share the Mother Daughter love,
and always when I Fear,
I know I'll always have my MOM somewhere Near!


My Mother

I
Reg wished me to go with him to the field,
I paused because I did not want to go;
But in her quiet way she made me yield
Reluctantly, for she was breathing low.
Her hand she slowly lifted from her lap
And, smiling sadly in the old sweet way,
She pointed to the nail where hung my cap.
Her eyes said: I shall last another day.
But scarcely had we reached the distant place,
When o'er the hills we heard a faint bell ringing;
A boy came running up with frightened face;
We knew the fatal news that he was bringing.
I heard him listlessly, without a moan,
Although the only one I loved was gone.

II
The dawn departs, the morning is begun,
The trades come whispering from off the seas,
The fields of corn are golden in the sun,
The dark-brown tassels fluttering in the breeze;
The bell is sounding and the children pass,
Frog-leaping, skipping, shouting, laughing shrill,
Down the red road, over the pasture-grass,
Up to the school-house crumbling on the hill.
The older folk are at their peaceful toil,
Some pulling up the weeds, some plucking corn,
And others breaking up the sun-baked soil.
Float, faintly-scented breeze, at early morn
Over the earth where mortals sow and reap
Beneath its breast my mother lies asleep.

by Claude McKay


The Gardener

If there are any heavens my mother will (all by herself) have
one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses.
& the whole garden will bow

by - E.E. Cummings


To My Mother

You too, my mother, read my rhymes
For love of unforgotten times,
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.

by - Robert Louis Stevenson


The Mother's Charge

She raised her head. With hot and glittering eye,
'I know,' she said, 'that I am going to die.
Come here, my daughter, while my mind is clear.
Let me make plain to you your duty here;
My duty once - I never failed to try
But for some reason I am going to die.'
She raised her head, and, while her eyes rolled wild,
Poured these instructions on the gasping child:

'Begin at once - don't iron sitting down-
Wash your potatoes when the fat is brown-
Monday, unless it rains - it always pays
To get fall sewing done on the right days-
A carpet-sweeper and a little broom-
Save dishes - wash the summer dining-room
With soda - keep the children out of doors-
The starch is out - beeswax on all the floors-
If girls are treated like your friends they stay-
They stay, and treat you like their friends - the way
To make home happy is to keep a jar -
And save the prettiest pieces for the star
In the middle - blue's too dark - all silk is best-
And don't forget the corners - when they're dressed
Put them on ice - and always wash the chest
Three times a day, the windows every week-
We need more flour - the bedroom ceilings leak-
It's better than onion - keep the boys at home-
Gardening is good - a load, three loads of loam-
They bloom in spring - and smile, smile always, dear-
Be brave, keep on - I hope I've made it clear.'

She died, as all her mothers died before.
Her daughter died in turn, and made one more.



by - Charlotte Anna Perkins Gilman


Mother Mind

I never made a poem, dear friend
I never sat me down, and said,
This cunning brain and patient hand
Shall fashion something to be read.
Men often came to me, and prayed
I should indite a fitting verse
For fast, or festival, or in
Some stately pageant to rehearse.
(As if, than Balaam more endowed,
I of myself could bless or curse.)

Reluctantly I bade them go,
Ungladdened by my poet-mite;
My heart is not so churlish but
Its loves to minister delight.

But not a word I breathe is mine
To sing, in praise of man or God;
My Master calls, at noon or night,
I know his whisper and his nod.

Yet all my thoyghts to rhythms run,
To rhyme, my wisdom and my wit?
True, I consume my life in verse,
But wouldst thou know how that is writ?

'T is thus--through weary length of days,
I bear a thought within my breast
That greatens from my growth of soul,
And waits, and will not be expressed.

It greatens, till its hour has come,
Not without pain, it sees the light;
'Twixt smiles and tears I view it o'er,
And dare not deem it perfect, quite.

These children of my soul I keep
Where scarce a mortal man may see,
Yet not unconsecrate, dear friend,
Baptismal rites they claim of thee.

by - Julia Ward Howe


The Mother-Lodge

There was Rundle, Station Master,
An' Beazeley of the Rail,
An' 'Ackman, Commissariat,
An' Donkin' o' the Jail;
An' Blake, Conductor-Sargent,
Our Master twice was 'e,
With 'im that kept the Europe-shop,
Old Framjee Eduljee.

Outside - "Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!"
Inside - "Brother", an' it doesn't do no 'arm.
We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!

We'd Bola Nath, Accountant,
An' Saul the Aden Jew,
An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman
Of the Survey Office too;
There was Babu Chuckerbutty,
An' Amir Singh the Sikh,
An' Castro from the fittin'-sheds,
The Roman Catholick!

We 'adn't good regalia,
An' our Lodge was old an' bare,
But we knew the Ancient Landmarks,
An' we kep' 'em to a hair;
An' lookin' on it backwards
It often strikes me thus,
There ain't such things as infidels,
Excep', per'aps, it's us.

For monthly, after Labour,
We'd all sit down and smoke
(We dursn't give no banquits,
Lest a Brother's caste were broke),
An' man on man got talkin'
Religion an' the rest,
An' every man comparin'
Of the God 'e knew the best.

So man on man got talkin',
An' not a Brother stirred
Till mornin' waked the parrots
An' that dam' brain-fever-bird;
We'd say 'twas 'ighly curious,
An' we'd all ride 'ome to bed,
With Mo'ammed, God, an' Shiva
Changin' pickets in our 'ead.

Full oft on Guv'ment service
This rovin' foot 'ath pressed,
An' bore fraternal greetin's
To the Lodges east an' west,
Accordin' as commanded
From Kohat to Singapore,
But I wish that I might see them
In my Mother-Lodge once more!

I wish that I might see them,
My Brethren black an' brown,
With the trichies smellin' pleasant
An' the hog-darn passin' down; [Cigar-lighter.]
An' the old khansamah snorin' [Butler.]
On the bottle-khana floor, [Pantry.]
Like a Master in good standing
With my Mother-Lodge once more!

Outside - "Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!"
Inside -"Brother", an' it doesn't do no 'arm.
We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!


by - Rudyard Kipling


Motherhood

The bravest battle that ever was fought!
Shall I tell you where and when?
On the maps of the world you will find it not;
'Twas fought by the mothers of men.

Nay not with the cannon of battle-shot,
With a sword or noble pen;
Nay, not with eloquent words or thought
From mouth of wonderful men!

But deep in a walled-up woman's heart
Of a woman that would not yield,
But bravely, silently bore her part
Lo, there is the battlefield!

No marshalling troops, no bivouac song,
No banner to gleam and wave;
But oh! those battles, they last so long
From babyhood to the grave.

Yet, faithful still as a bridge of stars,
She fights in her walled-up town
Fights on and on in her endless wars
Then silent, unseen, goes down.

Oh, ye with banners and battle-shot,
And soldiers to shout and paise!
I tell you the kingliest victories fought
Were fought in those silent ways.

O spotless woman in a world of shame,
With splendid and silent scorn,
Go back to God as white as you came
The Kingliest warrior born!

by by Joaquin Miller)


Mother Earth

Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed,
Mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the field,
Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive,
Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows!
Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast,
Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless,
All these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning,
Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning.

Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures,
Thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly, irresistibly
Drawing the crimson currents of life down, down, down
Deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in the sand.
But the souls of the singers have entered into the songs that revealed them,-
Passionate songs, immortal songs of joy and grief and love and longing:
Floating from heart to heart of thy children, they echo above thee:
Do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those that love thee?

Long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by some old enchantment
Into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speechless,
Knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy Lord and Lover
Working within thee awakened the man-child to breathe thy secret.
All of thy flowers and birds and forests and flowing waters
Are but enchanted forms to embody the life of the spirit;
Thou thyself, earth-mother, in mountain and meadow and ocean,
Holdest the poem of God, eternal thought and emotion.

by Henry Van Dyke (from The White Bees , 1909)


Mother's Day Poems

  1. Sunshine By Anon
  2. You're my mother By Forest Houtenschil
  3. Dear Mum By Chrissie Morris
  4. Working In Your Dungarees By Ronald Doe
  5. A True Angel By George W. Zellars
  6. Thank You, Mom By Miller Mottla
  7. The Support Of A Mother By Jodi L. Landes
  8. Mommy By Madisyn B
  9. My Childhood Memories Of Mom By Brian A. Bendall
  10. A Mother's Love By Yasmine Ellaz
  11. Grateful For How Much Mom Has Done Over A Lifetime By Skye D. Barker
  12. Motherhood by Katherine L. Dykstra
  13. Her Hands by Maggie Pittman
  14. What I Would Do For You by Jayne Sena
  15. When I Think About My Mum by Abimbola T. Alabi
  16. God's Special Creation by Lenora McWhorter
  17. Ending the Estrangement by Ross Gay
  18. To Any Reader by Robert Louis Stevenson
  19. What I Learned From My Mother by Julia Kasdorf
  20. Thanking My Mother For Piano Lessons by Diane Wakoski
  21. A Practical Mom by Amy Uyematsu
  22. Rock Me to Sleep by Elizabeth Akers Allen
  23. A Practical Mom by Amy Uyematsu
  24. Your Clothes by Judith Kroll