Mother Poems | Best Mother’s Day Poems That Celebrate Mom


    Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?
    They took my lover’s tallness off to war,
    Left me lamenting. Now I cannot guess
    What I can use an empty heart-cup for.
    He won’t be coming back here any more.
    Some day the war will end, but, oh, I knew
    When he went walking grandly out that door
    That my sweet love would have to be untrue.
    Would have to be untrue. Would have to court
    Coquettish death, whose impudent and strange
    Possessive arms and beauty (of a sort)
    Can make a hard man hesitate- and change.
    And he will be the one to stammer, ‘Yes.’
    Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?

    I Come From There Poem by Mahmoud Darwish

    I come from there and I have memories
    Born as mortals are, I have a mother
    And a house with many windows,
    I have brothers, friends,
    And a prison cell with a cold window.
    Mine is the wave, snatched by sea-gulls,
    I have my own view,
    And an extra blade of grass.
    Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,
    And the bounty of birds,
    And the immortal olive tree.
    I walked this land before the swords
    Turned its living body into a laden table.
    I come from there. I render the sky unto her mother
    When the sky weeps for her mother.
    And I weep to make myself known
    To a returning cloud.
    I learnt all the words worthy of the court of blood
    So that I could break the rule.
    I learnt all the words and broke them up
    To make a single word: Homeland…..

    Looking For A Mother Poem by Muzahidul Reza

    If it is difficult to feel your mother
    Hard to bear and uneasy to share
    See only the animals around you
    Relation between mother and cub
    How they behave for care and love
    That can make you believe the truth,

    Just same way your mother loved
    At early that little you were aged
    Neither you did nor knew anyhow
    She loved, cared, fed, taught you
    As you are now enough to face
    See the universal term and case,

    Look after her as she is now aged
    With love and care you are owe to her
    From you were born to be enabled
    Yet, not enough, for you she did suffer.

    Copyright © Muzahidul Reza | 14 October, 2016

    My Mother Poem by Ann Taylor

    Who sat and watched my infant head
    When sleeping on my cradle bed,
    And tears of sweet affection shed?
    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.

    Dora Diller Poem by Jack Prelutsky

    ‘My stomach’s full of butterflies! ‘
    lamented Dora Diller.
    Her mother sighed. ‘That’s no surprise,
    you ate a caterpillar! ‘

    Clouds And Waves Poem by Rabindranath Tagore

    Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me-
    ‘We play from the time we wake till the day ends.
    We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon.’
    I ask, ‘But how am I to get up to you? ‘
    They answer, ‘Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your
    hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds.’
    ‘My mother is waiting for me at home, ‘I say, ‘How can I leave
    her and come? ‘
    Then they smile and float away.
    But I know a nicer game than that, mother.
    I shall be the cloud and you the moon.
    I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will
    be the blue sky.
    The folk who live in the waves call out to me-
    ‘We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know
    not where we pass.’
    I ask, ‘But how am I to join you? ‘
    They tell me, ‘Come to the edge of the shore and stand with
    your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves.’
    I say, ‘My mother always wants me at home in the everything-
    how can I leave her and go? ‘
    They smile, dance and pass by.
    But I know a better game than that.
    I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.
    I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with
    And no one in the world will know where we both are.

    As Soon As Fred Gets Out Of Bed Poem by Jack Prelutsky

    As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
    his underwear goes on his head.
    His mother laughs, ‘Don’t put it there,
    a head’s no place for underwear! ‘
    But near his ears, above his brains,
    is where Fred’s underwear remains.

    At night when Fred goes back to bed,
    he deftly plucks it off his head.
    His mother switches off the light
    and softly croons, ‘Good night! Good night! ‘
    And then, for reasons no one knows,
    Fred’s underwear goes on his toes.

    Hot And Cold Poem by Roald Dahl

    A woman who my mother knows
    Came in and took off all her clothes.

    Said I, not being very old,
    ‘By golly gosh, you must be cold! ‘

    ‘No, no! ‘ she cried. ‘Indeed I’m not!
    I’m feeling devilishly hot! ‘

    Cross Poem by Langston Hughes

    My old man’s a white old man
    And my old mother’s black.
    If ever I cursed my white old man
    I take my curses back.
    If ever I cursed my black old mother
    And wished she were in hell,
    I’m sorry for that evil wish
    And now I wish her well
    My old man died in a fine big house.
    My ma died in a shack.
    I wonder where I’m going to die,
    Being neither white nor black?

    A Smile To Remember Poem by Charles Bukowski

    we had goldfish and they circled around and around
    in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
    covering the picture window and
    my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
    to be happy, told me, ‘be happy Henry! ‘
    and she was right: it’s better to be happy if you
    but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
    raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn’t
    understand what was attacking him from within.

    my mother, poor fish,
    wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
    week, telling me to be happy: ‘Henry, smile!
    why don’t you ever smile? ‘

    and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
    saddest smile I ever saw

    one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
    they floated on the water, on their sides, their
    eyes still open,
    and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
    there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother