Mother

A heartbeat.

A cradled affection,

a sense of worry is unconditional,

she will always remember that one time.

 

Oh while the years pass,

many judgments, a currency of opportunity,

an aesthetic realization that depends upon her eyes,

she will always remember that one time.

 

We willingly recall,

the time she managed our innocence

with a sweep of her hand, a tender kiss,

she will always remember that one time.

 

I’m on the bus,

her walking nearby she said later,

yours was  a rather contemplative sadness,

she will always remember that one time.

 

There live the fortunes of time,

when we can respond to favored memory,

while, growing we did become showered in smiles,

she will always remember that one time.

 

And I suppose we all will,

that one time,

when in the throes of our own lifetime,

we did look toward the skies and delight in …

 

mother.

She Is Our Mother

I remember once when I was a child

I skinned my left knee and mom called it mild.

There was a moment there when I wondered

when life was lucky when then I wandered.

I could run through fences, bouncing off walls

by night’s end her love would fix my pratfalls.

I remember with every scream, my tantrums

soft her eyes welled, her sweet patience, like strums

on chords of melody singing the blues.

I would today relish assured reviews

contained in her strength, drawn by her own love

that now gives comfort, surreal above.

Our lives are modeled as her heart welcomes;

Delight in our elegant beautiful Moms.