poem for mom - What I Learned From My Mother

puisi bahasa inggris

 

What I Learned From My Mother

I learned from my mother how to love
the living, to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants
still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole
grieving household, to cube home-canned pears
and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins
and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.
I learned to attend viewings even if I didn’t know
the deceased, to press the moist hands
of the living, to look in their eyes and offer
sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.
I learned that whatever we say means nothing,
what anyone will remember is that we came.
I learned to believe I had the power to ease
awful pains materially like an angel.
Like a doctor, I learned to create
from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once
you know how to do this, you can never refuse.
To every house you enter, you must offer
healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,
the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.

#poem #poetry 

 Saya belajar dari ibu saya bagaimana mencintai

yang hidup, memiliki banyak vas di tangan

jika Anda harus buru-buru ke rumah sakit

dengan peony memotong dari rumput, semut hitam

masih menempel pada tunas. Saya belajar menghemat guci

cukup besar untuk menampung salad buah secara keseluruhan

rumah tangga yang sedang berduka, untuk membuat pir-pir rumah-kaleng

dan buah persik, untuk mengiris kulit anggur merah marun

dan jentikkan benih seksual dengan pisau.

Saya belajar untuk menonton pertunjukan bahkan jika saya tidak tahu

almarhum, untuk menekan tangan yang basah

dari yang hidup, untuk melihat di mata mereka dan menawarkan

simpati, seolah-olah aku mengerti kehilangan itu.

Saya belajar bahwa apa pun yang kita katakan tidak ada artinya,

apa yang orang akan ingat adalah kita datang.

Saya belajar untuk percaya bahwa saya memiliki kekuatan untuk meringankan

sakit yang mengerikan secara material seperti malaikat.

Seperti seorang dokter, saya belajar untuk menciptakan

dari yang lain menderita kegunaan saya sendiri, dan sekali

Anda tahu bagaimana melakukan ini, Anda tidak pernah bisa menolak.

Untuk setiap rumah yang Anda masukkan, Anda harus menawarkan

penyembuhan: kue coklat yang Anda panggang sendiri,

berkah dari suara Anda, sentuhan suci Anda.


#poem #poetry

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poem for mom - Wonderful Mother

poem for mom

Wonderful Mother

God made a wonderful mother,
A mother who never grows old;
He made her smile of the sunshine,
And He moulded her heart of pure gold;
In her eyes He placed bright shining stars,
In her cheeks fair roses you see;
God made a wonderful mother,
And He gave that dear mother to me.

Tuhan membuat ibu yang luar biasa,

Seorang ibu yang tidak pernah tua;

Dia membuatnya tersenyum dari sinar matahari,

Dan Dia membentuk hatinya dari emas murni;

Di matanya Dia menempatkan bintang terang yang bersinar,

Di pipinya bunga mawar yang Anda lihat;

Tuhan membuat ibu yang luar biasa,

Dan Dia memberi ibu yang sayang itu kepadaku.

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poem for mom - The Mothering Blackness

The Mothering Blackness

She came home running
back to the mothering blackness
deep in the smothering blackness
white tears icicle gold plains of her face
She came home running

She came down creeping
here to the black arms waiting
now to the warm heart waiting
rime of alien dreams befrosts her rich brown face
She came down creeping

She came home blameless
black yet as Hagar’s daughter
tall as was Sheba’s daughter
threats of northern winds die on the desert’s face
She came home blameless

Dia pulang berlari

kembali ke kegelapan ibu

jauh di dalam kegelapan menyesakkan

air mata putih membasahi dataran emas di wajahnya

Dia pulang berlari

Dia datang merayap

di sini untuk lengan hitam menunggu

sekarang ke hati yang hangat menunggu

rime of alien dreams befrosts wajah cokelatnya yang kaya

Dia datang merayap

Dia pulang tanpa cacat

hitam namun sebagai putri Hagar

tinggi seperti putri Sheba

ancaman angin utara mati di wajah gurun

Dia pulang tanpa cacat

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poem for mom - I Love You Mum

I Love You Mum

They way I feel I can't explain
The gratitude inside
For all the days and all the nights
You spent right by my side

For every hug and every kiss
To send me on my way,
For always putting me to bed,
To prepare me for another day

For loving me through the hurt
And pain that's come my way
For holding on to me so tight
That I can barely breathe

For never letting go
Of the hope you hold for my life
For keeping it so close to you heart
All this time

For yelling at me when I'm out of place
For telling me the truth
For forgiving me for what I say
Cause I no it hurts

So now I say what I feel
At this time and day
That mum "I Love You" all the time
So happy mothers day!

#motherday #poem #poetry

Mereka cara saya merasa saya tidak bisa menjelaskan

Ucapan terima kasih di dalam

Untuk semua hari dan sepanjang malam

Anda menghabiskan tepat di sisi saya

Untuk setiap pelukan dan setiap ciuman

Untuk mengirim saya dalam perjalanan,

Karena selalu menidurkan saya,

Untuk mempersiapkan saya untuk hari lain

Untuk mencintai saya melalui rasa sakit

Dan rasa sakit itu datang dengan cara saya

Karena berpegang pada saya begitu erat

Bahwa saya hampir tidak bisa bernapas

Karena tidak pernah melepaskan

Harapan yang kau pegang untuk hidupku

Untuk menjaganya agar tetap begitu dekat dengan hatimu

Selama ini

Untuk berteriak pada saya ketika saya tidak pada tempatnya

Karena mengatakan yang sebenarnya

Untuk memaafkan saya atas apa yang saya katakan

Karena aku tidak sakit

Jadi sekarang saya katakan apa yang saya rasakan

Pada waktu dan hari ini

Ibu itu "Aku cinta kamu" sepanjang waktu

Sangat bahagia hari ibu!


#motherday #poem #poetry 

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poem for mom - To Any Reader

To Any Reader

As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you caAs from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you can at all,
By knocking on the window, call
That child to hear you. He intent
Is all on his play-business bent.
He does not hear; he will not look,
Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For, long ago, the truth to say,
He has grown up and gone away,
And it is but a child of air
That lingers in the garden there.

 Seperti dari rumah yang dilihat ibumu

Anda bermain di sekitar pohon-pohon kebun,

Jadi Anda mungkin melihat, jika Anda akan melihat

Melalui jendela buku ini,

Anak lain, jauh, jauh sekali,

Dan di taman lain, mainlah.

Tapi jangan berpikir Anda caAs dari rumah ibumu melihat

Anda bermain di sekitar pohon-pohon kebun,

Jadi Anda mungkin melihat, jika Anda akan melihat

Melalui jendela buku ini,

Anak lain, jauh, jauh sekali,

Dan di taman lain, mainlah.

Tetapi jangan berpikir Anda bisa sama sekali,

Dengan mengetuk jendela, panggil

Anak itu untuk mendengarmu. Dia berniat

Apakah semua di membungkuk bermain-bisnisnya.

Dia tidak mendengar; dia tidak akan melihat,

Belum juga terbujuk keluar dari buku ini.

Karena, sudah lama, kebenaran untuk mengatakan,

Dia telah tumbuh dan pergi,

Dan itu hanyalah anak udara

Itu tetap hidup di taman di sana.

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poem for mom - If I Knew As A Child

If I Knew As A Child

#puisi inggris #puisi bahasa inggris #puisikamut #poem english #poem

If I knew as a child what I know now, Mom,

I probably wouldn't have made things

so hard for you.

I would have understood

that you were looking out for my best interest.

even though it may not have seemed so at the time.

I would have known how difficult it is to let go,

to stand back and let someone you love

learn from their mistakes.

I would have realized

how fortunate I was to have a mother

who was always there for me,

even after an argument,

even after I'd said things

I shouldn't have.

While it's too late for a lot of things

it's not too late for me to tell you

that I appreciate how loving you are,

how giving you've always been

and that even though

I may not always be good at showing it,

I love you very much.

Jika saya tahu sebagai seorang anak apa yang saya tahu sekarang, Bu,

Saya mungkin tidak akan membuat banyak hal

sangat sulit bagimu.

Saya akan mengerti

bahwa Anda mencari kepentingan terbaik saya.

meskipun itu mungkin tidak terlihat pada saat itu.

Saya akan tahu betapa sulitnya untuk melepaskannya,

untuk mundur dan membiarkan seseorang yang kamu cintai

belajar dari kesalahan mereka.

Saya akan menyadari

betapa beruntungnya saya memiliki ibu

yang selalu ada untukku,

bahkan setelah bertengkar,

bahkan setelah aku mengatakan sesuatu

Saya seharusnya tidak.

Sementara itu sudah terlambat untuk banyak hal

belum terlambat bagiku untuk memberitahumu

bahwa saya menghargai betapa mencintai Anda,

bagaimana memberi Anda selalu

dan itu sekalipun

Saya mungkin tidak selalu pandai menunjukkannya,

Saya sangat mencintaimu.

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puisi bahasa inggris-The Mother

Puisi inggris

Abortions will not let you forget.

You remember the children you got that you did not get,

The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,

The singers and workers that never handled the air.

You will never neglect or beat

Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.

You will never wind up the sucking-thumb

Or scuttle off ghosts that come.

You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,

Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.


I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed

children.

I have contracted. I have eased

My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.

I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized

Your luck

And your lives from your unfinished reach,

If I stole your births and your names,

Your straight baby tears and your games,

Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,

and your deaths,

If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,

Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.

Though why should I whine,

Whine that the crime was other than mine?--

Since anyhow you are dead.

Or rather, or instead,

You were never made.

But that too, I am afraid,

Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?

You were born, you had body, you died.

It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.


Believe me, I loved you all.

Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you

All.


Aborsi tidak akan membiarkan Anda lupa.


Anda ingat anak-anak yang Anda dapatkan yang tidak Anda dapatkan,


Pulp kecil basah dengan sedikit atau tanpa rambut,


Para penyanyi dan pekerja yang tidak pernah menangani udara.


Anda tidak akan pernah mengabaikan atau mengalahkan


Mereka, atau diam atau membeli dengan manis.


Anda tidak akan pernah berakhir mengisap-jempol


Atau menjegal hantu yang datang.


Anda tidak akan pernah meninggalkan mereka, mengendalikan napas Anda yang indah,


Kembalilah untuk camilan mereka, dengan ibu-mata yang menelan.



Saya telah mendengar suara-suara dari angin suara-suara dimer saya terbunuh


anak-anak.


Saya telah dikontrak. Saya telah mereda


Dahi remajaku di payudara yang tak pernah bisa mereka hisap.


Saya telah mengatakan, Permen, jika saya berdosa, jika saya disita


Keberuntungan Anda


Dan hidupmu dari jangkauanmu yang belum selesai,


Jika aku mencuri kelahiranmu dan namamu,


Air mata bayi Anda yang lurus dan permainan Anda,


Cintamu yang ceria atau indah, kegaduhanmu, pernikahanmu, sakit,


dan kematianmu,


Jika aku meracuni awal nafasmu,


Percayalah bahwa bahkan dalam kesengajaan saya, saya tidak disengaja.


Meskipun mengapa aku harus merengek,


Whine bahwa kejahatan itu selain milikku? -


Karena bagaimanapun Anda sudah mati.


Atau lebih tepatnya, atau sebaliknya,


Anda tidak pernah dibuat.


Tapi itu juga, saya takut,


Apakah salah: oh, apa yang harus saya katakan, bagaimana kebenaran bisa dikatakan?


Anda dilahirkan, Anda memiliki tubuh, Anda mati.


Hanya saja Anda tidak pernah terkikik atau terencana atau menangis.



Percayalah, aku mencintai kalian semua.


Percayalah, saya tahu Anda, meski samar-samar, dan saya suka, saya mencintai Anda


Semua.

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Puisi Nin Andrews - mother love

poem for mom

On the island where I grew up, the cooks were the most revered members of society, admired alongside the priests, the painters, the architects of the governor’s mansion. Cooking, it was said, was a rare form of magic, transmitted from angels to women on earth. That is why my mother, a chef in her own right, was so renowned. My mother baked a special pastry in those days that she sold from a kiosk on the plaza in the middle of the town each day at noon. In the early mornings she woke before dawn and rolled out the dough made from rice flour mixed with wine. Her long black hair pulled back in a bun, her bare arms waving like wings, she swooped around the kitchen like a crazed bird, mixing and rolling the thin dough, brushing it with almond oil and a paste of nuts, fig syrup, and lychees—a white translucent fruit that tastes of music and summer rain. Sometimes, if the mood struck her, my mother would add a touch of cinnamon and a little something else. It was that something else everyone loved. No one knew what it was or why. (Only I, her son, was allowed to spy on her and see what it was, but to this day, I won’t tell a soul.) My mother would only say that everything has an essence without a name, that that is our special additive, our gift to life. But there were rumors that her pastries were enchanted. For certain men, it was said, her pastries would inspire such desire, that with each bite, they would feel greater and greater greed. Before these men could stop themselves, they would be down on their knees, weeping and begging for more. More! Please, please, more! they cried. You could hear their voices above the noisy crowds in the town like the moans of lonesome hounds. Some men had to be stopped from competing with the pigeons that pecked at the crumbs on the city streets. Others had to be taken away by police. Still others accused my mother of crimes, insisting she was a witch and part of the female conspiracy whose sole purpose was to keep the men hungry, desperate, deprived. But my mother said some men are just born with too much greed. They can never be satisfied. It is the curse of the male species. She was too busy to notice me then, crawling beneath her counter, licking the crumbs from the floor and my sticky fingers and knees. If I didn’t lick quickly enough, tiny yellow bees would swarm around me, nestling into the crevices of my skin, dancing their tiny feet up and down as if to an invisible beat before stinging me again and again

Di pulau tempat saya dibesarkan, para juru masak adalah anggota masyarakat yang paling dihormati, dikagumi bersama para imam, pelukis, arsitek rumah gubernur. Memasak, katanya, adalah bentuk sihir yang langka, ditransmisikan dari para malaikat ke wanita di bumi. Itu sebabnya ibu saya, seorang koki di kanannya, sangat terkenal. Ibu saya memanggang kue khusus pada hari-hari ketika dia menjual dari kios di alun-alun di tengah kota setiap hari pada siang hari. Pada pagi-pagi sekali dia bangun sebelum fajar dan menggulirkan adonan yang terbuat dari tepung beras yang dicampur dengan anggur. Rambut hitam panjangnya ditarik kembali ke dalam sanggul, lengannya yang telanjang melambai seperti sayap, dia menukik di sekitar dapur seperti burung gila, mencampur dan menggulingkan adonan tipis, menyikatnya dengan minyak almond dan pasta kacang, sirup buah ara, dan leci. —buah tembus pandang putih yang terasa musik dan hujan musim panas. Kadang-kadang, jika suasana hati menyerangnya, ibu saya akan menambahkan sentuhan kayu manis dan sedikit sesuatu yang lain. Itu adalah sesuatu yang disukai semua orang. Tidak ada yang tahu apa itu atau mengapa. (Hanya aku, putranya, diizinkan untuk memata-matai dirinya dan melihat apa itu, tetapi sampai hari ini, aku tidak akan memberi tahu jiwa.) Ibuku hanya akan mengatakan bahwa semuanya memiliki esensi tanpa nama, bahwa itu adalah aditif khusus kami, hadiah kami untuk hidup. Tapi ada desas-desus bahwa kue-kuenya terpesona. Untuk pria-pria tertentu, dikatakan, kue-kuenya akan menginspirasi keinginan itu, bahwa dengan setiap gigitan, mereka akan merasakan keserakahan yang lebih besar dan lebih besar. Sebelum orang-orang ini dapat menghentikan diri mereka, mereka akan berlutut, menangis, dan memohon lebih banyak. Lebih! Tolong, tolong, lagi! mereka menangis. Anda bisa mendengar suara mereka di atas kerumunan orang-orang yang ribut di kota seperti erangan anjing loneome. Beberapa pria harus dihentikan dari bersaing dengan merpati yang mematuk remah-remah di jalan-jalan kota. Yang lain harus dibawa pergi oleh polisi. Yang lain lagi menuduh ibuku melakukan kejahatan, bersikeras dia adalah seorang penyihir dan bagian dari konspirasi perempuan yang tujuan utamanya adalah untuk menjaga agar para pria itu lapar, putus asa, dan kehilangan. Tapi ibuku berkata beberapa pria terlahir terlalu banyak keserakahan. Mereka tidak pernah bisa puas. Itu adalah kutukan dari spesies jantan. Dia terlalu sibuk untuk memperhatikanku saat itu, merangkak di bawah konternya, menjilat remah-remah dari lantai dan jari-jariku yang lengket. Jika saya tidak cepat menjilat, lebah kuning kecil akan berkeliaran di sekitar saya, bersarang di celah-celah kulit saya, menari kaki kecil mereka ke atas dan ke bawah seolah-olah ke ketukan tak terlihat sebelum menyengat saya lagi dan lagi

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poem for mom - My Mother by Claude McKay

POEM FOR MOM

My Mother by Claude McKay

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.

#poem #poetry 

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poem for mom - The warmth in my mother's lap

The warmth in my mother's lap

The warmth in my mother's lap

Dear Mother,
Thank you for being so kind and generous to me,
You've given me the best of everything,
No one like you did I ever see.

I felt exhausted after returning from school,
You were the one who asked me how my day was,
And then you cuddle me and press my head,
You made me feel so relaxed, bringing all my worry to a pause.

What could have been warmer than your lap?,
There's so much of relief when I lay in it,
I forget all my pain,
It's just like a candle, in darkness, which is lit.

You solve most of my problems,
And prevent me from doing the same mistakes,
You've been an idol for me,
Yo fulfill all my demands, no matter what it takes.

There's so much I can learn from you,
You've been so calm,
No matter what happens,
You've accepted me with open arms.

I cannot express my love in words,
It's deeper than the ocean,
It's farther than the horizon,
With all your love and care, you have filled my heart till its brim.

The warmth in my mother's lap

puisi untuk ibu

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puisi inggris-Mothers Day by Carol Matthews

 Puisi inggris

Mothers Day

A Mother loves right from the start.
She holds her baby close to her heart.
The bond that grows will never falter.
Her love is so strong it will never alter.
A Mother gives never ending Love.
She never feels that she has given enough.
For you she will always do her best.
Constantly working, there's no time to rest.
A Mother is there when things go wrong.
A hug and a kiss to help us along.
Always there when we need her near.
Gently wipes our eyes when we shed a tear.
So on this day shower your Mother with Love.
Gifts and presents are nice but that is not enough.
Give your Mother a day to have some peace of mind.
Be gentle, be good, be helpful, be kind.
Happy Mothers Day.

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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!

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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.

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Mother's Day Proclamation

Arise then...women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reekinArise then...women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the voice of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe our dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil
At the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace...
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God;
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

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Thank God for our Mothers

If life were without water, where would we be?
If life were without mothers,
There would be no you or me.
We all need to take hold, of how precious life really is,
and not take for granted the gift of love and the ability to give.
Thank you to God for creating us all
For giving us our mothers
So we can stand proud and tall.
Humans are no accident, no mistake or error
We sometimes live our lives in fear of this,
Even to the point of terror.
But when the truth is told, and recognised by all,
God does not create rubbish. He knew what he was doing when he created
me and you, but the best gift of all, is giving us loving, caring
Mothers who love us unconditionally through and through.
None of us are perfect, that includes ourselves and family.
Hold onto how precious we are and thank God for our mothers.
Amen

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My Mother Would Be a Falconress

puisi

My mother would be a falconress,
And I, her gay falcon treading her wrist,
would fly to bring back
from the blue of the sky to her, bleeding, a prize,
where I dream in my little hood with many bells
jangling when I'd turn myMy mother would be a falconress,
And I, her gay falcon treading her wrist,
would fly to bring back
from the blue of the sky to her, bleeding, a prize,
where I dream in my little hood with many bells
jangling when I'd turn my head.

My mother would be a falconress,
and she sends me as far as her will goes.
She lets me ride to the end of her curb
where I fall back in anguish.
I dread that she will cast me away,
for I fall, I mis-take, I fail in her mission.

She would bring down the little birds.
And I would bring down the little birds.
When will she let me bring down the little birds,
pierced from their flight with their necks broken,
their heads like flowers limp from the stem?

I tread my mother's wrist and would draw blood.
Behind the little hood my eyes are hooded.
I have gone back into my hooded silence,
talking to myself and dropping off to sleep.

For she has muffled my dreams in the hood she has made me,
sewn round with bells, jangling when I move.
She rides with her little falcon upon her wrist.
She uses a barb that brings me to cower.
She sends me abroad to try my wings
and I come back to her. I would bring down
the little birds to her
I may not tear into, I must bring back perfectly.

I tear at her wrist with my beak to draw blood,
and her eye holds me, anguisht, terrifying.
She draws a limit to my flight.
Never beyond my sight, she says.
She trains me to fetch and to limit myself in fetching.
She rewards me with meat for my dinner.
But I must never eat what she sends me to bring her.

Yet it would have been beautiful, if she would have carried me,
always, in a little hood with the bells ringing,
at her wrist, and her riding
to the great falcon hunt, and me
flying up to the curb of my heart from her heart
to bring down the skylark from the blue to her feet,
straining, and then released for the flight.

My mother would be a falconress,
and I her gerfalcon raised at her will,
from her wrist sent flying, as if I were her own
pride, as if her pride
knew no limits, as if her mind
sought in me flight beyond the horizon.

Ah, but high, high in the air I flew.
And far, far beyond the curb of her will,
were the blue hills where the falcons nest.
And then I saw west to the dying sun--
it seemd my human soul went down in flames.

I tore at her wrist, at the hold she had for me,
until the blood ran hot and I heard her cry out,
far, far beyond the curb of her will

to horizons of stars beyond the ringing hills of the world where
the falcons nest
I saw, and I tore at her wrist with my savage beak.
I flew, as if sight flew from the anguish in her eye beyond her sight,
sent from my striking loose, from the cruel strike at her wrist,
striking out from the blood to be free of her.

My mother would be a falconress,
and even now, years after this,
when the wounds I left her had surely heald,
and the woman is dead,
her fierce eyes closed, and if her heart
were broken, it is stilld

I would be a falcon and go free.
I tread her wrist and wear the hood,
talking to myself, and would draw blood.

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puisi inggris - My mother was telling me

puisi inggris

My mother was telling me:

 

my son, the Sun is up in heaven,
don’t run after it, as nobody’s ever
reached it so far.
- And me, I haven’t believed her,
because the Sun is something that every morning
emerges in the corner of the sky, to light up our day,
shines only till the night falls,
and my Sun shines even when everything else is
black like a coal.

My mother was telling me:
don’t get carried away, my son,
the Sun is blind!
And I didn’t listen to her.
- How is to live without the Sun?
And what else could the Sun be
but the eyes that lift up
this world, and my soul
right up to heaven.

My mother is not telling anymore:
don’t run, my son,
not even, that the Sun is
blind and high.

Only sometimes compassionately
her motherly eye sparkles:
when night replaces the day,
mother knows, which Sun
her stubborn son
has buried, deep
into his heart.

From: 

 Vinko Kalinic

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When I was a small child

When I was a small child.
you held my hand and smiled.
When I got hurt I would cry.
you would giggle and dry my eye.
life has difficult decisions and you were my guide.
you taught me how to decide.
you told me that the bad should be denied.
and that family should never be put aside.

when I was a small child.
I was a little wild.
as I grew I've done a few wrong things and it's true.
there's a lot of things I've wanted to tell you.
and when we have problems we always make it through.
but one thing that I want you to know is that
I LOVE YOU.

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Why Mother is Special

Why Mother is Special

A mother is someone who loves you
Who cares for you in every way
She sits down and listens u
what ever you want to say

She always thinks your beautiful
Never puts you down
She always a smile
To wipe away your fear & tear

A mother is someone who believes in you
Always pushes you to go far
Tells you to believe in yourself
No matter who you are

A mother is who helps you
For showing the way
For smiling every day.

A mother is like an angel
Although without the wings
She tells you to enjoy
Life's most smallest things

I really love my mother
She means so much to me
That's how it always will be

So this day is so special,
Because you're so special too,
Just remember one thing,
That I do love you.

From: 

 Sweta Leena Panda

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puisi-First Look at Mom

First Look at Mom

First Look at mom
With my eyes winking,
Looking at her,
Kept on thinking,

This golden lady
Took me to earth,
Cared for a fragile teddy
And gave me birth,

Played with me
As I was a little one,
Which made me dream
And create fun,

Her love divine
Makes me grow,
With that time
For my destiny to be drawn...

First Look at Mom

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