Three Poems for Mother’s Day

Bunny

by Sally Cook

Indebted to a simple spark of life,
You missed your chance at Europe’s wondrous door.
A conscientious mother and a wife,
You danced your dance upon an inland shore.

Your simple fabrics catch my memory.
Aprons and cotton stockings made a trail
To sheets that sailed before the maple tree,
And yet you chose a froth of pale blue veil

To haze your thoughts, and everything I knew
Concerning you, your dearest wishes, lay
Covered, as the nasturtium seeds you grew
Beside your step. And when you could not stay

The colors of your mornings stayed behind.
My heart will see them when my eyes are blind.

A former Wilbur Fellow and six-time Pushcart nominee, Sally Cook is a regular contributor to National Review, and has appeared in venues as varied as Chronicles, Lighten Up On Line, and TRINACRIA. Also a painter, her present works in the style known as Magic Realism are represented in national collections such as the N.S.D.A.R. Museum in Washington, D.C. and The Burchfield-Penney, Buffalo, NY.

My World

For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.

– John Donne

by T. M. Moore

My friends who travel love it, mostly. And
they really get around: To Iceland, France,
the tropics, Patagonia, Disneyland,

the beach, the Outerbanks – the Holy Land’s
a favorite – Germany, or Istanbul,
the nation’s parks, or Sanabel. No chance

I’m ever going to see those places. Dull,
my life? Not for a moment. All the wide
world and its glories, fascinations full

and wondrous, treats and treasures bona fide
and bounteous – all I ever hope to see –
are in this little room, right by my side,

where nightly, I am quite content to be
here on this couch, you sitting next to me.

T.M. Moore’s poetry has appeared in numerous journals, and he has published five volumes of verse through his ministry’s imprint, Waxed Tablet Publications. He is Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe, he and his wife, Susie, reside in Essex Junction, VT.

Mom

after Frederick Whitfield’s “O, How I Love Jesus”

by Beverly Stock

There is a name I long to hear,
Oh, so many sing its worth.
It sounds like music to my ear,
The very kindest name on earth.

It tells me of unbridled love.
A tribute to my ancestry.
It speaks of bonds from high above,
A name, part of my pedigree.

I said this name in childhood,
Perhaps 1,000 times per day.
With my own child, I’m blessed I could
Have that same name in my bouquet.

It tells of one with loving heart,
And gentle touch, a calming balm,
With whom in my life I did start,
My very own, my dearest Mom.

Poet’s Note: My poem “Mom” is 28 in a series of 50 “Semo-Centos,” or collage poems, that I’ve written, combining lines from published poetry in the Public Domain, with my original verse. My collection of “Semi-Centos” will debut in the fall of 2019 on BeverlyStockPoetry.com

Beverly Stock is an emerging poet and a retired communications manager. She has published feature articles in magazines and newspapers in five countries.  Beverly divides her time between St. Louis, Missouri and Santa Fe, New Mexico.

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