Poem for My Mom's Birthday
Barroom Hero
Posts: 76
Dear Mom,
Well, here is my poetic attempt at capturing your great worth in my life, because your effect on my life has been deeply meaningful and distinct.
Humble Acts of Love
I met a woman while travelling
And seeing my mind unraveling,
She offered service to my worn shoes
And washed dirt feet with a sort of muse.
Upon her face were graceful lines of age
That lent her appearance a certain sage.
One could tell that she had lived long
And through untold tales of pain, grown strong.
“How are you?” was her honest query
Said with love, as my mind’s eye was dreary.
“Well, things could be better for me,” I moaned
As she yanked a sty from my toe, I groaned.
Small acts of love were her gift to me that day
And through her heartfelt love, I soon found my way.
Instead of a map or a compass for direction,
She built my soul through a poor act of affection.
A woman of small means came knocking one night
And she asked to sleep on my stoop with deep fright.
I took her in and gave her my best bed to rest
And on a floor, slept that night with contentedness.
I guess this poem isn’t Shakespearean, but I think it captures the simple way you build your children’s spirits. Grandiose acts of monetary might pale in comparison to the prayer and devotion you direct toward your children’s lives. I could have written a 20 page paper that covered every single act of love I can ever remember receiving from you (which probably would have taken more work), but I prefer to generalize your acts of love under one common theme; and for me, that theme is a tireless devotion to acts of servitude and humility. I rarely take time to appreciate the honest love you’ve shared for me, but at this juncture in my life, it is apparent that I would not be where I am if it were not for your commitment to my education, musical development, and most importantly: my spiritual life. I love ya mom.
Your son,
John Kennedy
Any suggestions for the poem's rhyme scheme, meter, etc.?
Well, here is my poetic attempt at capturing your great worth in my life, because your effect on my life has been deeply meaningful and distinct.
Humble Acts of Love
I met a woman while travelling
And seeing my mind unraveling,
She offered service to my worn shoes
And washed dirt feet with a sort of muse.
Upon her face were graceful lines of age
That lent her appearance a certain sage.
One could tell that she had lived long
And through untold tales of pain, grown strong.
“How are you?” was her honest query
Said with love, as my mind’s eye was dreary.
“Well, things could be better for me,” I moaned
As she yanked a sty from my toe, I groaned.
Small acts of love were her gift to me that day
And through her heartfelt love, I soon found my way.
Instead of a map or a compass for direction,
She built my soul through a poor act of affection.
A woman of small means came knocking one night
And she asked to sleep on my stoop with deep fright.
I took her in and gave her my best bed to rest
And on a floor, slept that night with contentedness.
I guess this poem isn’t Shakespearean, but I think it captures the simple way you build your children’s spirits. Grandiose acts of monetary might pale in comparison to the prayer and devotion you direct toward your children’s lives. I could have written a 20 page paper that covered every single act of love I can ever remember receiving from you (which probably would have taken more work), but I prefer to generalize your acts of love under one common theme; and for me, that theme is a tireless devotion to acts of servitude and humility. I rarely take time to appreciate the honest love you’ve shared for me, but at this juncture in my life, it is apparent that I would not be where I am if it were not for your commitment to my education, musical development, and most importantly: my spiritual life. I love ya mom.
Your son,
John Kennedy
Any suggestions for the poem's rhyme scheme, meter, etc.?
Liberal Douchebags that Blame Bush for Everything are Useless Pieces of Trash. I Shit on You.
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By the way, I'm Mr McGuire. Pleased to see you on this forum.
First name wouldn't happen to be Mick would it?
"...can't ya see it's auld McGuire oh he nearly drives me daft
I don't know what gets it in him for he's always on the tear
arragh just sit where ya are and never ya dare to give auld McGuire the chair!"
That's my father's tendency to bust out in song, there.
Nope! It's not Mick. I know that song well, my man!
Give me a shout when you're going over to Ireland, Mr Kennedy.
One thing about my poem that is bothering me is the second to last stanza, where I proceed to dissect the meaning of the preceding actions rather than let the reader do that. I should've taken that out, but the card to mom is already sealed...
No, it's okay here. This is a conventional narrative.
Cheers, mate.
Right, I'm off to bed.
Mom read the poem and started to cry, asking, "Where did you get the idea from?"
I just said, "Well, I just wanted to think of a simple act of humble love, and that seemed to work."
It was probably the best present I've ever given her.