Happy Mothers Day~Just Another Sunday in the South~

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY READER'S.....
And for all the grandparents ,nanna's ,aunt's ,etc...who are in the parent's role(just the way it is all over the place now i am afraid,) Happy mom's day to you!!!and hat's off for taking care and loving these babies/children who needed you and you were/are there.....
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DON'T FORGET TO ENTER MY CONTEST GOING ON NOW..STILL HAVE A FEW MORE DAYS TO ENTER....
click on the link to go and enter....It is in celebration of my newest granddaughter's birth,ANGELICA CHARLISE MAE QUALLS.!!! SO CHECK OUT HER PICS AND WIN A DIAPER CAKE...THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL.I SELL THEM ANYWHERE FROM 45.00-125.OO...

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I found some very beautiful poems online for mother's day and i wanted to send you my readers a few of them!!!
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO YOU ALL.....

GOD BLESS THE MOTHERS...AND THOSE OF US WHO BECOME MOTHER'S TO OTHERS.....

Betty~Simply Southern
(Back this afternoon with contest added...))

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Mom lived her life for love

Mom lived her life for love of friends and family,
Neither asking for nor wanting a return.
Her days became a sunlit homily,
With others' joy her joy and main concern.
When we were ill, she also became sick;
When we were cut, she, too, began to bleed.
Of our oil lamp she was the wick,
Drawing her bright flame from our need.
Some say that such behavior's out of date:
That self-fulfillment is the way to grace.
But Mom, without much choice, then chose her fate,
Finding greater truth in an embrace.
She lives on in the sparkle in our eyes:
Laughing, quiet, gentle, loving, wise

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Her life was not as glorious as some

Her life was not as glorious as some,
Devoted to her children and their children,
Taken up by quiet tedium:
What's left when dreams are scattered to the wind.
She loved too well, perhaps, and fought too hard
To make a marriage work that wasn't right.
She was, of all bright loveliness, a shard
Struck off to bring our lives the gift of light.
There are those whose lives are shaped by love;
Whose pleasures, rich and full, are found in giving;
Who make our wild hearts bloom and passions move
Into measured fields made lush by living.
Without her all the gold's gone from the day;
She will be missed far more than we can say.
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a life of fantasy and terror

I've lived a life of fantasy and terror,
Plunging now and then headlong towards death.
I cannot think what agony it must be
To see your child burn in such a hell.
I've fought your love with all the madness in me,
Screaming at my stubborn love for you,
The one thing in my heart that will not let me
Toss my tortured soul into the sea.

I do not know what pain your love has cost you,
Or with what courage you have seen me through.
I only know I love you so much for it
That life becomes too beautiful to hold.

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We are not your children

We are not your children, but
We write you nonetheless
To wish you Happy Mother's Day
With sweet, sad tenderness.
We loved your child, who cannot write
The words that he would say,
And so in memory of him
We send you this today.

There is no comfort can assuage
The passing of a child,
But we must do what we can do
And know he would have smiled;

And know that love is like a wave
That sweeps past those who love
To break upon the edge of death,
Time's traces to remove;

And break again, and break again
Across that distant shore
That all who love might taste of life
Yet yearn in peace for more

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To the mothers of children who never were children

To the mothers of children who never were children,
Who died in the womb unnamed and unknown:
You also were mothers, albeit but briefly,
And loved with the love given mothers alone.
Yours was the stirring of life within life,
The being of being all one being knew,
The love of a love that knew only your love,
The world to a world that knew no world but you.

Yours the unspeakable pleasure of giving
Your substance to nurture the creature within;
Yours the inscrutable song of creation,
Bringing to being the dust of the wind.

Death is the end, but never the meaning;
Life is a gift, no matter how long.
You, too, are mothers, the bearers of beauty,
The icons of love to whom this day belongs
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loved us as your own
You took us in and loved us as your own
Though you were old enough to need some rest.
Now you are eighty and alone,
Rattling on within your empty nest.
Though we no longer live within your doors,
You will always live within our hearts.
I think of you, and that sweet thought restores
My happiness, as my own Red Sea parts.
This you've done for me, more than the toil,
The prostrate nights, the scarce funds spent, the pain:
Your love and selflessness have been the soil
In which my life can always bloom again.
I cannot think what I would do or be
Without the love that you have given me.=======

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You took us in and loved us as your own

You took us in and loved us as your own
Though you were old enough to need some rest.
Now you are eighty and alone,
Rattling on within your empty nest.
Though we no longer live within your doors,
You will always live within our hearts.
I think of you, and that sweet thought restores
My happiness, as my own Red Sea parts.
This you've done for me, more than the toil,
The prostrate nights, the scarce funds spent, the pain:
Your love and selflessness have been the soil
In which my life can always bloom again.
I cannot think what I would do or be
Without the love that you have given me.
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mother with her newborn child

Behold the mother with her newborn child!
An icon of a hope that never dies.
Death may label all we cherish lies,
Yet this love lies too deep to be defiled.
We clear an inner field where fate has smiled,
Letting play the pleasures of surmise,
Holding back all contrary replies,
As though our thoughts might turn the winters mild.
Despite the well-known travesties of time,
Each time a child is born we dream anew,
For only thus our losses are regained.
Though we must share the destiny of slime,
No passion in our palette is more true
Than that which cradles innocence unstained
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Close your eyes and wish for the one thing
You cannot do without, and when you do,
Near your heart you'll find it, always there,
Treasure that is dear but not so rare,
Held in the mesh that all your dreams flow through.
In truth, no gift more happiness can bring,
And so this day I give my love to you.
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GRANDMOTHERS

Grandmothers are mothers who are grand,
Restoring the sense that our most precious things
Are those that do not change much over time.
No love of childhood is more sublime,
Demanding little, giving on demand,
More inclined than most to grant the wings
On which we fly off to enchanted lands.
Though grandmothers must serve as second mothers,
Helping out with young and restless hearts,
Each has all the patience wisdom brings,
Remembering our passions more than others,
Soothing us with old and well-honed arts

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY.............

thanks going out to Nicholas Gordon-free poetry and more!!