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My mom is very sweet and always caring.
She worries about me when I am in school.
She makes sure that I get where I am going
On time so that I don’t feel like a fool.

She cares whenever I pick on my younger brother.
She cares whenever he or I get hurt.
She cares whenever I score a goal in soccer.
She cares about the buttons on my shirt.

But best of all, my mom loves all of us
Who live with her, both when we’re good and bad.
She makes me happy with a hug and kiss
And holds my hand whenever I am sad.

My mother loves her animals and me;
And, of course, my sister’s* in there, too.
She shows her love quite unmistakably:
She pets us all, no matter where or who.

I haven’t sprouted yet a bushy tail,
Nor has my sister* grown a toothy snout;
But I sometimes feel a dog in such detail
I pant and bark and scurry all about.

But I am glad my mother has a love
That cuts across the paths of innocence.
I know that her sweet feelings long will move
Me to appreciate her scents!

*Feel free to change to “brother.”

My mother passed away on June the fifth.*
I loved her deeply; now she’s simply gone.
All my life I’d known that I was loved,
Living in the circle of her arms.

I can’t believe her love is not somewhere,
So strong it was, so much a part of me.
I feel it in the harsh salt of the sea
And in the stinging sadness of the wind.

I ride the waves along the rock-strewn shore.
No one watches me with fear and pride.
Now among the stars I am alone.
In her heart I had my only home.

*Feel free to change the date.

My mother, the queen of my heart,
Reigns in my sky like a moon,
Pulling the tides of my senses,
Lighting the paths of my dreams.

All melodies hence will play subtly
Against this first, dominant theme
That will turn their most delicate graces
Into harmonies they’ll never hear.

Nor can I visit the garden
Where once I lay wrapped in her arms.
The doors of the past will not open
Though I live ‘neath a dome of pure joy.

My mother was a mother as a child.
Always she has cared for someone else:
No chance to roam untouched among the wild,
Unsuspected precincts of the self.
Youth was shorter than a winter day,
Prelude to a long and bitter night.
For all the souls that fortune sent her way,
She was the source of certitude and light.
Giving only, often, as of need,
Reflexively resigned to sacrifice,
Inured to pain, and yet quite prone to bleed,
Not looking at her loss, she paid the price.
Yet love has given her this recompense:
That she might savor still her innocence.

Our mother is the sweetest and
Most delicate of all.
She knows more of paradise
Than angels can recall.

She’s not only beautiful
But passionately young,
Playful as a kid, yet wise
As one who has lived long.

Her love is like the rush of life,
A bubbling, laughing spring
That runs through all like liquid light
And makes the mountains sing.

And makes the meadows turn to flower
And trees to choicest fruit.
She is at once the field and bower
In which our hearts take root.

She is at once the sea and shore,
Our freedom and our past.
With her we launch our daring ships
Yet keep the things that last.

Rodeo kids need rodeo moms
On whom they can depend:
Daring to be best requires
Ecstasies to blend.
On Mother’s Day for just one moment
Mom is in the ring:
On her the passion full of light
Moves all encompassing,
So we her praise might sing.

Thank you for loving us,
Having us in.
All you have given
Now we hold within.
Kids out in limbo
You made your own,
Or else we might still be
Unloved and alone.

Thank you for loving me,
Having me in.
All you have given
Now I hold within.
Kid in a vacuum
You made your own,
Or else I had been
Unborn and unknown.*

*Or, “Unloved and alone.”

Thank you, Mom, for making us
Happy, well, and good.
All we are depends on you:
Not what you say, but what you do.
Kids know what they should,
Yet need your hands for shaping us,
Opening and waking us,
Unveiling our view.