Today is my mother’s birthday.
Her birth did occur on this date.
In honor of her I caused this poem to occur
And published it moderately late.
Today is my mother’s birthday.
Her birth did occur on this date.
In honor of her I caused this poem to occur
And published it moderately late.
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Good morning Mom!
You are the bomb.
You made me exist
Before the CD Rom.
Today we shower you
With abundant aplomb.
You are the WWW
To my .com
You make delicious food
That I like to nom
And you are someone onto whom
I do like to glom.
I promise I’ll never leave you
To move away to Guam
Because I’m your favorite child
And you’re my best Mom.
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Happy Birthday Mother!
You gave birth like no other
Yo me and my sis,
So you I will kiss
And otherwise shamelessly smother!
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My mommy was a mother
Since before I was a brother
To my sister, and she kissed her
And tucked her into bed.
Then my mommy had another
(That was me), and then no other;
She was done, and though now I’m fun
Back then we cried ‘til fed.
And feed us well my mother did,
Both me and that darn other kid,
And I’ve attested she never rested
‘Til we kids were satisfied.
Then we got bigger and less cute;
One could walk and one could scoot,
After baby-proofing and pillow floofing
She probably wanted to hide.
Alas, we found her hiding places
And made her wipe our snotty faces.
She loved us still, despite the thrill
Having long since departed.
And then we started going to school,
Which meant less time mopping our drool.
With phlegmless floors she still did chores
As we laughed and said “I farted.”
And even when my sister was bad
(I never was, just ask our dad)
With grace and calm she’d slap her palm
Anywhere but on our faces.
When we got big and pubescent
She gave us the finest present
Like love and stuff, always enough
Yet gave us private spaces.
And oh the years of meals she cooked,
Though overworked and overlooked!
Oh the the years and sweat and tears
Endured by her for us! She
Will be remembered evermore,
For all of this, but even more:
She inspired my art. She’s old, but not a fart.
I end this poem thusly.
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My Mom’s the bomb!
Her name’s not Tom.
She deserves much great aplomb.
She’s older than a CD-Rom.
This poem’s bad, unlike my Mom.
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Today we thank our mothers,
The reason we’re alive,
The commuter jets of fetuses
That ensured to life we’d arrive.
And after our delivery
Their labors didn’t stop;
Our every cry reminded them
Of a long-ago hop-on-Pop.
They spent many sleepless hours
Changing diapers, wiping tears,
Just for us to becomes teenagers
All full of angst and sneers.
But two moms we thank today
Whose children are divine.
One is the virgin Mary
And the other mom is mine.
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Glorious, glorious, glorious mom!
You are the shizzow! You are da bomb!
Your presence brings comfort, just like forty winks.
Dad says “no pet dolphin’, but what does you thinks?
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Like the velour blanket
Upon my lap
A day with you is made good
Even if it were otherwise crap.
You’ll surely be in the number of
The saints that go marching in.
I’ll love you forever, even if at Catan
You always seems to win.
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When my Mom was younger
She worked on the railroad
All the live-long days.
She was filled with a hunger
To escape from the railroad
And find a guy with whom to pass the days.
She hung up her axe and hammer
For an erlenmeyer flask
And took a job for Carly Fiorina.
My Dad she did enamor
And had the guts to ask
“Do you want to see a show at the arena?”
They got married in the Summer
And moved out to Colorado
And brought my future sister to the world.
Three very-good years later
A doctor in Colorado
Said “you’ve got another kid in you. A girl.”
And so you dreamt of Molly
But months later Dave arrived
And his presence made your life complete.
When I think about it, golly!
Now your life story’s archived
And only for sake of rhymes did I once (or twice…) cheat.
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Sixty-one candles,
Two and a half beards
Celebrating your many,
Many, many, many years.
I wrote these stanzas
To know that you smiled.
Happy Birthday Mom
From your second-best child.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader