Tag Archives: Mom

She’s Also My Muse (And The Reason This Blog Exists)

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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Without My Mom You’d Still Be Pretending To Like Robert Frost

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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Always Get A Second Opinion

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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For My Mom, Based On Recent Events

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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A 93% Accurate History Of My Mom

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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May 25th

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.

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The Obligatory Mom Poem (Love Ya Mom!)

My mom is great, amazing, fine,

Perfect and extraordinary.

I’m grateful to her for all she does

And not naming me “Norman Harry.”
My mom is splendid, glorious, good,

Supremely radiant and such.

She supports my rhyming habits,

Even if it’s a bit too much.
My mom is strong and good-looking

And her children are above average.

She’s a fixture of nature,

Like a coral reef or lava-ridge.
My mom’s terrific, pretty good,

And her favorite color is purple.

She’s cuter than a bumblebee

And sweeter than maple-surple.
There are so many adjectives

That my mother can be.

She changed the world a thousandfold

By giving birth to me.

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The First Family: An Earlobe Story

It started as an earlobe,
Lonely and aware
That it would be much more complete
If it could make a pair,

And so it looked and listened
And so grew its ears and eyes,
And it found a brain, a face, and hair
That to its side it did bind.

And soon the first lobe found a second
And a head the two became.
They thought they’d met their goals,
Yet they still felt kind of lame,

And so the head sought out a body,
And the body sought out limbs
And soon the lobes could walk around,
And searched the world for hims.

Sure enough they found him:
Another lobe-turned-body,
And the lobe pair fell in love
‘Cause the he-lobe was a hotty.

And the bodies mixed and matched
And made a smaller version
Of themselves, and out it pushed,
Desiring an excursion.

And so was born a child
And the lobe became a mother.
The first kid was a sister
And the second was a brother.

And that is how a family
In my mind has been portrayed.
I love you mom, but seriously,
How was I really made?

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