Mother Daughter Poems | Examples of Mother Daughter Poetry

Nervously checking my hair, Noting the silver is peppered with grey. My hand trembles as I put on my lipstick— My favourite shade of pink. My reflection bears a frown, But today, I turn it upside up. The big interview with an angel Will happen when the clock strikes Midnight. The mystery of the night Is needed for the halo to shine as bright as...

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When I was born, my life sucked. I wasn’t important, nobody really cared. Some bad things happened, and eventually it led me to you. I was only three, and didn't have much. Then you gave me a home, and became my family. You made me feel safe, and I was happy. I finally felt like...

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to come home to a mother, after a long day at school, to that greeting of love and care, to a spotless house, and aroma of food that she makes so well, to her healing maternal touch, … those bygone days, still stay with me… to drive home to a caring wife, waiting alone for me at home, for that hug and kiss, the...

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How often, I remember when Mom's voice washed away...all my fears As duskfall traced our shadow-dance; We peek- a- booed with laughing eyes While fairy tales spoke of romance. Fine the hands swerving along winds, Sweet bedtime tunes lulled mellow nights Tender age spilling revelries, On my lap, tinsels wrapped moonlights. Where whirled, catching the dew Till evening swept like blue rainfall; And we rolled on...

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Oh, Mother, what from you did I inherit? I’m not so slim. I’m dark-haired with eyes green-blue. You’re red-haired and slender; hazel are your eyes. There’s little of myself I see in you. You swear you know the only true religion. No confidence have I though in your church. But I know God exists because of you, and so for faith I...

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You always said you knew me so well; better than I knew myself. You'd tell me all about me: what I wanted, how I felt. I'd do just what you told me. You'd say I sinned, so I confessed. Because of course it's true— it came from you, and you always know best. You always said you were protecting me, sheltering me, keeping me safe. And I...

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Mother’s Day feels like a joke with no punchline, like the kind of card you don’t buy because you’d have to lie in cursive. I stare at the shelves lined with pastel lies, the soft-scripted thank yous, and the you’ve always been there's. I want to scream at the cardboard. Always been there? Where? In...

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I am kind and understanding I have survived her’s father I have survived the Connection But I am nothing without my daughter Her link has been broken But fear of death is my drive I will not have another daughter Her reconnection, I will not survive I know I am strong But I know I am weak I can run away from abuse But I cannot...

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My sweetness, from you, my first meal, Exclusively for six. And for many more months after~ The grub that made me tick. You'd go hungry for me to eat. Still my tum begs for more What yours for days has been denied, For hunger there to roar. Empty tummy twirls blank your eyes, Then you fall down and faint. Still you rise just to find...

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my mama is not the women who made me' my mama is the women who raised me the one who taught me kindness, and patience the one who taught me boundaries and late night movies, drinking coffee at 6 in the morning on my way to a tournament the one who always came to support me the one who I replied on the one...

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She has reached the terminal before time, with rogue cancer cells creeping in her lungs. The pain pulsates in writhing sixteen-year-old body with the rhythm of the last requiem of swan song. Her drowsy empty eyes decline to close, lest the final sleep undesired descends uncalled, takes away the wonderful world from her to the distant mist of merciless obscurity. Her feeble sense...

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I am woman: Request? I am woman. What does this mean? Am I the lesser for it? Should I stand up for my Self? How will I live? Or die? Or grow old? Will I lose my teeth? Or my muscle mass? Will I lose my mind? Perhaps I should lose my anger... I'm angry at women- For letting me dumb down. For impeding my growth. As a...

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Is it still life? Her Quest for Identity. Tis' stilled life This still life Distilled wife Still - That's life Mime wife. "Playing dumb while acting the role." The unspoken influence of mothers on their daughters. My mother in her work environment, and my mother at home were two completely "different" personalities. At work, I saw her happy and bubbly,...

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DNA “You are not worthy of my love.” Silent words scorch skin like an invisible flame. DNA passed down and left to wither, a family heirloom I don’t dare claim. A cracked and shattered mirror, a broken picture frame— I see nothing of you in me, and maybe that’s why you never say my name. But when the scoreboard flashes victory, your number lights up...

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My Mother’s Hands I remember a quick moment in my 20’s I was getting ready for my first “big girl” job halfway across the country from my childhood home. I looked down from my reflection in the mirror and the hands I saw were not my own. There attached to my 20-something-year-old body I saw with certainty my...

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