Behold the Mother with Her Newborn Child

By Nicholas Gordon

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.

In The Eyes of A Child

A poem by David Henry Newman


In the eyes of a child...
the world is a place full of morning magic...
and evening wonder...
It is a place full of vibrant colors...
and pulsating sounds...
and all the hues of the rainbow...
It is a place for wide-eyed dreams
and long-cherished memories ...
In a child's eyes, life is absolutely fantabulistic ..
and yes, expialidocious, too!
And the future is forever.
In a child's eyes,
there is no death...
no war....
no taxes....
no crime........
no jobs........
no responsibilities.......
no tests, no quizzes.......
no broken bones.......
no long-lasting pain........
Just a few nosebleeds,....
a few scratches here and there,....
a headache now and then, ....
shoes that are too tight, ....
and clothes that do not fit.......
OH, TO BE A CHILD AGAIN!....
To witness firsthand the sheer joy of discovery....
the excitement of learning .......
the pleasures of sights and sounds .......
of touch and smell ......
of taste and sensation .......
of feelings and friends.....
From a child's point of view,....
the world is indeed a charming place.......
full of warmth and loveliness... ....
and peopled by uncles and aunts.......
grandmothers and grandfathers.......
mommies and daddies... ....
brothers and sisters.......
and neighbors and friends. ....
In a child's eyes... ....
there is no looking back ... ....
only looking forward .......
into the future... ....
that awaits us all......
Did your dreams come true yet?....
Or are you still waiting? ....
Listen: today is the first day of the rest of your life ... ....
REMEMBER THIS: It is never too late to begin again ....
For in a child's eyes ....
it is really never too late ....
to begin again.....
Find the child within yourself who is willing to begin again ... ....
to rise up from your current worries and woes... ....
Stronger and freer than ever before. ....
In a child's eyes, it is never too late to begin again.......
For in a child's eyes, it really is never too late to begin again........
YOU CAN TOO!

A Mother's Poem

I got this from an email awhile back

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Meyer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here." when they keep crying and won't stop.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at football or soccer games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see me?" they could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the World," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet like a tired 2-year old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't. For all the mothers who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then read it again. "Just one more time."

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead. This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls " Mom ?" in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them. For all the mothers who bite their lips sometimes until they bleed--when their 14 -year olds dye their hair green.

What makes a good Mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying? For all the mothers of the victims of all these school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting. For the mothers of the Survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's graves. This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation. And mature mothers learning to let go. For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married mothers. mothers with money, mothers without.