Tag Archives: poetry

Oh, Lord, I Thank Thee – A Motherhood Poem

Happy Mother’s Day!

I thank thee for the little fingers

that get into everything

for without these little fingers

to whom else would I sing?


Sing of your praises

And sing of birds and bees

Sing to my little ones

Songs of elephants and fleas


I thank thee for the little voices

that sometimes whine and cry

for without these little voices

I would never wonder why


Why is the sky blue?

And why do You start us small?

Why must we eat vegetables

to grow up strong and tall?


I thank thee for the little eyes

that peep when they should be sleeping

for without these little eyes

what dreams would be worth keeping?


Keeping dreams of a big house

with laughter in each room

love and hugs and tiny dreams

you stitched together in my womb


I thank thee for these little children

you have placed in my care

for without these little children

joyous moments would be rare

If you are looking for a last minute Mother’s Day craft, please allow me to save the day! (Affiliate Links Ahead – Thanks for supporting my brainstorms!)

For the craft pictured at the top of this post you need the following:


  1. Pick a background color from the construction paper.
  2. Cut out the poem.
  3. Pick a hand color.
  4. Trace and cut out your each child’s hand.
  5. Write three things on the construction hand cut out
    1. Child’s Name
    2. Child’s Age
    3. Year
  6. Paste poem and hand print onto background paper.
  7. Write “Happy Mother’s Day!”

And, voila! Thirteen students and I were able to make the completed projects above in about half an hour, and some students made extras for grandmothers. The glue would be dry before Mom finishes her breakfast-in-bed.

Now, if you have extra time, or you’re willing to pass out gifts late, one year I used larger construction paper, one poem, hand prints for each kid, and a group picture. Then I laminated the whole project. For the local grandmothers we put it together like a big poster for in-person delivery, and for the far-off grandmothers we folded the construction paper like an extra large card and mailed them in extra-large envelopes. I even managed hand and feet prints from my newborn nephew for grandmothers and sent one back to his mother. I wish I could manage something that elaborate every year, but hopefully scarcity drives up the value, right?

If you can, hug your mother today, or call her, or write her, or draw her a pretty picture!

And if you can’t do any of those things, find a bit of quiet and a comforting drink, and remember. Remember why you would love to call or write or draw her a pretty picture.

And, maybe . . . draw that picture anyway.

The ABCs of Summer

asking adventure, biting bugs, camping cookouts,
dirty days, explore everything, fishing, fires,
growing gardens, hammocks, hikes, ice cream, independence, jumping for joy!

kids, kites, lakeside laughter, moonlight magic,
never-ending nature, open ocean, parents peeking,
quiet quests, rains, rainbows, sprinkler shrieking, tubing trips!

underwater unknowns, vacation views, wild warmth,
x-tra x-rays? yelling youths, zig zag the zoo!


I wrote this poem today for a friend. If you would like a custom poem written for you, contact me at RebeccaBurgener@gmail.com.

Shakespearean style sonnets work great for storytelling, and I like haiku for capturing a snapshot moment. I can try my hand at anything though

Metamorphosis of a Poem

*Blog post originally written November 2, 2009 on an old blog.*

About a month ago on a warm and wet night while walking the dog, I wrote a poem. Here is the “finished” piece.

Rain splashes my skin
Night air breathes clean
Run, Legs, Run!
If Hunter were alive
They’d never catch us

Now, once upon a yesteryear, I thought that poetry was somehow sacred and couldn’t be edited. Now, I do believe that God can divinely inspire my writing or anyone else’s, but I’m not writing additions to the Bible, and I am aware that I sometimes get in my own way. That being said I have learned that changing things can almost always bring about improvements in any piece of writing.

I can’t share the “original” piece here because that was composed in my head while walking the dog, but here is what first tumbled onto paper.

The rain is falling gently
The night air smells so fresh
I want to run, run, run
Home to the hillside
If Hunter were still alive
They would never catch us

Then I began editing and rewriting and editing as I rewrote. I marked out “is falling” and wrote in “falls down.” I inserted a blank line before the last two lines. Then came the second version still editing as I wrote:

The rain falls^splashes down gently
The night air breathes clean
I want to run
to the hillside
If Hunter were still alive
troubles would never catch us

My biggest writing sin is wordiness. I talk too much. Say too much. Explain too much. I knew this version wasn’t really catching the moment correctly, but I went to bed. (Adequate rest is sometimes the best muse. Other times, sleeplessness, but considering three children need me to function each day, I use the adequate rest muse more often.)

While falling asleep I decided that I was definitely explaining too much with my “to the hillside” line. Only my readers that know me well enough to hear me talk about where I grew up would have any idea what I was talking about, and honestly, who cares where I want to run to? Again, very few people. That detail was better left for the imagination. Sometime between that night and the next morning, I also decided to change troubles back to they.

The next day, this spilled out onto the paper.

Rain splashes my skin
Night air breathes clean
Run, Legs, Run!
If Hunter were still alive
They’d never catch us

Then I spent the next couple of days looking for a decent picture of Hunter and enjoying memories of that dog. I did find a couple pics. I’ll try to get one scanned and posted sometime in the near future.

I left this poem alone for nearly a month and decided to share it tonight. Still editing as I typed I took out the word still in the second to last line for the “finished” product.

What do you do with your poems? Is every word sacred, or are you open to making changes?