Father’s Day Poem by Stan Mullis To all the fathers near and far You all know just who you are You who gave and kept on giving ...

My husband is one of the most amazing poets. Every holiday he writes me a poem and I cherish them all. He wrote one for me today for Easter,...

To help usher in this wonderful holiday season, I am publishing here a poem my mother wrote. I think it depicts the warm, happy feelings of ...

STANZAS TO ERIN by J. J. Callanan from The Poetry and Song of Ireland Still green are thy mountains and bright is thy shore, And the voic...

Whenever we send greeting cards, Stan always writes a poem inside.  This year he wrote a couple of poems for our mothers to go in the cards ...

Any Woman by Katharine Tynan Irish Poet, 1859-1932 I am the pillars of the house; The keystone of the arch am I. Take me away, and ro...

WHEN YOU ARE OLD When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of ...

Nobody Knows It But Me There's a place I travel when I want to roam, and nobody knows it but me. The roads don't go there and the si...

This is a poem Stan wrote many years ago when our boys were little. I thought it appropriate to post it on Father's Day ..... TWO LITTLE...

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth, Empty the dustpan, poison the moth, Hang out the washing and butter the bread, Sew on a button...

And death shall have no dominion. Dead mean naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the west moon; When their bones are picked ...

I keep six honest serving-men, (They taught me all I knew) Their names are What and Why and When And How and Where and Who. I send them over...

He Wished for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim a...

Tho’ much is taken, much abides. And tho’ we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; that which we are we are. F...

There’s a miracle of friendship that dwells within the heart And you don’t know how it happens or where it gets its start But the happiness ...

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all And sweetest in the ga...