Hi, Folks - I'm brand new to the mudcat -- so thought I'd jump right in and offer some lyrics for Mother's Day songs, in hopes that others might add theirs. I did see a good one go by last month. Here are a few of mine. All are available on various recordings--check with me if you'd like more info - Thanks!

OCTOBER ROSES
(Linda Allen, © 1984.)

You say you are sorry for the youth that you lack
For the sag of your breasts, for the bend in your back
For your hair turning grey, and the tears that now flow
For the choices you made such a long time ago

(Chorus:) Spring roses are lovely, they make my heart sing
And in summer, the roses sweet memories bring
But I most need the rose when the bitter winds call
October Roses are the fairest of all
October Roses are the fairest of all

As a maid, you were lovely, your cheeks bloomed so red
And you gave your heart freely, too freely you said
As a woman full grown you knew passion and strife
And a tender heart torn with the thorns of your life

Now you're growing older, sometimes you feel done
But your strong roots still hold you, you still find the sun
For you blossom with wisdom and courage and care
You're the fairest of roses that bloom anywhere


I'VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO
(Linda Allen, © 1986.)

Why do I spend my life caught in this storm and strife?
Picking up puzzles to put into boxes
Papers and peanuts and soggy galoshes
I've got better things to do than to pick up after you

I could sail far away for a year and a day
In a boat of shimmering blue
To an island I know where the warm breezes blow
And I know just what I will do
I'll put up an umbrella on that glorious beach
Right next to the "No Children" sign
And I'll read three whole books from beginning to end
And more if I feel so inclined

Why do I spend my life caught in this storm and strife?
Picking up socks and a mouldy old bear
Finding two months worth of old underwear
I've got better things to do than to pick up after you

I could give of my talents to challenge the makers of war,
I would march, I would sing
I would write twenty letters, or then, even better,
I'd give all the generals a ring
I would talk to them nicely, and ask them politely
To give up their nuclear toys
But if they won't say that they'll put them away
Then it's Time Out for those ornery boys!

Why do I spend my life caught in this storm and strife?
Picking up things that I can't recognize
Covered with fungus and lazy fruit flies
I've got better things to do than to pick up after you

I could start up a workshop for mothers who've not
Stood up straight since the youngest was born
We'll do role-plays, and cry, learn a mantra, and sigh,
"Born to stand," to repeat every morn
And then for the test, we'll invite in a guest
To drop socks in a heap on the floor
Any woman who sweats and then trembles and heads for the socks
Must repeat the whole course

Why do I spend my life caught in this storm and strife?
Screaming and bribing and pleading my lot
But will you pick up? No, you will not!
I've got better things to do than to pick up after you


THERE WILL BE AN ANSWER (A mother-daughter dialog song)
(Linda Allen, © 1998.)

What do you do when there isn't enough love left
'Though you know that you've tried
What do you do when what's left of your heart has to rest
You've cried and you've cried

There will be an answer
I don't believe it
There will be an answer
I just can't see it
There will be an open door
A light for the journey home

What do you say when your faces are silent masks
And you're so far apart
What do you say when the words fall like broken glass
There's a hole in your heart

There will be an answer
I just can't hear it
There will be an answer
I'm nowhere near it
There will be an open door
A light for the journey home

Sometimes the way is to hold on for one more day
'til the love comes home
Sometimes the road you must go will take you away
from all that you've known

There will be an answer
If you just believe it
There will be an answer
Let your heart receive it
There will be an open door
A light for the journey home


WEAVING AND QUILTING
(Linda Allen, © 1989.)

(1st voice:) My grandmother's hands wove the cedar and bear grass
Into this fine basket I hold in my hands
To hold bitter roots, camas, fern, tiger lily
Blackberries, cranberries - gifts from the land

My great-grandma Towsalee passed on her knowledge
To her daughter Sally - she was only six then
Our tribes own designs such as Salmon Gill, Trail of Eel,
Flowers for women and deer for the men

(2nd voice:) My grandmother's hands worked with bright colored fabrics
Taken from dresses I wore long ago
With strong cotton thread and the finest of needles
Weaving my memories in patterns she'd sew

My great grandma Eleanor passed on her knowledge
To her daughter Susan when she was just nine
Lone Star, Log Cabin, the sweet Rose of Sharon
Basket, Medallion - her favorite designs

(Chorus, round, both voices:) Salmon Gill, Trail of Eel, Flowers and Deer
Bringing the lives of our ancestors near
Lone Star, Log Cabin, Basket design
Weaving and Quilting, our stories entwine


RAINBOW DANCER
(Linda Allen, © 1982.)

Mama wanted to be a Rainbow Dancer
Wanted to be a singer in a band
I remember brown eyes dreaming
As she sang and rocked her babies gently down

Mama came to see me at the tavern
Came to hear me singin' with the band
Her eyes were full and shining
I could see the dream reflected in her eyes

Mama could have been a Rainbow Dancer
But a woman's dreams are hard to hold
So she raised up four strong children
And she placed the rainbow deep within my soul

Now I sing songs about the rainbow
And it always ends at Mama's door
And I see a young girl dancing
And I hear her singing deep within my soul


I'M A MOTHER/ I'M A WRITER
(Linda Allen, © 1984.)

I sit here in the stillness, and my thoughts are all of you
And I wonder and I worry so, as mothers often do
Oh, dear ones, how I needed all these days to be alone
But comes the evening, here I am - reaching for the phone

(Chorus:) And it seems that every pleasure has its cost
And what I try so hard to find is lost
Still I must seek these lonely times to fine a part of me
then I'll be home, Your mama's comin' home

Sometimes when I try to write, so much keeps crowdin' in
And my life's a book with worn-out pages - scattered by the wind
I love you both so dearly, and I've never had regrets
But other voices beckon, I'm afraid that I'll forget (Chorus)

Sometimes the life I lead begins to tear my heart in two
And the rage comes spilling out and shadows everything we do
And it's then I need you love, but I need most to be alone
To take some time - a glass of wine - then mama's comin' home (Chorus)

OK --enough already. This is just one of my favorite subjects and I seem to have a lot to say! I'll look forward to hearing from some of you-