En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Carpenter's Song

My lot grew lighter day by day;
The children grew apace;
I built a little house last May--
No palace like that place.
And--"Father," said she, "sure you know
That once we ate dry bread?
Into our own house now we go!"--
The mother, she is dead!

Her house the undertaker made,
And not the carpenter;
My grace unsaid, the pastor prayed
In loud tones over her.
The day that's spent with merriment,
'Mid blossoms blue and red,
No music lent--my heart was rent!--
The mother, she is dead.

We pulled together many a year;
Like old bird-mates were we;
But who e'er thinks of dying here
While both together be?
Fast barred is every window-blind--
I care not what is said;
Yes, sell the house! I do not mind--
The mother, she is dead!

poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mothers’ Day ‘08

North or south; east or west;
A mother’s love is always best!
Throughout its childhood, cleaned and dressed,
A mother gives baby, good rest.

A mother is the love-pillar;
A father is the source of strength;
A child is like caterpillar,
Metamorphosing in its length!

A mother keeps the home happy;
A mother cleans the babe’s nappy;
A mother tends to dear daddy;
A mom-less home cannot be sweet!

The angel in the house is mom!
The toiler of the home is mom;
The cleaner in the house is mom;
She knows all problems but keeps mum!

The chief-cook in the house is mom;
The teacher in the house is mom;
The care-taker is also mom;
She knowingly is sometimes dumb!

A spoilt-kid’s mom had spared the rod;
As children’s friend, mother looks odd;
For most things, mothers give the nod;
A mother is a demi-god!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-11-2008

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The City Dead-House

BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,
As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,
I curious pause--for lo! an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute
brought;
Her corpse they deposit unclaim'd--it lies on the damp brick
pavement;
The divine woman, her body--I see the Body--I look on it alone,
That house once full of passion and beauty--all else I notice not;
Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors
morbific impress me;
But the house alone--that wondrous house--that delicate fair house--
that ruin!
That immortal house, more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!
Or white-domed Capitol itself, with majestic figure surmounted--or
all the old high-spired cathedrals; 10
That little house alone, more than them all--poor, desperate house!
Fair, fearful wreck! tenement of a Soul! itself a Soul!
Unclaim'd, avoided house! take one breath from my tremulous lips;
Take one tear, dropt aside as I go, for thought of you,
Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crumbled! crush'd!
House of life--erewhile talking and laughing--but ah, poor house!
dead, even then;
Months, years, an echoing, garnish'd house--but dead, dead, dead.

poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As It Was

Ginny loved it
when the time came
For their annual trip
to the seaside

And her father rented
the house with the big garden
that lead onto the sea.
She and her brothers and sister

Looked forward to it
every year and it seemed the sun
shone almost constantly
And the house seemed

as it was the year before
nothing changed nothing new
just the same rooms
and outlook and young Lily the maid

who came each year too
to help their mother
around the house
and watch

the younger children.
Her mother
Was the organiser
the one who seemed most near

to the children who seemed
to know the children’s needs
and wants and tried to keep
her husband happy

and allow him
his space and quiet
which he valued most of all.
Ginny liked it

when the sea was out
and there was plenty of sand
to play on to make a sand castle
with a moat and drawbridge

made from small pieces of driftwood
found on the beach.

But once her mother died
the seaside house

seemed less welcoming
the sea seemed

hardly ever to go out
than it was back again

the sun was less warm
less friendly

and her father
would mope

around the house
moaning and groaning

In his grief and bellowing
at Lily the maid

to do this and do that
making her cry

and only at night
when all were asleep

and Ginny was snuggled
Down in bed did it seem

as it was when her mother
would enter the room

and sit on the bed
and smile and whisper

the words she used to
placing a ghostly hand

on Ginny’s brow
and kiss her cheek.

Ginny remembered the house
By the sea years later

with the yellowy sand
And walking with Lily

the maid
hand in hand.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Folk Don't Talk

On the day she died they all came,
though I was shocked they recalled her name
but they drank our booze and ate our cake
yeah they ate our cake alright.

Maybe they meant well
maybe not
but you can't keep dead folk company
for dead folk, they don't talk.

Nobody came and nobody called
when she was ill and dying.
Nobody seemed to care at all
and now they're all here crying.

Maybe they meant well
maybe not
but you can't keep dead folk company
for dead folk, they don't talk.

So I sat there dazed and out of control
listening to them talking,
but when she were alive, the house was still,
just me and mother sighing.

Maybe they meant well
maybe not
but you can't keep dead folk company
for dead folk, they don't talk.

And afterwards, when they all went
I carried out her last requests.
I moved her gas fire, paid the rent
and left a note to the dairyman.

Nobody came and nobody called
when she was ill and dying.
Nobody seemed to care at all
and if they say they did, they're lying.

poem by Ruth Walters
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The Mocking Bird On The Tree Fronting The House...

a mocking bird
sits on a branch of a tree
that fronts the house that
papa made

papa is gone.

a mocking bird left but one
sunny day

after the heavy rains for months
the mocking bird comes back

it is bringing silence
unlike all the other mocking birds
in town

the mocking bird is dead
a boy abandoned by his mother
stoned it

now the window if you walk a little
distant from the house
and sit on a bench across the road
looks like a Cheshire cat
giving Alice that fable smile.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like No Other...Mother

Mother...

Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother...This ones' For You...

Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother...

Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart Of The House

you are the original template
you are the original exemplary
how seen were actually?
how revered were you (honestly) at the time?
why pleased with you low maintenance?
you loved us more than we could've loved you back
where was you ally your partner in feminine crime?
oh mother who's your buddy?
oh mother who's got your back?
the heart of the house
the heart of the house
all hail the goddess!
you were "good ol'"
you were "count on 'er 'til four am"
you saw me run from the house
in the snow melodramatically
oh mother who's your sister?
oh mother who's your friend?
the heart of the house
the heart of that house
all hail the goddess!
we left the men and we went for a walk in the gatineaus
and talked like women to women would
womyn to womyn would "where did you get that from?
must've been your father your dad"
I got it from you I got it from you
do you see yourself in my gipsy garage sale ways?
in my fits of laughter?
in my tinkerbell tendencies?
in my lack of color coordination?

song performed by by Alanis Morissette from Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A House Without Stairs

do not say
that without the stairs
the house is not a house anymore

without the ceiling
the more the house becomes to me

take the roof
if you want

or the beams
or even the floor and window frames

my house will still be a house
the sky its roof
the stretching grassy plain its floor
all the stars become
my magnificent ceiling

whatever is taken
we must imagine that all things are still there
lest we only have a house
that crashes on the floor
with all of us
dead

crushed to the death of
our imaginations

a door without an exit
because you have not seen hope coming

the lock and key
are all in the mind and heart

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Togetherness, Unity and Love

Father and Mother, I love you...
I've said it, yeah, OK.
That's right, I've said it, 'cos it's true.
Here's where I choose to stay.
This house is more than just a house,
'Cos love lives here each day,
Yes, I thank God this house is ours,
This home in which we pray...

Father and Mother, thanks so much,
I want to make you proud.
I know sometimes you'll never budge
In rules that you've allowed,
Yet even when you tell me off
And I stand here, head bowed...
I know our house is filled with love,
Of that there is no doubt...

Father and Mother, I thank you...
For both of you love me.
I've seen it in the things you do,
In all you choose to be.
The Christmas gifts, the Easter gifts
And birthday gifts so free.
No wonder that my spirit lifts
In all this love I see...

(September 2011)

poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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HOE HOUSE...by talile ali

HOE HOUSE

IF YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS
WHEN DOIN IT RUNS AMUCK
HOE HOUSE

THE MOMMA LIKES TO DO IT
SO DO HER LITTLE DUCKS
HOE HOUSE

SHE DOESN'T WANT THEM DOIN
SOME LAZY KNOTHEAD CHUMPS
HOE HOUSE

THEN SHE GETS ALL DRUNKED UP
AND DOES SOME LAZY BLIND KNOTHEAD CHUMP
HOE HOUSE

THE CHILDREN THEY CAN HEAR HER
WHEN SHE STARTS TO WAIL
HOE HOUSE

DOING ANY FELLA
BEFORE SHE GOES TO HELL
HOE HOUSE

SHE WILL DO'EM NASTY
IN THE RAW OR IN THE MOUTH
HOE HOUSE

WHILE HER BABIES LISTEN
THEY DRESS AND LEAVE THE HOUSE
HOE HOUSE

SHE TELL'S THEM 'IT'S NOT NOTHING'
'JUST A LIL FIX'
HOE HOUSE

THEY COULD NEVER BELIEVE HER
SHE'S JUST UP TO HER TRICKS
HOE HOUSE

WHAT THEY WANT TO KNOW IS
IF THEY GET FUCKED, I SWEAR
HOE HOUSE

THESE BABE'S THEY JUST CANT HELP YOU
CAUSE THEY ARE RUNNING SCARED
HOE HOUSE

YOU'RE THEIR GOD, THEIR TEACHER
THEIR EVER SHINING LIGHT
HOE HOUSE

THE SUCCUBUS IN SEX
THE BLIND, AND DICK, AND SCARY
HOE HOUSE

IS SHE SO SURPRISED
WHEN HER GIRL'S ARE DEAD AND BURIED
HOE HOUSE

WHATS GOOD FOR THE GOOSE
AINT SO GOOD WHEN THEY'RE DUCKLINGS
HOE HOUSE

DON'T BE SO SURPRISED
WHEN THE FRUIT IS REALLY RANCID
HOE HOUSE

WITH THE FELLA'S IN THEIR RAGE
FINISHED HER STOUT BEFORE THEY LANCE IT
HOE HOUSE

SHE'S SO PISSED
HER BABE'S JUST CAN'T HELP HER
HOE HOUSE

WITH A BUNCHA SAD JACKS
HANGIN ALL AROUND TO ENHANCE HER
HOE HOUSE

THEY CAN SMELL THE BREWERY
WAITING TO GET POUND
HOE HOUSE

CHILDREN CAN ONLY SEE
WHAT THEY LEARN AND WHAT THEY FOUND
HOE HOUSE

IF MOM IS DEEP INTO DOING IT
THE GIRLS WILL TRY AT LEAST
HOE HOUSE

YOU DON'T NEED TO LOSE THEM
THE'RE STILL NEW TO THE FEAST
HOE HOUSE

I LIVED IN A HOE HOUSE
I DON'T HAVE A LOT
THERE'S NOT A SINGLE THING
I CAN SAY TO MAKE IT STOP

TO ALL THAT LOVE HOEING,
THE BLOWING, AND WHAT NOT
THE LUST FOR NOT GROWING
IS ALL THAT THEY'VE GOT

IT WAS MY BIGGEST FEAR
EVERY NIGHT, EVERY YEAR
CAUSE IN EVERY SINGLE ROOM
MY GIRLS ARE NOW DOING IT, IT'S CLEAR

WHAT CAN I SAY?

I DIDN'T WANT TO LOSE THEM THAT WAY!

SO IF YOU SEE THAT YOU
ARE LIVING LIKE ME
HOE HOUSE

GRAB UP ALL YOUR BABIES
AND LEAVE THIS INSANITY
HOE HOUSE

poem by Talile Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Woman branches.

Spouses of sisters are at ease
In each other’s house.
Brothers aren’t at that ease
In each other’s house.
Mother’s mother is like mother.
Father’s mother trails behind
Relations branch out from women.

06.11.2004

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home, Sweet Home

The childhood home wherein children, we stayed;
The cottage old in which we ate and prayed;
The humble garden, on our own, we laid;
The roof that leaked in rain, though rent was paid!

The tranquil place where parents gave us love;
The wonderful compound, where we worked, ‘wow! ’
The trees and plants that grew by heaven’s grace;
The sun, moon, rain, at which we loved to gaze!

That was the lovely place, in which we lived;
The home we kept quite clean and chores were shared;
Our parents slogged for us and deeply cared;
We sometimes fought although amity ruled!

Our father’s strictness taught us good conduct;
Our mother’s fondness disciplined our mind;
The help we rendered, made us feel the warmth;
Home, sweet home, was great despite some faults!

Home, sweet home, brings memories evergreen;
Comfortable, our mother’s house, had been;
Those days were most pleasant, despite our toil;
We lost our hearts upon that very soil!

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Was My House

(I had spent my childhood in Kashmir/India.)

Once upon a time
that house
housed my home
narrow lanes led to outside roads
which I used to roam.

Once upon a time
that house
woke up with temple bells
loud prayers stirred the souls
with blowing of conch shells.

Once upon a time
that house
had an open window
cool breeze refreshed me
with the chirrup of a sparrow.

Once upon a time
that house
overlooked the river
I could jump and swim
like an expert diver.

Once upon a time
that house
had a long kaeni (balcony)
made all the children play together
by tough grand old Kakni. (grand mother)

Once upon a time
that house
basked under the sun
warmth spread to people around
everyone used to have fun.

Once upon a time
that house
witnessed many celebrations
gupp bacche/bhand and melodious Henze*
were hallmark of jubilations.

That house, like a dream to me now
and may remain that for ever
its indelible impression, admit I must
can never be erased, my dear.

-----xxxx-------

* dancer/singers and singing of wedding rhythem.

poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Motherless Children

(traditional)
Motherless children have a hard time when mother is dead, lord.
Motherless children have a hard time when mother is dead, lord.
They dont have anywhere to go;
Wandering around from door to door.
Nobody treats you like a mother will when your mother is dead, lord.
Father will do the best he can when your mother is dead, lord.
Father will do the best he can when your mother is dead, lord.
Father will do the best he can;
So many things a father cant understand.
Nobody treats you like a mother will when your mother is dead, lord.
Sister will do the best she can when your mother is dead, lord.
Sister will do the best she can when your mother is dead, lord.
Sister will do the best she can;
So many things a sister cant understand.
Nobody treats you like a mother will when your mother is dead.
When your mother is dead, when your mother is dead.
When your mother is dead, lord, when your mother is dead.

song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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William House and Family

Come all kind friends, both far and near,
Come listen to me and you shall hear --
It's of a family and their fate,
All about them I will relate.

They once did live at Edgerton,
They once did live at Muskegon,
From there they went to Chicago,
Which proved their fatal overthrow.

It was William House's family,
As fine a family as you see --
His family was eleven in all,
I do not think it was very small.

Two children died some years ago,
Before they went to Chicago,
Five children there he had with him,
When death his home there enters in.

The small-pox then was raging there,
And Oh! it would not their house spare,
For all but one was sick of them,
A dreadful house it must have been.

The eldest girl was married then,
The eldest boy was in Michigan,
The second boy he was at home,
And took care of them all alone.

His father and his mother dear,
And dear sister, too, I hear,
Were very sick and in his care,
And no kind friends to help him there:

Two little brothers, and a baby too,
Made six in all -- what could he do,
He had to take care of them all,
The baby, too, was very small.

As he would go to his father's bed,
And try to soothe his aching head,
"My son, I pray you leave me, do
Go take care of poor mother, too."

"Your mother and sister need your care,
And your little infant brother there;
Oh! Charlie, Charlie, take care of them,
My son, do all for them you can."

It seemed as though he did not know
That his poor soul so soon must go,
And leave his little ones he loved,
To go to that bright world above.

But God he called his soul away,
It had to leave, it could not stay --
He never more on earth will be,
His soul is from sin and sorrow free.

Charles helped the sexton, I am told,
To lay his form in the coffin cold --
How sad, how sad, poor soul was he,
When last his father's form did see.

Minnie May House she had to go,
And leave her friends that loved her so --
She was a girl in her teens,
A lovely flower as e'er was seen.

Minnie and her mother lay on one bed,
And when Charles said, "our Minnie is dead,"
His mother then she did grow wild,
And early after knew her child.

They buried Minnie by her father's side,
And left them there where they had died --
Charles took his mother and brothers then
And brought them back to Michigan.

For the mother and the baby too,
Kind friends did all that they could do,
But those poor souls they could not save,
For now they're sleeping in their grave.

Oh! what a noble son was he,
His age was then only sixteen --
Charles House's name I have told before
God bless his soul forever more.

poem by Julia A Moore
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The Heavens Over Lighthouses

Sounds of your memory—what does
It mean, all of those diseases:
Thinking and thinking of Colorado
Where my mother was born outside of Denver—
In just a little slip of a vale—
In a house next to a house built by a blind man—
Against all of those busied echoes up against
The canyons:
Maybe she was in love with her brother when she
Was in her youngest years:
But she graduated high school, got married
And had children—and her husband—her husband
Is my father:
Man from
Michigan—fat as a hummingbird over the used car
Ports and junk yards—while all of the time
Around his neck a beautiful sun weighing him down like
A jewel—
He was too busied to understand,
Or to truly be in love with her: my mother—my mother—
Windmills turn in the heavens—over lighthouses
And libraries—but what is there left to say?

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Unseen

something's wrong with mother always cleaning the house
and father complains for she does nothing but sweep and scrub
and dust and wipe and rub,
the floors are shiny and father does not like it
he may slide and the children too
and each may hurt the body, but mother cannot be stopped
and we complain like what father does, but mother does not
really mind, for she has become so hardheaded because father
slaps her and we make her deaf with our grumblings

until then when mother died and father cried and we felt we had all our
lives wasted, but there was one in the family who smiled
someone who thought that mother simply did what she liked best
clean the dirt, mop the floors, get all the spider's cobwebs

someone sees the beauty of mother, she's doing her chores still
but now unseen

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But some things are the same. My mother still owns the house I grew up in, on what would now be called a cul de sac, but which the sign on the corner called a dead end street.

quote by Mink Stole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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