My grandmother made her home at Fox How under the shelter of the fells, with her four daughters, the youngest of whom was only eight when their father died.
quote by Mary A. Ward
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
No Martyrs in Nigeria
To my grandmother,
She is late
And waiting at Heaven's gate
When you get there mother
Tell this to my father
He was there before you mother
Let Him talk to my father for my sake
I mean the father's father
The Almighty father who
Brought us here
Let Him take us there
Me and my comrades
I mean the one's He made
The one's He shouldn't forsake
For sinners we are
But His love and mercy keeps us alive
I mean His son;
The one who died for us
On calvary
Tell Him to come to our aid again
Ask Him when is the second coming taking place
Tell Him we have waited too long
Tell Him to come tomorrow
Before the human race extinct of sorrow.
When He decides to come,
Tell Him to come to Nigeria first
Tell Him there are no more martyrs
In this country
The thousand and one Churches
Have been corrupted
Pastors now rule the billboards
Pastors now own empires of business
Pastors now own private jets
And cares not for the sufferings
Of the poor and needy
Christ had nothing
But he fed thousands
They had forgotten the scripture
Young girls and spinsters
Now go to Church half naked
Tell Him grandmother also
That this poem is not finished.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Take Me Home Oh Father
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
For I've wandered this land You made alone.
No one understood of what I am,
Wasn't loved it seemed by beast or man.
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
My lifes' work seems over for me now.
I have done all You have asked of me,
Oh Dear Father do You hear my plea?
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
The pain is more than one can bare.
Take me home oh Father take me home,
To a place You promised if You care.
Take me home oh Father if You would,
For all my life I've tried to do what's good.
Take me home oh Father my life is done,
All has ended please now take me to Your Son.
poem by Linda Winchell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Father's Daughters
Are so smart
and, they have
my Father's Heart
When we get together
we really share in love and truth
each one really cares about
the other one too
My Father's Daughters
talk about who they will help next
they talk about who needs support
and who they can protect
My Father's Daughters
like their Dad
tries to get His heart
to let each woman know
that she is a work of art
They want so much
to soothe and heal
my sisters, are so real
They are a team, really
these girls are spiritually pretty
each one unique, each one belongs
each one helps the other one stay strong
And these girls are in the word, they put God first
they're so full of His Love
they let the last one go first
and these Sister's are accountable
to each other
and gossip no way
that's just plain trouble
These Sisters, My Father's Daughters
Are really Beautiful
When we laugh together
no one wants to go
oh No! not my Father's Daughters
poem by Debbie Bennett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm My Own Grandpa
It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.
This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
Father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.
Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Father Is A Father
A father is a father.
But it takes a man to be a dad.
You lost that title when you left mom and I.
A dad is man that I can turn to when I need someone.
His son first hero and a daughters first love.
Any boy can be a father.
But to take responsibility and raise that child,
That's what makes a father a dad.
A father is a father.
A boy is a boy.
But a father can be a dad.
All he has to do is become a man.
poem by Alice Spakrs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Day I Met Her
She introduced to me her two daughters,
Who came with their teen age daughters today.
They made friends with me so fast in no time,
Perhaps, from their mother’s feeding of me.
How seductive she was five decades back!
How intimate she was physically with me!
Now passion died and memories hid.
Her children being nave, I grew pensive.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dear Father
Anderson / squire
(originally released in 1970 as a single, not included on time and a word)
Here are the books
Of luke
You*ll need them
To open the seed
To see what goes on in the world
You*re in my mind
Catch the wind and hold on tight
To what we*ll find
And hear what goes on in the world
Here is all you see
Everything is made for you
From me
If there*s anything you*d like to say
That could help me in any way
Cause i*ve been waiting for so long for you to come along
Help me on that day
When you*d take over all the things heaven has made for you
Is there anything you think you should know?
Is there anything before I go?
Dear father, i*m hungry, i*m cold
Dear father, feeling terribly old
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
They*re on their own
Needing their face, a place
Hope....home
To see what goes on in the world
They*re who you need
To show them why they*re wrong
Oh why indeed
We need to go on in the world
Here is all you see
Everything is made for you
From me
If there*s any complication
That you*d like to talk over with me about
Cause i*ve been waiting for so long
For you to come along
We can work it all out
When you take over all the things heaven has made for you
Is there anything you think you should know
Is there anything before I go
Dear father, you must be putting me on
Dear father, cause most of their minds are gone
Dear father, they will not understand me
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
Dear father, can I give it a miss
Dear father, cause i*m not ready for this
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
Dear father, won*t you leave me alone
Dear father, won*t you to let me go home
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
Dear father, won*t they crucify me
Dear father, I just couldn*t do that
Dear father, cause that*s not where it*s at now (hey)
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dear Father
Anderson / squire
(originally released in 1970 as a single, not included on time and a word)
Here are the books
Of luke
You*ll need them
To open the seed
To see what goes on in the world
You*re in my mind
Catch the wind and hold on tight
To what we*ll find
And hear what goes on in the world
Here is all you see
Everything is made for you
From me
If there*s anything you*d like to say
That could help me in any way
Cause i*ve been waiting for so long for you to come along
Help me on that day
When you*d take over all the things heaven has made for you
Is there anything you think you should know?
Is there anything before I go?
Dear father, i*m hungry, i*m cold
Dear father, feeling terribly old
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
They*re on their own
Needing their face, a place
Hope....home
To see what goes on in the world
They*re who you need
To show them why they*re wrong
Oh why indeed
We need to go on in the world
Here is all you see
Everything is made for you
From me
If there*s any complication
That you*d like to talk over with me about
Cause i*ve been waiting for so long
For you to come along
We can work it all out
When you take over all the things heaven has made for you
Is there anything you think you should know
Is there anything before I go
Dear father, you must be putting me on
Dear father, cause most of their minds are gone
Dear father, they will not understand me
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
Dear father, can I give it a miss
Dear father, cause i*m not ready for this
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
I*m not feeling good like I think I should
Dear father, won*t you leave me alone
Dear father, won*t you to let me go home
Dear father, I don*t think I can see
Dear father, won*t they crucify me
Dear father, I just couldn*t do that
Dear father, cause that*s not where it*s at now (hey)
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
To See, Again, the Stars
The cold was penetrating
within their shattered room.
Grandmother was bedridden
She could not be moved.
Her sixteen year old Grandson
Brought food that he had scrounged
For nine days they were trapped there,
buried beneath the mound.
All around the cries grew weaker,
Fainter, fainter then died down….
For nine days they were buried
In the wreckage of their home.
They were the sole survivors
Enduring there alone.
His father never gave up hope
That they would be found alive.
Their rescue made news worldwide
It was tears of joy he cried.
They emerged into the twilight
Of a sunset, bloody red.
Two saved, out of ten thousand,
Spared, to see the Stars Again.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grandmother Told Me So
The declaration has been spoken,
For Grandmother told me so.
The darkeys have got their fetlocks broken,
For Grandmother told me so.
Oh, won't they have a lot of iron on hand!
And when the news travels,
Oh, won't it be grand!
'Twill sweep like a sugarcane over the land,
For Grandmother told me so.
American Eagle! hysterical bird!
Oh, flap your wing and crow!
The slaves are embellished--yes, that's the word,
For Grandmother told me so!
There's curious times in that ur section,
For Grandmother told me so.
They think they will have a resurrection,
For Grandmother told me so.
The penholders raving like persons insane --
The darkeys in exodus, raising cane,
And singing like martingales after a rain,
For Grandmother told me so.
But President Abe forgot Kentucky,
For Grandmother told me so.
And Geneses, too -- and that's unlucky,
For Grandmother told me so.
Malicious champagne will be open'd in vain,
Until we shall break the last ox-yoke and chain --
Till through the Benighted States freedom shall reign,
For Grandmother told me so.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dear Father
Why did you part me from yourself, dear father, why?
You've given houses with two stories to my brothers,
And to me, a foreign land? Why dear father, why?
We (daughters) are just cows tied to your peg,
Will move on to where ever you drive us to, dear father.
We are just flower-buds of your garden,
And are asked for, in every household, dear father.
We are just birds from your cage,
Will fly off when its dawn again, dear father.
I've left at home, alcoves full of dolls;
And parted from my buddies too, dear father.
When my palanquin passed beneath the terrace,
My brother fainted and fell, dear father.
As I remove the curtain from the palanquin,
I see we've reached the beloved's house, dear father.
Why did you part me from yourself, dear father, why?
poem by Amir Khusro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Widows
My mother's playing cards with my aunt,
Spite and Malice, the family pastime, the game
my grandmother taught all her daughters.
Midsummer: too hot to go out.
Today, my aunt's ahead; she's getting the good cards.
My mother's dragging, having trouble with her concentration.
She can't get used to her own bed this summer.
She had no trouble last summer,
getting used to the floor. She learned to sleep there
to be near my father.
He was dying; he got a special bed.
My aunt doesn't give an inch, doesn't make
allowance for my mother's weariness.
It's how they were raised: you show respect by fighting.
To let up insults the opponent.
Each player has one pile to the left, five cards in the hand.
It's good to stay inside on days like this,
to stay where it's cool.
And this is better than other games, better than solitaire.
My grandmother thought ahead; she prepared her daughters.
They have cards; they have each other.
They don't need any more companionship.
All afternoon the game goes on but the sun doesn't move.
It just keeps beating down, turning the grass yellow.
That's how it must seem to my mother.
And then, suddenly, something is over.
My aunt's been at it longer; maybe that's why she's playing better.
Her cards evaporate: that's what you want, that's the object: in the end,
the one who has nothing wins.
poem by Louise Gluck
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Handel Concerto Grosso
it was like a meeting
of cats
the objective of which
is to bell the
dog
who among you has the courage to do the belling of the dog?
yes the meeting among brothers and sisters
before mother died
before father followed her
before my grandfather died
it is about land, money
it is all about inheritance
who would spend to the funeral without reimbursement?
who would shoulder the bills of their hospitalization using private funds?
none would do that
my youngest brother said they died and they have their own money
let them spend for themselves then
what i want is, he said, which inheritance is mine
that is all i need, who cares?
so who will take the bell of this dog's greed?
handel play on play on they are killing each other.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shelter
If I had a child
I would shelter it from harm
If I had a child
I would hold it in my arms
If I had a child
I would love it as my own
If I had a home
If I had a mom
I would shelter her from harm
If I had my mother
She would never lose her grace
If I had a mother
She would shelter me from harm
Oh, if I had a mom
If I had a love
I would shelter it from a broken heart
If I had a heart
I'd surrender it to my love
If I had my father
He would smile
If I had my dad
He'd be so kind
If I had a dad
He would tell me I was good
Oh, if I- if I
If I had a dad
Had my dad
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
In A Little While
Got a ticket coming home,
Wish the officer had known
What a day today has been.
Then I stumbled through the door,
Dropping junk mail on the floor.
When will this day end?
But then your letter caught my eye,
Brought the hope in me to life,
cause you know me very well,
And I bet you wrote me
Just to tell me,
In a little while,
Well be with the father;
Cant you see him smile? (ooooooh....)
In a little while,
Well be home forever,
In a while....
Were just here to learn to love him;
Well be home in just a little while.
Boy, that letter hit the spot--
Made me think of all Ive got,
And all that waits for me.
Guess Ive known it all day long;
Wonder where my thoughts went wrong.
When will my heart believe?
Waking half way through the night,
Reaching toward the lamp for light,
Picking up the word I find;
Heres another letter
To remind me.
In a little while,
Well be with the father;
Cant you see him smile? (ooooooh....)
In a little while,
Well be home forever,
In a while....
Were just here to learn to love him;
Well be home in just a little while.
Days like these are just a test of our will.
Will we walk or will we fall?
Well, I can almost see the top of the hill,
And I believe its worth it all.
In a little while,
Well be with the father;
Cant you see him smile? (ooooooh....)
In a little while,
Well be home forever,
In a while....
Were just here to learn to love him;
Well be home in just a little while.
In a little while,
Well be with the father;
Cant you see him smile? (ooooooh....)
In a little while,
Well be home forever,
In a while....
Were just here to learn to love him;
Well be home in just a little--
In a little while,
Well be with the father;
Cant you see him smile? (ooooooh....)
In a little while,
Well be home forever,
In a while....
Were just here to learn to love him;
Well be home in just a little--
In a little while,
Well be with the father;
Cant you see him smile? (ooooooh....)
In a little while,
Well be home forever,
In a while....
Were just here to learn to love him;
Well be home in just a little--
In a little while,
Well be with the father;
Cant you see him smile? (ooooooh....)
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lucky santa! ! (A funny story)
Santa goes into his son`s room to wish him goodnight. His son is having a nightmare - Santa wakes him and asks his son if he is OK? The son replies he is scared because he dreamt that his aunt had died. Santa assures the son that Auntie is fine and sends him to bed.
The next day, Auntie dies. One week later, Santa again goes into his son`s room to wish him goodnight. His son is having another nightmare - Santa again wakes his son. The son this time says that he had dreamt that his grandmother had died. The father assures the son that she is fine and sends him to bed.
The next day, grandmother dies. One week later, Santa again goes into his son`s room to wish him goodnight. His son is having another nightmare, he again wakes his son. The son this time says that he had dreamt that his daddy had died. The father assures the son that he is OK and sends the boy to bed.
Santa goes to bed but cannot sleep because he is so terrified. The next day, Santa is scared for his life- he is sure is going to die. After dressing he drives very cautiously to work fearful of a collision. He doesn`t eat lunch because he is scared of food poisoning. He avoids everyone for he is sure he will somehow be killed. He jumps at every noise, starts at every movement and hides under his desk.
After days work, upon walking in his front door, he finds his wife, Jeeto, 'Good God, Dear, ' he proclaims, 'I`ve just had the worst day of my entire life! '
Jeeto responds, 'You think your day was bad, this morning my ex-boyfriend dropped dead on the front steps! '
poem by Edwin Drood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode To The Cherry Blossom
I have grown up with this tree,
as my father had grown with it,
and his father before him.
The cherry blossom tree where I was first exposed to the beauty of nature,
where my baby seat was set upon the picnic blanket in the grass,
and I could watch the petals fall and dance around me and my family.
and they would land in my seat,
and I would play with them.
The cherry blossom tree,
with its long branches,
where I first learned to climb,
and where I got my first broken bone,
after I slipped while pretending to be a monkey.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first play date together.
We ran around and played two person tag,
and two person hide and seek,
and two person leap frog.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first date,
where I picked a blossom and put it in your hair,
and called you my hime,
my princess.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took shelter from the pouring rain,
and I gave you my jacket to put over your head,
and we ran home to take a bath in our clothes,
Because they couldn’t have gotten wetter anyway.
The cherry blossom tree,
under which we said our vows,
and got married,
and you cried,
and said you felt beautiful,
and I kissed you,
and said you looked beautiful,
and we ran through the blossom petals.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took our two daughters,
and watched them pick flowers,
and give them to you.
The cherry blossom tree,
where our daughters took their loves,
and probably got caught in the rain,
just as we did.
The cherry blossom tree,
which we would watch from the near by bench,
watch children who were not ours play there,
watch couples who were not us date there.
The cherry blossom tree,
where I go to remember you,
where I sometimes cry for you,
where our daughters cry for you.
I grew up with that cherry blossom tree,
and now as I wait to rejoin you,
my love,
I watch others grow with it too.
poem by Evan Puglisi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gas
my grandmother had a serious gas
problem.
we only saw her on Sunday.
she'd sit down to dinner
and she'd have gas.
she was very heavy,
80 years old.
wore this large glass brooch,
that's what you noticed most
in addition to the gas.
she'd let it go just as food was being served.
she'd let it go in bursts
spaced about a minute apart.
she'd let it go
4 or 5 times
as we reached for the potatoes
poured the gravy
cut into the meat.
nobody ever said anything,
especially me.
I was 6 years old.
only my grandmother spoke.
after 4 or 5 blasts
she would say in an offhand way,
'I'll bury you all!'
I didn't much like that:
first farting
then saying that.
it happened every Sunday.
she was my father's mother.
every Sunday it was death and gas
and mashed potatoes and gravy
and that big glass brooch.
those Sunday dinners would
always end with apple pie and
ice cream
and a big argument
about something or other,
my grandmother finally running out the door
and taking the red train back to
Pasadena
the place stinking for an hour
and my father walking about
fanning a newspaper in the air and
saying, 'it's all that damned sauerkraut
she eats!'
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am At Home With Kafka
.
I AM AT HOME WITH KAFKA
I am at home with Kafka -
I know his soul
I read it as mine own so many years ago-
His father as my father
And his face as my grandmother's,
Lean and white and long
With its own deep beautiful sadness-
Anxiety is mine-
And fear is mine-
And parable is mine-
And yet
His genius is his and not mine
He is Kafka
And I am only one of many readers-
I am at home with Kafka
I know his soul
But I am not Kafka-
Kafka is a genius of mankind
And I am a little man writing forgettable lines
Still alive
Many long years after the age
The holy genius went to his grave unrecognized.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kept Secrets
I never had a secret.
None.
Not really.
I might have had one...
In my youth.
But my face would always reveal,
Anything I wanted to conceal.
I remember trying to lie one time.
And both my father and grandfather,
Had these eyes that would penetrate.
And made knees knock,
If truth did not come out of our mouths.
'Please...
Strip me naked but don't look at me.
I don't know nuthin'...I wasn't there! '
And...
In those days,
If anyone was going to be punished...
For any secrets leaked.
OR suspectedly kept!
We all got the ironing cord.
And it wasn't plugged up to heat.
To iron clothes with either.
Oh no.
We were lined up by age!
My youngest Aunt Ginger,
Used to be conveniently absent.
Only to appear later from places unknown.
I hated those days!
So did my aunts, uncles and cousins too.
And when my grandmother aimed...
She didn't skip a butt!
I gave any secrets I had then up.
And...
Is there really a purpose for them?
Today...
It's difficult to say what's valued and treasured.
Or,
If someone tells you something not to tell anyone else...
Why do they tell you this?
And...
Where did they get what they tell you from in the first place?
Kept secrets and spoken lies are entertainment for some.
And done without question too professionally.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!