I grew up in a very open-minded family. My father died when I was very little, so my mother was really, really incredibly busy trying to provide for us.
quote by Sonia Braga
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Family Man
Written by lindsey buckingham and richard dashut.
Walk down this road
When the road gets rough
I fall down
I get up
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...
Walk down this road
In the cool of the night
Dont know whats wrong
But I do know whats right
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Real Future!
instead of medicating
our depressed children...
why dont we try liberating them
with a constant diet of family love,
both father and mother!
with open minded listening,
and the assurance that
we accept them for who they are...
and by living our lives in an
involved and compassionate way,
every step, every day...
thereby insuring they
have a real future!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Access Denied
Ofttimes enwrapt in reverie
I have a distant memory
but I cannot be sure it’s true
Of my mother who I barely knew.
She died so very long ago.
There is so much I do not know
I only know what I’ve been told
and that recedes as I grow old.
Although I try I can’t recall
her face: bring it to mind at all.
I feel I should be able to
but there is nothing I can do.
Sometimes I wake to find I’ve wept.
But I can do nothing but accept.
That time’s erased the memory
of the face I long to see.
Some faded photographs remain
which I look at, try to regain.
The memories I have repressed
It may be that it’s for best.
I was so young when mother died.
My wants and needs were satisfied.
By father and the family
and I grew up quite happily.
Would mother have been proud of me?
I she’d lived long enough to see.
The man her little boy grew into.
My mother who I barely knew.
Then I remember guiltily
my mother lost much more than me.
The grandchildren she’d never know
the chance to see her children grow.
But I still pursue selfishly
that one elusive memory.
That’s buried somewhere deep inside
A need that can’t be satisfied.
Perhaps because I’m growing old
and only have what I was told
to remember mother by.
I know I’ll fail but I still try.
24/07/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Male parental hierarchy.
My parents are two, grandparents four
And great grandparents, eight and so on.
I am known by my father, his father,
And his father and so on by male side.
My mother, her mother and father, their
Mother and father and so on are ignored.
My fathers’ mother and grandfather’s
Mother and so on go to oblivion.
I am known by my father, his father
And his father and so on as a family.
All women from whom I have drawn
Their genes have been shut out.
Parental hierarchy is represented
By male, women dislodged at every stage.
25.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On His Father's Side
On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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The family tree
I am known by my father
Though equally owned by mother.
I trace from my father’s father,
And not from father’s mother
Nor my mother’s mother or father.
Has family tree any sense?
19.08.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My father died when I was five, but I grew up in a strong family.
quote by Philip Levine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Don't Wish To Impose
I don't wish to impose
But can I join your family?
You see mine fell apart when my father died
I don't think anyone has noticed
But I have
We didn't meet at Christmas
Was I the only one distressed?
My mother with her new partner
No blame
She doesn't do on her own
But no family gathering?
You, my father's younger brother
I watch you laughing with your daughters
No jealousy
Just a longing for the way things were
Impossible I know
Maybe I could just share you.
You ring, you text, you e-mail
And I am so grateful for the crumbs from your table
The table where my father once sat
He would have loved that we keep in touch.
I look at you closely, looking for my father in your face
I cannot find him there
But you are his brother
The closest I can get
So I comfort myself with our friendship
Your sense of humour
Your memories, your family
Longing for the way things were
Before my family fell apart.
poem by Judith Evans
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The Corner Stone (For Father's Day)
The father is the source of strength of his family.
He can weather storm in order to protect them.
He will endure rain or shine to provide his love ones.
He is always ready to give his support and guidance all the time.
The father is consistent for his duty and love for the family.
He can move mountains and shy away the temptation.
He gives himself fully to his family with love and devotion.
Children who have a father to guide them are blessed from heaven.
A husband is a gift for his wife and siblings.
The fathers may look tough in the outside yet so soft inside.
His happiness is to see his family well provided.
He sacrifices his own needs for the sake of his family.
Fathers may mean sometimes but his heart is bleeding for his child.
Fathers are the makers of what we become.
Fathers are always there to lend a helping hand.
Fathers sometimes misunderstood of his wisdom not knowing the meaning.
Fathers are gifted to be strong and stable, firm and durable as the homes foundation.
The father is the source of life itself as we become a family.
A home with out a father can not be a family at all.
A child is lucky who have a father's love and care.
A mother is blessed to have her partner and companion in life.
A house is not a home with out the foundation.
A family is blissful when love abounds.
God bless the fathers that honor his love for his family.
And for whom who remain faithful in their vows of love and devotion.
poem by Emelita C. Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Understand
She believed she was a gift to the world,
a gift from God, therefore others should
provide while she made the plans, dreamt
the dreams, cherished visions
She believed she was a holy person, a martyr
for God’s work, all money was hers to dispense
as she pleased, she dreamt for everyone in the
family but they had to provide for themselves
Possessions left in her care were quickly given to
the poor, munificent care for criminal welfare, taking
everything family earned to spend in lavish gestures
of charity, never telling who the donors has been
Using her mother’s pension and her husband’s income
under her own name, neither told her children who they
should thank for food on the table, nor told her daughter
her father provided the money mother gave so graciously
There are no mysteries, when I look at what is happening,
I understand…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Religious Family
Sisters and brothers are one of those precious members
In the family. Their role is infinite.
They shock themselves with delight.
They read signs and play with them.
Their signs are obvious,
Useful to the parents,
Forcing action of the family.
Heaven can arrive around the bend,
When the families die and their hell is dismissed by God.
Mothers shall look forward to heaven, and their husbands
Are found too in heaven, or shall I say Paradise.
“My son is big at religion, ” says the father to his child.
For this prayer to be answered, the boy must be big, an adult.
His life at the moment has laws broken, the lawful one is not him.
For he is criminal in his action, in his life and love.
He spent a time with another person, and did not get married.
He did not like this now, and not seven times a week.
He must pray and be forgiven, would say God.
God loves the boy’s father, however, and thus the boy is forgiven
For he is big at religion.
The father has his prayer answered.
Afterwards, the father cries for his child as he has lost him to the elements.
The story is such that it makes us cry, and cry and cry.
To find the mother, we must find the father and his prayer.
We find she is forced to marry someone else
But the daughter is forced to object, due to her religion.
The daughter is confused and wants to know why this happens.
The mother blames the divorce on her son who adventured and died.
The father’s prayer was answered but his wife went astray,
and his daughter was too big at religion.
The daughter shall grow and grow to be a happy woman.
Both parents died due to cancer.
It means the average family would die in the ways of religion,
And not religion die in the ways of family.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembering Childhood
by accident you come across
an old picture
you recognize the face of your father
beside your mother
with his gun on the side of his body
as reservist of the army
you look closely
your mother pouts
and she is holding on to her
white skirt
you father's right hand grips
his gun
while the left holds on to
the chair just behind your
mother's neck
there is a baby being held
by your mother
it is sleeping and it looks
like you
your father does not like
you and you know it from the very start
you know how to pretend
till he died
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death Levels All
ah, you are a rich man
smart and famous
you have a beautiful house
an expensive car
a nice family
how envious can we be
we have nothing
we are dumb, and anonymous
we can't afford shoes
our father died during the war
mother died from shock
the rest of the siblings
cannot be found
but today i level up with you
you are dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I grew up to have my father's looks, my father's speech patterns, my father's posture, my father's opinions, and my mother's contempt for my father.
quote by Jules Feiffer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prophets Without Honor
You may be a prophet without honor, in the home of an earthly father,
Mocked by a sister or a brother, also, misunderstood by your mother.
From the family you grew up in, you are now divided by Truth and sin,
For God’s Truth, in which you now abide, puts you on a different side.
Now, you have a Heavenly Father, who, with your life, you now honor,
And brothers and sisters in Christ, who support you, in your New Life.
Regarding old sin, we walk away, regardless what our family may say,
Striving together to do what’s right, hand in hand in our Savior’s Light.
With no honor from our own family, still living, just like we used to be,
Without the indwelling Holy Spirit, they’ll scoff at Truth as they hear it.
And only the Spirit can open the eyes, of those who claim to be wise,
So instead of twisting Truth they hear, they’d be filled with a holy fear.
Friend, a prophet is one whom God, uses while upon this earthly sod,
To share God’s Truth with all men, in a world, that stands condemned.
But, a prophet’s family may not heed, the saving Truth that they need,
As your witness for Christ our Lord, by your family, just goes ignored.
Friend that is why we need to pray, thus backing all the words we say,
So that all of the seeds we sow, will take root in their hearts and grow.
This, so that your natural family, will acknowledge the God of Eternity,
And then join us as a prophet of, Christ our Savior, who reigns above.
(Copyright ©09/2008)
Hands & Knees
You see me walking away
What more could I say than sorry
I failed by all your complaints
You pushed a life change but its not me
And filthy hands lay apon my chest
Lay upon my sin, but I do it for green
And in your mind you are blind
And your back turn so fine
Where were you when I needed you most
So mother so father
Im on my hands and knees
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
My self-indulgence to blame
For all of the shame in the family
You dont know what its like
How I feel how I cry
How I hate the way I hate my life
So mother so father Im on my hands and knees
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
Pues madre, y padre
Esta vida no quiero vivir
So mother so father
I dont want to live this way
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
So mother so father
I dont want to live this way
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
song performed by by Unloco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Random things about my Mother
My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue
My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake
My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane
My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine
My mother who knew
No contentment in living
My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two
My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died
My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury
My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears
My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years
My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets
My mother who was tamed
By my father
My mother who was captured by my father
My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh
My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint
My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin
My mother who love to walk about
My mother who gave a toe
A day away
My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot
My mother who was a great dresser
My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir
My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost
My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men
My mother who tried to settle down with my father
My mother who could never swim
My mother who loved to sing
My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town
My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing
My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family
My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.
My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve
My mother who I helped to live
My mother who I had to let die
My mother who lives in me
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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