When Charles first saw our child Mary, he said all the proper things for a new father. He looked upon the poor little red thing and blurted, She's more beautiful than the Brooklyn Bridge.
quote by Helen Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Brooklyn
Brooklyn
Child of freedom still new to this world
Brooklyn
Summer magic my sweet baby sweet girl
All the waiting all the praying
Brought the answer to all of the love weve been saving
All the hoping all the needing
Turned the dream of a vision into a real thing
Mamas happy
Brooklyn
Child of rhythm riding on a moonlit star
Brooklyn
Pretty daughter born with a smile
Daddy felt you fore he saw you
Mommy carried you so long
Mimi saw you fore she felt you
Four is a family so strong
My baby
Brooklyn
Child of children la is your home
Brooklyn
Sweetest princess well grow as you go
All the waiting all the praying
Brought the answer to all of the love weve been saving
All the hoping all the needing
Turned the dream of a vision into the real thing
Brooklyn
Child of music your song is of love
Brooklyn
Came together and I thank God above
Brooklyn
Child of freedom
Baby your daddys so proud of you
Brooklyn
Summer magic
Your sister love you too
Were all going to love you yeah
Mommy loves you too
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Brooklyn Blues
Words by Bruce Sussman and Jack Feldman
Music By Barry Manilow
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
See I flew in from the West Coast
Just the other day.
Yes, I flew in from the West Coast
and we circled J.F.K.
The movie ended and I pulled up the shade,
looked out the window while the Muzak played.
But in my head I'm singin',
singin' the Brooklyn Blues.
Oh, yea.
When you're growin' up in Brooklyn
the Bridge is like a friend.
Said when you're growin' up in Brooklyn
that Bridge is sure your friend.
Because that river, looks a hundred miles wide
when all your dreams are on the other side,
and th at can start you singin'
singin' the Brooklyn Blues.
Oh, yea.
Now I've got myself some money
a mansion in Bel-aire.
Yes I've spent a lot of money
and I"ve been most ev'ry-where.
But still there's somethin' missin' I"ve got to find,
a part of me I must've left behind,
that makes a guy start feelin',
feelin' those Brooklyn Blues.
My my.
I've sung love songs to a princess
more than once or twice.
I"ve sung rock 'n' roll in Paris,
jazz in paradise.
But there's a song of mine I couldn't have sung,
a tune I started back when I was young.
Now I've come home to finish,
finish my Brooklyn Blues.
My Brooklyn Blues.
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mary Mary Magdalene
Mary Mary Magdalene,
what do all those stories mean?
Mary, Mary, is it true,
Jesus had a thing for you?
Mary, Mary – He lay with you?
Mary, Mary, tell me true
Mary, Mary, red hair wild,
did He leave you great with child?
Mary, was your love so steady,
that you had had His kids already?
Mary, Mary, at the Cross,
did it feel a gain or loss?
Mary, Mary – on that third day,
what was it like with the stone rolled away?
Mary, Mary, running there with love,
what did you think when He rose above?
Mary, Mary – what was it like, after?
Were there tears or joyful laughter?
Mary, Mary – the kids you had –
did they turn out like their Dad?
Mary, Mary, whore redeemed,
did it work out like you dreamed?
Mary, Mary – your afterlife –
was it mostly love, or mostly strife?
Mary, Mary, were you worshipped or despised
As Mary’s daughter-in-law, Mrs. Christ?
Mary, Mary, did you stay,
or feel you had to take the kids away?
Mary, Mary, with so much love,
did you, too, rise to heaven above?
Mary, Mary, in the sky,
all we ask are the reasons why…
Mary, Mary Magdalene,
What is really true? What does it really mean?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Father I Never Knew
Father I Never Knew
I have searched all my life for you yet I never found you
I have called out your name but you've never answered
For the longest time, I've wonder am I just like you
It's the one thing that has haunted for the longest time
I don't know you but the thought of being like you scares me
For the longest time, I've wondered who I was
Whom I'm destined to become
I've always wondered was I to do the same things that you've done
Was I to do things I'm not proud of and not have a conscience about it
I've looked in many mens eyes wondering if it was you
Tears would fall from my eyes each time I found out my one quest still aludes me
There is a little boy whom I made a promise to long time ago
As a father to his son, I looked him in his eyes and said, 'you would never have to wonder who I am'
He would never carry the pain his father carries with not knowing you.
Any man can father a child but it takes a man to be a father
poem by Steven Ford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Christmas Carol
The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)
The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at him.
And all the stars looked down.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Te debo este Sueño
Te debo este sueño
My beautiful child
Because you are my child
And I am your father
My beautiful child
You will be blessed by me
Everyday
Just wait and see
My beautiful child
Because I am your father
And I give you my world
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A father, A child. The meaningful bond
A father, A child. The meaningful bond
A father whispers to the child
As the child continues to ignore his spoken words
As if his owner was almost invisible from the corner of his eye
The child shouts – silence” the father then trembles disfigured to heart
He stands crying tears of fury with the spark of love of his child’s naivety.
The child carries on his missions, his father watches him do his thing”
When finally one day the child realizes his insane character, the father then
Ignores his presence..
Appreciate what you have here, now, but not always.
because 'you never know'.
poem by Noorie Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Child of mine…
To my beautiful child, , ,
Beautiful child, being so small you inspire me big,
Beautiful child, so fragile, you make me so strong,
Beautiful child, so tender your touch your power is great,
Beautiful child, small is your heart, infinite is the love I feel for you;
Beautiful child, your hand I’m anxious to hold, to walk life’s road with you by my side.
Beautiful child, your light will show me the way,
Beautiful child, you came to my life to teach me a lesson that I shall never forget…
Nor riches, nor power can give us the best things of life…
The smile of a child…Is the best of all rewards…
poem by Ale Duncan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mary, Mary
Words and music by michael nesmith
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, can I go too.
This one thing I will vow ya,
Id rather die than to live without ya.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, tell me truly
What did I do to make you leave me.
Whatever it was I didnt mean to,
You know I never would try and hurt ya.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
What more, mary, can I do
To prove my love is truly yours?
Ive done more now than a clear-thinkin man would do.
Mary, mary, its not over.
Where you go, I will follow.
til I win your love again
And walk beside you,
But until then.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, mary, mary, mary, where you goin to?
[repeat adlib]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
‘father”:
'A FATHER IS SOMEONE WHO'S THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOU NEED HIM
A FATHER NEVER LETS YOU DOWN
A FATHER IS SOMEONE THERE TO HUG YOU WHEN SOMETHING GOES WRONG
A FATHER IS THERE TO DRY UP THE TEARS
A FATHER IS THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO LEAVES THE MOTHER WHEN HE FINDS OUT SHE'S PERGANT
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO DENYS THEIR OWN CHILD
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO LEAVES YOU LEFT BEHIND
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO SAYS ONE THING TO ONE PERSON THEN SAYS ANOTHER THING TO SOMEONE ELSE
A FATHER IS’NT WHAT I SEE IN YOU”
poem by Yeslin Salazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The End Of May
'Our governess is not in school,
So we may talk a bit;
Sit down upon this little stool,
Come, little Mary, sit:
'And, my dear playmate, tell me why
In dismal black you're drest?
Why does the tear stand in your eye?
With sobs why heaves your breast?
'When we're in grief, it gives relief
Our sorrows to impart;
When you've told why, my dear, you cry,
'Twill ease your little heart.'
'O, it is trouble very bad
Which causes me to weep;
All last night long we were so sad,
Not one of us could sleep.
'Beyond the seas my father went,
'Twas very long ago;
And he last week a letter sent
(I told you so, you know)
'That he was safe in Portsmouth bay,
And we should see him soon,
Either the latter end of May,
Or by the first of June.
'The end of May was yesterday,
We all expected him;
And in our best clothes we were dressed,
Susan, and I, and Jim.
'O how my poor dear mother smiled,
And clapped her hands for joy;
She said to me, 'Come here, my child,
And Susan, and my boy.
''Come all, and let us think,' said she,
'What we can do to please
Your father, for to-day will he
Come home from off the seas.
''That you have won, my dear young son,
A prize at school, we'll tell,
Because you can, my little man,
In writing all excel:
''And you have made a poem, nearly
All of your own invention:
Will not your father love you dearly
When this to him I mention?
''Your sister Mary, she can say
Your poetry by heart;
And to repeat your verses may
Be little Mary's part.
''Susan, for you, I'll say you do
Your needlework with care,
And stitch so true the wristbands new
Dear father's soon to wear!'
''O hark!' said James; 'I hear one speak;
'Tis like a seaman's voice.'-
Our mother gave a joyful shriek;
How did we all rejoice!
''My husband's come!' 'My father's here!'
But O, alas, it was not so;
It was not as we said:
A stranger seaman did appear,
On his rough cheek there stood a tear,
For he brought to us a tale of woe,-
Our father dear was dead.'
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beautiful Thing
By richard manuel and rick danko
Ive told you once, now you should know
The reason that Im coming down.
There aint no time to repeat again;
Just need to bring it around.
We had a beautiful thing going,
You couldnt see things my way.
We had a beautiful thing going,
Something just got in our way.
And I told you once that it was rough.
I looked on you as my friend,
Because that did not seem to be good enough,
And now its time to begin.
Weve got a beautiful thing going,
I hope thats the way it will stay.
Weve got a beautiful thing going,
Nothing can stand in our way.
Fourth verse
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Brooklyn Bridge
The East River flows below it,
wistful, deep and wide
looking up at Brooklyn Bridge
that reaches side to side.
And in my mind I think about
each man that gave his life
to build this giant frame,
majestic in design.
I think of them in wonderment
as I walk its full length
and marvel at their bravery
and all their work has meant.
At night its lights bring magic
but magic really sits
inside the hearts of all the men
that built the Brooklyn Bridge
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Angel in my Dream
An Angel came to me
In a dream, when I
Was a child.
I thought I would
Remember her, but I
Forgot her after a while.
Then I grew up
And life went on
It passed as fast
As the wind.
Then one day I met you
And you became my
Little Friend
The very first time
We kissed
It was beautiful it seems
Then I looked into
Your eyes
You were the Angel
In my dreams.
Charles Bailey July 08
poem by Charles Bailey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Come Home, Father!
'Tis The
SONG OF LITTLE MARY,
Standing at the bar-room door
While the shameful midnight revel
Rages wildly as before.
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes one;
You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done.
Our fire has gone out our house is all dark
And mother's been watching since tea, --
With poor brother Benny so sick in her arms,
And no one to help her but me. --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes two;
The night has grown colder, and Benny is worse
But he has been calling for you.
Indeed he is worse Ma says he will die,
Perhaps before morning shall dawn; --
And this is the message she sent me to bring
"Come quickly, or he will be gone." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes three;
The house is so lonely the hours are so long
For poor weeping mother and me.
Yes, we are alone poor Benny is dead,
And gone with the angels of light; --
And these were the very last words that he said
"I want to kiss Papa good night." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Better Days
Ooh Child things are going to get easier
Ooh Child things it's get brighter
Better Days [x 4]
Keep your head up
Better Days [x 4]
Keep your head up
She grew up in Brooklyn the Eastside and fulton street
Never knew father
He got shot hustling
She stated acting much older
Her mother couldn't control her
Losing direction
Started sex'n-no protection
And now she's expecting
A life she wasn't ready for
She*s feeling rejected
And her futures unsure
And if you want
Run out there on your own
Don*t give up sunshine
There will be better days
(Keep your head up)
Gotta keep movin' on
To raise a child alone
Don*t give up sunshine
There will be better days
(Keep your head up)
Are you down with full time
On weekend stripping
So you met baller
song performed by by Joe from Better Days
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mary Of Magdala
Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of worth
The little baby she brought to birth.
Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed:
'O God, I am very much afraid;
For out of my body, by sin defiled,
Thou biddest me make a little child.
'O God, I have turned my face from Thee
To that which the angels may not see;
How can I make, from my deep disgrace,
A child whose angel shall see Thy face?
'O God, I have sinned, and I know well
That the pains I bear are the pains of hell;
But the thought of the child that sin has given
Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven.'
Mary of Magdala held her breath
In the clutch of pain like the pains of Death,
And through her heart, like the mortal knife,
Went the pang of joy and the pang of life.
'We two are two alone,' said she,
'And we are two who should be three;
Now who will clothe my baby fair
In the little garments that babies wear?'
There came two angels with quiet wings
And hands that were full of baby things;
And the new-born child was bathed and dressed
And laid again on his mother's breast.
'Now who will sign on his brow the mark
To keep him safe from the Powers of the Dark?
Who will my baby's sponsor be?'
'I, the Lord God, who died for thee.'
'Now who will comfort him if he cry;
And who will suckle him by and bye?
For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry,
And I think that my time has come to die.'
'I will dandle thy son as a mother may;
And his lips shall lie where my own Son's lay.
Come, dear little one, come to me;
The Mother of God shall suckle thee.'
Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed;
'I never deserved a child,' she cried.
'Dear God, I am ready to go to hell,
Since with my little one all is well.'
Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean.
'Poor mother, thy tears have washed thee clean.
Thy last poor pains, they will soon be done,
And My Mother shall give thee back thy son.'
Frozen grass for a bearing bed,
A halo of frost round a woman's head,
And pious folks who looked and said:
'A drab and her brat that are better dead.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If I were dead
'IF I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!
poem by Coventry Patmore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Forsaken
Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I am very weary. I have come
from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such
far roaming. I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was. Mary Mother, you know the cause!
Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me! Let this fear
be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming. For months I have hoped
it was so, now I am afraid I know. Lady, why should this be shame,
just because I haven't got his name. He loved me, yes, Lady, he did,
and he couldn't keep it hid. We meant to marry. Why did he die?
That day when they told me he had gone down in the avalanche, and could not
be found until the snow melted in Spring, I did nothing. I could not cry.
Why should he die? Why should he die and his child live? His little child
alive in me, for my comfort. No, Good God, for my misery! I cannot face
the shame, to be a mother, and not married, and the poor child to be reviled
for having no father. Merciful Mother, Holy Virgin, take away this sin I did.
Let the baby not be. Only take the stigma off of me!
I have told no one but you, Holy Mary. My mother would call me 'whore',
and spit upon me; the priest would have me repent, and have
the rest of my life spent in a convent. I am no whore, no bad woman,
he loved me, and we were to be married. I carried him always in my heart,
what did it matter if I gave him the least part of me too? You were a virgin,
Holy Mother, but you had a son, you know there are times when a woman
must give all. There is some call to give and hold back nothing.
I swear I obeyed God then, and this child who lives in me is the sign.
What am I saying? He is dead, my beautiful, strong man! I shall never
feel him caress me again. This is the only baby I shall have.
Oh, Holy Virgin, protect my baby! My little, helpless baby!
He will look like his father, and he will be as fast a runner and as good
a shot. Not that he shall be no scholar neither. He shall go to school
in winter, and learn to read and write, and my father will teach him to carve,
so that he can make the little horses, and cows, and chamois,
out of white wood. Oh, No! No! No! How can I think such things,
I am not good. My father will have nothing to do with my boy,
I shall be an outcast thing. Oh, Mother of our Lord God, be merciful,
take away my shame! Let my body be as it was before he came.
No little baby for me to keep underneath my heart for those long months.
To live for and to get comfort from. I cannot go home and tell my mother.
She is so hard and righteous. She never loved my father, and we were born
for duty, not for love. I cannot face it. Holy Mother, take my baby away!
Take away my little baby! I don't want it, I can't bear it!
And I shall have nothing, nothing! Just be known as a good girl.
Have other men want to marry me, whom I could not touch, after having known
my man. Known the length and breadth of his beautiful white body,
and the depth of his love, on the high Summer Alp, with the moon above,
and the pine-needles all shiny in the light of it. He is gone, my man,
I shall never hear him or feel him again, but I could not touch another.
I would rather lie under the snow with my own man in my arms!
So I shall live on and on. Just a good woman. With nothing to warm my heart
where he lay, and where he left his baby for me to care for. I shall not be
quite human, I think. Merely a stone-dead creature. They will respect me.
What do I care for respect! You didn't care for people's tongues
when you were carrying our Lord Jesus. God had my man give me my baby,
when He knew that He was going to take him away. His lips will comfort me,
his hands will soothe me. All day I will work at my lace-making,
and all night I will keep him warm by my side and pray the blessed Angels
to cover him with their wings. Dear Mother, what is it that sings?
I hear voices singing, and lovely silver trumpets through it all. They seem
just on the other side of the wall. Let me keep my baby, Holy Mother.
He is only a poor lace-maker's baby, with a stain upon him,
but give me strength to bring him up to be a man.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The minister
When the minister
came to visit the farm
we felt like sinners
and even the labourers looked at him
and he was holy
and dressed as a holy one should be
in a black suit
and shoes that shone.
I heard that poor Nick and Mary
had a child
born out of wedlock
and that they were expelled
from church
when they took the toddler there
as sinners spreading sins about.
We crept around the corner of the house
to see what the holy father did
and he wasn’t on his knees,
but was playing house instead
and took the elder’s wife to bed.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!