After my mother died, I found, a little book of hers which recorded everything I had ever done, how I had done it, and how proud she was of her son Conrad.
quote by Conrad Veidt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've just built a studio in my mama's old bedroom, which I thought was fitting; she died last year. We've recorded nine songs recorded in there already; we're sort of just chipping away.
quote by Stephen Stills
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Day I Died
The air was close, but it would not rain
The day I died.
And smog enshrouded Gotham town
The day I died..
I should have stayed in Oceanside
The day I died.
Instead of a hellish subway ride
The day I died.
It started with a stabbing pain
The day I died.
Then waves of nausea deep inside
The day I died.
I fell to earth, I could not breathe
The day I died.
Co workers rushing to my side
The day I died.
Sirens scream on distant streets
The day I died.
bringing hosts of E.M.T.’s
The day I died..
Too late for me, this proud heart fails
The day I died.
I thought” This is the last of Earth”
The day I died.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Book Of Black Holes
You be on yourside
I'll be on my side
In between there is a book
the book of Black Holes
You sling your arrows
I'll dodge the harrows
And then I'll record it
In the book of Black Holes
There be many pages
that goes through many stages
In the end you may find it
In the book of Black Holes
If it's a five or ten
Even a zero I win
And I have recorded it
In the book of Black Holes
Your comments cryptic
Your words haze, eliptic
And like I said goes down
In the book of Black Holes
Your choice to be insipid
Your dreams are timid
Compared to what's collected
In my book of Black Holes
poem by Midnights Voice
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My father died. It is still a deep regret to me this day that in choosing acting as my career I was forced to hurt him. He died too early to see I had done the right, the only thing.
quote by Conrad Veidt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conrad in Twilight
Conrad, Conrad, aren't you old
To sit so late in your mouldy garden?
And I think Conrad knows it well,
Nursing his knees, too rheumy and cold
To warm the wraith of a Forest of Arden.
Neuralgia in the back of his neck,
His lungs filling with such miasma,
His feet dipping in leafage and muck:
Conrad! you've forgotten asthma.
Conrad's house has thick red walls,
The log on Conrad's hearth is blazing,
Slippers and pipe and tea are served,
Butter and toast are meant for pleasing!
Still Conrad's back is not uncurved
And here's an autumn on him, teasing.
Autumn days in our section
Are the most used-up thing on earth
(Or in the waters under the earth)
Having no more color nor predilection
Than cornstalks too wet for the fire,
A ribbon rotting on the byre,
A man's face as weathered as straw
By the summer's flare and winter's flaw.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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A Mother
A mother is the one who nurtures you……
She’s there when you need a shoulder to cry on ……
You can talk to her when and where ever you feel like……
I’ m proud to have a mother that has all of these qualities……
A mother is there to teach you right from wrong……
A mother loves you no matter what you do……
She has your back……
She trusts your decisions one hundred percent because she knows that she has raised you right…………
A mother is a special friend, you can tell her all of your secrets……
That’s why I am proud to call Diane Eley this wonderful, intelligent woman my mother……
Dedicated to the most wonderful mother: Diane Eley
poem by Hydia Hollins
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A Letter from the Sand 'Be Proud
Today I received a letter from the sand. It read Dear Sir, we regret to inform you that your brother Sgt. Andre Smith was killed two days ago in Iraq, but be proud he died a hero. Now I must read that letters a hundred times but pride never came over me but anger did. Anger that got me asking questions like is proud of what, that my big brother is no longer here? Or should I be proud that they turned my caring brother into murder all under the false flag of freedom? Be proud, I am proud and I was always proud not because Andre died as hero but I am proud because he was my brother.
Note:
This poem is not a true story. Now although my brother Andre did past away he did not die that way, but I wanted to honor him so I used his name in a poem the relates to current affairs
To Hubert
Dear Hubert, if I ever found
A wishing-carpet lying round,
I'd stand upon it, and I'd say:
'Take me to Hubert, right away!'
And then we'd travel very far
To where the magic countries are
That you and I will never see,
And choose the loveliest gifts for you, from me.
But oh! alack! and well-a-day!
No wishing-carpets come my way.
I never found a Phoenix yet,
And Psammeads are so hard to get!
So I give you nothing fine-
Only this book, your book and mine,
And hers, whose name by yours is set;
Your book, my book, the book of Margaret!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Another Young Soldier
Another young soldier has died far away
An army representative will call on his mother today
For to tell her your son on the course of his duty has died
He served and died for his Country with his mates at his side.
Another war mother will grieve for her son
It will not matter to her if the battle was won
And it will not matter to her if her boy died brave
She will weep every time she will visit his grave.
Another young soldier to join the war dead
A bullet from a sniper hit him in the head
On his next birthday in June he would be twenty three
His loss a heavy cross to bear for his parents and members of his family.
Another young soldier may he rest in peace
At least from further suffering he has found release
Just one more to die in another man's war
On a bombed out back street in a city afar.
poem by Francis Duggan
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But the truth was that he died from solitude, the enemy known but to few on this Earth, and whom only the simplest of us are fit to withstand. The brilliant Costaguanaro of the boulevards had died from solitude and want of faith in himself and others.
Joseph Conrad in Nostromo (on the death of Decoud)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tsunami
I got some bad news from my granddaughter today
That one of her friends who had moved to JAPAN
With her family- “died in that tsunami.”
She was only ten years of age
And would always speak with my
Grand daughter on her face book page.
Now this young life has been taken away
And for her and all lives lost, we do pray.
First they had an earthquake - one of the
Strongest ever recorded at 9.0 on the scale
Which created the tsunami with over
thirty foot waves, sending possibly thousands
To an early watery grave.
it seems like with each disaster
There is a miracle after.
A four month old baby was found alive
They’re still trying to figure out
How it survived.
Then a seventy year old lady
Somehow came thru
How did she make it? What did she do?
They also found a man in a crushed
House eight days later.
Now you tell me - what can be greater!
they are finding many more alive
But in the process, so many have died.
So for these miracles that we now see
They Will go into the pages of history.
How many more signs must be shown
Before we open our eyes to what humanity
Is doing and to what god created.
Must everything we know become devastated.
So to my granddaughters friend JENNIFER VEGA
You have gone to meet our maker.
But as so many who have gone before
You’ll be there to open our door.
You’ll be there with a grin
Ready to welcome us in.
But why has mankind allowed us
To get to a point of no return
With so many screaming, and their
Voices can’t be heard.
I guess mankind will never learn
And in our hearts these tragedies
Will forever burn.
poem by Louis Rams
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Some Mother's Young Daughter
In the quiet alleyway in the dim moonlight
Some mother's young daughter she died over-night
From a drug overdose friendless and alone
Found in a disused factory doorway cold and lifeless as a stone.
She was only nineteen so young for one to die
When the cold winds of Winter blew across the darkened sky
With hardly any shelter to shield her from the cold
Some are born to die young some die gray and old.
Some broken hearted mother is in tears today
For her beautiful daughter who died in such a tragic way
The baby she gave birth to who suckled from her breast
'Tis not her fault she died in this way for her she did her best.
Some mother's young daughter in a morgue today
In a disused factory doorway she died where she lay
Life for her may have been different had she not kept bad company
But easily said on hindsight how things might have been for such as she.
Some mother's young daughter is beyond all care
With the gleam of youth still in her golden hair
In a dimly lit alleyway in the cold night air
She did not return from the brink of despair.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mother Died
today my mother died
unapreciated by those she bore
at her departure they cried
for they never saw there mother before,
smiling but immobile.
today my mother died
after years of taking care of us
in retrospect we were stupid
for her love we dint reciprocate
alone we are
without a mother anymore
there never will be another like her
like my mother.
a lavish funeral
an expensive casket
an expensive proceeding
and what not
can atone not
for our ingratitude
poem by Kelvin Karani
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Proud To Be Loud
Listen up good
I got a lot to say
I know what I want
And I get my own way
I call em as I see em
I dont play by the book
One dose of volume
Thats all it took
Ive seen it, Ive done it
Ive heard it before
Now its my turn
To settle the score
Ill sing it, Ill shout it
Ill say it again
I dont care if they
Never give in cause im
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
You know Im proud
Proud to be loud
Well Ive alway believed
In freedom of speech
And Ive always been the one
Who practiced what I preached
Love it or leave it
Ill give you the choice
But itll snow in hell
Before I lower my voice
I live it, I breathe it
I gotta have more
Its full blast
And this means war
The power, the glory
Its callin my name
I wont start to
Play their game cause im
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
Im proud to be loud
And Ill never
Turn it down again no!!
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
Im proud,
Proud to be loud
song performed by by Pantera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Certain Man Named Belebel
when you call i am somewhere in
Pedro Gil
an hour ago i was in Taft
feeling the crowd of
Kabayan
i stop for a while thinking where
to go next
but then i find myself lurking in
a room
without nothing in mind
it is not strange to me
i am always on the move but i am not
looking for anything
they say that we were born with feet
so we have to use them
it is just this time that i realize
what mother told me once about
a certain Belebel
who is he? mother tells me that he was a
man of God
condemned to walk and never stop
because something in him is longing
for something that
he never once found
until he died and then
God smiled at him
because he walked and then
he lived and
then he died
with all his feet
connected
to earth.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Be proud of yourself.
Your son is a physician
And the daughter, a musician,
You are proud.
Your brothers and sisters
Are in high position,
You are proud.
Your father is a lawyer
And mother, a singer,
You are proud.
See, none of them
Are proud of you.
In priding you are failing.
15.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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It is my greatest joy to live a really good part, even though it imposes great strain. An artist is tired but proud when he has created a great work of art. So it is with the actor who really lives a great role and is proud of the part he played.
quote by Conrad Veidt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On A Young Poetess’s Grave
UNDER her gentle seeing,
In her delicate little hand,
They placed the Book of Being,
To read and understand.
The Book was mighty and olden,
Yea, worn and eaten with age;
Though the letters look’d great and golden,
She could not read a page.
The letters flutter’d before her,
And all look’d sweetly wild:
Death saw her, and bent o’er her,
As she pouted her lips and smil’d.
And weary a little with tracing
The Book, she look’d aside,
And lightly smiling, and placing
A Flower in its leaves, she died.
She died, but her sweetness fled not,
As fly the things of power,—
For the Book wherein she read not
Is the sweeter for the Flower.
poem by William Cosmo Monkhouse
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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
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A Picture Of Papa
here is papa's picture
before he died
30 years ago
beside his izuzu pick-up
carrying a bottle of gin on one hand
and a gun on his holster
his right hand holds
the waist of a young woman
in white shorts
he has a pipe on his mouth
a smoke over his head
and he is grinning like a
macho lover
that young woman is not my mother
he says she was his true love
but she was taken away
by the rebels
mother died when i was six
but i already understood what was really going on
papa was very proud of me
he liked my drawings and my
games
i am the only boy
i do not smoke and i do not drink
and i married
the only woman that i really love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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