The English was really my mother, it was never me. Being the daughter of my father, I always felt very French.
quote by Charlotte Gainsbourg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
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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A Fourtunate Father With His New Daughter, -Dedicated To Joyce Loba Flores. by Ray Subrata
The unquenched thirst,
Of Father, for daughter’s love,
Fountains with a call, -Baba,
From a voice of distant land,
While I am in India, my daughter,
In the farthest Philippines stands.
The face of youngest daughter Hamma,
Appears in Jhoy Loba’s image,
I send her a request, and wait.
‘Good evening sir, its my pleasure ‘
‘Thank you sweet little daughter like friend’,
And my psychic lingered willing suspense.
‘It is my pleasure Baba’, -came the message,
Moment made eternity, opening a father’s passage ‘
I felt a touch, as soothing as much,
From the voice of my new daughter,
A flower divine, by nature shines,
By her beauty in my Father’s bower!
The Father in Man remains hidden,
And it opens with a daughter’s call,
It is more than a glory to a Man,
As in the daughter, -the mother resembles!
poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father Daughter Moments
My daughter said something the other day
We were sitting on the front steps, talking
Someone wanted to enter the building, she stood up and said 'we're just having a father daughter moment'
My daughter is still young, only 27
And hearing her say that, my heart swelled with pride
She still wants to have moments with her father
My adult daughter still needed me
So much is said about the mother-daughter bond
But there's an even stronger bond between a father and a daughter
No matter how old she is, she's still daddy's little girl
And he always wants to be there for her
Father daughter moments last a lifetime
From playground accidents to a broken heart
You do your best to help her pain go away
Because when she's in pain, you are too
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father And Daughter
on a chair father sits
and daughter sits on his lap
mother is away
and father whistles a song
it was a long time
and mother dies earlier
than father
the daughter sets on a sail
far away
no one knows where
but everyone remembers
the talk becomes the official story
of the town
pretending to be happy just like any other
town in our history
the father dies and daughter
comes back
bringing the flowers
she lights a candle
she sheds no tears
poem by Suki Nakamura
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Flashback Reaction
When father and daughter had words
contracting muscles in my face
felt like worms crawling
under my skin
Daughter conceded, father was right,
muscles relaxed, back to normal,
a flashback reaction
to early youth
When I held my fingers in my ears
as mother and father conversed
in angry words, grating
on my nerves…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Father And Daughter
Father and daughter spend some quiet time together in the living room
Shining through the curtain is the sun
And outside is the glorious afternoon
Father reads to his daughter the poetry she loves
Father and daughter enjoy each other's company
Father takes his daughter by the hand
As they take a walk outside
Father cares for his daughter
And always wishes the very best to happen for her
poem by Justin Gildow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My father, My father
My father, my father,
I love he,
my father, my father,
made me see,
how beautiful this world really can be.
My father, my father,
said to me,
my daughter my daughter,
come see me,
I wont be around forever, and i have things that must be.
My father, my father,
dont die on me.
[I wrote this while my father was in the hospital, I'm sorry to say he never got to leave. R.I.P October 7,08.]
poem by Dakota Ellerton
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So Called Story
Harsh words,
spillling over,
warning the loving daughter.
Hurtful words,
telling the daughter
a one-sided story,
of a tale of deception.
Mother did wrong,
by blaming the father.
By pinning it all on
the new victim of his love.
Choosing to leave the daughter,
Choosing to leave the mother,
Choosing to leave the dear family behind him.
Moving on with a new life
to start again.
Forgetting all that was
Such a sad story to tell the daughter
who never wanted to know.
The secrets behind the new loving family.
Never knowing the truth.
This so called story
is all she now knows.
of the ending of times
between mother and father.
poem by Nicole Gehrman
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Two cows deconstruct Derrida
These two cows were ruminating
and one says, I was listening
to the milkmaid’s transistor
and this French philosopher
was explaining that there’s
no English translation of the French word
‘betise’ except ‘stupidity’ but
‘stupidity’ only refers to man
where the French ‘betise’ means
to behave like an animal…
and the other cow says
well what’s wrong with that
and the first cow says
well his point is, English cows
can’t be stupid; only man
can be stupid..
and the other cow says
well that’s a relief then
so does that mean that French cows
can be stupid
and the first cow says
no because they don’t have a word for it
in French
so the other cow says
so then is it better to be
an English cow
that can’t be stupid
or a French cow
that can’t be called stupid
and the first cow says
who cares, I’ve always said
the French ruminate too much
and then talk bullshit…
and the other cow says
I’m glad I’m a Jersey
what about that French milkmaid
I call sexyhands but
the farmer sometimes calls
a silly cow I wonder what
Derrida would say about that
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Rednecks unite!
My father is my brother
My sister, with three ears,
Is his significant other.
My sister is my mother
And somehow, also my brother
My father's father am I
The vile thought makes me shudder.
Grandma was a mule,
Grandfather's sperm, she used as fuel
A french aristrocrat,
Made love to my mother, for he prefered his women fat
A letter written for my eyes
Containing news of demine
Said my true mother was some other
And my father, not her brother.
Jubilant and joyous,
My wife is what used to by my sister.. Or brother?
poem by Thy Mother
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im The Girl
Ive got a memory
A thousand years old
And I know secrets
Ive never been told
And Ive got jewels
I havent found
And theyll return me
To the ground
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
And Im a siren
Ill wreck you on my shores
And Im godiva
Ill call you back for more
And Im medusa
And Im your favourite doll
And Im a georgia okeefe
Hanging on your wall
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter before
And I remember being born just sound and light
And sound and light and light
And I remember the first time, skin on skin in the arms
In the arms of the night
Well how many times have we looked up into the starry skies
And how many times have we felt the passion rise
Every ruby-lipped girl baby, old lady, squaw junkie, girl after girl after girl
Every muse, whore, good witch, princess, back arching, year after year after year
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
Before.
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother and Daughter Love
Mother and daughter love can be so fun...
A mother should love her daughter at all time
A mother have connection with her daughter
A daughter should love there mother with in and with out
A daughter should talk to her about anything with each other
A mother and daughter should love each other
That what some people call mother and daughter love.....
poem by Valentine White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where woman lacks importance
Delivered and moulded by my mother,
I was identified with my father,
Who, delivered and moulded by mother,
Was identified with his father.
I go with my son; wife is an onlooker.
The son of my daughter I've no claim on.
In each generation, mother is removed
From the memory line of the family.
Let my name carry the name of mother
And of father behind it to the world.
Let me have the names of the grand mothers
And grandfathers on both sides in record.
14.10.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Battle of the Herrings
A fishing action
North of France
1429 took place
Cause of battle
French vs. English
Anticipation/baited breath
River – flat plain
Set up strategy
Hook/line/sinker
British attacked first
French were slow
English bombarded fish
French did not
want to get
their shoes wet
Were most certain
outflanked by British
French counter attacked
Used Brie instead
of slippery worms
Won the fishing
competition – yelled Viva’
la fishermen French
“What was that”?
asked the English
“What’s the matter
with you cockneys
Hard of Herring? ”
'2008'
poem by Robert Sheridan
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Mother And Daughter...
Mother and daughter,
Are very close,
They are best friends,
And can be enemy's sometimes,
They laugh and cry,
Call each other names,
And mess around,
And there still as close as ever,
Nothing will ruin their mother and daughter relationship,
Not even boys,
They may keep secrets,
From one another, but there still there,
to care and help,
their still mother and daughter.
Wrote about a mother and daughter love
poem by StaceyLeigh Olner
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What Kind Of Father Are You?
Do a father leave his three daughter down and dry
Do a father come only three times out of a year
What kind of father are you?
Should a father leave his daughters just to take care of an other women son and daughter...
What kind of father are you?
Can a father broke a promise that he promise 10 years ago
Should a father be ashame of his three daughter looks or weight
If so what kind of father are you?
poem by Valentine White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Borders
To say that she came into me,
from another world, is not true.
Nothing comes into the universe
and nothing leaves it.
My mother—I mean my daughter did not
enter me. She began to exist
inside me—she appeared within me.
And my mother did not enter me.
When she lay down, to pray, on me,
she was always ferociously courteous,
fastidious with Puritan fastidiousness,
but the barrier of my skin failed, the barrier of my
body fell, the barrier of my spirit.
She aroused and magnetized my skin, I wanted
ardently to please her, I would say to her
what she wanted to hear, as if I were hers.
I served her willingly, and then
became very much like her, fiercely
out for myself.
When my daughter was in me, I felt I had
a soul in me. But it was born with her.
But when she cried, one night, such pure crying,
I said I will take care of you, I will
put you first. I will not ever
have a daughter the way she had me,
I will not ever swim in you
the way my mother swam in me and I
felt myself swum in. I will never know anyone
again the way I knew my mother,
the gates of the human fallen.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Sharon Olds
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