There came to port last Sunday night the queerest little craft, without an inch of rigging on; I looked and looked - and laughed. It seemed so curious that she should cross the unknown water, and moor herself within my room - my daughter! O my daughter!
quote by George Washington Cable
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The New Arrival
THERE came to port last Sunday night
The queerest little craft,
Without an inch of rigging on;
I looked and looked—and laughed!
It seemed so curious that she
Should cross the Unknown water,
And moor herself within my room—
My daughter! O, my daughter!
Yet by these presents witness all
She ’s welcome fifty times,
And comes consigned in hope and love—
And common-metre rhymes.
She has no manifest but this;
No flag floats o’er the water;
She ’s too new for the British Lloyds—
My daughter! O, my daughter!
Ring out, wild bells—and tame ones too;
Ring out the lover’s moon.
Ring in the little worsted socks,
Ring in the bib and spoon.
Ring out the muse, ring in the nurse,
Ring in the milk and water.
A way with paper, pen, and ink—
My daughter! O, my daughter!
poem by George Washington Cable
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad of Earl Haldan's Daughter
It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She looked across the sea;
She looked across the water;
And long and loud laughed she:
'The locks of six princesses
Must be my marriage fee,
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Who comes a wooing me?'
It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She walked along the sand;
When she was aware of a knight so fair,
Came sailing to the land.
His sails were all of velvet,
His mast of beaten gold,
And 'Hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Who saileth here so bold?'
'The locks of five princesses
I won beyond the sea;
I clipt their golden tresses,
To fringe a cloak for thee.
One handful yet is wanting,
But one of all the tale;
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Furl up thy velvet sail!'
He leapt into the water,
That rover young and bold;
He gript Earl Haldan's daughter,
He clipt her locks of gold:
'Go weep, go weep, proud maiden,
The tale is full to-day.
Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Sail Westward ho! away!'
poem by Charles Kingsley
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Misty Water Woman
I was driving round, as the sun went down
When I came upon a lake, the sign said misty water
And standing there, with wet and tangled hair was a girl
She said her name was bo, she was a farmers daughter
I said get in, Ill take you home, you must be cold
Misty water woman
You never get to her
Misty water woman
You never get to touch her
And feel her near
It began to storm, and our talk grew warm
Till I stopped the car outside a cold and lonely place
I said were here
But she had disappeared
And on the seat was a pool of tears
And a handkerchief of lace
I did not see her leave
I was amazed
Misty water woman
You never get to her
Misty water woman
You never get to touch her
And feel her warm
I sped into the house,
It took her father and her mother to straighten me out
What was it all about
Please let me know
She looked sad, and he looked mad
And he said, yes youre right, once we had a daughter
Her name was bo, but that was long ago
Years have gone since she drowned at misty water
And the way he took it, took me by surprise
Misty water woman
You never get to her
Misty apparition
You never get to touch her
And feel her near
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She's My Daughter's Age
My daughter is her age
How am I to follow this girl
into the swords and spears of the enemy
when she is my daughter’s age?
she stands looking up at us and
we looking down
presenting to us the battle plan.
her small, thin, childish voice,
barely heard over the deep, loud voices of full grown men,
is feeble compared to past commanders.
she carries no weapon
only a small dagger
which her petite hands hold in the fashion of amateurs.
she wears the thinnest armor available,
her immature body unable to carry anything heavier.
She’s my daughter’s age
Her unruly hair,
a shade lighter than the coffee color of my daughter’s,
runs past her shoulders to the middle of her back.
an inch shorter than my daughter,
the top of her head does not even reach my shoulders.
She’s my daughter’s age
How am I-
“Amen”, she says as she finishes her prayer
reverently making the sign of the cross and walking back to her tent.
I stand there,
processing that last scene in awe
for she may be similar to my daughter
in age, height, and hair
but she has something my daughter does not
Faith.
poem by Luz Gonzalez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Woman at the Crossroad Who Laughed
As I walked up the pavement, up the slight hill
to the traffic lights at the crossroads outside the station,
I saw her waiting to cross.
Or rather, I saw first, her laugh..
She held the hand of her son
as she exchanged words with a passing friend
and laughed..
and what I saw in her eyes, her whole face,
as she laughed, was that as she laughed -
(did she know this? How could I tell her, a stranger?
Lady, lady, at the crossroad of our lives,
I’m writing this poem for you now…)
as she laughed, while she laughed,
I saw that she was in touch, the whole of her,
with her deepest self – just that… all that…
and as I saw that self, which was
(Lady, are you reading this?)
the perfection of perfection, all that’s perfect…
it was as if – no, it was just so –
her self looked at me, and so
the perfect looked at the perfect;
herself and mine together laughed,
laughed at imperfection
and as the perfect looked, it saw perfection
spreading through my eyes from our shared self
so that her son was perfect; and her friend was perfect;
and all around us, every they and it were perfect..
(Lady, Lady, at the Cross’s foot,
was it like this for You?)
the light turned green. And we were free
to cross the road; and
free to live; and
free to laugh away illusion; and
free to be ourselves; forever,
in that time which is forever.
Lady, by my faith, this by my hand;
and with my life I do yet swear
upon my life, this to be true;
Lady, hear, in this my orison,
there are no sins
to be remembered.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Bathtime Shared.
Fenola watched
as Eileen bathed.
She took in
the hand
moving
the lathered sponge
over the contours
of the body,
moving between tits
like some
venture ship of old,
moving down
the belly,
beneath the soapy water
to the pleasure dome,
then out again
around the neck
and under chin,
then whole body
over once again.
She knew that body well,
each inch of flesh,
each orifice,
each smell,
each loving touch.
Even the thought
pleased her
overmuch.
Eileen looked over
where Fenola sat,
on stool,
in bathrobe,
with feet
on mat.
Come on in,
she said,
room enough for two,
you rub my back,
I'll rub yours
and other places too.
Fenola thought awhile,
took in her eyes
that gazed,
the smile
that spread,
the memory
of the afternoon
in bed,
the positions held
and played,
the sex ensuing.
Eileen pointed
to the soapy bath,
come in,
she said
with sexy laugh.
Fenola stood up
from the stool,
disrobed,
set it aside,
stepped in the bath
and sat down,
the water engulfing.
Somewhere
from the other room,
Ravel played
from hifi speakers,
Bolero
or some such piece,
the sound touching
the bathroom walls
with steam and scent.
The girls rubbed
and scrubbed
and laughed
in soapy water,
each one
like a siren
of the sea
or Neptune's daughter.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mama, Dont Treat Your Daughter Mean
(ry cooder)
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
cause you treat her so mean and shes only sweet sixteen
It was late last friday evening, when everything was still
I heard somebody calling my name outside my window sill
I got up and I looked outside strainin my eyes to see
And my heart went wild when I realized just who was calling me
I hollered
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
cause you treat her so mean and shes only sweet sixteen
Now, her eyes were blazing up at me
Her hair was black as night
And her naked skin shone like gold
Out in the pale moonlight
She took my hand and she pulled me down
Where the grass had grown up tall
The she moved her body all around
Just like a cannon ball
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
Hey, mama, dont you treat your daughter mean
cause you treat her so mean and shes only sweet sixteen
Yonder comes your mama, girl, cross the field
Runnin and a-shakin like an automobile
Daddys got a shotgun in his hand
They just dont understand
The first time I seen that sweet girl
She was runnin home from sunday school
And the next time I seen that sweet little girl
Was when she broke her mamas rule
But the last time I seen that sweet little girl
She was filled with a strange desire
Rollin and tumblin out on the cold wet ground
Her skin burnin up just like a cane fire
She called my name a thousand ways
The tears came streaming down her face
But just when I was bout to blow my stack
Her daddy came a-creepin and a-crawlin up behind
And he shot me in the back
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The King of Erin's Daughter
THE King of Erin's Daughter had wind-blown hair and bright,
The King of Erin's Daughter, her eyes were like the sea;
(O Rose of all the roses, have you forgotten quite
The story of the days of old that once you told to me?)
The King of Erin's Daughter went up the mountain side
And who but she was singing as she went upon her way,
'O somewhere waits a King's Son and I shall be his bride,
And tall he is and fair he is and none shall say him nay.'
The King of Erin's Daughter–O fair was she and sweet–
Went laughing up the mountain without a look behind
Till on the lofty summit that lay beneath her feet
She found a King's Son waiting there, his brows with poppies twined.
O tall was he and fair was he. He looked into her face
And whispered in her ear a word un-named of mortal breath
And very still she rested, clasped close in his embrace,
The King of Erin's Daughter, for the bridegroom's name was Death.
poem by Norah M. Holland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Electric Eel Song
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Take out you’ foot
From the black river water
Haul out you’ hand
Out the slow river water
Stay ‘pon the bank
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Shadow ‘pon the bottom
Is the eel in the river
Something like you’ hand
Is the eel in the river
Swimming like you’ foot
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Foot after foot
Though the black river water
She can’t touch the bottom
Out the slow river water
Shirt like umbrella
In the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Cutlass shape
Is the eel in the river
Black blade or brown
Is the eel in the river
Dozing so quiet
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Slap of a tail
Through the black river water
Shiver like ague
Out the slow river water
As if she take cramp
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
No blood, just a thrill
Is the eel in the river
Lightning bold
Is the eel in the river
And she Drown now, she chilly
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
poem by Slade Hopkinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Daughter Brittany
On the special day of October 4,1995
God gave me the perfect daughter,
A mother can dream about
You fill my life with laughter
Our love will never doubt
The moment my eyes first looked at you
I knew my dreams had all came true
As a little girl you were very shy
You're important in my life i'll never deny
The bond we created from my womb,
To the day you were born
Its a mother and daughter bind, that can
never be torn
I could'nt be any prouder, than I am today of you
You are my daughter, and my friend
And a wonderful person too
I know that i am not perfect, Its the best i can do
But every day I thank the lord for giving me
A daughter as special as you.
Please don't hide anything from me
For i am here for you and always will be
Life is not always fair,
So please come to me no matter what
We will work it out together, And know i care
I LOVE YOU HONEY WITH ALL MY HEART
OUR LOVE PROVES WE WILL NEVER BE APART....
TO BRIITTANY FROM YOUR MOM
poem by Wendy Kay Tadday
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetmother In Rags At The Doors Of Ikea
My daughter lives in there.
There's no way I could stay:
Look at what I'm wearing,
Even though I gave my daughter.
You see all my sin.
No way could I fit in.
But still,
I have given daughter,
So stand aside!
I will not be denied
A little look inside
What I've given daughter.
poem by Douglas Scotney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daughter
The Daughter.
Daughter, of the police officer who wore black riding boots,
was shining them, a call came he had been killed in traffic
accident. She put polish and brush into a cupboard no longer
a slave of a father who used boots as mirrors in the morning
when shaving, and if he couldn´t see clearly beat her with
a leather strap. Father in his coffin, she polished his medals
he looked grand in death. But for the daughter, of the officer,
each medal reminded her of the leather lash.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Son and daughter
Son and daughter
alike
treat daughter
as son.
No less no more
I am in my night bed
you are in your dream.
What is the time
asked daughter
answer is not there
what is the time
asked the son
and you are there.
What do you mean by son
what do you mean by daughter
by and by you are
not here.
No less no more
I declare.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Can't That Be Me
Why can't that be me, the daughter
you come home to
Loving me all the time, and saying I miss you
Why can't that be me, the daughter you call everyday
The daughter that you miss so much, that she takes your breath away
Why can't that be me, the daughter that makes you cry
The one that touches your soul, everytime she says goodbye
Why can't that be us, daughter to father
Without you in my life, everyday it gets harder
poem by Jasmine Dugas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daughter Wrote
The flowers in the tree
are blooming so eyes can see.
The ripples on the water
get smaller and smaller
As the duck flutters
passed the daughter.
As the frog croaks,
the daughter strokes
In a little row boat
as the daughter wrote.
8/18/05
poem by Krista Addison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soldier’s Wife
Let’s go out
In this cold city
Let me feel
The warmth here
The beloved daughter
As
I am going tomorrow
And who knows
The dinner
Out in the restaurant
A nearby photographer
In uniform
My laurels and stars
I fight for my country
I am a proud soldier
Daughter in his arms
The wife proud
Veil pushed back
So the soldier's family
I found this
In a room
A barrack
Of the soldier
Looked at the photograph
Of thousand hopes
The soldier’s bag
His laurels and stars
The soldier was dead
His laurels and stars
His thousand hopes
What is my fault?
Asked his daughter
And mine too
Asked his wife
His laurels and stars
For the soldier is dead
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daughter Of Darkness
here she rests all the day
in her room in the attic
tonight she walks
tonight they try
they try to save her mortal soul
she's to quick and dissapears
here lies the daughter of darkness
slipped and fell on the dirt path
here her soul shall rest
here lies the daughter of darkness
they tried to save her
they were to late
here shall her soul lie
daughter of darkness
now with the godess
my she be blessed
here she lies in peace
here lies the daughter of darkness
she begins a new day
she begins a new life
may she be blessed
here lies the daughter of darkness
here she lies all day
she walks at night
they tried to save her but were to late
here lies the daughter of darkness
poem by Alice Lion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mothers And Their Daughters
they struck him down hard early in life
he slaps me around plenty
i cannot leave
my daughter never cries
to feed my daughter
i will take on the whole lot of you
the young men howl
i am a mother in time of famine
my daughter dying at my breast
my husband wants a son
my first child a love child a daughter
a wedding to make it right
a family joke to keep me honest
they have a one child policy here
he took my first child my daughter
sold her to the americans
as a child they mutilated me
for fear i might become the woman i am
they will never get to my daughter
I am told to hate my burqa
it keeps my secret from him
my daughter will wear the burqa
poem by Paul Bamberger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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