So my father grew up in an orphanage in Boston. He was then adopted by an elderly childless couple from Maine, who gave him the name of Mitchell. He moved to Maine, and there he met my mother and was married.
quote by George J. Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was born and raised in a small town in Maine, Waterville. I enjoyed living there - still do - and my goal in life was a fairly specific and focused one of practicing law in Maine.
quote by George J. Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maine
Relaxing on my* hands and knees
Relaxing on my* face
Reclining in the bear-trap of its tender warm embrace
Glazed with coniferous green
Glazed with excitement and dread
Exhausted from oversleep
Awake but still in bed
The shaving razors rusty but the sting brings you exactly back to
Maine
Is** the world that went south
Maine
Is** a punch in the mouth
Maine
At the top of the chart
Has crushed my evil heart
Maine
Is the devil you know
Maine
Is the heaven below
Maine
At the top of the chart
Has crushed my evil heart
I love you anyway (I love you anyway)
I promise theres no other state (theres no other state)
But only if you stay away (but only if you leave)
And leave me to my ugly state*** (me to my ugly state)
And give me back my evil heart so I can see you as you are in
Maine
Is the world that went south
Maine
Is a punch in the mouth
Maine
At the top of the chart
Has crushed my evil heart
Maine
Is the poison you love
Maine
Is the hell from above
Maine
At the top of the chart
Has crushed my evil heart
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was the United States Attorney for Maine for three years, and then was appointed a federal judge.
quote by George J. Mitchell
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My father was the orphaned son of immigrants to the United States from Ireland. My father never knew his parents. His mother died - we're not sure - either at or shortly after his birth, and he and all of his siblings were placed in orphanages in the Boston area.
quote by George J. Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Story Of A Marriage Counselor
..he is a simple man
married to an ordinary woman
the man teaches science
the woman serves as legal clerk
25 years married without a child
so they adopted the baby place beside their door
they did not know where the baby came from
they say she is a gift from God
the girl for what genes she has
turned into a woman with hysteria like Ida Bauer
got pregnant
but cannot pinpoint who from among her three lovers is the father of her child
the simple couple now gets a grandchild
so glad
the new baby has not father to speak of
they go back to the cycle
the beginning about the pleasure that the baby once left beside the fence
gave them
unspeakable bliss
of course, this shall not be
a sad story
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gathering Mushrooms
As he knelt by the grave of his mother and father
the taste of dill, or tarragon-
he could barely tell one from the other-
filled his mouth. It seemed as if he might smother.
Why should he be stricken
with grief, not for his mother and father,
but a woman slinking from the fur of a sea-otter
In Portland, Maine, or, yes, Portland, Oregon-
he could barely tell one from the other-
and why should he now savour
the tang of her, her little pickled gherkin,
as he knelt by the grave of his mother and father?
*
He looked about. He remembered her palaver
on how both earth and sky would darken-
'You could barely tell one from the other'-
while the Monarch butterflies passed over
in their milkweed-hunger: 'A wing-beat, some reckon,
may trigger off the mother and father
of all storms, striking your Irish Cliffs of Moher
with the force of a hurricane.'
Then: 'Milkweed and Monarch 'invented' each other.'
*
He looked about. Cow's-parsley in a samovar.
He'd mistaken his mother's name, 'Regan, ' for Anger';
as he knelt by the grave of his mother and father
he could barely tell one from the other.
poem by Paul Muldoon
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He Married
My father married a nurse!
He, my father, married a teacher
He never married out of being forced
So, he chose to marry a leader
A maiden, an edifice of beauty!
His attempt wasn't thwarted
So, he tied the knot with a deity
And thereafter never parted
Even till tomorrow, he's still with his lady
My father married a cook!
Dishes served to his content, he never bothers
It is never a fluke!
My father married my mother
She is the plant, he is the water
poem by Alawoki Akeem Opeyemi
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Jhootha Nahi(Hindi)
Sirf Tum Thi Mere Dil Main
Lekin pyar toh ban gaya ek khilona
Maine tumhara dil thora, tumne mera
Tumko lagtha hai ki pyar mera jhootha hai
Pyar saacha tha, saachi
Bahut kiya tha pyar maine tumse
Aur sirf tum hi thi mere dil main
Main jhootha nahi tha.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Off The Coast Of Maine
Off the coast of Maine with the blues
Like Roy Buchanan bending notes
An old black and white film
The wind is strange
Melodic chimes of sorrow
The sea will always be my friend
Help me feel the ground my love
The price of darkness isn’t worth it
Stark organ like vivid sands
Clouds of coming rain
Beauty like a sermon
Trees blow like a painting
Pure memories flood like rivers
Where is your hand my friend?
We all loose and win
She is there like a decoupage
Soft light glows from a distant farm
Maine is a beautiful place
I just got the blues
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Two Souls Trapped
An elderly couple in their car
smashed into a wall
they didn't go very far.
Car was removed but their souls fought on
the wife yelled 'If you would of looked
are car would of moved and we would be gone.'
Psychic heard the fight for weeks on end
the couple never made it to heaven.
Until one day in this Vegas parking lot
the psychic never heard them and then she thought-
another psychic must of told them to go to the light
or if not they moved someone where else to have their fight.
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 14,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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My Brother Bill
This is the sad true story about my brother Bill
who was four years older than me.
He was born and then tossed aside by his mother
who left him to his father’s parents to raise,
then promptly disappeared out of his life forever.
My grandparents brought him up
hoping his father would take care of him
when he returned from the war.
His father also my dad returned from the war
married with another son and didn’t want to know.
They gave him a nickname in private
so no one else would know.
In private, they always called him Dopey.
My sister and I were told
our grandparents had adopted him
and he was nothing to do with us.
When my dad’s parents died in 1958 and 59
plans were made to come back to England
where my mother’s parents were still alive
and leave Bill far behind.
Then as his mother had done eighteen years before
his father abandoned him as well.
For a while, he had to live on the streets
taking handout from where ever he could.
He was arrested for vagrancy and sent to jail.
Getting out he got himself a job and began to build a life.
He got married and started a family,
until one night he came home
and found his wife in bed with another man,
and a divorce followed and he was alone again.
Then after 25 years, his job vanished
and he had to find another.
One day in 2000, he got a telephone call
and did not know whether to believe it or not.
It was a call he never thought he would ever get,
a call from his younger brother - me.
As we talked on the phone, some truths came to pass
his brother and his sister did not know about him.
They were told he had been adopted
and were nothing to do with them.
However, I had found the truth,
which incensed my mother enough to disown me.
We met one another for the first time
after forty-two years in 2001 and again in 2002.
In 2003, this sad story ends,
in the March of that year
Bill succumbed to a heart attack.
His final words were a testament to his life.
No one loved me enough to care.
The sad truth is someone did
and that someone was me.
We never had enough time together,
circumstances kept us apart,
but he was my brother
and will remain in my heart.
2 November 2009
Authors Note:
The facts are as Bill told them to me. A sad refrain to a wonderful guy who was tainted by my parents as being bad and no good. If the truth were known he was probably better than the both of them. He was a guy who would give you the shirt of his back if you needed it. My brother Bill, may he now rest in peace.
DVH - 2009
poem by David Harris
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Nellie Clark
I was only eight years old;
And before I grew up and knew what it meant
I had no words for it, except
That I was frightened and told my Mother;
And that my Father got a pistol
And would have killed Charlie, who was a big boy,
Fifteen years old, except for his Mother.
Nevertheless the story clung to me.
But the man who married me, a widower of thirty-five,
Was a newcomer and never heard it
Till two years after we were married.
Then he considered himself cheated,
And the village agreed that I was not really a virgin.
Well, he deserted me, and I died
The following winter.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Hanging Tree.... (What Do We Call It...)
down through the woods
to the clearing where
the hanging tree stood...
sometimes you can still see
the shadows of ghosts,
swinging in the hot summer sun...
now the tree has been cut,
and time has passed,
yet the air's still heavy with guilt.
do we know more?
are we more civilized?
or have we just changed trees,
and gotten better rope?
what do we call the young men
sent to die in the oil wars...
the young people stuck
in the gang ridden slums?
the bullied ones who lose hope?
the illegal immigrants who die for work?
the young couple stuck on unemployment
and food stamps?
the elderly couple evicted
cause they cant afford the rent?
the Muslim family afraid to go out at night?
the gay couple in love who cant get married?
the young children without a father?
the millions strung out on pills?
what do we call it,
if we dont call it hanging?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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After a couple years of occasional lessons with Pass I moved to Boston to attend the New England Conservatory.
quote by Mark White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Facing the Truth of Your Lies
Back in September of 2004 -
A couple of months after
My short stay in the hospital
For severe depression -
I tried to contact you to see
If you still missed me,
As you rudely told me
To leave you alone,
That you were married
And had moved, had your
Last name changed to
Your new husband's
And were expecting
A brand new child.
Two years later I learn
The truth through none
Other than that fake 'husband'
Of yours, who posted a message
In one of his hosting forums
Back in 2005 when he was 19
And you were 28.
And so I face the truth, that
You wanted me to face
So much - the truth that
You were always lying
To me and to others
About who you really are -
An insecure and confused
Woman with two children
Without a real father.
No, you were never married
To that geek, who's so good
With computers, who
Drives around fixing other
People's technical problems,
Putting 8-9 hours each day
And not going to school,
To support you and your
Two kids, who are not even
His in a biological or
Legal sense.
For you two were 'living in sin'
Together, as he puts it,
Being 'disowned' by the
Majority of his family
And his manipulative
Mother, who was using
Him to get back at his father.
Well, it looks like he traded
His mother for a new one,
Who's just as manipulative
And conniving.
And I wonder what you do
When he's not around?
Do you stay at home and
Play a fake 'good wife'?
Or do you explore new men
And new options?
Oh yes,
He calls you his fiancée now -
After two years of living together -
But knowing you, I wonder
If you really want to get
Married and miss a chance
That something better comes
Along?
Well, I wish you luck in
Your decision, but I
Just want to say that
I loved you even if I was
A fool to believe you.
March 30,2006
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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The Son Who
He is the Joy a Son brings
sunny eyed;
whip smart
and kind.
A father
and a father alone
can know the pride
of the offspring
who grows
man hood tall
whose steady eye
and large tent heart
which could be fooled
by the devious
but not destroyed.
For all that words may
not convey
Son let me say
how much you mean to me
and others
you have helped along the way
by being the you
that paused to give mouth to mouth
to an elderly stranger;
adopted sisters and younger brothers;
stayed close to your mother
never forgot your Dad
reached back
even when it hurt
built your life on solid earth
and to this day
celebrates life, undeterred
in your own unique way.
Job well done.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Ultima Thule: The Iron Pen
I thought this Pen would arise
From the casket where it lies--
Of itself would arise and write
My thanks and my surprise.
When you gave it me under the pines,
I dreamed these gems from the mines
Of Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine
Would glimmer as thoughts in the lines;
That this iron link from the chain
Of Bonnivard might retain
Some verse of the Poet who sang
Of the prisoner and his pain;
That this wood from the frigate's mast
Might write me a rhyme at last,
As it used to write on the sky
The song of the sea and the blast.
But motionless as I wait,
Like a Bishop lying in state
Lies the Pen, with its mitre of gold,
And its jewels inviolate.
Then must I speak, and say
That the light of that summer day
In the garden under the pines
Shall not fade and pass away.
I shall see you standing there,
Caressed by the fragrant air,
With the shadow on your face,
And the sunshine on your hair.
I shall hear the sweet low tone
Of a voice before unknown,
Saying, 'This is from me to you--
From me, and to you alone.'
And in words not idle and vain
I shall answer and thank you again
For the gift, and the grace of the gift,
O beautiful Helen of Maine!
And forever this gift will be
As a blessing from you to me,
As a drop of the dew of your youth
On the leaves of an aged tree.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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When I go to a bar, I don't go looking for a girl who knows the capital of Maine.
quote by David Brenner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hindi Poem- Chehra
Sari Raat Yuhi Bita Di Maine,
Kitabo Ke Panne Palat Te Hue,
Kuch Khwab Bunte Hue,
Palko Tale Kuch Aansu Samete Hue,
Sari Raat Yuhi Bita Di Maine,
In Nain Naksho Ko Niharte Hue,
Apni Kamiyo Ko Dhundhte Hue,
Apni Majburi Par Rote Hue,
Soch Rahi Thi Main,
Kya Kiya Tha Maine,
Kyu Kiya Tha Maine,
Kya Achi Nahi Thi Sirf Vo Jaan Pehchaan,
Ki Dena Chaha Use Mohabbat Ka Naam Maine,
Soch Rahi Thi Main,
Kya Keh Gaya Vo Itni Asani Se,
Kyu Keh Gaya Vo Itni Asani Se,
Kara Gaya Mujhe Meri Badsurti,
Meri Kamiyo Ka Ehsas,
Aur Thukra Gaya Mujhe Itni Asani Se,
Kya Dil Nahi Tha Uske Paas,
Ya Un Shabdo Ki Mithaas Kahi Kho Gayi Thi,
Aakhir Kiya Kya Maine,
Jo Mere Ehsaso Ki Zamane Bhar Me Khilli Udayi Gayi Thi,
Bas Pyar Hi To Kiya Tha,
Use Apna Dil Hi To Diya Tha,
Phir Bhi Kyu Sabke Samne Ek Mazaak Ban Kar Reh Gayi Thi,
Par Galti To Thi Hi Meri,
Ki Uski Neeli Aankho Me Dubti Chali Gayi Thi,
Uski Har Hasi Me Ek Sapna Bunti Chali Gayi Thi,
Dosh Uska Nahi Mera Hain,
Sirf Main Aur Mera Yeh Badsurat Chehra Hain,
Phir Bhi Kyun Aaj Khud Ko Bikhra Sa Mehsus Karti Hu,
Shayad Is Chehre Ke Karan Kisi Ko Ab Apna Dil Dene Se Darti Hu,
Kyunki Bahut Gehra Hota Hain Is Dard Ka Ehsas,
Par Ab Karti Hu Yahi Ardas,
Ki Ae Khuda!
Is Chehre Ko Vo Noor De,
Ki Dekhne Vala Aur Kuch Soch Hi Na Paye,
Par Is Dil Ko Dildar De,
Jiske Pyar Ke Liye Yeh Umar Bhi Kam Pad Jaye,
Aur Jisne Mujhe Thukraya,
Use Khud Koi 'Na' Keh Jaye,
Aur Tab Shayad Use Apni Galti...
Aur Mere Is Dard Ke Ehsas Ho Jaye.......
poem by Apurva Jain
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