I think because my parents died in their early 50s, mid 50s, I always thought I would die young. And that's been both a useful thing and I suspect something that's haunted me a little bit.
quote by Stephen Dunn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Haunted
I sleep, I wake, just same.
Haunted.
Tears don't work.
Pain won't go.
Haunted.
Maybe its here to stay.
My bag of rocks.
Haunted.
No great purpose.
Just be my load.
Haunted.
To hold me back.
This heavy sack.
Haunted.
I wake today. Maybe time to pray.
Haunted.
This curse must go.
Hit lowest low.
Haunted.
Nightmare of my soul.
My mind. My heart
My entire being.
Haunted.
Haunted. Haunted. Haunted.
I am
The walking. The crawling. The waiting. The moving. The wailing.
The death defying.
I am
The Haunted.
poem by Lindsay Maasdorp
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Haunted
(jeff barry / bobby bloom)
Ooh, hoo
I cant eat right
I cant sleep nights
Oh, honey look at what youve done to me
Life is nowhere
And its no fair
cause youve got me by the memory
Oh, now I feel you near me
And see your face
In my dreams
Every hour all night through
Oh, Im haunted
Yes Im haunted, haunted by you
There aint no doubt
I cant get out
Of this trouble that youve got me in
If I hurt you
Didnt mean to
Oh, and Im sorry
Aint the word Ive been
And if you dont come back to me pretty soon
I dont know what Im gonna do
cause Im haunted
Yes Im haunted, haunted by you, woah, oh
Oh, I just cant forget you
cause you haunt me everywhere I go
Oh Im begging you
Dont say no
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no
And if you dont come back to me pretty soon
I dont know what Im gonna do
cause Im haunted
Said Im haunted,ooh, haunted by you
Oh, haunted by you
Haunted by you
Haunted by you-hoo
Haunted by you
Oh, haunted by you
Baby, haunted by you
Ooh, by you
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Situations Experienced
It is troubling enough to be bombarded by regret.
Haunted by disappointments.
And tossed about emotionally,
Over situations experienced one can not forget.
Or can be soothed by those disbelieving or suspect.
Sometimes a face one tries to mask,
Has a life that seems strained in appearance.
With a drained voice and weak convictions shown.
It becomes difficult to reach feelings unknown
When a paining inside no one outside can see.
Haunted by disappointment and bombarded by regret!
Who knows what one feels and carries in-depth.
If one is inflicted...
Over situations experienced one can not forget.
Or can be soothed by those disbelieving or suspect.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Parents (like, who needs them?)
In the staff room after Parents’ Day
we used to shake our prematurely
gray heads and contemplate
the Zen-ness of our well-worn truism:
‘Parents are the least suitable
people to have children’…
EMForster said, we begin by
loving our parents; later
we judge them; rarely
if ever, do we forgive them..
The other day, some pseudo-quiz
for exposure-hungry celebs
asked, what is the most disliked
thing about parents?
and the pollsters did their thing
and found it was, their taste in music..
I guess that tells you something
about the depth of culture
though I suspect many teenagers
really think, it’s the gross, unspeakable way
that they go on having sex after we’re born…
however, this alleged poem is getting
way off track from its solemn message
which might, just might, be India’s
greatest if unproveable gift to the West
and all who whinge about their parents and
what they did and didn’t do for us…:
karma: that the way you lived your previous life
fixed it via the absolute computer that
you were born in the most propitious
time and place and parentage
to continue the journey of your soul
on its way to the bliss of freedom
from all worldly attachments
such as, e.g. parents; older siblings; and
the rest you’ll have to fill in for yourself
remembering of course in your compassion that
it was karma for your long-suffering parents too;
you were their justice; and they, yours..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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But for me, it is when a student has died. I find the death of a young person the most difficult and painful of times. To explain it to other young people, to see a bright future snuffed out, is just awful. I am haunted by those deaths.
quote by Donna Shalala
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Mom And Dad
If my Mom and Dad had not died
When I was young
What would my life have been like?
Would my Mom had showed me
How to use make-up;
And tell me, “not too much,
Or it will cake-up.”
What about the Father and Daughter dance;
Would my Dad had taken me,
If he had the chance.
I wonder if my Mom
Would have talked to me
About my little monthly friend;
And bring me a hot cup of tea
Every month that it began,
And let me lie in bed
With a warm heating pad.
Would my Dad had talked
To me about boys;
The one’s I should date,
The one’s to avoid.
I wonder what it would be like
To have living parents when you’re grown
Would your Mom still hold you;
And hum a happy song.
If you had a day
That didn’t go right;
Would your Dad take you out,
For a Father and Daughter night.
I wonder if I would have
Asked my Dad for money;
Would he just reach in his wallet,
And say “here you go honey.”
I wonder if my Mom and Dad
Would have cried at my first wedding.
What emotion at my divorce?
Cried at my second wedding.
At the birth of my child rejoice.
Would my Mom be in the room
When I had my first baby;
Would she had held my hand,
And said “it’s part of being a lady.”
If my parents had not died
When I was young;
Would they be proud of me?
What I grew-up to be.
Copyright © by Phyllis Strong
poem by Phyllis Strong
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Strong Willed and Opinionated
Some suspect I am into myself!
I play along with it.
To amuse their curiousities.
Knowing they have no idea...
The influences that structured me.
We expressed ourselves freely,
As children growing up.
My parents were quite intelligent and gifted.
And they would give us 'signals' when to speak...
And when to shut up!
Strong willed and opinionated,
My sisters and I were taught to be that way!
And if we had something on our minds...
Inside of us it did not stay!
Wherever the spirits of my parents are,
They have to be proud...
Of the lives we have displayed!
But I often wished,
What it would be like.
If my mother did sew up my lips...
To keep my mouth shut closed and tight!
Since she said some things,
Not to tease us.
But to strike a fear within us that would fright!
'What did-you-say?
You better not say another thing to me, boy! '
Ma...
Please,
Don't tell daddy!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Rome: At the Pyramid of Cestius. (Near the graves of Shelley & Keats)
Who, then, was Cestius,
And what is he to me? -
Amid thick thoughts and memories multitudinous
One thought alone brings he.
I can recall no word
Of anything he did;
For me he is a man who died and was interred
To leave a pyramid
Whose purpose was exprest
Not with its first design,
Nor till, far down in Time, beside it found their rest
Two countrymen of mine.
Cestius in life, maybe,
Slew, breathed out threatening;
I know not. This I know: in death all silently
He does a kindlier thing,
In beckoning pilgrim feet
With marble finger high
To where, by shadowy wall and history-haunted street,
Those matchless singers lie . . .
--Say, then, he lived and died
That stones which bear his name
Should mark, through Time, where two immortal Shades abide;
It is an ample fame.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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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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It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength.
quote by Maya Angelou
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Young that Died in Beauty
If souls should only sheen so bright
In heaven as in e’thly light,
An’ nothen better wer the cease,
How comely still, in sheape an’ feace,
Would many reach thik happy pleace, —
The hopevul souls that in their prime
Ha’ seem’d a—took avore their time, —
The young that died in beauty.
But when woone’s lim’s ha’ lost their strangth
A—tweilen drough a lifetime’s langth,
An’ over cheaks a-growen wold
The slowly-weasten years ha’ roll’d
The deep’nen wrinkle’s hollow vwold;
When life is ripe, then death do call
Vor less ov thought, than when do vall
On young vo’ks in their beauty.
But pinen souls, wi’ heads a-hung
In heavy sorrow vor the young,
The sister ov the brother dead,
The father wi’ a child a—vled,
The husband when his bride ha’ laid
Her head at rest, noo mwore to turn,
Have all a-vound the time to murn
Vor youth that died in beauty.
An’ yeet the church, where prayer do rise
Vrom thoughtvul souls, wi’ downcast eyes,
An’ village greens, a—beat half beare
By dancers that do meet, an’ wear
Such merry looks at feast an’ feair,
Do gather under leatest skies,
Their bloomen cheaks an’ sparklen eyes,
Though young ha’ died in beauty.
But still the dead shall mwore than keep
The beauty ov their early sleep;
Where comely looks shall never wear
Uncomely, under tweil an' ceare.
The feair at death be always feair,
Still feair to livers’ thought an’ love,
An’ feairer still to God above,
Than when they died in beauty.
poem by William Barnes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Young That Died In Beauty
If souls should only sheen so bright
In heaven as in e'thly light,
An' nothen better wer the cease,
How comely still, in sheape an' feace,
Would many reach thik happy pleace, -
The hopevul souls that in their prime
Ha' seem'd a-took avore their time, -
The young that died in beauty.
But when woone's lim's ha' lost their strangth
A-tweilen drough a lifetime's langth,
An' over cheaks a-growen wold
The slowly-weasten years ha' roll'd
The deep'nen wrinkle's hollow vwold;
When life is ripe, then death do call
Vor less ov thought, than when do vall
On young vo'ks in their beauty.
But pinen souls, wi' heads a-hung
In heavy sorrow vor the young,
The sister ov the brother dead,
The father wi' a child a-vled,
The husband when his bride ha' laid
Her head at rest, noo mwore to turn,
Have all a-vound the time to murn
Vor youth that died in beauty.
An' yeet the church, where prayer do rise
Vrom thoughtvul souls, wi' downcast eyes,
An' village greens, a-beat half beare
By dancers that do meet, an' wear
Such merry looks at feast an' feair,
Do gather under leatest skies,
Their bloomen cheaks an' sparklen eyes,
Though young ha' died in beauty.
But still the dead shall mwore than keep
The beauty ov their early sleep;
Where comely looks shall never wear
Uncomely, under tweil an' ceare.
The feair at death be always feair,
Still feair to livers' thought an' love,
An' feairer still to God above,
Than when they died in beauty.
poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Harbor
Emis - young, twenty-eight-
reached this Syrian harbor in a Tenian ship,
his plan to learn the incense trade.
But ill during the voyage,
he died as soon as he was put ashore.
His burial, the poorest possible, took place here.
A few hours before dying he whispered something
about 'home', about 'very old parents.'
But nobody he called home
in the great pan Hellenic world.
Better that way; because as it is,
though he lies buried in this harbor,
his parents will always have the hope he's still alive.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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This House Is Haunted
I was sitting in my room, dark and gray and crying
Someone in my life I fear was at the point of dying
A cold wind blew right up my spine, it was the break of dawn
A little voice went deep inside told me she was gone
Oh...This house is haunted
Oh...That's how I want it to be
Oh...This house is haunted
You can always stay here with me...
No more singing, no more laughing, no more sunny days
She left and took the colors with her, buried in her grave
This is where we climbed the tower, this is where she fell
Then when her young heart stopped beating, I went to hell
Oh...This house is haunted
Oh...Ha....
Oh...This house is haunted
Ho...Oh...
You float through the living room, I watch my TV
I feel you sit down on the couch right here next to me
Then I feel your lips touch mine just like we used to do
I'm so happy all alone being here with you...
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Parents - especially step-parents - are sometimes a bit of a disappointment to their children. They don't fulfill the promise of their early years.
quote by Anthony Powell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes I Do Suspect
Sometimes I do suspect
that our love is much more
than chemical urges in the blood.
Sometimes I do suspect
that life goes on
up to a single event;
Sometimes I do suspect
that our love is much more…
poem by Gert Strydom
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Interment
Funeral.
A young man died in his sleep he was 49 years old, with my aged eyes
he was boy too young to die. I don't know the medical reason for his
early demise, think it has to do with burst blood vessel in the brain.
I went to his funeral last Sunday it was a sunny noon and thought at
least heavens could have cried. I didn't know him, but had hoped to
meet his sister, whom I adore, telling how sorry I was for her loss; but
the whole family was there in common grief, I wouldn't intrude in their
unhappiness. I spoke to a friend of hers and asked her to extend my
concern, I wanted her to know that I had been there to show respect
and that I cared. But could not escape the gnaw of guilt in my heart,
hadn't it been for her I might not have attended.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Rome at the Pyramid of Cestius Near the Graves of Shelley and Keats (1887)
Who, then, was Cestius,
And what is he to me? -
Amid thick thoughts and memories multitudinous
One thought alone brings he.
I can recall no word
Of anything he did;
For me he is a man who died and was interred
To leave a pyramid
Whose purpose was exprest
Not with its first design,
Nor till, far down in Time, beside it found their rest
Two countrymen of mine.
Cestius in life, maybe,
Slew, breathed out threatening;
I know not. This I know: in death all silently
He does a kindlier thing,
In beckoning pilgrim feet
With marble finger high
To where, by shadowy wall and history-haunted street,
Those matchless singers lie . . .
--Say, then, he lived and died
That stones which bear his name
Should mark, through Time, where two immortal Shades abide;
It is an ample fame.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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