En.Citatepedia^®.ro

My mother is, my father certainly was. They were kind of the local intelligentsia in the town where I grew up.

quote by Alison Bechdel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just An Ordinary Fellow

His life revolves around work his mates and football
But his wife and children he seldom does talk of at all
Each evening after work he calls to the pub
Or else to the bar-room of the Football Club.

In his early to mid thirties he is well liked in the town
To have kicked five goals in the local Grand Final is his one claim to renown
And though his team did not win the flag he earned his local fame
With a best on ground display on a beaten side he made for himself a name.

His wife takes care of the children a boy of four and a girl of three
She is not well known in the town few as down to earth as she
So different from her husband she's never seen at the pub
And she is not a member of any local club.

He is a well liked character and in the town well known
And the local people say of him he is one of our own
Not a bad husband and father though better than him not hard to find
Just an ordinary fellow in his own way he is kind.

poem by Francis Duggan
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I grew up to have my father's looks, my father's speech patterns, my father's posture, my father's opinions, and my mother's contempt for my father.

quote by Jules Feiffer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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My Kind Of Town

My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of people too
People who,smile at you
And each time I leave, Chicago is
Tugging my sleave, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my kind of town
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of razzmatazz
And it has, all that jazz
And each time I rome, Chicago is
Calling me home, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my kind of town
Chicago is
The Wrigley Building, Chicago is
The Union stock yard, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my
My kind of town

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half my father

Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?

poem by David E. Patton
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My Parents

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
Ilove you i love you

I looking for you
to talk about my heart
which still ill
untill i will see you

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you

You are the third one
In my small heart
After ALLAH and
And my prophet MOHAMED

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you

Oh ALLAH is ordering us
Not to make them angry
Never to tell them
the smallest word ouufff

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you

Oh ALLAH loves who
Makes his parents happy
And forgives those
Who have a lot of mistakes

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
Ilove you i love you

Oh ALLAH enter me
To the higher Firdaous
With my parents and
every single MUSLIM

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you

poem by Abderaouf Laoud
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He Feels The Time Is Ripe

Where many do live for local renown
The ageing fringe dweller in the old country town
Has never played football with the local club
And always drinks on his own when he is in the pub.

Since he does not talk about the local club's latest loss or win
He remains an outsider and does not fit in
Though he has lived here for ten years as an outsider he remain
The status of a local he has yet to attain.

He feels a decade of his life enough to have spent here
He will move to the bigger town early next year
This not a town for one such as he an artist and a talented man
More suited to a footballer or a football fan.

In the old country town he does not have a friend
And his stay in the place is coming to an end
In his early to mid fifties his best days long gone
And he feels the time is ripe for him to move on.

poem by Francis Duggan
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On His Father's Side

On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.

poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Male parental hierarchy.

My parents are two, grandparents four
And great grandparents, eight and so on.

I am known by my father, his father,
And his father and so on by male side.

My mother, her mother and father, their
Mother and father and so on are ignored.

My fathers’ mother and grandfather’s
Mother and so on go to oblivion.

I am known by my father, his father
And his father and so on as a family.

All women from whom I have drawn
Their genes have been shut out.

Parental hierarchy is represented
By male, women dislodged at every stage.
25.08.2009

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ghost Town

This town is becoming like a ghost town;
Many of our local shops are closing down.
Once upon a time, this town was really hopping,
But now people go elsewhere for their shopping.

The life from our town has been sucked out,
And nowadays there is hardly anyone about.
Local people go to other towns and cities:
That it has ended up this way, is a real pity.

The town's population is rapidly growing,
But trade in our shops is rapidly slowing.
Many units stand empty for years and years:
Owners found the rents were just way too dear.

We need some life breathed back into town;
We need to turn this situation back around.
Of help for new businesses, we need much more,
So that our town can be the place it was before.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Little Country Town

The creek down to a trickle and the paddocks looking brown
And not much ever seems to happen in the Little Country Town
lived in by the descendants of the early settlers who settled here a century ago
Of the bigger World out there few of them wish to know.

At night the recent happenings discussed in the local pub
News of the local cricketers or the local football club
Where the personal lives of those they know to them never taboo
What is happenning in the town of late who is having sex with who?

The visual or the literary arts never discussed at all
It has to be a local scandal that or bowls cricket or football
In little country towns one might say that creative types are rare
They are looked on with suspicion the culturally aware.

The creek down to a trickle and bone dry every drain
And in the local church on sunday the Reverend prays for rain
In the Main Street all is so quiet and few cars pass up and down
And life goes on as usual in the Little Country Town.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The family tree

I am known by my father
Though equally owned by mother.
I trace from my father’s father,
And not from father’s mother
Nor my mother’s mother or father.
Has family tree any sense?
19.08.2010

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Southern Kind Of Life

I grew up along way from here
I slept with the lights on for fifteen years
And Sabbath kept me home on Friday nights
and Daddy sang me Rodgers
just to make everything alright
My town wasn't even on the map
You could pass right through it in twenty seconds flat
But the south was like the whole world to me
it wasn't easy to stay but it was harder to leave

Yeah I was a south bound child
Yeah I had a small town life
But I turned out alright in the north
Livin' that southern kind of life

Old friends and bibles filled the house
no room for money and no money anyhow
deprived was something we always heard
but to me and my brother it was just another word

I use to think the north was the end
Cause people go there and they don't come back again
but my father's father was a man of the sea
He lived a southern life two blocks away from me

Yeah I was a south bound child
Yeah I had a small town life
But I turned out alright in the north
Livin' that southern kind of life

Yeah I was a south bound child
Yeah I had a small town life
But I turned out alright in the north
Livin' that southern kind of life

song performed by by Kasey Chambers from The Captain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To be fanatic

Mother is a Christian, father, an Islam,
Mother’s mother, a Jain,
Mothers father, a Buddhist,
Father’s mother a Saivite,
Father’s father a Vaishnavite,
And their forefathers none,
Which religion must I be fanatic of?
24.10.2009
[saivites = followers of God Siva;
Vaishnavites = followers of God Krishna]

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Local Outsider

To the local community he is not one of their own
And apart from them in every way he has grown
He does not share their interests of work, sports, small talk, drinking and football
In fact with them in common he has nothing at all.

He works in the big town some twenty miles away
But he returns to his home in the small town every day
Single in his mid twenties in the peak of his prime
And he does feel happy at least most of the time.

A spiritual person and an artist at heart
In community meetings and projects he never takes part
He draws and sketches at night and his art readily sell
And as a hobby artist he is doing well.

He was born in the small town but it does seem sad to say
That as a local outsider he is destined to stay
Even with those he grew up with little in common he share
He is an endangered species and his type are rare.

He is not a student of sports or football
And who won last year's Grand Final he does not recall
And though his praises none of the other locals do sing
He is his own man and he does his own thing.

poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Random things about my Mother

My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue

My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake

My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane

My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine

My mother who knew
No contentment in living

My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two

My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died

My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury

My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears

My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years

My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets

My mother who was tamed
By my father

My mother who was captured by my father

My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh

My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint

My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin

My mother who love to walk about

My mother who gave a toe
A day away

My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot

My mother who was a great dresser

My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir

My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost

My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men

My mother who tried to settle down with my father

My mother who could never swim

My mother who loved to sing

My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town

My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing

My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family

My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.

My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve

My mother who I helped to live

My mother who I had to let die

My mother who lives in me

poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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First Teacher

First teacher is Mother
Next comes father
Mother gives birth
Mother is the earth
After five years
Father takes care
No substitute of
Father and mother
And they are ours
Life's newspaper.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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
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The Orphan's Friend

Come all kind, good people,
With sympathizing hearts,
Come listen to a few kind words
A friend to you imparts.
Be kind to an orphan child,
And always be its friend,
You will be happy in this world,
And will be to the end.

Be kind to the motherless,
Little motherless ones,
For God will forever bless
You in this world to come.
No kind and loving mother
To soothe their little brow,
Be kind to them always, friends,
They have no mother now.

Be kind to the fatherless,
Wherever you may find
One little one that is friendless,
I pray you all be kind.
For it has no loving father,
To speak with mild reproof,
Or guide its youthful footsteps
In honesty and truth.

Be kind to the little orphans,
They have no parents dear;
Be kind to the little orphans,
Speak to them words of cheer,
Then they will always love you
For kind and gentle words,
Then God will ever bless you,
For He says so in His word.

poem by Julia A Moore
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