No matter how old we become, we can still call them 'Holy Mother' and 'Father' and put a child-like trust in them.
quote by Desmond Morris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Honor Our Father! ! !
I remember when I was young,
My New Life with Christ, Just begun,
I became Born-again!
I'll Never forget that day,
When Jesus came in my heart, To Stay!
He's been guiding me all this way,
One day I asked Him'Father, What should I do?
My earthly Dad, wants to be called father too
I know Your Word says, Call No man Father
On Earth, But Only Our Father in Heaven,
You're The Father -of us all, This is True! ! !
Father replied'My Child, You don't understand
'I AM' 'Your Holy Father'
Your earthly father is a Human, man
But You are to Honor Your Father and Mother,
Because that's one of My Commands,
By Honoring them, You also Honor Me!
I appointed Your Parents, to guide You to see,
Jesus! Through Him, You've come to me,
'I AM' The Holy Father, I give Eternal Life!
poem by Patricia Martin
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A Child’s Prayer
HOLY MOTHER! Holy Mother!
In the dark I fear.
Light me with thy shining eyes,
Be thou ever near.
Holy Mother! Holy Mother!
Call thy little Son,
Bid Him bring me praying dreams
Ere the night be done.
Call the angels, call them early,
Bid them fly to thee,
One to call the little birds,
One to waken me.
poem by Silas Weir Mitchell
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Born To Be Ransomed
Born to be ransomed,
Born for a reason,
On one side Love,
On the other side Security,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed elsewhere,
Or,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed with them,
Born to be ransomed,
Held ransomed by those,
For security measures of the father and mother,
So,
They are called on by the beckoning,
Of,
Those holding child held by ransomed,
Is what people do when child means,
A lot to mother and father,
Love and security in family keepings,
Born to be ransomed,
With intent to use child,
By the takers of child,
To profit and gain,
For themselves in lifes times,
When child born is then used,
Till,
Mother and father is killed,
And,
Child is then raised in a racket,
For,
What mother and father were,
And,
Left for the child when child grown,
In giving is receiving,
All that has good intentions,
Gives for good reasons,
Yet,
Why one is born to be ransomed,
Is,
The what see's and pre-desires,
The placement and life,
Of,
What two in love have made,
The unborn child then becomes,
The ransom of what wants,
What,
The two have in love and wealth,
When this goes on and child is grown,
The eyes that see and yet do not understand,
Is,
The child raised seeing all,
From,
The good ways,
To the bad ways,
To the cruel ways,
To,
The crimes committed and seen,
Is,
The eyes of seeing,
From,
Been born in a world disrupted,
Is,
A child born and ransomed,
What is of matter,
Mattering to two,
Two in love,
That,
Choose to be one,
One as in a couple,
To matter and be,
For,
What matters to them,
Is,
What brings matter of two,
To,
Become a matter of one,
A,
Child born of two,
Yet,
Now matter's to none,
But,
What ransoms the child out,
Till,
The child grew to be,
And,
Left them all behind,
Knowing,
Mother and father are dead,
Living,
Life knowing too much,
Just,
From been the ransom,
The ransom,
Of,
All,
That,
Is,
Of,
Mother and father,
Till,
All,
Of,
Mother and father's,
Income and places,
Was,
Spent and giving to others,
Tis,
Then,
Ransomed child grown,
Can,
Leave,
With noting,
But themselve,
To have some kind,
Of life,
Somewhere else,
Faraway!
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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No Matter, Never Min
What said No Matter, Never Mind
By Gary Snyder
What if
Once Said
Mind is equal to Matter
Matter of origin is dance
The Father is the Voild
The wife Waves
Their child is Matter.
Matter makes it with the mother
And their child is Life,
a daughter.
The Daughter is the Great Mother
Who, wuth her father/brother Matter
as her lover,
Give birth to the Mind.
Mind contains a poem.
Poem is Empty
poem by Kyungdae Min
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Age Demaned
The age demanded chiefly a mould in plaster,
Made with no loss of time
No matter, never mind
Do you know
Gary Snyder's poetry as follows:
The Father is the void
The wife Waves
Their child is Matter.
Matter makes it with his mother
And their child is Life,
a daughter.
The daughter is the Great Mother
Who, with her father/brother Matter
as her lover,
Give birth to the Mind.
This is DNA poem.
Language is Foxp2
poem by Kyungdae Min
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Missing Link
A sickly child lie
frail on the sofa in the living room.
A knock on the door,
His mother opened.
The man who entered the child knew it was his father.
Whose child is this?
“It is your youngest son” his mother said.
The children in the street
all had a father; the child had waited for him.
But his father ignored him,
gave chocolate to his sister and brother,
then he drank from a bottle,
his mother threw him out.
Next day asked his mother, ” are you sure he is my father? ”
She slapped her son’s face and cried.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Call You Friend
I call You kindness
I call You gentleness
I call You Truth.
I call You beauty
I call You wisdom
I call You Beloved.
I call You light
I call You trust
I call You father, mother,
daughter, son
I love You because I must
I call You Friend.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Authorship
You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don't
understand.
He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really
make out what he meant?
What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can't father
write like that, I wonder?
Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and
fairies and princesses?
Has he forgotten them all?
Often when he gets late for his bath you have to and call him
an hundred times.
You wait and keep his dishes warm for him, but he goes on
writing and forgets.
Father always plays at making books.
If ever I go to play in father's room, you come and call me,
"What a naughty child!"
If I make the slightest noise you say, "Don't you see that
father's at his work?"
What's the fun of always writing and writing?
When I take up father's pen or pencil and write upon his book
just as he does,-a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,-why do you get cross with me
then, mother?
You never say a word when father writes.
When my father wastes such heaps of paper, mother, you don't
seem to mind at all.
But if I take only one sheet to take a boat with, you say,
"Child, how troublesome you are!"
What do you think of father's spoiling sheets and sheets of
paper with black marks all over both sides?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Dear Dr Freud
Dear Dr Freud
You wanted kill your father
To possess your mother
Your parents wanted to kill you
To possess each other
Dear Dr Freud
When a child is born
It has to face two hired ruffians
One is the child's mother
The child' s father is the other
You call them the agents of Superego
Used with the two goons
The grown up child
Learns to live as long as he can
In a world infested with snakes and tigers wild
Call it socialisation?
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Truth Smiles In Child!
What an eternal pair they are,
God and Nature, positive and negative,
God revolving freely around nature,
Smiles at Nature,
And Nature smiles at God,
Smile makes one beautiful and they fell in love of beauty in one another!
Just like parents smile AT the kid,
Nature says to God,
'See, This child is your Creation,
you are its father,
take care of it '
God smiles and says, 'Its your child,
take care of this,
And this is your child '
Child smiles innocently at both,
Nature Smile at child and says,
I am your mother, He is your father,
When child smiles at father,
father's heart too jumps and smiles,
Father sees its beloved Nature,
And Nature sees her Beloved God in the smile of the child!
In the child both smile together, seeing at one another!
Matter smiles at energy and energy smiles at matter,
and in the child both smile together,
But in their love and smile,
Truth smiles,
eyes of both God, Nature shine at the smile of the Child,
Never both able to see the silent smile of Truth,
It says within child, it's soliliquoy goes unheard,
' I am that,
Smiled in you,
I am the creator of both,
But God and Nature Never able to see me,
Only seeing me as their child,
I smile At them,
that I kept my identity,
Hidden safe in You '
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Mother
A mother shows the child the world
A mother is its world when small
A mother shows the child what's love
A mother loves her child like a doll!
A mother makes the home and bed
A mother cares for all at home
A mother trains the child to walk
And stand on own, perfectly talk.
A mother is the teacher prime
A mother moulds the character
A mother shows the child to pray
And trust the unseen God all life.
A mother is the child's best friend
A mother knows its needs and wants
A mother cares for child when sick
And feels so proud, when child achieves.
Children, thank God for a good mother
On ‘Mother's day! '
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-05-12
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Family
She came to me so sweetly,
life bubbling from within her
strong as an angel's beating wings;
more spirit than child
yet emerging as a person
into this life full blown
brimming with that
unconscious happiness
youth brings.
Understand:
every parent feels this way
about every child,
no matter what happens
in the in-between;
no matter the heart-ache
the Bond remains;
no matter how battered
the relationship,
trust the love
is there beneath
the frown;
no matter the arguments,
the confusion;
the mayhem;
that love is there for you.
It came with your birth
and never dies.
Even love badly expressed
feint and halting
and not enough-
even never expressed;
it is still love.
Disappointments come
from love not hate
only indifference is fatal;
And, you love them too.
Yes, you do.
They are planted in your soul's soil
forever;
indelibly.
They brought life to you.
Yours is the sacred Bond
Mother and Child
Father and Child
Family
alway present
in mind and heart
never gone.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Prayer of a Father
our generation of children are going astray
to hung down pants and children
who don’t want to obey
some mothers are there
but there's nothing like having a father’s prayer
one who is concerned and
there who really cares
to recapture our children from the enemy’s snares
a father that doesn’t run
from the responsibility
of having a daughter or a son
a prayer of a father
covers and protects
it’s a spiritual sound covering which doesn’t neglect
whether near or far
a father's prayer
means more than his car
it shows his love
that no matter what
when he kneels in righteous prayer
it’s a sign that echoes
to our Heavenly Father's Chair
our children or crying and
living with an inner-dying
hidden anger, peer-pressure, and
wickedness danger
don't let myspace be your child's
best friend, ipods, and cell phones
can never take the place
of a human loving touch
by a fatherly face
i admonish you to keep the faith
trust God for your child that
he or she doesn't go astray
thank God for the Church
and ministries not are not corrupt
but know this father that your
first call of God is to sponsor
your child without interrupt
Prayer of a Father
'where there is no happiness lean on commitment'
Much Love,
poem by Yolonda Lee
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Mother, I May Have Been A Naughty Child
Mother, I may have been a naughty child,
But I am your child nevertheless!
You own the world, mother, you are the queen of the world,
And look at me, I go about in the habit of a beggar.
You are bent on neglecting me,
But I love you anyway, it is you, only you that I call upon.
Just as a child runs to his mother even after she has scolded him,
So do I run to you.
How could you push me away from you, mother,
You are my mother, are you not?
Oh, why did you cast me away, mother,
Leave me to play in the dust?
I would have been a better child,
Had only you been a little more kind to me.
I am sad and angry, mother,
I shall go away anywhere my eyes and my feet take me to.
I do not care now whether i live or die now, mother,
I am going away.
poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam
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The Forsaken
Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I am very weary. I have come
from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such
far roaming. I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was. Mary Mother, you know the cause!
Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me! Let this fear
be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming. For months I have hoped
it was so, now I am afraid I know. Lady, why should this be shame,
just because I haven't got his name. He loved me, yes, Lady, he did,
and he couldn't keep it hid. We meant to marry. Why did he die?
That day when they told me he had gone down in the avalanche, and could not
be found until the snow melted in Spring, I did nothing. I could not cry.
Why should he die? Why should he die and his child live? His little child
alive in me, for my comfort. No, Good God, for my misery! I cannot face
the shame, to be a mother, and not married, and the poor child to be reviled
for having no father. Merciful Mother, Holy Virgin, take away this sin I did.
Let the baby not be. Only take the stigma off of me!
I have told no one but you, Holy Mary. My mother would call me 'whore',
and spit upon me; the priest would have me repent, and have
the rest of my life spent in a convent. I am no whore, no bad woman,
he loved me, and we were to be married. I carried him always in my heart,
what did it matter if I gave him the least part of me too? You were a virgin,
Holy Mother, but you had a son, you know there are times when a woman
must give all. There is some call to give and hold back nothing.
I swear I obeyed God then, and this child who lives in me is the sign.
What am I saying? He is dead, my beautiful, strong man! I shall never
feel him caress me again. This is the only baby I shall have.
Oh, Holy Virgin, protect my baby! My little, helpless baby!
He will look like his father, and he will be as fast a runner and as good
a shot. Not that he shall be no scholar neither. He shall go to school
in winter, and learn to read and write, and my father will teach him to carve,
so that he can make the little horses, and cows, and chamois,
out of white wood. Oh, No! No! No! How can I think such things,
I am not good. My father will have nothing to do with my boy,
I shall be an outcast thing. Oh, Mother of our Lord God, be merciful,
take away my shame! Let my body be as it was before he came.
No little baby for me to keep underneath my heart for those long months.
To live for and to get comfort from. I cannot go home and tell my mother.
She is so hard and righteous. She never loved my father, and we were born
for duty, not for love. I cannot face it. Holy Mother, take my baby away!
Take away my little baby! I don't want it, I can't bear it!
And I shall have nothing, nothing! Just be known as a good girl.
Have other men want to marry me, whom I could not touch, after having known
my man. Known the length and breadth of his beautiful white body,
and the depth of his love, on the high Summer Alp, with the moon above,
and the pine-needles all shiny in the light of it. He is gone, my man,
I shall never hear him or feel him again, but I could not touch another.
I would rather lie under the snow with my own man in my arms!
So I shall live on and on. Just a good woman. With nothing to warm my heart
where he lay, and where he left his baby for me to care for. I shall not be
quite human, I think. Merely a stone-dead creature. They will respect me.
What do I care for respect! You didn't care for people's tongues
when you were carrying our Lord Jesus. God had my man give me my baby,
when He knew that He was going to take him away. His lips will comfort me,
his hands will soothe me. All day I will work at my lace-making,
and all night I will keep him warm by my side and pray the blessed Angels
to cover him with their wings. Dear Mother, what is it that sings?
I hear voices singing, and lovely silver trumpets through it all. They seem
just on the other side of the wall. Let me keep my baby, Holy Mother.
He is only a poor lace-maker's baby, with a stain upon him,
but give me strength to bring him up to be a man.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Crys
Crys are various and many-to list, it would go like this: -
The cry of a newborn just come from Heaven
The cry of the mother's joy knowing her child is born well
She holds her child to her breast to let it know that she loves the child
The cry of the father's joy holding the child in his arms
The father kissing the child on its forehead so the child can feel its father
The cry of the wolf in the woods gathering the pack together
The bleat of a mother sheep after giving birth to her child
The cry of a young boy who fell on the ice while ice skating
He had hurt himself quite badly
The cry of a little girl who fell and scraped her knee
Of all the crys in the world these are just a few
April 25,2006, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
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Child
Child,
God knows
how much I love you.
Child,
I may not be
the kind of mother
that you want,
I may not have given you
the kind of life
that you want,
but I'm your mother
and no one can change that.
Child,
you are so dear to me,
and all through my life
I wish nothing
but your happiness.
Child,
forgive this mother
for not having the strength
to protect you from sadness
of being apart
from your loved one.
But child,
I am more sad
when you cry for a man
whom I think
not worthy of you.
So child,
please bear the pain
because I believe
that somewhere
there is someone
worthy of your love.
Child,
trust me
you will find that man,
if you just set yourself free
from your wrong love.
Child,
I'm your mother...
I have raised you,
and I know
what is best for you.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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She Sinful Or Wild
All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right
until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she
had been waiting for
the one she'd dreamed
about but then it all
went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was
the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that
episode in the bath
when she tried to
drown herself as her
mother had before her
and she discovered her
as a child coming home
from school and the
door was ajar and when
she went in there was
her mother with her
wrists slit and blood
and her mother drowned
and dead and now sitting
there in her mother's
chair her father some
place her husband poking
some other and all or
nothing at all seemed all
there was left apart from
the few books on the shelf
the Bill Burroughs her mother
had read and left and that
Bukowski book she'd found
in some second shop and the
battered Bible which her
father had beat her about
the head and backside with
as a child when her father
had been boozing or she
had been sinful or wild.
poem by Terry Collett
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Polytheist
One comes to love the little saints,
As years go by.
One learns to love the little saints.
'O hear me sigh,
St. Anthony,
Find this for me,
I wish you'd try.'
There must be many garden gods,
A gardener sees.
There'd have to be an orchard god. 'Divinities,
Take honour due.
The long year through
Protect these trees.'
The Mother and the Holy Child
Are friends to me.
I pray, 'I am my mother's child.
I trust you'll see
That days are bright
And all goes right
With her and me.'
poem by Lesbia Harford
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I Trust You Father
I trust you father to provide
a path for me to walk, ...
and wisdom to ignore the fools, ...
let them laugh and let them talk
I trust you father to instill
a roadmap for my life
that steers me towards the rightous few
and spares me pain and strife
I trust you father to remind
me of my own free will,
that pitfalls lie within my path,
that I must climb uphill
I trust you father to accept
that sometimes I grow weak,
and thrist for waters of this world,
and other love I'll seek
I trust you father to forgive
my sins in Jesus' name,
and when I die my soul will rise,
and salvation I can claim
I trust you father
poem by Steven Taylor
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