Infant Sorrow
My mother groand! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud;
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my fathers hands:
Striving against my swaddling bands:
Bound and weary I thought best
To sulk upon my mothers breast.
poem by William Blake
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Related quotes
My mother groan'd, my father wept Into the dangerous world I leapt, Helpless, naked, piping load, Like a friend hid in a cloud.
quote by William Blake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Where was father?
Quick to flatter without falter
Spreading out his seeds with speed
Leading mother to the altar
Declining to take on his role and lead
When it was time to fulfill my needs
Where was father when I needed him most?
It hurts to hear others speak of fathers and boast
Where was father when I needed him most?
I gathered he cowardly conceded his post
Where was father when I needed him most?
Did he set off for greener grasses by the coast?
We speak of fathers and mothers
We seek in no chronological order
Their guidance and support
As we learn back and forth
Where was father when I needed him most?
He abandoned his bedpost and left us to roast
Where was father when I needed him most?
It mattered to me to have him as a family host
He should have been
My personal mentor!
My cherished educator!
My inflexible motivator!
My life striving navigator!
Shall I put up a glass and shamefully toast?
To a man who stayed clear of being my guidepost
Where was father when I needed him most?
Without remorse I desire to bury his ghost
Copyright 2007 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mid the Piteous Heaps of Dead
'MID the piteous heaps of dead
Goes one weary golden head
Tossing ever to and fro,
Calling loud and calling low.
Mother, mother, step so light,
Mother, lay your fingers white
On my forehead like a dew !
Mother, mother, where are you?
Still so loud he makes his cry
That the dying cannot die;
All the writhing field's one groan
While he lies and cries alone.
But his mother's far away;
Cannot hear him cry and say:
Mother, I am dying, come!
Mother, I am lost from home!
Mary, Mother of all men,
Come and comfort him in pain.
Take his young head to the breast
Where your Child and God had rest.
Mary, Mary, step so light.
Mary, lay your fingers white
On his forehead! He shall dream
That his mother comforts him.
Mary, Mother, croon him o'er
Lullabies you sang before!
Mary, ease him, crooning low,
In the way that mothers know!
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother's Loss
If I could clasp my little babe
Upon my breast to-night,
I would not mind the blowing wind
That shrieketh in affright.
Oh, my lost babe! my little babe,
My babe with dreamful eyes;
Thy bed is cold; and night wind bold
Shrieks woeful lullabies.
My breast is softer than the sod;
This room, with lighter hearth,
Is better place for thy sweet face
Than frozen mother eatrth.
Oh, my babe! oh, my lost babe!
Oh, babe with waxen hands,
I want thee so, I need thee so -
Come from thy mystic lands!
No love that, like a mother's fills
Each corner of the heart;
No loss like hers, that rends, and chills,
And tears the soul apart.
Oh, babe - my babe, my helpless babe!
I miss thy little form.
Would I might creep where thou dost sleep,
And clasp thee through the storm.
I hold thy pillow to my breast,
To bring a vague relief;
I sing the songs that soothed thy rest -
Ah me! no cheating grief.
My breathing babe! my sobbing babe!
I miss thy plaintive moan,
I cannot hear - thou art not near -
My little one, my own.
Thy father sleeps. He mourns thy loss,
But little fathers know
The pain that makes a mother toss
Through sleepless nights of woe.
My clinging babe! my nursing babe!
What knows thy father - man -
How my breasts miss thy lips' soft kiss -
None but a mother can.
Worn out, I sleep; I wake - I weep -
I sleep - hush, hush, my dear;
Sweet lamb, fear not - Oh, God! I thought -
I thought my babe was here.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Happy Mother's Day
O Mary, Mother of God,
You are my everlasting Mother,
You help me and protect every one of us,
Whatever it might be, unlike other;
O Mother dear,
You are my most beloved Mother,
With your two hands you did so much,
It is beyond any words thinkable.
Comfort thy O Mother,
And endeavor to do,
What is conducive to
The happiness of her heart.
O Mother, Mary
Give us all the blessings and unconditional love,
Taking care of us all the time,
Thank you so much, O Mother Mary.
Mothers around the world,
The burden and suffering you carry are so great,
They beat every Guinness Book world records made,
But you know your responsibilities have not ended yet.
Be sure to enjoy this joyous day,
For love is poured especially for you,
Cherish and remember this wonderful day,
For you all are the greatest mothers.
May God Bless All Mothers on Earth;
Happy Mother’s Day to Our Beloved mothers.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The big question
Sex is this wondrous, marvellous thing
that the young discover
and bring home to mother
Mother, of course, only ever indulged
that night that the light bulb
blew up in the lounge.
She never enjoyed anything quite so rude,
she just thought of England
or made us beef stew.
Sex is reserved for the young, so it seems,
their mothers don't do it
it's far too obscene.
What about fathers, perhaps, do you think?
Do fathers all do it?
Ask mum in a tick!
Mother denies it; she says it's not true!
Then how come she gave birth
to me and to you?
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother Wept
Mother wept, and father sigh’d;
With delight a-glow
Cried the lad, “To-morrow,” cried,
“To the pit I go.”
Up and down the place he sped,
Greeted old and young,
Far and wide the tidings spread,
Clapp’d his hands and sung.
Came his cronies, some to gaze
Rapt in wonder; some
Free with counsel; some with praise;
Some with envy dumb.
“May he,” many a gossip cried,
“Be from peril kept;”
Father hid his face and sighed,
Mother turned and wept
poem by Joseph Skipsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Host Of The Air
O'DRISCOLL drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.
And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.
He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.
And he saw young men and young girls
Who danced on a level place,
And Bridget his bride among them,
With a sad and a gay face.
The dancers crowded about him
And many a sweet thing said,
And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.
But Bridget drew him by the sleeve
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards
With a twinkling of ancient hands.
The bread and the wine had a doom,
For these were the host of the air;
He sat and played in a dream
Of her long dim hair.
He played with the merry old men
And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride
Away from the merry dance.
He bore her away in his atms,
The handsomest young man there,
And his neck and his breast and his arms
Were drowned in her long dim hair.
O'Driscoll scattered the cards
And out of his dream awoke:
Old men and young men and young girls
Were gone like a drifting smoke;
But he heard high up in the air
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm Still My Father's Child
When I lost my father I put myself under the fatherless, but
Now I know he had to go for me to realise that
I’ve always been blessed with two fathers
When I lost my father I thought everybody you love is bound to leave
But now I know he was just here for a purpose and he had to go
For me to realise that I have a Father that will never leave nor forsake me
When I lost my father I thought it was the end of what we had, but
Now I realise that our relationship was a parable. He has to leave
For me to practice what he taught me with my eternal Father
When I lost my father I thought nobody will ever fill his space, but
He had to leave for me to know my Heavenly Father
For us to have a close relationship that we have now
When I lost my father I though God had taken him away from me, but
Now I understand that he had to go for me
To remain my Father’s child forever.
I AM MY FATHER’S CHILD
poem by Sihle KaPhila Zulu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Boy to A Man
Father dear father
I must have loved you
But to hear you
Hurt my mother
Made me want
To hate you
I should have been able
To look up to you like all sons do
But all I wanted to do
Was hurt you
I'd lie in bed awake
And hear my mothers cries
All I could do
Was try find a world without you
We feared you
We fled you
But we could
Never escape you
Untill one dark night
I stopped you
And saw the fear
In your eyes
I went from boy to a man
To stop my mothers cries
I still look back with sadness
But I can still see my mothers pride
As I stand by her side
Boy to a man
In loving memory to my mother
poem by Dave Alan Walker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Fellowed Sleep
I fellowed sleep who kissed me in the brain,
Let fall the tear of time; the sleeper's eye,
Shifting to light, turned on me like a moon.
So, planning-heeled, I flew along my man
And dropped on dreaming and the upward sky.
I fled the earth and, naked, climbed the weather,
Reaching a second ground far from the stars;
And there we wept I and a ghostly other,
My mothers-eyed, upon the tops of trees;
I fled that ground as lightly as a feather.
'My fathers' globe knocks on its nave and sings.'
'This that we tread was, too, your father's land.'
'But this we tread bears the angelic gangs
Sweet are their fathered faces in their wings.'
'These are but dreaming men. Breathe, and they fade.'
Faded my elbow ghost, the mothers-eyed,
As, blowing on the angels, I was lost
On that cloud coast to each grave-grabbing shade;
I blew the dreaming fellows to their bed
Where still they sleep unknowing of their ghost.
Then all the matter of the living air
Raised up a voice, and, climbing on the words,
I spelt my vision with a hand and hair,
How light the sleeping on this soily star,
How deep the waking in the worlded clouds.
There grows the hours' ladder to the sun,
Each rung a love or losing to the last,
The inches monkeyed by the blood of man.
And old, mad man still climbing in his ghost,
My fathers' ghost is climbing in the rain.
poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Who is a Mother
Who is a Mother?
A mother is someone
soft and kind
Firm not harsh
Someone who is always
willing to give a listening ear.
Someone we cherish each
and everyday
Mothers are rare like
precious gems
Many have children
but few mother them.
Mothers unique
World around
Mother this day
celebrations abound.
Mother who dare goes by that name?
Only them that know, to nurture,
Care and understand.
Mothers near and far stand tall
Be you Aunt, Grandma or Mother dear
Mother – who is Mother here?
poem by Elaine Oxamendi Vicet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wishing And Willing..
When the baby kicks in the womb,
A few parents touch to have the kick,
Most mothers excited, while the fathers too,
A few miss this opportunity as not bothered to,
The crying of the babies never fails to wake up,
The loving hearts of the mother and father,
The crying of the mothers never fails to shaken up,
The young hearts of children, who see the rift,
Hearts of children love their mother,
As it listened to her beats day and night,
Hearts of children are attracted to the mother,
As she is the one, who listens to their blabber,
The crying of babies never fails to wake up the mother,
The crying of mothers never fails to shaken up the children.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mothers Always Want Theirs Sons To Be Happy
mothers always want their sons to be happy
and so even if they marry someone
whom their fathers dislike
it is always them who settle for a compromise
and tell fathers to be flexible sometimes
not to hurt the hearts of sons
but sometimes when sons want something else
that only mothers understand
something that fathers cannot really compromise
mothers still compromise
and walk a mile farther
just to make their sons happy
and their sons leave them
to places that only mothers
by their loving hearts
know.
only mothers, yes only mothers,
and no one else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mistrust
The mistrust spread over the world
Where does it first unfurl
From what cocoon does it uncurl
Do fathers mistrust mothers
Do mothers mistrust fathers
Do fathers mistrust sons
Do mothers mistrust daughters
Do we trust our own selves
If trust is not found at home
If mistrust is the legacy of home
Then what hope have we
That trust will be
Born into this place
Love of self and self alone
Brings to us this bone of mistrust
And enfleshes to its birth.
7/5/2009
poem by Claude H Oliver II
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fathers hands
Born in her mothers whomb,
held so gently in fathers arms,
such grace and ease as a young third born child looks
up at the father with wide eyes and amazement,
as they take their first look into eachothers eyes feeled with wonder,
their hearts connect with a father daughter bond that binds around the
thorns of a rose...
As she grows she wispers, forever my father you will be and this bond
a daughter has for her father will forever be bound.
poem by Melissa Hatch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where woman lacks importance
Delivered and moulded by my mother,
I was identified with my father,
Who, delivered and moulded by mother,
Was identified with his father.
I go with my son; wife is an onlooker.
The son of my daughter I've no claim on.
In each generation, mother is removed
From the memory line of the family.
Let my name carry the name of mother
And of father behind it to the world.
Let me have the names of the grand mothers
And grandfathers on both sides in record.
14.10.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Listen To Your Mother
'Wait till your Father get's home'
that was what my Mother would say
but he'd see me all well behaved
so I'd be off out again to play.
'Look at the state of your clothes'
that was what my Mother would say
but I'd tell her someone pushed me over
when really I'd played Football most of the day.
'Don't you forget to do your homework'
that was what my Mother would say
but instead of writing about Kings of England
I'd be reading about Footballers like Greaves and Pele.
'Your a right little cheeky Monkey '
that was what my Mother would say
but I'd tell her that she loved me really
which always seemed to make her day.
'I won't be around for ever you know'
that was what my mother used to say
'What do you mean of course you will
you'll be here in the house all old and Grey.'
'I really miss your Mother you know '
that was what my Father used to say
but I thought she'd be here forever
nobody told me that Mothers can pass away.
But we had a great Mother and Son relationship
and she knew I was just being a young lad
but when I'm down I just think of her
and those thoughts always make me feel glad.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!