An EPITAPH On my dear and ever honoured Mother Mrs. Dorothy Dudley, who deceased Decemb. 27. 1643. a
A worthy Matron of unspotted life,
A loving Mother and obedient wife,
A friendly Neighbor, pitiful to poor,
Whom oft she fed, and clothed with her store;
To Servants wisely aweful, but yet kind,
And as they did, so they reward did find:
A true Instructer of her Family,
The which she ordered with dexterity.
The publick meetings ever did frequent,
And in her Closet constant hours she spent;
Religious in all her words and wayes,
Preparing still for death, till end of dayes:
Of all her Children, Children, liv'd to see,
Then dying, left a blessed memory.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Epitaphs
Her Mother's Epitaph
Here lies
A worthy matron of unspotted life,
A loving mother and obedient wife,
A friendly neighbor, pitiful to poor,
Whom oft she fed, and clothed with her store;
To servants wisely aweful, but yet kind,
And as they did, so they reward did find:
A true instructor of her family,
The which she ordered with dexterity,
The public meetings ever did frequent,
And in her closest constant hours she spent;
Religious in all her words and ways,
Preparing still for death, till end of days:
Of all her children, children lived to see,
Then dying, left a blessed memory.
Her Father's Epitaph
Within this tomb a patriot lies
That was both pious, just and wise,
To truth a shield, to right a wall,
To sectaries a whip and maul,
A magazine of history,
A prizer of good company
In manners pleasant and severe
The good him loved, the bad did fear,
And when his time with years was spent
In some rejoiced, more did lament.
1653, age 77
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Showing gratitude to a lovely father
My father! My father! My father! I might not have gold to give you. I might not have silver to give you. I might not have money to build houses on the ocean for you. I might not have money to buy yacht for you. I might not even have diamond to give you. Your words and brillant advice is far better than a thousand diamond placed together. Your words and advice makes the eagle soar. How much can i appreciate you.If darkness comes, if heaven falls, and hell is let lose. I will pick you again and again till thy kingdom come as a true and a worthy father. God bless you and spare your life for your children to pay for your kind gestures. All i want you to know is that no amount of payment can be appreciated or quantified to that which you have done for us. I don, t know how else to say thank you sir. I know God will richly pay and reward you handsomely. All what we your children say is that we are pregnant with gratitude with a solemn heart, we will be grateful all the days of our lives. Remain blessed
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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We're All God's Children
Album: Peace In The Valley
Here comes a Baptist, here comes a Jew
There goes a Mormon and a Muslim too
I see a Buddist and a Hindu
I see a Catholic and I see you
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
You like the day, and I like the night
He's into country and he's isn't quit
There's folks on the left and the far right
But that doesn't mean that we have to fight
We're all god's children
All god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
White folks, yellow folks, black and tan
On the same planet in the same plan
A feminist woman and a he man
We're all playin' the magic hand
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Oh, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
All god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
All god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all black and white
We're all precious in his sight
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we all be
One big happy family...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Faithful As Forever
Yes, as faithful as forever, that's how she was to me!
She was noble, she was clever and welcomed chivalry!
She championed every worthy cause and blessed both rich and poor.
She lived obedient to God's laws and loved Him more and more!
Charity was her middle name... Upon the streets she stood!
Collecting funds became her aim - she did the best she could!
With table tops outside the shops and bric-a-brac galore,
My mother truly was the tops with trinkets by the score!
The paperbacks were on display - romances by the ton!
And hand-on-heart, I'll truly say, she'd read them, every one!
She sold them off for cash-in-hand, her charities to bless...
So children in another land would find some happiness!
My mother knew that she was smart, yet she chose to be bold!
My mother had a wondrous heart... Her soul was good as gold!
Lord Jesus told her to prepare as she reached her life's end!
'For all your life you've showed you care. You tried to be a friend.
Your time is near, and so be strong! Have faith, you're in My hands!
I know for life you truly long, yet I have other plans...
Believe in Me, no more than now, when weak and at your worst!
For I am He who will allow your future, blessed or cursed!
Indeed, I've seen with My own eyes your good deeds, one by one!
I've seen your frowns and heard your sighs; I know what must be done!
Your journey waits - be strong, be brave! Yet know tranquillity...
For everyone God bid Me save will always come to Me...'
This prophecy was then relayed to those most dear to her...
So they would know, 'Don't be afraid! ' For such things must occur!
Her last week on this Earth was spent at home then hospital...
She claimed loved ones to her were sent and that she heard them call.
She saw the dead, her family... they waved to her in bed!
Within that week God's prophecy came true as Jesus said...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Experience Is God
I asked, ‘What comes with birth? '
Born and see, God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is said to be education? '
Study and see God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is knowledge? '
Know and see God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is kindness? '
Be kind and shower, God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is love? '
Share with others, God ordered!
I asked, ‘What pleasure do you get from wife? '
Marry and experience, God ordered!
I asked, ‘Who is child to you? '
Get a child for you, God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is old age? '
Become old and observe God ordered!
I asked, ‘What is poverty? '
Toil and see God ordered!
I asked, ‘What happens after death? '
Die and see God ordered!
If anyone wants to know what is life,
And he has to experience and know,
Then why are you, GOD?
GOD said, ‘O' poor man,
The experience itself is ME!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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What Kind of Monsters
The Billings a Family who adopted twelve children and had four natural children were murdered, many of the adopted Children are severely delayed and it is believed that at least three of the Children saw what happened.
What kind of monster
Strips that kind of love from
A Child?
What kind of monster
Does something so
Heinous
To a family who opened
Up home and heart.
I wonder what kind of monster
Takes the security of a loving
Family away
From Children
Who need love?
What kind of monster?
I really can not even begin
To say/
Copyright Michelle R Kidwell
July.13.09
7: 17 P.M PST
poem by Michelle Kidwell
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A Poem to My Father on his 100th Birth Anniversary
Oh, what a great man, father was,
Mere words of mine can’t tell;
His death was surely, great a loss,
For mother, children, well!
A humble man with talents great,
Astounding, erudite;
The lucre of the world couldn’t bait
Him anytime nor bite!
He used his talents God-given,
For sake of poor brethren;
He earned a place good in heaven,
And love of kith and kin!
If he were ’live today, he’ll be
A hundred years of age!
He served well God, the Almighty,
And earned His golden page.
Like bright a star, he shines in sky,
And guides his children, wife;
We yearn to meet him when we die:
What exemplary life!
Dedicated in memory of my loving father,
Shri. A.T.Antoniswamy M.A., L.T., (late)
poem by John Celes
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Poverty
I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.
Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a hovel so dismal and rude;
And though gnawing hunger they felt,
They had not a morsel of food.
The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother they’d run;
‘Oh, give us some breakfast,’ they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.
She viewed them with looks of despair,
She said (and I’m sure it was true),
‘’Tis not for myself that I care,
But, my poor little children, for you.’
O then, let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this,
That in a poor cottage of clay
They may know what true misery is.
And what I may have to bestow
I never will squander away,
While many poor people I know
Around me are wretched as they.
poem by Jane Taylor
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My wonderful wife............
Since we married, our life journey sails smoothly
step by step with out any barrier or trouble
We walk side by side as a husband and wife
We know the day when we started our life
Those roads were hard and mountain to walk and climb
The sun and rain showered its strength on us while walking on the road
The nights were thoughtful of our future instead of honeymoon
But your strength and faith made me to over come all those obstacles
Your love and courage energized me to build up from the scrape
Your kindness and patient kept me away from sadness and frustrations
You are always remains as my wonderful and loving wife
Now we have lovely family and blessed with two wonderful sons
We can be proud what we have done for us and for our children
Our love and guidance could help our children to live decently
Not only they will learn to care of their children but also us
It has been twenty years since we told ' I Do' front of God
But my love still grows for you strong and everlasting trust
I could not imagine how my life would have been without you
I have to thank God for giving me a wonderful and understanding wife
and making us a great family as husband, wife and children
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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An Odd Conceit
Lovely kind, and kindly loving,
Such a mind were worth the moving;
Truly fair, and fairly true-
Where are all these, but in you?
Wisely kind, and kindly wise;
Blessed life, where such love lies!
Wise, and kind, and fair, and true-
Lovely live all these in you.
Sweetly dear, and dearly sweet;
Blessed, where these blessings meet!
Sweet, fair, wise, kind, blessed, true-
Blessed be all these in you!
poem by Nicholas Breton
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More Precious Than Rubies
To those who know a Mother's worth,
What words are left to say,
About the one who gave us birth
And loved us day-by-day?
Though rich or poor, she did her best
With what she had at hand,
To nurture those she wanted blessed
For all that God had planned...
Correcting wrongs, maintaining rights,
A sweetheart known to all,
A constant source of true delights,
A comfort should we fall...
Someone who prayed for patience, too,
When faith was all there was...
Beyond the sorrows she went through
When children made her cross...
Must it take years for us to learn
How much each Mum can love,
Before we, too, that love return?
But then, is this enough?
If only we could love Mums more,
What miracles we'd see...
With happy homes, my friend, for sure,
With God-blessed harmony...
Denis Martindale, copyright, Mother's Day 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
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The pain behind the smile
I often saw her at the shops with her kids
she was friendly and would say hello,
then I heard some really tragic news
she'd jumped from a high building onto the floor below.
So I went and saw all the masses of flowers
at the place this poor woman had been found,
adults were standing with small children sobbing
while others were reading tributes not making a sound.
Then later on I saw her smiling picture in the paper
I never knew her but I still felt very sad,
it said she was a loving mother to her children
and it was her kids who made her happy and glad.
So why did she go and jump to her death?
what was she hiding behind her beautiful smile?
this poor young woman must have been full of agony
and putting on a brave act all the while.
Three lovely young children have now lost their Mum
but I hope their Mother is now in a much better place,
it just shows what some people are concealing though
behind that forced smile that appears on their face.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Lost and Found
In a southern city lived a wealthy family;
In a southern city was the happy home
Of a father and mother and a little daughter.
In peace and contentment they lived alone.
But one summer evening there happened a misfortune,
Which caused the parents to weep and mourn,
For this little daughter, a loving little treasure,
Was a poor little wanderer far, far from home.
It happened thus, -- the mother went out calling
On a widow friend, who lived all alone;
She left her little daughter in the care of her father,
And through his neglect she wandered from home.
The father rocked his child, till her eyes closed in slumber;
Thought he to himself, I'll go over across the way,
And see a neighbor friend; he'll be there this evening,
And I must see him before he goes away.
He left his little one, he supposed, sweetly sleeping
In her little cradle, in the house alone,
And in his great hurry he left the gate ajar;
This thoughtlessness caused destruction to his home.
Soon after he was gone she awoke from her slumber,
Poor child, she then found herself all alone,
For no one was there, no one heard her weeping
As she wandered away far, far from home.
She wandered along on the busy thoroughbare,
No one seemed to notice this little one alone;
She wandered down Broadway till the little feet were tired,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
At last, getting weary, she sat down on the pavement,
And soon fell asleep, so tired had she grown;
In her troubled sleep she would softly murmur, papa;
This poor little lost one so far away from home.
A policeman came along and saw her sweetly sleeping,
On the pavement at midnight alone.
He gently picked her up and took her to the station,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
He advertised, but could not find her parents;
At last he took her to the orphan home,
Where she lived till a farmer in the country
Took her to live with him, this wanderer alone.
The father died o'er the loss of his daughter,
The mother sought for her three years alone;
At last she found her with kind people in the country,
Her poor little wanderer far away from home.
Kind people can imagine the joy of the mother,
When she found her little loving one.
"Oh God," exclaimed the mother, "I have found my little Alice,
My poor little wanderer far away from home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Prayers of parents make a peaceful heaven to a home
Prayers of parents make a peaceful heaven to a home
The children who neglect their parents will be cursed,
The Nature makes such children’s house a hellish dome,
They are lucky children who are blessed by their parents,
It is said that there is a heaven under the legs of mother,
The children love or not to their mother but she loves all,
She embraces good or bad children but she can’t smother,
Mother is habituated to pray to God for all their happiness,
A few children won’t love their parents but love their wives,
In old age parents are in need of only their children’s love,
Who devote God, adore parents will be happy in their lives,
Love of parents always comes to children from the sky above,
God bless those children who are blessed by their parents,
And God curse those children who are cursed by their parents.
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
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Mother Is Dying: Part 2 (Filicide)
Mother is infuriated
Mother is irritated
Mother is agitated
Mother is aggravated
Tormented by Her children
Sickened by Her children
Scarred by Her children
She is beginning to die
Mother was gentle
Mother was accepting
Mother was enduring
Though mother is now corrupted,
Similar to Her children
Her anger boils from her very core
Swirling vortexes of hatred dominate the skies
Her loathe floods Her children’s lives
The incarnate of Her disgust with Her children
Is devastating and cataclysmic
Her children can no longer find
Sanctuary from mother’s mercy
Mother is too enraged to rationalize
Mother will create The Rapture.
Mother will cause The Apocalypse.
Mother will eliminate humanity.
Mother will commit filicide.
poem by Alex Gomez
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The prisoner of his conscience (Story Poem)
He was very poor and he married a rich woman
So he got money but he became a very sad man
She couldn't have children, even it wasn't his game plan
One day he saw a widow walking down the street ''It's later'
He told her calmly and begun to discuss about life with her
He didn't know why he suddenly felt to touch her so tender
He understood her when she confessed her cried coeur
Saying that she had three grown children and she was very poor
And she had to work as housemaid at a loudmouthed boor
She was in pain and he felt that and to help her was his concern
He wanted to take care of her family asking nothing in return
He thought never to dishonor her acting as a father to her children
He begun to understand how unhappy was the woman he loved
When he left her for another one and she became so grieved
He asked her to talk about his feelings for her and she approved
He wanted to divorce to marry her and take care of her needs
Certainly he wanted to become an adoptive father of her kids
To make her the mother of his future children he made a bid
His wife didn't agree to divorce but he left her on her demand
He took the widow and went to find their soul in a far away land
His wife got crazy and she killed herself they found her on the sand
He went to her funeral to see her last time without annoyance
He begun to scream releasing something deeper and fierce
Without his wish releasing the prisoner of his conscience.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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I Wanted To Write A Poem For My Children
I WANTED TO WRITE A POEM FOR MY CHILDREN
I wanted to write a poem for my children
And tell them how much I love them
And care for them
And how much goodness and blessing
They have given me
And how grateful I am to them
And how much I love them
And how I worry for them
And pray to God
To help them have lives of goodness and blessing
I wanted to write a poem for my children
So that if and when I am not here
They will have the thought and memory of me
In such a way as to strengthen themselves
I want to help my children
In my death as in my life
I do not know if that is possible
I will hurt them by dying
I may hurt them worse by being sick for a long time
I pray to God
They will be alright without me
I pray to God
They will have families of their own
I pray to God they will have lives of goodness and blessing
And love their children and be blessed by them
As I have been loved and blessed by mine.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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They stuck by the children.
His mother and his father's mother
Had not been in talking term for life.
Yet they had no enmity between them.
His mother let her love them, six children,
Which should have softened his grandmother.
Her care for them must have pleased his mother.
They never sat near nor scolded each other.
Yet they could not be in enmity
For both wanted the welfare of the children.
It was she who nursed her in her death bed.
Her own sisters, nephews and nieces fled
As the birds did when the tree turned fruitless.
She felt her guilt and confessed it to her
Who, as blessed, had had a good death later.
13.11.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sonnet: You Know What’s Best and When
A Doctor second, lady you are first!
You ought to choose priorities in Life;
‘Can wait! ’ your knowledge and fiscal thirst;
Her husband, children are wealth to a wife.
So, women must become a mother soon!
And sacrifice a lot of things in life;
The mother’s place at home is sure a boon;
The working mother helps to lessen strife.
Your family is more important, oh doc!
The job is second to a woman then;
What use are key and latch without a lock?
Which home can happy be without children?
So, plan whatever things you must first do!
The joy of children will not wait for you.
8-5-2002
poem by John Celes
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Hunger
Why, needless suffering and I.
Such close acquaintances.
As brothers became?
How will I?
Enrich myself.
Enough, to purchase.
Yet another parcel, meal.
Where will I find, that chance?
To till a plot of land.
Turned to desert.
Soil into dust, which...
Wind scatters, from my hand.
Pity my wife, child indeed.
For again, a day shall dawn.
When I fail my care.
Miss, my keep.
Visit a neighbor thence.
For a pittance, I beg.
Plead, for my family.
Kind Sir, will you please?
No such luck.
For us beggars.
Have no Honor or value.
Just filthy thieves, leeches.
Lazy and dumb, as we please.
For a job, I would ask.
Kind Sir - Work, for my keep.
Another chance missed.
For what profit?
Could my employment bring?
So we parted, Kindly Neighbor - And I.
I felt and watched.
Myself wither and shrink.
As did, my wife.
As did, my child.
My body slowly consumed.
Silent gnawing, from within.
Despair, madness instilled!
Left shriveled legs, bulging stomach.
Haunted eyes! !
So I sneaked - A thief!
Into my neighbor's domain.
Vied and fought with the dog.
For a few morsels.
Bits and bones, thrown away.
Listened to that.
Very righteous.
Important man.
His plans, himself!
Centered on, just for more...
Security, us.
The poor evermore!
Will be shot and bought, enslaved.
With additional bullets and guns.
How many meals, Sire?
Exchanged, for one - Single gun?
How many were starved?
Killed, without a shot.
Savings? Security? Or civility?
How many mouths, Master?
Your weapons may feed.
As endless debate goes on.
Men and women shall die.
Elderly, Children - By a million!
For them, eternal silence cries...
poem by Ilari Rahja
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