Unknown Girl In A Maternity Ward
Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, fisted like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this is an institution bed.
You will not know me very long.
The doctors are enamel. They want to know
the facts. They guess about the man who left me,
some pendulum soul, going the way men go
and leave you full of child. But our case history
stays blank. All I did was let you grow.
Now we are here for all the ward to see.
They thought I was strange, although
I never spoke a word. I burst empty of you,
letting you see how the air is so.
The doctors chart the riddle they ask of me
and I turn my head away. I do not know.
Yours is the only face I recognize.
Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in.
Six times a day I prize
your need, the animals of your lips, your skin
growing warm and plump. I see your eyes
lifting their tents. They are blue stones, they begin
to outgrow their moss. You blink in surprise
and I wonder what you can see, my funny kin,
as you trouble my silence. I am a shelter of lies.
Should I learn to speak again, or hopeless in
such sanity will I touch some face I recognize?
Down the hall the baskets start back. My arms
fit you like a sleeve, they hold
catkins of your willows, the wild bee farms
of your nerves, each muscle and fold
of your first days. Your old man's face disarms
the nurses. But the doctors return to scold
me. I speak. It is you my silence harms.
I should have known; I should have told
them something to write down. My voice alarms
my throat. 'Name of father-none.' I hold
you and name you bastard in my arms.
And now that's that. There is nothing more
that I can say or lose.
Others have traded life before
and could not speak. I tighten to refuse
your owling eyes, my fragile visitor.
I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise
against me. We unlearn. I am a shore
rocking off you. You break from me. I choose
your only way, my small inheritor
and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.
Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Related quotes
When a Child Has Been Told
When a child has been told
Never shed a tear
The small child can only
Every bow their head in fear
And hope and pray they
Don't come back to silence them
They often live in fear
They learn not to cry
When a child has been told
Keep a secret
For if they do they will be punished
For telling lies
They bow their head in fear
Hoping they will not
Come back and take their life
They learn not to speak
When a child has been told
Close your eyes
All they can do is tremble
As the touch of evil hands
Slowly destroys their soul
Never to burn again
They learn not to care
When a child has been told
No one really care's
They sit alone and ponder
Will anyone believe?
If I just spoke
If I just shed a tear
Will anyone really care?
They learn not to feel
All I ask of you now
Is let them speak
Let them cry
Because it means they are alive
poem by Kaila George
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As a World Would Have It
ALCESTIS
Shall I never make him look at me again?
I look at him, I look my life at him,
I tell him all I know the way to tell,
But there he stays the same.
Shall I never make him speak one word to me?
Shall I never make him say enough to show
My heart if he be glad? Be glad? … ah! God,
Why did they bring me back?
I wonder, if I go to him again,
If I take him by those two cold hands again,
Shall I get one look of him at last, or feel
One sign—or anything?
Or will he still sit there in the same way,
Without an answer for me from his lips,
Or from his eyes,—or even with a touch
Of his hand on my hand?…
“Will you look down this once—look down at me?
Speak once—and if you never speak again,
Tell me enough—tell me enough to make
Me know that you are glad!
“You are my King, and once my King would speak:
You were Admetus once, you loved me once:
Life was a dream of heaven for us once—
And has the dream gone by?
“Do I cling to shadows when I call you Life?
Do you love me still, or are the shadows all?
Or is it I that love you in the grave,
And you that mourn for me?
“If it be that, then do not mourn for me;
Be glad that I have loved you, and be King.
But if it be not that—if it be true …
Tell me if it be true!”
Then with a choking answer the King spoke;
But never touched his hand on hers, or fixed
His eyes on hers, or on the face of her:
“Yes, it is true,” he said.
“You are alive, and you are with me now;
And you are reaching up to me that I—
That I may take you—I that am a King—
I that was once a man."
So then she knew. She might have known before;
Truly, she thought, she must have known it long
Before: she must have known it when she came
From that great sleep of hers.
She knew the truth, but not yet all of it:
He loved her, but he would not let his eyes
Prove that he loved her; and he would not hold
His wife there in his arms.
So, like a slave, she waited at his knees,
And waited. She was not unhappy now.
She quivered, but she knew that he would speak
Again—and he did speak.
And while she felt the tremor of his words,
He told her all there was for him to tell;
And then he turned his face to meet her face,
That she might look at him.
She looked; and all her trust was in that look,
And all her faith was in it, and her love;
And when his answer to that look came back,
It flashed back through his tears.
So then she put her arms around his neck,
And kissed him on his forehead and his lips;
And there she clung, fast in his arms again,
Triumphant, with closed eyes.
At last, half whispering, she spoke once more:
“Why was it that you suffered for so long?
Why could you not believe me—trust in me?
Was I so strange as that?
“We suffer when we do not understand;
And you have suffered—you that love me now—
Because you are a man.… There is one thing
No man can understand.
“I would have given everything?—gone down
To Tartarus—to silence? Was it that?
I would have died? I would have let you live?—
And was it very strange?”
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Hold Me
I've tried so many times 2 erase your memory from my mind
Yet, it doesn't ever last 4 long
I see your picture then I hear your voice
Our love must be stronger than before
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
Touch me (Hold me)
Every time I hear your voice (Touch me)
Hold me
Here I stand defenseless as I look into your eyes
There's nothing left 2 say or do
U fill my head with promises and all your pretty lies
Would it be so wrong 2 want U by my side?
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
Touch me (Hold me)
Every time I hear your voice (Touch me)
Touch me (Hold me)
I'm captured by my senses, lost in your reverie
Our love must be stronger than before
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
Oh, hold me, babe (Hold me)
Every time I hear your voice (Touch me)
Touch me (Hold me)
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
I wanna hold U, baby (Hold me)
(Hold me, touch me, kiss me all over)
Every time I hear your voice (Touch me)
Hold me, kiss me all over (Hold me)
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
Kiss me, baby (Hold me
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mother and her Dead Child
Looking back
it seemed
the child
was not to be
always there,
not through lack
of love or care,
but something
that came to her
in dreams of dread
at night asleep in bed.
She tries to retake
in dreams
the child back,
to pretend
that through
wishful thinking
she can make up
the lack.
Arms fold
into cradle
as once they had
when child lay
in arm's hold,
snuggled
and warm,
alive and moving,
seeking out with
eyes and fingers
her mother's dug.
Rock-abye-baby
no more,
the arms
and hands
redundant,
the last time
she recalls
the dead child
in arms,
rocking
back and forth,
as if this might cure
and bring back
to life,
might stir open
eyes, jog open
lips and mouth
to suck.
Not to be
just the memory,
ill luck.
poem by Terry Collett
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Child of mine…
To my beautiful child, , ,
Beautiful child, being so small you inspire me big,
Beautiful child, so fragile, you make me so strong,
Beautiful child, so tender your touch your power is great,
Beautiful child, small is your heart, infinite is the love I feel for you;
Beautiful child, your hand I’m anxious to hold, to walk life’s road with you by my side.
Beautiful child, your light will show me the way,
Beautiful child, you came to my life to teach me a lesson that I shall never forget…
Nor riches, nor power can give us the best things of life…
The smile of a child…Is the best of all rewards…
poem by Ale Duncan
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The Mother
Here I lean over you, small son, sleeping
Warm in my arms,
And I con to my heart all your dew-fresh charms,
As you lie close, close in my hungry hold . . .
Your hair like a miser's dream of gold,
And the white rose of your face far fairer,
Finer, and rarer
Than all the flowers in the young year's keeping;
Over lips half parted your low breath creeping
Is sweeter than violets in April grasses;
Though your eyes are fast shut I can see their blue,
Splendid and soft as starshine in heaven,
With all the joyance and wisdom given
From the many souls who have stanchly striven
Through the dead years to be strong and true.
Those fine little feet in my worn hands holden . . .
Where will they tread ?
Valleys of shadow or heights dawn-red?
And those silken fingers, O, wee, white son,
What valorous deeds shall by them be done
In the future that yet so distant is seeming
To my fond dreaming?
What words all so musical and golden
With starry truth and poesy olden
Shall those lips speak in the years on-coming?
O, child of mine, with waxen brow,
Surely your words of that dim to-morrow
Rapture and power and grace must borrow
From the poignant love and holy sorrow
Of the heart that shrines and cradles you now!
Some bitter day you will love another,
To her will bear
Love-gifts and woo her . . . then must I share
You and your tenderness! Now you are mine
From your feet to your hair so golden and fine,
And your crumpled finger-tips . . . mine completely,
Wholly and sweetly;
Mine with kisses deep to smother,
No one so near to you now as your mother!
Others may hear your words of beauty,
But your precious silence is mine alone;
Here in my arms I have enrolled you,
Away from the grasping world I fold you,
Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone!
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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A Cautious Listener
when i speak to you
i always keep my own eyes
sometimes when i speak to
some sort of people like you
i am afraid that after i have spoken
my eyes are no longer in their sockets
i get blinded
and then i find myself lost in the
labyrinth of our thoughts
and then i tell you that you are such
a cruel chatter
leaving me trembling with my fingers
trying to find my way back
home
and you tell me
where is home my friend? is there a home for you?
basic as what is home? depends on what home is
and then i begin to bite my nails
i shrink
a small child
asking where mom is where dad is
when house and home are gone
when the stairs are too high
when the lights are turned off and i am outside the door
when all the friends are saying their prayers with their moms
and when it begins to rain
and i have nothing to run to
and so now i am careful when you start talking to me
i touch my eyes feel my eyelashes
for a touch of home
my tongue gets twisted before
but now as careful as a cat, my tongue is a rope tied on a tree
the other end open ended
like a fork of the snake
spelling each word correctly
when you speak i listen
and i will not let you know that i do not easily believe you
i have a book in my head
and it is enough
it is good.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unexpected Things...
It's unexpected..
But it's something that causes you to catch your breath..
Make you sway
Perhaps it makes your pupils dilate..
The look of his fingers as they dance on a keyboard..
Those hands are unexpectedly
Somehow
Attractive
She imagines them on her..
And, a blush creeps to her cheeks
Making her flush
Making her warm
An unexpected glance at her flesh..
Her shirt lifts as she reaches up to adjust something too high...
It's that area at the small of her back
Near her side
And,
His eyes linger..
Tracing her form
While she is unarmed in her lack of awareness
He can't help himself..
Even that small glimpse
Leaves his throat dry
Makes his hand twitch
To touch..
Even a fleeting touch
Is that asking for too much?
Lips
What can one say..
When they are full
And
Beautiful
And inviting
And so soft..
She bites her lower lip all the time
She imagines her lips
Dancing on his..
He thinks he'd like to be the one to
Bite
See what her lips taste like
Her collar bone..
He imagines his lips there
His tongue tracing the perfect arch
To the dip at her throat..
Her eyes
They grow bigger at the site of him
Surprised
It's not a controlled reaction
Heartbeats accelerate
His neck..
The back where tapered
Perfectly clipped hairs
Meet the edge of his shirt..
But leave enough space
To spy his skin..
She imagines what it would feel like...
If her lips ever met his skin there
Her legs
Sculpted perfection in heels..
He imagines...
His eyes
So warm
She likes the way they look at her
And, when he laughs
His smile reaches them..
Her skin
Golden sun kissed and warm
Smooth...
Soft..
He wonders
If she's smooth and soft and golden
Everywhere..golden...delicious...
His voice
She can close her eyes and listen to his voice all day..
It calls to her
Somewhere deep inside
There is a reaction..
Her smile
He likes to see her smile
Especially when he's the one
Who has caused it..
She likes his arms
She's always had a thing for shoulders..
He likes her hair
Wonders how soft it is
How it smells
They spend their days
Wondering...
When things get dull..
Even when they aren't...
Daydreaming..
Each relieved
The other can't read thoughts..
Both acutely aware
Of the other...
She smells like...
His sent is that of...
It was unexpected
The realization of the other
It was surprising..
A shock to the system
A sudden awareness
Something that caused their breath to catch
Make them sway
Make their pupils dilate
It's a heady reaction
Unexpected in so many ways.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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I Get Weak
When Im with you
I shake inside
My hearts all tangled up
My tongue is tied its crazy
Cant walk, cant talk, cant eat, cant sleep
Oh, Im in love, oh Im in deep cuz baby
With a kiss you can strip me defenseless
With a touch I completely lose control
til all thats left of my strength is a memory, wo...
I get weak when I look at you
Weak when we touch
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak when youre next to me
Weak from this love
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak
Convincing eyes, persuasive lips
The helpless heart just cant resist their power
You know youve got a hold over me
You know youve got me where I want to be cuz lover
Like a wave you keep pulling me under
How Ill ever get out of this I dont know
I just know theres just no way to fight it, wo...
I get weak when I look at you
Weak when we touch
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak when youre next to me
Weak from this love
Im in deep when I look in your eyes
I get weak I get weak I get weak
Just a kiss you can strip me defenseless
Just a touch I completely lose control
til all thats left of my strength is a memory, wo...
I get weak when I look at you
Weak when we touch
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak when youre next to me
Weak from this love
I cant speak when I look in your eyes
I get weak I get weak I get weak
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She Brought Them All Kindly To Her Grave
of course i know what coldness is
apart from something that is cool
when mother died her hands were extremely cold
for my hold
i let them go
there was no sadness
there was that happiness of letting her rest
and giving myself a little space
for tomorrow
when coldness comes again in an empty room
with open windows
i know not what panic shall be
my hands are extremely cold these days
when i kiss them
my lips become frozen
they break like glasses
i cannot speak
there is no way that my tongue shall give in to
words
it cannot face coldness in the mirror
of my face
since you ask and you demand an explanation i open my hands
and i let your hands touch them
i cannot speak i am afraid i will be cruel
you must hold these extreme coldness for a long time
so you can all let them go
like white birds against a dark sky
so you can also experience what happiness
i had when i let go off
mama's fears
when mama closed her eyes
because what was important she knew
need not be said anymore
she brought them all kindly to her grave
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blank Generation
I was saying let me out of here before I was even born
Its such a gamble when you get a face
Its fascinatin to observe what the mirror does
But when I dine its for the wall that I set a place
I belong to the blank generation and
I can take it or leave it each time
I belong to the generation but
I can take it or leave it each time
Triangles were fallin at the window as the doctor cursed
He was a cartoon long forsaken by the public eye
The nurse adjusted her garters as I breathed my first
The doctor grabbed my throat and yelled, gods consolation prize!
I belong to the blank generation
I can take it or leave it each time
I belong to the generation but
I can take it or leave it each time
To hold the tv to my lips, the air so packed with cash
Then carry it up flights of stairs and drop it in the vacant lot
To lose my train of thought and fall into your arms tracks
And watch beneath the eyelids every passing dot
I belong to the blank generation and
I can take it or leave it each time
I belong to the generation but
I can take it or leave it each time
I belong to the blank generation and
I can take it or leave it each time
I belong to the generation but
I can take it or leave it each time
song performed by by Whiskeytown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dulcis Memoria
Long, long ago I heard a little song,
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,
That far into my heart it found the way:
A melody consoling and endearing;
And still, in silent hours, I'm often hearing
The small, sweet song that does not die away.
Long, long ago I saw a little flower,--
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So fair of face and fragrant for an hour,
That something dear to me it seemed to say:
A thought of joy that blossomed into being
Without a word; and now I'm often seeing
The friendly flower that does not fade away.
Long, long ago we had a little child,--
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
Into his mother's eyes and mine he smiled
Unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay.
An angel called! Dear heart, we could not hold him;
Yet secretly your arms and mine infold him--
Our little child who does not go away.
Long, long ago? Ah, memory, make it clear--
(It was not long ago, but yesterday,)
So little and so helpless and so dear
Let not the song be lost, the flower decay!
His voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping:
The smallest things are safest in thy keeping.
Sweet memory, keep our child with us always.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Small World
Children seem to have no choice
The children have got no voice
Theyre merely living to grow old
Letting their days unfold
And its time that you and i
Realised that by and by
These children grow up into men
It is clear what we must do
What the lord has told us to
Give our brothers a chance
To be born again
Its a small world, a small world
When you see it through
A pair of haitian eyes
Its a small world, a small world
When the dreams you dream
Melt into haitian skies
Its just not good enough to say
That the troubles too far away
Cos the little that you need to give
Could help a little child to live
Help them live a little longer
Help them grow a little stronger
So why not play a part
If youre ever gonna do
What the lord has told us to
Its got to begin within your heart
Its a small world, a small world
When you reach out and touch
A stranger
From where you stand
Its a small world, a small world
When you can forge another link
In a far off land
Repeat last two lines
Its a small world, a small world
When you can forge another link
In a far off land
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fifty Eight Years
fifty eight years,
step after step...
pathways of stone,
of water, of wind...
no footprints behind.
small fires on dark nights,
waves of stillness opening...
the eyes of the breathing surround.
touch! touch!
echoing against the roar.
words sealed on paper
for future fires!
when scars become gifts
left on strangers' doorsteps...
for there are no strangers,
soul unto soul.
step after step,
rain falling softly.
smoke from the chimney,
hangs like a prayer.
face to face,
lips touching lips,
a small bag of dreams
left under a child's pillow.
fifty eight years.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Help Save A Child's Life Today
this little girl has kinky hair
black is the color of her skin
almond eyes that speak
and small hands and
short arms
the ad says,
help save a child's life today
and i read it silently.
i ask myself, honestly, please do not brand
me as racist
is there such a white child
who can say, 'Help me! '
i am just wondering.
and what about the brown child in Asia?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I wait to meet her gaze then she will understand I will hold my breath and kiss her hand
I wait to meet her gaze then she will understand
I will hold my breath and kiss her hand
I will see her blush her cheeks red now
I will smell her hair and kiss her brow
It will bring me joy to hear her speak
I will take her hand and kiss her cheek
I will feel her skin beneath my finger tips
I will hold her face and kiss her lips
Our love's true passion can now begin
I will caress her form and kiss her skin
Our passion will flow like summer rain
Our love will be fulfilled as we kiss again
In the afterglow in fond embrace
We speak of love and I kiss her face
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Little Fish
Let us go my Little Fish,
It is time to make your wish,
I think that you should travel light,
Now blink your eyes to take your flight,
Far beyond your hopes and dreams,
To places that you've never seen,
Of purple rivers and orange snow,
Where animals talk and candy grows,
Look that way, you'll see the sun,
I hope that you are having fun,
Dipping up and twirling 'round,
Bouncing once we touch the ground,
Beanie Babies and Cinderella,
The Power Rangers and Cruella,
Animorphs and Austin Powers,
And those girls that look like flowers,
Museums and Amusement Parks,
Waterfalls and blue tree bark,
Thinking plants and talking rocks,
And funny puppies wearing socks,
Small balloons and tiny bubbles,
Bearded monkeys making trouble,
Can you see red elephants?
They look so funny wearing pants,
Houses with blue window shades,
Horses in the barn with maids,
Kittens with their earrings on,
Puffy puppets with gold battons,
Sugar cookies on ribbon and string,
A turkey who wants to learn to sing,
Grass as blue as any pigeon,
Chairs you can't move a smidgeon,
Can you see those daffodils,
Running, jumping up those hills,
Buttons, baskets, shoes and socks,
Keys that go around chasing locks,
Clouds and sunshine in your hair,
Soda pop and dreams to share,
Up and down and all around,
We roll and fall onto the ground,
Take my hand, now hold on tight,
Soon our dream will fade from sight,
Eyes grow tired, out comes a yawn,
We make our bed out on the lawn,
We fill our minds with the day we've had,
Never pout or feel sad,
It will start over when we wake,
They are our own, the days we make,
Memories are born and raised,
Of pleasure in so many ways,
We dream and love, learn and grow,
And pass along all that we know,
So Little Fish, O'friend of mine,
Simply live and take your time,
Dreams are magic and just for you,
All your life they help you through,
Be kind and gentle, strong and true,
Make many friends to share with you,
Hold hands, skip stones, count the stars,
Learn to paint or play guitar,
Hold fast and breathe along the path,
Sing a song and learn to laugh,
Tie your shoes upside down,
Never let me see you frown.
I wrote this for my sons M and J
when they were very small.
1991
poem by Victoria Gauci
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The Black Mammy
O whitened head entwined in turban gay,
O kind black face, O crude, but tender hand,
O foster-mother in whose arms there lay
The race whose sons are masters of the land!
It was thine arms that sheltered in their fold,
It was thine eyes that followed through the length
Of infant days these sons. In times of old
It was thy breast that nourished them to strength.
So often hast thou to thy bosom pressed
The golden head, the face and brow of snow;
So often has it 'gainst thy broad, dark breast
Lain, set off like a quickened cameo.
Thou simple soul, as cuddling down that babe
With thy sweet croon, so plaintive and so wild,
Came ne'er the thought to thee, swift like a stab,
That it some day might crush thine own black child?
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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In
In her eyes, I see a warm light
In my arms, I'll make her feel right
In her hand, I'll feel so strong
In my hand, I'll hold her so long
In her touch, she'll make me break
In my touch, I'll let her sleep till shes awake
In her heart, I'll gain a place
In my heart, All I see is her face
In her soul is a caring girl
In my soul, she makes up my world
In my life, I'll show her no wrong
In her life, I'll care about her for a time thats long
She'll never know what to do with me
It wont be a concern, cuz I wont leave
I'll make her smile
I'll make her giggle
I'll be her knight with a smile
I'll show her a good life, always big, never little
Shut my Mouth
There are those whom wish
I would just shut my mouth.
For my words cut them to
the bone when I speak of
an abuse child. Or a person
drowning in the sea of his or
her own addiction. They real
wish I would shut my mouth when
I speak of equality for all. Also when
talk about suffrage one goes through
from AIDS, Cancer to Death. I done had my
words crumbled in thrown back in my face.
I have been given looks as if they want to shove
my words back down my throat until I choked on them.
But for all those who want me to shut my mouth I have
got three times as many who want me to speak.
So speak I will. As long as I got something to say I will speak.
And only when I don’t have anymore to say is when I will
Shut My Mouth.