Minor Poem
The only response
to a child's grave is
to lie down before it and play dead
poem by Bill Knott
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Related quotes
Song: Child's Play
Are accidents - reflections,
Of the chaotic quantum world;
Do the stars that rule the heavens,
Raise cosmic flags, unfurled?
Is love a constellation,
In the vacuum pack of cold;
A joyous distillation,
A yeast alive in mould?
It's child's play. It is child's play.
It has no creed but come what may.
We write the screed, it's all display:
On bended knee, for luck we pray.
It's child's play. A wild child's play.
We take no heed, but remain unswayed.
It's child's play. It is child's play.
When we learn that greed, is here to stay.
Is the background irradiation,
More a subset of decay;
Not dog-eat-dog predation,
But chance as child's play?
So that's OK. That's what we say.
When the meme of hate, sells well, it pays!
It's child's play. It is child's play,
When our dreams deflate, in a listless haze.
So that's OK. That's what we say.
We lean on fate, like a brand new day.
It's child's play. It is child's play,
When we learn too late, what's been swept away!
poem by Dave SmithWhite
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September 1913
What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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September
WHAT need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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THIS IS OUR WORLD! ! (SHOCKING n EXPLICIT)
Where a child lives in a warm mother's cocoon
Where a child is sold to the prostitutes, her life doomed
Where a father fiercely protects his child
Yet another father enters another's child
Where children play without any fear
Where men enter boys through the rear
Where a child gets a new toy every day
Where a child becomes a toy near the bay
Where a child is whooped up and twirled
Where a child is forced down and hurled
Where they go to fancy schools, sing and play
Where for a single meal, they sweat and labour all day
poem by Renu Rakheja
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All These Games / I Make With Words And Poems
All these games
I make with words and poems
Will play for a short time
And then go away as if they never were
I am not a child anymore
But I am still lost in games I do not wish to play
‘Where is Reality? ’ I once wondered
And wonder still
As I close in
my own grave
The simple Beauty of Life
Must keep us alive
As long as we can
Then let the Silence play its melody
And God be the Judge Forever
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Remembrance of a Child
This poem is written for all children taken from this world by rape and abuse.
Remembrance of a Child
By: Adam M. Snow
Remembrance of a child,
born tender and mild,
not an age past eight.
Such innocent filled eyes,
this world despise,
now lying in this grave.
She would laugh and play,
every night and every day,
with that smile upon her face.
She could light up the world,
when she danced and twirled,
now her essence is broken.
She never done no harm,
with her joyous charm,
now her essence is tainted.
She didn't deserve what she got,
yet the people soon forgot,
how she died in vain.
Taken from home by a family friend,
raped and abused, soon would be her end.
Now tarnished and left for dead,
cold and alone she waits,
as the world berates,
now naked and afraid, she dies.
Remembrance of a child,
born tender and mild,
yet taken at a young age.
Such innocent filled eyes,
this world despise,
now lying in this grave.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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At The Grave Of The Unknown Soldier
He was a brave soldier he died young and brave
And for more than six decades he lay in his grave
And still at the dawning of each war memorial day
At his grave site a young bugler the last post does play.
Known as the Unknown Soldier one without a name
Still he had a mum and a dad just the same
And when he did not return home when the fighting was done
They grieved at their loss and they wept for their son.
The war to end all wars of all wars 'tis said
But more wars are fought and we have more war dead
And at the grave of the unknown soldier the last post is played
And to honour the war dead another parade.
Old war men do tell us young soldiers fight and die
For freedom and liberty that is a lie
They went to war when young they are now old and gray
Some grow old not wiser some are known to say.
That they were fighting for freedom and justice they believed to be true
And they were quite gallant to give them their due
But many deprived of their human rights in the World of today
And that does seem a very sad thing for to say.
With heads bowed old men showing their years in gray
At the grave of the Unknown Soldier at the dawn of the day
In silence do listen as a young bugler the last post does play
For one who fought and died in a war far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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For playing....
Child will
Play
The dog...
Dog also
Play
The child...
Dog tail
Catch and
Play
The child...
Very happy...
Pain again pain
With the dog...
Bite the child...
Unhappley...
The child was
Crying...
But...
Dog also crying...!
What...?
For playing....!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Bad funney
Child play
For dog...
Dog also
play for child
Child catch
The dog tail
And play...
Dog get angery
Wow wow
sounded...
Child dont miss
Catch and play
The tail...
Simply dog
Not bite
Run away
At home...
The dog was
Not funney
Chid is bad funney...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Murrow Turning Over In His Grave
All the sainted sinners
They pay handsomely
And eventually?
They make the weapons
And they run the prisons
And they sell the justice
Cause being guilty is
Just good business
And well be standing on
The borderline
Aint no one there gonna
Stop it now
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild
Half-closed eyes
And the countrys deadly
Do you feel the ooze as your brain drains out
From your pneumatic drills and sharpening knives
Blood in the sky
Are you dead or alive?
All the restless people and the bitter green
Well it fakes this gold, makes the spirit mean
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Candy Man
Come my child,
Come & play for a while.
I have candy & sweets for you,
If you’re a good boy I’ll give you cakes too.
Eat, eat as much as you like.
Don’t worry about anything my little tyke.
For tonight we shall eat & eat,
And have us a great little feast.
Of food beyond your wildest dreams,
Just stay here with me, for all as it seems.
And stay, stay just for a while.
So says the little candy man,
Watch for the little candy man.
For he may eat you, in a stew, or a can,
Or he’ll eat you alive in a frying pan.
Come, come my child,
Come & play for a while.
As I sharpen my forks & knifes,
I am so lonely for you see, little child I have no wives.
So you keep me company in my great little feast,
All I’ll need is little more salt & a little yeast.
First I’ll cut you up & drink your blood,
Skin you nice & throw it in the mud.
There you go in the oven to bake,
As I watch your dead little eyes still awake.
Come, come my child, & play for a while.
So says the little candy man,
Watch for the little candy man.
For he may eat you, in a stew, or a can,
Or he’ll eat you alive in a frying pan.
poem by Yazzy Nixon
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Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
quote by Viktor E. Frankl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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AWarning To Ladies
A Warning To Ladies
Ladies - a warning about men.
Only the nunnery is safe
From their plots against you.
You are always in danger.
Men lay traps for ladies.
All men should be locked up.
Young mne. Men in the middle
And especially old men with money.
Men will say: 'You are a goddess.'
They will worship you.
The Pope worships Marys,
Popes and Bishops wear dresses.
They pretend to be friends of ladies.
'The swine! ' you cry
Clebrated celibate-
'A pig in a Pope' hogging power,
Power over ladies.
The Pope says 'Ladies must have babies,
And stay at home, please men.
Men will lie on you.
Men will le to you.
'You are the only one! '
Just for now, that is.
Men are unjust bad boys
Escaped from Never Never Land.
Men never grow up. They like toys.
Men play with balls.
Men want to play games with you
Even if you have a headache.
But some men are alright.
Ladies can trust men who are dead.
Deadmen can be trusted. They are quiet.
Quiet as the grave.
They live in graveyards.
Dead men are grave and silent.
Yes, these men can be trusted by ladies.
These are saints. Saints are all dead men
All the live men are sinners.
You have been warned.
Peter Godfrey
poem by Peter Godfrey
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A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who doesn't play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.
quote by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evil Woman
I've seen a look of evil in your eyes
You've been filling me all full of lies
Sorrow will not change your shameful deeds
Do well best, someone else has better seen
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Now I know just what you're looking for
You want me to claim that child you bore
Well you know that it must he not be
And you know the way it got to be
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Wickedness lies in your moisten lips
Your body moves just like the crack of a whip
Blackness sleeps on top of your stray bed
Do you whish that you could see me dead
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Flowers
When you're sitting there, in your silk upholstered cahir
Talkin' to some rich folk that you know.
I hope you won't see me, and my ragged company
Cause you know I could never be alone
Take me down little Susie, take me down
I know you think you're the queen of the underground
And you can send me dead flowers every morning,
Send me dead flowers by th U.S. Mail,
Send me dead flowers to my wedding,
And I won't forget to put roses on your grave.
When you're sitting back, in your rose pink, Cadillac
Making bets on Kentucky Derby day
I'll be in my basement room, with a needle, and a spoon
And another whore to take my pain away
Take me down, little Susie take me down
I know you think you're the queen of the underground.
And you can send me dead flowers every morning.
Send me dead flowers by the U.S Mail.
Send me dead flowers to my wedding
And I won't forget to put roses on your grave
Take me down, little Susie take me down
I know you think you're the queen of the underground.
And you can send me dead flowers every morning.
Send me dead flowers by the U.S Mail.
Say it with dead flowers in my wedding
And I won't forget to put roses on your grave
No, I won't forget to put roses on your grave
song performed by by Guns N' Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Music Box
(Translation To: Spieluhr)
A small human only pretends to die
It wanted to be completely alone
The small heart stood still for hours
So they decided it was dead
It is being buried in wet sand
With a music box in its hand
The first snow covers the grave
It woke the child very softly
In a cold winter night
The small heart is awakened
As the frost flew into the child
It wound up the music box
A melody in the wind
And the child sings from the ground
Up and down
song performed by by Rammstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Conversation of Prayer
The conversation of prayers about to be said
By the child going to bed and the man on the stairs
Who climbs to his dying love in her high room,
The one not caring to whom in his sleep he will move
And the other full of tears that she will be dead,
Turns in the dark on the sound they know will arise
Into the answering skies from the green ground,
From the man on the stairs and the child by his bed.
The sound about to be said in the two prayers
For the sleep in a safe land and the love who dies
Will be the same grief flying. Whom shall they calm?
Shall the child sleep unharmed or the man be crying?
The conversation of prayers about to be said
Turns on the quick and the dead, and the man on the stair
To-night shall find no dying but alive and warm
In the fire of his care his love in the high room.
And the child not caring to whom he climbs his prayer
Shall drown in a grief as deep as his made grave,
And mark the dark eyed wave, through the eyes of sleep,
Dragging him up the stairs to one who lies dead.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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The brook
I looked in the brook and saw a face -
Heigh-ho, but a child was I!
There were rushes and willows in that place,
And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by;
And the brook it ran its own sweet way,
As a child doth run in heedless play,
And as it ran I heard it say:
"Hasten with me
To the roistering sea
That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!"
I look in the brook and see a face -
Heigh-ho, but the years go by!
The rushes are dead in the old-time place,
And the willows I knew when a child was I.
And the brook it seemeth to me to say,
As ever it stealeth on its way -
Solemnly now, and not in play:
"Oh, come with me
To the slumbrous sea
That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!"
Heigh-ho, but the years go by -
I would to God that a child were I!
poem by Eugene Field
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