In The Harbor
Emis - young, twenty-eight-
reached this Syrian harbor in a Tenian ship,
his plan to learn the incense trade.
But ill during the voyage,
he died as soon as he was put ashore.
His burial, the poorest possible, took place here.
A few hours before dying he whispered something
about 'home', about 'very old parents.'
But nobody he called home
in the great pan Hellenic world.
Better that way; because as it is,
though he lies buried in this harbor,
his parents will always have the hope he's still alive.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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My Ships
If all the ships I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
From sunny lands, and lands of cold,
Ah well! the harbor could not hold
So many sails as there would be
If all my ships came in from sea.
If half my ships came home from sea,
And brought their precious freight to me,
Ah, well! I should have wealth as great
As any king who sits in state,
So rich the treasures that would be
In half my ships now at sea.
If just one ship I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
Ah well! the storm clouds then might frown,
For if the others all went down
Still rich and proud and glad I’d be,
If that one ship came back to me.
If that one ship were down at sea,
And all the others came to me,
Weighed down with gems and wealth untold,
With glory, honor, riches, gold,
The poorest soul on earth I’d be
If that one ship came not to me.
O skies be calm! O winds blow free--
Blow all my ships safe home to me.
But if thou sendest some awrack
To never more come sailing back,
Send any--all that skim the sea--
But bring my love-ship home to me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Outsider
The many childhood memories that I have
are lonely ones of being an outsider.
I never mixed very well
and was always the last one,
other children wanted to call a friend.
I was a quiet person
who spent much of his time alone
buried deep within his own thoughts.
At classes, I always got the lowest grades,
on vacation I almost always was on my own.
I would sit for hours just pondering on my thoughts.
I never grew out of being an outsider,
different from the rest.
My early life was over shadowed
by younger sister whom my parents adored.
Every achievement that I made
my sister could do it better.
Not only was I an outsider at school,
but also at home a well.
In 1959, I left the shores
of the place I called home
to go back to the place of my birth.
Not until forty-two years later
would, I set foot on that soil again.
Things in the world had changed,
but not so much for me
as I was still a stranger
in the land I called my home.
13 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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Harbor Lights
(words & music by h. williams - j. kennedy)
I saw the harbor lights
They only told me we were parting
Those same old harbor lights
That once brought you to me.
I watched the harbor lights
How could I help it?
Tears were starting.
Good-bye to golden nights
Beside the silvery seas.
I long to hold you dear,
And kiss you just once more.
But you were on the ship,
And I was on the shore.
Now I know lonely nights
For all the while my heart keeps praying
That someday harbor lights
Will bring you back to me.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maritime Poem
In the blue harbor of your eyes
Blow rains of melodious lights,
Dizzy suns and sails
Painting their voyage to endlessness.
In the blue harbor of your eyes
Is an open sea window,
And birds appear in the distance
Searching for islands still unborn.
In the blue harbor of your eyes
Snow falls in July.
Ships laden with turquoise
Spill over the sea and are not drowned.
In the blue harbor of your eyes
I run on the scattered rocks like a child
Breathing the fragrance of the sea
And return an exhausted bird.
In the blue harbor of your eyes
Stones sing in the night.
Who has hidden a thousand poems
In the closed book of your eyes?
If only, if only I were a sailor,
If only somebody'd give me a boat,
I would furl my sails each evening
In the blue harbor of your eyes.
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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Little Susan
Air -- "The Pride of Caldair"
Once there was a little girl
And her friends loved her dear --
Her parents loved their little one,
She did their hearts cheer.
They loved their little darling,
As with them she did roam,
They called her little Susan,
The pride of their home.
Blue eyes had little Susan,
And light flaxen hair,
And she was a pleasant child to see,
So beautiful and fair.
With her parents she will never more
On earth with them roam --
They loved their little Susan,
The pride of their home.
Her parents had more children,
There were nine of them all --
There are eight of them living,
For God but one called.
The flower of their family
God called to his home,
It was their little Susan,
The pride of their home.
Her friends will not forget her,
Though she died years ago --
It was John H. Moore's daughter,
Her age was four years old.
She is waiting in heaven,
Waiting for her friends to come
And be with their little Susan,
The pride of their home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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A Peaceful Harbor
I have rode the high seas,
Through many violent storms.
Tidal waves crashing around
me,
Churning against my vessel.
The more I learn, the better
equipted I am,
To handle the storms of life.
My ship is resting in a peace-
ful harbor,
Returning to sea no more.
My peaceful harbor is you.
poem by Heather Burns
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Success is not a harbor but a voyage with its own perils to the spirit The lesson that most of us on this voyage never learn, but can never quite forget, is that to win is sometimes to lose.
quote by Richard Milhous Nixon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the Parents Refuse to Come Home
When the parents refuse to come home
The children sleep beneath the babysitter’s skirt.
She will eat you out of house and home.
When the parents refuse to come home
The children shall set the house on fire,
And the babysitter shall save the family pet
That is content to be hand fed at the breast.
This night the parents are outside the loop,
They are out for a night on the town to renew their bound without the incessant want of children who shall burn the house down for attention.
The babysitter is watching TV under the blaze of the burning house where the family pet snicks beneath the smoke colleted by the ceiling.
When the parents stay out all night the children are discontented with the babysitter who have no time for children, she rather babysat the TV.
The babysitter refuse to pay taxes on her earning, she have parked the children in their beds where they learn the art of conversation from the TV.
The parents are having fun while the children are safe in the dream shatter of the right brain telling midnight stories of the day’s doings and the babysitter has invited her boy friend over for the night and he will eat you out of house and home while in their dream the children are buring the house down.
When the parents dance the night away in the night club the children are dreaming of the violent of the babysitter who eat the last of the pot roast left over from dinner.
When the parents refuse to come home the babysitter is contemplating the meaning of death and dying in the burning house.
The babysitter will grow up to become a parent and she will hire a babysitter when she go out to dance the night away as her children burn the house down.
poem by David E. Patton
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Home, Sweet Home.....
There is no place like home in this world
Home sweet home where I always live so happily
A light from the sky seems to bless us there
and God's love is spread all over there
How happy when you sit with loved ones
and to see their faces full of love smile
How nice to sit near our parents and great parents
and listen to their old stories that bring us lessons too
Our garden full of greenery and the flowers are
bloomed to give us pleasure
All those birds on the trees singing gaily
to give us a peace of mind
Our pets run freely in and out of the house
and keep us busy to watch their naughtiness
When I look at the mountains in their great splendor
that blows with cool breeze that give us healthy life
Our neighbors are dear and so helpful without fear
An exile from home, bring nothing but sadness
Because home is sweet home.
(Sri Lanka/2007)
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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Bi-Polar Disorder
I am writing, something after a long time. Had been suffering from Bi-polar disorder recently. The suffering had reached its extreme and I had run away from home since I started to feel that nobody was believing me and was treating me as a fake. Trust me, I am not a fake. My personality is really screwed up in many ways, that even I lose the track of my own identity.
Right now I truly wish that I had her since without her love my world has sunk even deeply into darkness.
While I was walking on the road, I had a great fall. My hand started bleeding and nobody cared to even pick me up. However, then I managed to find an auto-rickshaw and somehow managed to reach a safe place where I could see some light. Then, I called my parents and spent the night in their home. In the morning I came back since I decided to live, even though I have no hope left.
Felt, as if my world ended, nothing actually remained with me, I felt so.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Little Abigail and the Beautiful Pony
There was a girl named Abigail
Who was taking a drive
Through the country
With her parents
When she spied a beautiful sad-eyed
Grey and white pony.
And next to it was a sign
That said,
FOR SALE—CHEAP.
“Oh,” said Abigail,
“May I have that pony?
May I please?”
And her parents said,
“No you may not.”
And Abigail said,
“But I MUST have that pony.”
And her parents said,
“Well, you can have a nice butter pecan
Ice cream cone when we get home.”
And Abigail said,
“I don’t want a butter pecan
Ice cream cone,
I WANT THAT PONY—
I MUST HAVE THAT PONY.”
And her parents said,
“Be quiet and stop nagging—
You’re not getting that pony.”
And Abigail began to cry and said,
“If I don’t get that pony I’ll die.”
And her parents said, “You won’t die.
No child ever died yet from not getting a pony.”
And Abigail felt so bad
That when she got home she went to bed,
And she couldn’t eat,
And she couldn’t sleep,
And her heart was broken,
And she DID die—
All because of a pony
That her parents wouldn’t buy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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High & Dry
With a lady-like devotion
She sails the bitter ocean
If it wasnt for lovesick sailors
Thered be nothin left but flotsam
Singin why me oh my
Is there a better man than i
I hope you find your way back home
Before youre lyin high and dry
I hope you find your way back home
Before you die
Her sails blow like bubbles
While ya sip yer daily doubles
If she wasnt so fond of the weather
She might give the deckhands trouble
Singin why me oh my
Is there a better man than i
I hope you find your way back home
Before youre lyin high and dry
I hope you find your way back home
Before you die
One day when I grew older
And I found I could not hold her
She took on a fine young skipper
Who soon run her up on a boulder
Singin why me oh my
Is there a better man than i
I hope you find your way back home
Before youre lyin high and dry
I hope you find your way back home
Before you die
Now the pleasures of the harbor
Dont include a lady barber
If it wasnt for long john silver
All of us pirates wouldve been martyrs
Singin why me oh my
Is there a better man than i
I hope you find your way back home
Before youre lyin high and dry
I hope you find your way back home
Before youre lyin high and dry
I hope you find your way back home
Before you die
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Street Child
Who will care for me when i am born into this world?
For day and night i've been walking on the streets;
And i have to struggle to survive for i am a street child.
No, not even one!
For many parents do not even know their children;
And i was born into a lovely home but now,
I do live on the street as a street child.
Lust and sex,
We were born out of it;
But how many parents still know that we do exist?
How many?
They really do not care abour us,
And i have to struggle to survive on my own;
How many days more left for me?
And i have to make ends meet from the streets;
Because there is nobody around to help me,
And i have no place called home again.
A street child that i am,
And of the many rivers to cross for my survival;
How many social workers do know of our plights?
How many?
How many streets do we have to sleep on?
How many? Hopw many governmenets do we have to wait for?
How many?
Yet still i am a street child.
Who really care about us?
And who really care about me?
My parents do not even know my where about;
Right from Kwazulu Natal Province to Tingitingi,
And from Obbia to Nima!
How many do care?
I am born into this world but,
I am living on the street;
And who will care about me?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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In Memory Of Alfred Pollexfen
FIVE-AND-TWENTY years have gone
Since old William pollexfen
Laid his strong bones down in death
By his wife Elizabeth
In the grey stone tomb he made.
And after twenty years they laid
In that tomb by him and her
His son George, the astrologer;
And Masons drove from miles away
To scatter the Acacia spray
Upon a melancholy man
Who had ended where his breath began.
Many a son and daughter lies
Far from the customary skies,
The Mall and Eades's grammar school,
In London or in Liverpool;
But where is laid the sailor John
That so many lands had known,
Quiet lands or unquiet seas
Where the Indians trade or Japanese?
He never found his rest ashore,
Moping for one voyage more.
Where have they laid the sailor John?
And yesterday the youngest son,
A humorous, unambitious man,
Was buried near the astrologer,
Yesterday in the tenth year
Since he who had been contented long.
A nobody in a great throng,
Decided he would journey home,
Now that his fiftieth year had come,
And 'Mr. Alfred' be again
Upon the lips of common men
Who carried in their memory
His childhood and his family.
At all these death-beds women heard
A visionary white sea-bird
Lamenting that a man should die;
And with that cry I have raised my cry.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Home, Sweet Home
The childhood home wherein children, we stayed;
The cottage old in which we ate and prayed;
The humble garden, on our own, we laid;
The roof that leaked in rain, though rent was paid!
The tranquil place where parents gave us love;
The wonderful compound, where we worked, ‘wow! ’
The trees and plants that grew by heaven’s grace;
The sun, moon, rain, at which we loved to gaze!
That was the lovely place, in which we lived;
The home we kept quite clean and chores were shared;
Our parents slogged for us and deeply cared;
We sometimes fought although amity ruled!
Our father’s strictness taught us good conduct;
Our mother’s fondness disciplined our mind;
The help we rendered, made us feel the warmth;
Home, sweet home, was great despite some faults!
Home, sweet home, brings memories evergreen;
Comfortable, our mother’s house, had been;
Those days were most pleasant, despite our toil;
We lost our hearts upon that very soil!
poem by John Celes
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Do any of you know
A man and a woman
Came to my place one evening
I was playing with my dad
In the lawn in front of my home
These people got down
From the car
And my dad helped them
Unload a number of luggages
They approached me and
I was able to recollect
I have seen them somewhere
But quite long back
Not an issue
They were all kind to me
And they missed not an opportunity
To hug me and hold me on their shoulders
They did a lot to my mom
Especially while she was feeding me
As I was fussy about eating
They were with us for long
I started enjoying their company
And there were a number of evenings
When my mom and dad
Would silently disappear
Leaving me under the care of these visitors
I developed intimacy with them
They, for that matter, enjoyed
Taking care of me
I used to even feel that
These guys are better than my parents
These elderly people
Never scolded me nor threatened me
It looked to me they love me
The same way my parents do
Gone a number of days like that
I am in comfort
With all the love, care and attention
Of my mom, dad and these people
Despite repeated training
And insistence from my parents
I was not able to call these people
Grandma and Granpa
These people accompanied
me and my parents
Wherever we went in my dad's car
One fine day
There was a lot of discussions
Between all the elders at home
And there were preparations
As if some people are going somewhere
We all boarded the car
With huge luggages
And my dad was driving
We reached a place
These luggages were unloaded
I was put in a stroller
And the elderly woman
Left the scene pushing me in my stroller
And the other visitor
Came along
A number of things happened
I just then noticed
None of my parents
Went with us
It is now a week's time
I have not seen my dad or mom
But I hear them talking to me
Over the phone or the computer
It is sure I am not going to see them
For quite some days to come
Why worrying or crying
Over the absence of my parents
I am now settling with these visitors
Who took me away from my parents
But for what purpose
I do not know yet
Why me to be separated
From my mom and dad
Do any of you know
helping my mom
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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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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Sonnet: Home, Sweet Home!
A model-home has vanished in a trice!
Its members were united for long years;
The family had been kept free of vice;
The children studied without any fears.
The family looks shattered ’yond repair;
Each sibling lives a selfish life unknown;
A phone-message amidst them is so rare!
The bond of love that parents gave is gone.
An exemplary family seems lost;
The parental influences were great;
The bond of harmony is now a ghost;
‘’Tis all our making and not any fate!
When parents live, a home is truly home;
With parents dead, inmates share hatred-worm!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-8-2006
poem by John Celes
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Adoption
(01/11/12)
So many children are waiting in the wings
For being adopted is their thing.
Afraid to make plans for they don’t know
What lies ahead - their future is something
That they do dread.
Some move from home to home and never
Finding where they belong.
Many were abandoned and left on the street
With just their clothes on their backs and no food to eat.
Some were newborns left at police stations
Fire stations, and at church doors
Never to see their parents any more.
They have dreams like so many others
But they would prefer to have parents
And a sister or brother.
A person that they could say that- this is my mom
And this is my dad and I’m proud and awfully glad.
That I have parents as so many other children do
And knowing what it is to be loved like you.
We are all adoptable if given a chance
Look in our hearts and you’ll understand.
We don’t know why we was abandoned
Or what we had done wrong, but with
Parents is where we belong.
I’ll wipe away my tears so that you could see
The love and pain that’s inside of me.
If you can’t have children or have a kind heart
Then adoption is where you can start.
ADOPT
poem by Louis Rams
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The Voyage
We all are on a voyage,
a voyage to the stars.
None of us will get there
in big old fancy cars.
Some of us will get there
long before some others.
But it doesn't matter
for we're sisters and brothers.
This voyage must be taken
on a solo flight.
It will only happen
when you see the light,
the light that shines so brightly
right before your eyes.
The star that you will go to
will make you realize
that earth is just a temporary place
we come to visit.
It feels like home for a while
and maybe you will miss it.
But when you reach that star
that you're headed for
all your memories will return
like walking through a door.
The stars are out there twinkling
all through the night,
twinkling out a message
to all that see its light,
saying'I'm waiting for your voyage.
Come back home to me.
I'm the star you've reached for
throughout eternity.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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