When Father Shook The Stove
'Twas not so many years ago,
Say, twenty-two or three,
When zero weather or below
Held many a thrill for me.
Then in my icy room I slept
A youngster's sweet repose,
And always on my form I kept
My flannel underclothes.
Then I was roused by sudden shock
Though still to sleep I strove,
I knew that it was seven o'clock
When father shook the stove.
I never heard him quit his bed
Or his alarm clock ring;
I never heard his gentle tread,
Or his attempts to sing;
The sun that found my window pane
On me was wholly lost,
Though many a sunbeam tried in vain
To penetrate the frost.
To human voice I never stirred,
But deeper down I dove
Beneath the covers, when I heard
My father shake the stove.
To-day it all comes back to me
And I can hear it still;
He seemed to take a special glee
In shaking with a will.
He flung the noisy dampers back,
Then rattled steel on steel,
Until the force of his attack
The building seemed to feel.
Though I'd a youngster's heavy eyes
All sleep from them he drove;
It seemed to me the dead must rise
When father shook the stove.
Now radiators thump and pound
And every room is warm,
And modern men new ways have found
To shield us from the storm.
The window panes are seldom glossed
The way they used to be;
The pictures left by old Jack Frost
Our children never see.
And now that he has gone to rest
In God's great slumber grove,
I often think those days were best
When father shook the stove.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
American Soldier
His face against the window the boy starts to cry,
Out of all days on his birthday the 9th of July,
His father had just left to go back to Iraq,
And the boy didn't know if he'd ever come back,
This wasn't the first time his father went away,
But everytime he did the boy would pray,
That his father would return,
Without even a burn,
It was realy hard to have faith,
That his father would be safe,
When everyday on TV,
He'd hear about another injury,
The boy would lose hope everytime he heard a knock on the door,
And it wasn't his father coming back from the war,
Every night before going to sleep the boy thought about the war,
How his dream to be like his father in the army was not anymore,
One morning the boy woke up and he went to eat his breakfast,
And when he did he saw the one that for a long time he missed,
He tried but couldn't hold in his tears,
After realizing that God had heard his prayers,
Never again will I leave his father then said,
I have realized now all the tears I have caused to be shed,
Wether it be to family or to a friend,
This is THE END!
poem by Motti Dahan
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Were Gonna Move
(words & music by vera matson - elvis presley)
Well theres a leak in this old building
Yes, theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Were gonna move to a better home
We got no pane in this old window
We got no pane in this old window
We got no pane in this old window
Were gonna move to a better home
Well theres a hole in the roof where the rain pours in
A hole in the floor where it drops right out again
Well theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Were gonna move to a better home
Well theres a crack across the ceiling
Yes theres a crack across the ceiling
Well theres a crack across the ceiling
Were gonna find us a better home
Weve gotta stove without a chimney
Weve gotta stove without a chimney
What goods a stove without a chimney
Were gonna move to a better home
Pulling down window shades is no use at all
The kids and the neighbor can peep right through the wall
Well theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Were gonna move to a better, move to a better
Move to a better home
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father, Can you see me?
Can You See Me Father?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me through this night?
Father, are you with me?
I look up at the sky, and wonder why, I feel so alone now...
Father, will you help me?
Im afraid to close my eyes.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, if I sleep now, will you be watching over me this night?
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, the world I see is so much larger, than I remember when you were here with me.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me stand own my own two feet once more?
Father, Im on my knees, looking at the sky, looking for your eyes.
Father, I've lost my way, Lord, I pray for your guidance once more.
Father, what was your will, Lord, it was not mine.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, as I pray for your will, please come and show me the way, dear Lord I pray.
Amen
poem by Rose Rosado
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An Uneasy Sleep
The lightning flashed outside the window
the thunder clapped shaking everything
I had the eerie feeling of something watching me.
The lightning forced shadows to dance around the room,
as I got ready to pull the covers over my head,
my eyes searched for movement
of which I was unaware of
my heart pounded against my chest
as the storm raged without abate.
There was a tapping at the window;
I was not brave enough to look
to see if it was a branch or a face wanting me.
I slipped under the covers
going down as far as I could go,
something moved around the floor,
the creaks and thumps told me so.
I wanted to pull the covers back
and have a little peek,
but I thought better of it and tried to go to sleep.
I heard the door yawn and the hinges creak
the ghost of old McNair must be coming
for me when I fell asleep.
I heard more movements
and voices whispering low
and my heart-started pound more.
I laid silent and still hoping
that whatever it was
wouldn’t think I was in bed.
Something sat on the edge of the bed;
it was coming to get me for sure.
Then something poked around
to see if I was there.
I could feel it getting closer and closer,
I held my breath tying mot to scream,
and then it touched me and I let out a yell.
I threw back to the covers
and the room was bathed in soft warm candlelight.
The lightning outside still flashed,
a pair of smiling faces looked down at me.
I looked up at them want to know
just what was going on.
“I think the fever has broken now.
He should be a lot better in the, morning.
My advice is that you stay with him a while,
at least until he falls asleep.”
My mother nodded, and then smiled at me.
“Now you just lie down again
and try and get some sleep.
I’ll be sitting here in case you need me.”
I rested back against the pillow;
my fears were now at rest.
I closed my eyes
and sleep captured me immediately.
30 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Wind And Window Flower
Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.
When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the cagèd yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,
He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
To come again at dark.
He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.
But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.
Perchance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.
But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.
poem by Robert Frost
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Herd, heard!
Herd, heard!
Move, drove, dove, cove, clove, glove, trove;
Armies, spies, flies, families, willies, homilies, butterflies! !
But, this garden is down under there;
So, you need the steps.
Grove, love, rove, hove, above, wove, strove, stove;
Training,
Raining,
Fitness lady,
Fitness man,
Cheer leaders! !
Herd, heard!
Mr. Undercover,
Affection,
Affliction,
But, time for action! !
All in the name of war.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Soul Kitchen
Well, the clock says its time to close now
I guess Id better go now
Id really like to stay here all night
The cars crawl past all stuffed with eyes
Street lights share their hollow glow
Your brain seems bruised with numb surprise
Still one place to go
Still one place to go
Let me sleep all night in your soul kitchen
Warm my mind near your gentle stove
Turn me out and Ill wander baby
Stumblin in the neon groves
Well, your fingers weave quick minarets
Speak in secret alphabets
I light another cigarette
Learn to forget, learn to forget
Learn to forget, learn to forget
Let me sleep all night in your soul kitchen
Warm my mind near your gentle stove
Turn me out and Ill wander baby
Stumblin in the neon groves
Well the clock says its time to close now
I know I have to go now
I really want to stay here
All night, all night, all night
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Sun
Strange imaginations, children hide your secrets well
Is it not temptation, makes you kiss and makes you tell?
Theres a traveler on the airwaves, and hes pleading for my heart
Light up all the candles, Im still in the dark
Hurry operator, get redemption on the line
Pull back the curtains, I think I recognize those eyes
If love is so criminal, then my penance due
cause Im still holding onto letters written straight to you
Oh, wont you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh, please forgive me, father sun, father sun
I swore I needed you in the back of my mind
Laid the beads upon the table, right beside the wine
It seems that we say forever, but forevers just a word
And I will be coming back for you is all I heard
Oh, wont you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh, please forgive me, father sun, father sun
Please dont forget me, father sun, father sun
I think I hear him whispering
Put your hand in my hand and you wont feel a thing
Oh, wont you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh, please forgive me, father sun, father sun
Oh wont you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh wont you save me, father sun, father sun
Oh wont you save me, father sun, father sun
Oh wont you save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, father sun
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Small Elegy
My friends have left. Far away, my darling is asleep.
Outside, it's as dark as pitch.
I'm saying words to myself, words that are white
in the lamplight and when I'm half-asleep I begin
to think about my mother. Autumnal recollection.
Really, under the cover of winter, it's as if I know
everything---even what my mother is doing now.
She's at home in the kitchen. She has a small child's stove
toward which the wooden rocking horse can trot,
she has a small child's stove, the sort nobody uses today, but
she basks in its heat. Mother. My diminutive mom.
She sits quietly, hands folded, and thinks about
my father, who died years ago.
And then she is skinning fruit for me. I am
in the room. Sitting right next to her. You've got to see us,
God, you bully, who took so much. How
dark it is outside! What was I going to say?
Oh, yes, now I remember. Because
of all those hours I slept soundly, through calm
nights, because of all those loved ones who are deep
in dreams---Now, when everything's running short,
I can't stand being here by myself. The lamplight's too strong.
I am sowing grain on the headland.
I will not live long.
poem by Jirí Orten
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Father's Son
Sheryl Crow & Jay Oliver---
Strange imaginations, children hide your secrets well
Is it not temptation, makes you kiss and makes you tell?
There's a traveler on the airwaves, and he's pleading for my heart
Light up all the candles, I'm still in the dark
Hurry operator, get redemption on the line
Pull back the curtains, I think I recognize those eyes
If love is so criminal, then my penance due
'Cause I'm still holding onto letters written straight to you
[Chorus]
Oh, won't you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that you're the only one
Oh, please forgive me, father sun, father sun
I swore I needed you in the back of my mind
Laid the beads upon the table, right beside the wine
It seems that we say forever, but forever's just a word
"And I will be coming back for you" is all I heard [Chorus]
Please don't forget me, father sun, father sun
I think I hear him whispering
"Put your hand in my hand and you won't feel a thing"
[Chorus]
Oh won't you save me, father sun, father sun
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that you're the only one
Oh won't you save me, father sun, father sun
Oh won't you save me, father sun, father sun
Oh won't you save me, save me, save me
save me, save me, father sun
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Sun
Strange imaginations, children hide your secrets well
Is it not temptation makes you kiss and makes you tell?
Theres a traveller on the airwaves and hes pleading for my heart
Light up all the candles, Im still in the dark
Hurry operator, get redemption on the line
Pull back the curtains, I think I recognize those eyes
If love is so criminal, then my penance due
cause Im still holdin on to letters written straight to you
(chorus)
Oh, wont you save me, father sun, father sun?
I need to tell you father sun, father sun
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh, please forgive me father sun, father sun
I said I needed you in the back of my mind
Laid the beads up on the table, right besides the wine
It seems that we say forever, but forevers just a word
And I well be coming back for you, is all I heard
(repeat chorus)
Please dont forget me, father sun, father sun
I think I hear him whispering
Put your hand in mine and you wont feel a thing!
(repeat chorus)
Oh, wont you save me father sun, father sun?
I need to tell you that my life is on the run
And now you know that youre the only one
Oh, wont you save me father sun, father sun?
Oh, wont you save me father sun, father sun?
Oh, wont you save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, father sun?
song performed by by Wynonna Judd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Old Man's Winter Night
All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man -- one man -- can't keep a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It's thus he does it of a winter night.
poem by Robert Frost
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Come Home, Father!
'Tis The
SONG OF LITTLE MARY,
Standing at the bar-room door
While the shameful midnight revel
Rages wildly as before.
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes one;
You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done.
Our fire has gone out our house is all dark
And mother's been watching since tea, --
With poor brother Benny so sick in her arms,
And no one to help her but me. --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes two;
The night has grown colder, and Benny is worse
But he has been calling for you.
Indeed he is worse Ma says he will die,
Perhaps before morning shall dawn; --
And this is the message she sent me to bring
"Come quickly, or he will be gone." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes three;
The house is so lonely the hours are so long
For poor weeping mother and me.
Yes, we are alone poor Benny is dead,
And gone with the angels of light; --
And these were the very last words that he said
"I want to kiss Papa good night." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Memorial
Summer
He worked nights, leaving as we climbed
the tall narrow staircase to our shared room,
up into the summer heat, the steel fan
in the hallway window
pulling cool, leafy breezes
from our waving trees.
We heard the kitchen screen-door
slap shut, the Pontiac roaring to life,
and watched as slowly he backed down
the dark driveway, and was gone.
And gladly we glided through our misty dreams,
flying over tree-tops, baseball games
and cool swimming pools,
when finally the robin’s enthusiasm
and the fresh morning sun
flashing through green leaves
woke us as we heard the car stop
and Dad call cheerfully, “I’m home! ”
The air already scented with bacon and coffee,
we flew down the groaning stairs,
two steps at a bound,
and eagerly started another golden
summer’s day.
Winter
One winter day I did something wrong, and
he got angry and drew his worn leather belt
from the loops of his grey, stained work trousers
To teach me a lesson.
Terrified, I ran upstairs to the big closet
and trembled behind coats and sweaters,
as heavily he came up the steps,
righteous anger ringing in his voice,
tears flowing down my cheeks;
when my big brother, teenage and strong,
called defiance to him and drew him down
into the back yard to fight him
and save me, angered by his
memory of so many other beatings,
determined to stop it now!
But facing his own father
he could not fight back, and
weeping, I watched my dad
pummel my brother’s defenseless face,
far worse than any beating
I would have gotten.
From kitchen window,
I screamed to them both
to stop!
That was when my father saw,
in the kitchen window’s glare
his own father’s angry eyes,
and felt his father’s fists
landing hard on his own face,
and he stopped and
embraced my brother.
Spring
Seven years after my father died
my first child, my son, was born in spring,
and in the gleaming, sterile room
I first held him in my arms
as, with his impossibly wide, blue eyes
he calmy gazed right into my raw soul,
and I felt in a sudden rush of warmth,
a timeless love
and at last discovered
the reason for my life.
It was then
I understood my father.
In my son’s face I saw my own
and felt my father’s eyes gazing
in warm wonder on me
and I glowed with
unconditional love for my son.
poem by Steven Federle
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blind Rower
And since he rowed his father home,
His hand has never touched an oar.
All day he wanders on the shore,
And hearkens to the swishing foam.
Though blind from birth, he still could row
As well as any lad with sight;
And knew strange things that none may know
Save those who live without the light.
When they put out that Summer eve
To sink the lobster-pots at sea,
The sun was crimson in the sky;
And not a breath was in the sky;
The brooding, thunder-laden sky,
That, heavily and wearily,
Weighed down upon the waveless sea
That scarcely seamed to heave.
The pots were safely sunk; and then
The father gave the word for home:
He took the tiller in his hand,
And, in hi s heart already home,
He brought her nose round towards the land,
To steer her straight for home.
He never spoke,
Nor stirred again:
A sudden stroke,
And he lay dead,
With staring eyes, and lips off lead.
The son rowed on, and nothing feared:
And sometimes, merrily,
He lifted up his voice, and sang,
Both high and low,
And loud and sweet:
For he was ever gay at sea,
And ever glad to row,
And rowed as only blind men row:
And little did the blind lad know
That death was at his feet:
For still he thought his father steered;
Nor knew that he was all alone
With death upon the open sea.
So merrily, he rowed, and sang:
And, strangely on the silence rang
That lonely melody,
As, through the livid, brooding gloam,
By rock and reef, he rowed for home--
The blind man rowed the dead man home.
But, as they neared the shore,
He rested on his oar:
And, wondering that his father kept
So very quiet in the stern,
He laughed, and asked him if he slept;
And vowed he heard him snore just now.
Though, when his father spoke no word,
A sudden fear upon him came:
And, crying on his father's name,
With flinching heart, he heard
The water lapping on the shore;
And all his blood ran cold, to feel
The shingle grate beneath the keel:
And stretching over towards the stern,
His knuckle touched the dead man's brow.
But help was near at hand;
And safe he came to land:
Though none has ever known
How he rowed in, alone,
And never touched a reef.
Some say they saw the dead man steer--
The dead man steer the blind man home--
Though, when they found him dead,
His hand was cold as lead.
So, ever restless, to and fro,
In every sort of weather,
The blind lad wanders on the shore,
And hearkens to the foam.
His hand has never touched an oar,
Since they came home together--
The blind, who rowed his father home--
The dear, who steered his blind son home.
poem by Wilfred Wilson Gibson
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Yesterday
My friend says I was not a good son
you understand
I say yes I understand
he says I did not go
to see my parents very often you know
and I say yes I know
even when I was living in the same city he says
maybe I would go there once
a month or maybe even less
I say oh yes
he says the last time I went to see my father
I say the last time I saw my father
he says the last time I saw my father
he was asking me about my life
how I was making out and he
went into the next room
to get something to give me
oh I say
feeling again the cold
of my father's hand the last time
he says and my father turned
in the doorway and saw me
look at my wristwatch and he
said you know I would like you to stay
and talk with me
oh yes I say
but if you are busy he said
I don't want you to feel that you
have to
just because I'm here
I say nothing
he says my father
said maybe
you have important work you are doing
or maybe you should be seeing
somebody I don't want to keep you
I look out the window
my friend is older than I am
he says and I told my father it was so
and I got up and left him then
you know
though there was nowhere I had to go
and nothing I had to do
poem by William Stanley Merwin
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Something About The Weather
Dear sister, you have no idea
About the weather here
The earth is dry
We haven't seen any rain
For the past few years
And hunger is striking.
Looking out through the window
Father is trying to forecast the weather
And he has been saying something
But no one heard what the exact words are
For he's talking to no one, but himself.
Oh! how terrible things are here
The weather is bad, so bad that
I am beginning to believe what father has said.
'This is not weather, but a curse laid upon us.'
23/03/2004
poem by Arsiema Berhane
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We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it--and stop there; lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove lid. She will never sit on a hot stove lid again--and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one anymore.
quote by Mark Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I used to get on a stove wood pile at 5-6 years old and I would have a piece of stove wood and kindling bark as a pick, and I was a star.
quote by Jerry Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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