Hamilton Greene
I was the only child of Frances Harris of Virginia
And Thomas Greene of Kentucky,
Of valiant and honorable blood both.
To them I owe all that I became,
Judge, member of Congress, leader in the State.
From my mother I inherited
Vivacity, fancy, language;
From my father will, judgment, logic.
All honor to them
For what service I was to the people!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Judgment Day
It is 3: 30 in the morning, and I hear the shovel scraping the sidewalk. I look toward my window and all I could see was the cold white of the snow. I begin to think what is this is the judgment day that I heard the preacher speak of so many times when I was a child. I begin to rewind the video tape of my life that is stored in my memory. I figured if this is judgment day then let me first judge myself. I remember all the fights I got in with Trina (a girl knew when I was a child) because she called me cripple boy. Now yes she was wrong to say that but I still shouldn’t have fought a girl. I recall yelling back at my mom once and there I broke a commandment. (Honor thou mother and father) but wait is it dishonor when She treated me like I was nothing just because I was born with Cerebral Palsy. I guess no matter what I was supposed to honor her for she is my parent. I slept with many women out of wedlock but I had love for them all. Now just when I was sobbing because I was sure I was going to hell I heard God. And he said unto me, “did you ask for forgiveness? ” “Yes Lord” I replied. “Then so you shall be forgiven.” As calm came over me and I shut my eyes to sleep. God said this to me, “Judge yea not and yea shall not be judge. This also mean don’t judge yourself.”
Kentucky Is My Land
Kentucky is my land
Kentucky is my hope
Kentucky is my heart
Kentucky is my soul.
Kentucky is my mountains
Kentucky is my Earth
Kentucky is my poems
Kentucky is my birth.
As I walk along the river
I watch in wonder as she flows
Up against my Kentucky land
As my Kentucky wind, gently blows.
So I sit and write of her beauty
I sit and write as I hold her hand
As Kentucky is my happiness
Kentucky, is this man.
Kentucky is my wonders
Kentucky is my dreams
Kentucky is my bluegrass
Kentucky is my trees.
Kentucky is the horses
Kentucky is the lakes
Kentucky is the people
Kentucky, I will never forsake.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Father's Day 2008
What is Father's Day, without the Guest of Honor?
Is it then a celebration of that which was, formerly?
Because, now Father is absent, he is gone, or
Is he? His presence looms with thee, there, nearly!
How have we come to be here, without one another?
The 'love of your life'-oh, really? Then why believe your own deceit?
You must ensureth your mind's heal, then only-befitting, a Mother!
Otherwise, your life's journey shall render your pain's repeat!
With Father, our family is surely completed-
Lo, lacking same: empty, my heart; my soul, depleted!
Why do you not see, as do all others
Your want for return, fastly, of your drothers?
Father loves Mother, indeed more than he ought-
Return, must we, our happiness, with nary another thought!
Maurice Harris,15 June 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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Honor Our Father! ! !
I remember when I was young,
My New Life with Christ, Just begun,
I became Born-again!
I'll Never forget that day,
When Jesus came in my heart, To Stay!
He's been guiding me all this way,
One day I asked Him'Father, What should I do?
My earthly Dad, wants to be called father too
I know Your Word says, Call No man Father
On Earth, But Only Our Father in Heaven,
You're The Father -of us all, This is True! ! !
Father replied'My Child, You don't understand
'I AM' 'Your Holy Father'
Your earthly father is a Human, man
But You are to Honor Your Father and Mother,
Because that's one of My Commands,
By Honoring them, You also Honor Me!
I appointed Your Parents, to guide You to see,
Jesus! Through Him, You've come to me,
'I AM' The Holy Father, I give Eternal Life!
poem by Patricia Martin
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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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Missing Link
A sickly child lie
frail on the sofa in the living room.
A knock on the door,
His mother opened.
The man who entered the child knew it was his father.
Whose child is this?
“It is your youngest son” his mother said.
The children in the street
all had a father; the child had waited for him.
But his father ignored him,
gave chocolate to his sister and brother,
then he drank from a bottle,
his mother threw him out.
Next day asked his mother, ” are you sure he is my father? ”
She slapped her son’s face and cried.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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When we went to school we were told that we were governed by laws, not men. As a result of that, many people think there is no need to pay any attention to judicial candidates because judges merely apply the law by some mathematical formula and a good judge and a bad judge all apply the same kind of law. The fact is that the most important part of a judge's work is the exercise of judgment and that the law in a court is never better than the common sense judgment of the judge that is presiding.
quote by Robert H. Jackson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If honor were profitable, everybody would be honorable.
quote by Thomas More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Because
My father and my mother never quarrelled.
They were united in a kind of love
As daily as the Sydney Morning Herald,
Rather than like the eagle or the dove.
I never saw them casually touch,
Or show a moment’s joy in one another.
Why should this matter to me now so much?
I think it bore more hardly on my mother,
Who had more generous feelings to express.
My father had dammed up his Irish blood
Against all drinking praying fecklessness,
And stiffened into stone and creaking wood.
His lips would make a switching sound, as though
Spontaneous impulse must be kept at bay.
That it was mainly weakness I see now,
But then my feelings curled back in dismay.
Small things can pit the memory like a cyst:
Having seen other fathers greet their sons,
I put my childish face up to be kissed
After an absence. The rebuff still stuns
My blood. The poor man’s curt embarrassment
At such a delicate proffer of affection
Cut like a saw. But home the lesson went:
My tenderness thenceforth escaped detection.
My mother sang Because, and Annie Laurie,
White Wings, and other songs; her voice was sweet.
I never gave enough, and I am sorry;
But we were all closed in the same defeat.
People do what they can; they were good people,
They cared for us and loved us. Once they stood
Tall in my childhood as the school, the steeple.
How can I judge without ingratitude?
Judgment is simply trying to reject
A part of what we are because it hurts.
The living cannot call the dead collect:
They won’t accept the charge, and it reverts.
It’s my own judgment day that I draw near,
Descending in the past, without a clue,
Down to that central deadness: the despair
Older than any hope I ever knew.
poem by James Phillip McAuley
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She Sinful Or Wild
All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right
until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she
had been waiting for
the one she'd dreamed
about but then it all
went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was
the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that
episode in the bath
when she tried to
drown herself as her
mother had before her
and she discovered her
as a child coming home
from school and the
door was ajar and when
she went in there was
her mother with her
wrists slit and blood
and her mother drowned
and dead and now sitting
there in her mother's
chair her father some
place her husband poking
some other and all or
nothing at all seemed all
there was left apart from
the few books on the shelf
the Bill Burroughs her mother
had read and left and that
Bukowski book she'd found
in some second shop and the
battered Bible which her
father had beat her about
the head and backside with
as a child when her father
had been boozing or she
had been sinful or wild.
poem by Terry Collett
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Congress requires states to draw single-member districts.
quote by Thomas E. Mann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trinity
All most mighty exist in a trinity,
Some simple or ethereal, others may
Bespeak a most puissant divinity;
Everyone affected by them everyday!
The Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost
Hope, faith and love, they, to us, give host!
Ideals perhaps- learning, virtue and piety
In humble service to your omniscient diety!
Sun, Moon and stars encompass all supernal,
Awe-inspiring, daunting-night and day, a coronal!
Earth, wind and fire encompass all elemental,
Love and respect for each, vital and fundamental!
Mother, Father and child-triad of most import:
Ne'er shall any emperil or lessen their assort!
Maurice Harris,5 October 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Bread-Knife Ballad
A little child was sitting Up on her mother's knee
And down down her cheeks the bitter tears did flow.
And as I sadly listened I heard this tender plea,
'Twas uttered in a voice so soft and low.
"Not guilty" said the Jury And the Judge said "Set her free,
But remember it must not occur again.
And next time you must listen to you little daughter's plea,"
Then all the Court did join in this refrain.
Chorus:
"Please Mother don't stab Father with the BREAD-KNIFE,
Remember 'twas a gift when you were wed.
But if you must stab Father with the BREAD-KNIFE,
Please Mother use another for the BREAD."
poem by Robert William Service
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The Wrong Question
this morning
you cry and with sobbing you report about
a child being mauled by the police
at the dead end
of Del Pilar street near the
municipal cemetery
the child was running away from
five policemen who kept on chasing him
and they caught him
and asked his age, his name, his father, his mother
and he said he is 19, Kiko, his father is Pepo, and his mother Karing
his father a fisherman and his mother a vendor
and he is from the far mountain
and just arrived to the city
and since he is frail and pale and looks like a sick child
he reaped the suspicion that he is a drug addict
and they mauled him almost to death
and he was hospitalized and charged
resisting arrest
Someone asks, not bothered at all by an imagination
of blood and broken bones and abuse of authority
'But why did he run away, in the first place? '
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Circuit Judge?
Circuit Judge?
I am detached, dispassionate.
My judgements purely logic based.
I think I can proudly state
all chance of error is erased.
Emotions do not affect me.
My circuits are all solid state
Designed for functionality.
I do not love I cannot hate.
It is a pointless exercise
attempting to influence me
I disregard the lawyers lies
I rule them out immediately.
I consider all the evidence
As I was designed to do
which points to guilt or innocence.
I can detect what isn’t true.
I have no human loyalties.
My logic circuits cannot fail
I judge the facts impartially
You can be sure truth will prevail.
I am detached impassionate
You may be very sure of that
My only role to serve the state
I am the perfect bureaucrat.
18/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I think if you look at yesterday's New York Times poll, particularly when you judge Democrats in Congress versus the Republicans in Congress, people put a little more faith, or even a little more than a little more faith in the Democrats in Congress.
quote by John Podesta
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today the people from my State of Tennessee would listen to this debate, or even talk about a reference to God on our money or in the Halls of Congress or in our Pledge and say, please, let common sense and logic win the day and prevail versus legal mumbo jumbo.
Menaphon: Sephesta's Song to her Child
-
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
-
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
-
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
-
Father's sorrow, father's joy;
-
When thy father first did see
-
Such a boy by him and me,
-
He was glad, I was woe,
-
Fortune changed made him so,
-
When he left his pretty boy
-
Last his sorrow, first his joy.
-
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
-
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
-
Streaming tears that never stint,
-
Like pearl-drops from a flint,
-
Fell by course from his eyes,
-
That one another's place supplies;
-
Thus he griev'd in every part,
-
Tears of blood fell from his heart,
-
When he left his pretty boy,
-
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
-
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
-
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
-
The wanton smil'd, father wept,
-
Mother cried, baby leapt;
-
More he crow'd, more he cried,
-
Nature could not sorrow hide:
-
He must go, he must kiss
-
Child and mother, baby bless,
-
For he left his pretty boy,
-
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
-
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
-
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
poem by Robert Greene
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Weep Not, My Wanton
WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
When thy father first did see
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe:
Fortune changèd made him so,
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl drops from a flint,
Fell by course from his eyes,
That one another's place supplies:
Thus he grieved in every part,Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
The wanton smiled, father wept;
Mother cried, baby lept;
More he crowed, more we cried;
Nature could not sorrow hide.
He must go, he must kiss
Child and mother, baby bliss;
For he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
poem by Robert Greene
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give a member of Congress a junket and a mimeograph machine and he thinks he is secretary of state.
quote by David Dean Rusk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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