A Picture at Newstead
What made my heart, at Newstead, fullest swel? --
'Twas not the thought of Byron, of his cry
Stormily sweet, his Titan agony;
It was the sight of that Lord Arundelv
Who struck, in heat, the child he loved so well,
And the child's reason flickered, and did die.
Painted (he will'd it) in the gallery
They hang; the picture doth the story tell.
Behold the stern, mail'd father, staff in hand!
The little fair-hair'd son, with vacant gaze, 10
Where no more lights of sense or knowledge are!
Methinks the woe which made that father stand
Baring his dumb remorse to future days,
Was woe than Byron's woe more tragic far.
poem by Matthew Arnold from Sonnets (1867)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Letter My Father Will Never See
if only one last time i could see you. if only one time i could tell you what i think. if only one time i could say what i've been thinking for all these years. if only i could just not care. if only it didn't hurt so much. if only i could say that you dont matter. if only i could tell you. if only one time you'd listen. if only you knew. if only i could tell you your an ass. if only i could say and put into words what you've put me through. if only you were around to say good job.
as a father you have failed. as a father you were never there. as a father you never held me. as a father you never cared. as a father you never gave me praise. as a father you never brushed my hair. as a father you didn't teach me about life. as a father you didn't teach me how to care. as a father you never showed me love. as a a father you you let me cower in the corner. as a father you scared the hell out of me every night of the week. as a father you came home drunk. as a father you didn't put me to bed. as a father you never gave me a hug as a father you were my worst night. however, for some reason i cant fathom your my father. and for the same reason i cant fathom how you earned the title when being a father was one thing that you never were and dont seem to want to be.
A father, A child. The meaningful bond
A father, A child. The meaningful bond
A father whispers to the child
As the child continues to ignore his spoken words
As if his owner was almost invisible from the corner of his eye
The child shouts – silence” the father then trembles disfigured to heart
He stands crying tears of fury with the spark of love of his child’s naivety.
The child carries on his missions, his father watches him do his thing”
When finally one day the child realizes his insane character, the father then
Ignores his presence..
Appreciate what you have here, now, but not always.
because 'you never know'.
poem by Noorie Ali
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Father's Son
Just a boy, not yet a man
only seven-teen
lived life to his fullest
happy as you could have seen
born into this world as one
he was someone's father's son
taken away far too soon
guess that's what God had planned
may peace be with you as you rest
He loved waking up in the morning
head on off to school
hang out with a friend or two
but if you would have asked him
to tell you a story of his favorite time
he would talk about those days hunting
with grandpa and dad
those were the best days I had
under those Northern Michigan skies
That old Nova sitting in the yard
he thought was so cool
waiting for that day he could drive it
piece by piece he watched and learned
as it was put together
hours turned into days that burned
nothing here is forever
He said though the time's are hard
dad did'nt we make it through
this is as good as it could get
and every eagle flies
looks like we won
he was someone's father's son
Hair so blonde, eyes so blue
shining like the moon
holding the Lords' hand
now in the promise land
he was someone's father's son
dedicated to: 'Jayson Lee Keson, Jr.'
December 29th.1991
to Septemberber 23rd.2009
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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Jeptha's Daughter
I
Since our Country, our God—Oh my Sire—
Demand that thy daughter expire;
Since thy triumph was brought by thy vow—
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!
II
And the voice of my mourning is o'er—
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!
III
And of this, oh! my Father! be sure—
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow—
And the last thought that soothes me below.
IV
Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free!
V
When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd—
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd—
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!
poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dear Granfather
My gran father
Is...
My father...
yes...
My lovingely father...
My gran father loves for me...
At over of my father...
I am also love
My gran father a lot....
My gran father telling
Stores at my child age...
It is very happyfull...
Today my gran father
Is passaway...
I did not woory
I did not cry...
But...
Heart only think
My gran father
Golden days...
Theay all are
Olden days...
Did not come
My life that days....
My gran father also...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Death of Rebellion (Narrative)
She was a sweet young girl
The apple of her father's eyes
Her long hair blessed with curls
She was adored by all the guys.
Her father tried to set rules
His attempts at discipline,
To guide her from home to school
And to watch where she had been.
But the young Miss felt quite fenced
And rebelled like all young people,
With repeated lies and offense
She made her father miserable.
Now the young woman had a boyfriend
A fellow classmate with whom she went,
The young man she'd always defend
When with rules her father was bent.
One day without his knowledge,
The young sweethearts went for a date.
The days searching left him on edge,
When they found her, it was rather too late.
Any father will melt at the horror
Of finding his daughter so dead,
Twenty stab wounds from her young lover
Whose drug-crazed mind was addicted.
Yes the father loved her so much
But his child was warped in rebellion.
He could only grieve and watch
As she swallowed her own destruction.
'A fool spurns his father's discipline, but whoever heeds correction
shows prudence.'
Proverbs 15: 5
.........................................
August 4,2009
Tarlac City
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Sketch of Lord Byron's Life
"Lord Byron" was an Englishman
A poet I believe,
His first works in old England
Was poorly received.
Perhaps it was "Lord Byron's" fault
And perhaps it was not.
His life was full of misfortunes,
Ah, strange was his lot.
The character of "Lord Byron"
Was of a low degree,
Caused by his reckless conduct,
And bad company.
He sprung from an ancient house,
Noble, but poor, indeed.
His career on earth, was marred
By his own misdeeds.
Generous and tender hearted,
Affectionate by extreme,
In temper he was wayward,
A poor "Lord" without means;
Ah, he was a handsome fellow
With great poetic skill,
His great intellectual powers
He could use at his will.
He was a sad child of nature,
Of fortune and of fame;
Also sad child to society,
For nothing did he gain
But slander and ridicule,
Throughout his native land.
Thus the "poet of the passions,"
Lived, unappreciated, man.
Yet at the age of 24,
"Lord Byron" then had gained
The highest, highest, pinacle
Of literary fame.
Ah, he had such violent passions
They was beyond his control,
Yet the public with its justice,
Sometimes would him extol.
Sometimes again "Lord Byron"
Was censured by the press,
Such obloquy, he could not endure,
So he done what was the best.
He left his native country,
This great unhappy man;
The only wish he had, "'tis said,"
He might die, sword in hand.
He had joined the Grecian Army;
This man of delicate frame;
And there he died in a distant land,
And left on earth his fame.
"Lord Byron's" age was 36 years,
Then closed the sad career,
Of the most celebrated "Englishman"
Of the nineteenth century.
poem by Julia A Moore
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A Pig's-Eye View Of Literature
The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron
Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls,
And Keats never was a descendant of earls,
And Byron walked out with a number of girls,
But it didn't impair the poetical feats
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley and Keats.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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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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God the Father
God the Father
By: Adam M. Snow
To be at the sight of all beauty and grace,
and seek guidance in your glorious place.
To be still and in awe of you,
and to know you made me new.
To be welcome in your open arms,
and see all around the Heavenly charms.
To you God the Father, who art in Heaven,
let your will be done, let this place be haven.
To you my Father, the one who's beguiled,
who wants me to run to him, your once lost child.
To you my Redeemer and Strong Tower,
whose with me each beloved hour.
May I say unto you,
for I know it's true,
for all the love you've poured,
thank you O Lord.
You forgave my each and every sin,
and I end this prayer O Lord Amen.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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I'm Still My Father's Child
When I lost my father I put myself under the fatherless, but
Now I know he had to go for me to realise that
I’ve always been blessed with two fathers
When I lost my father I thought everybody you love is bound to leave
But now I know he was just here for a purpose and he had to go
For me to realise that I have a Father that will never leave nor forsake me
When I lost my father I thought it was the end of what we had, but
Now I realise that our relationship was a parable. He has to leave
For me to practice what he taught me with my eternal Father
When I lost my father I thought nobody will ever fill his space, but
He had to leave for me to know my Heavenly Father
For us to have a close relationship that we have now
When I lost my father I though God had taken him away from me, but
Now I understand that he had to go for me
To remain my Father’s child forever.
I AM MY FATHER’S CHILD
poem by Sihle KaPhila Zulu
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Lost Innocence
The small boy sits in the corner
waiting for his father into return.
He is afraid to move about,
He might be punished for that also.
He believes his father
will bring him something good.
But when his dad walks through the door,
all he has is the bottle in his hand.
He runs to embrace his father
and receives a blow to the head.
When the fragile child awakens,
He is in much pain.
His drunken father lies on the couch,
without a care in the world.
He returns slowly and quietly
To his darkened corner,
And says to himself
'Wouldn't it be great if my father loved me,
More than the bottle in his hand.'
(Views Taken from a short story in hindi.)
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Verses To A Child
O raise those eyes to me again
And smile again so joyously,
And fear not, love; it was not pain
Nor grief that drew these tears from me;
Beloved child, thou canst not tell
The thoughts that in my bosom dwell
Whene'er I look on thee!
Thou knowest not that a glance of thine
Can bring back long departed years
And that thy blue eyes' magic shine
Can overflow my own with tears,
And that each feature soft and fair
And every curl of golden hair,
Some sweet remembrance bears.
Just then thou didst recall to me
A distant long forgotten scene,
One smile, and one sweet word from thee
Dispelled the years that rolled between;
I was a little child again,
And every after joy and pain
Seemed never to have been.
Tall forest trees waved over me,
To hide me from the heat of day,
And by my side a child like thee
Among the summer flowerets lay.
He was thy sire, thou merry child.
Like thee he spoke, like thee he smiled,
Like thee he used to play.
O those were calm and happy days,
We loved each other fondly then;
But human love too soon decays,
And ours can never bloom again.
I never thought to see the day
When Florian's friendship would decay
Like those of colder men.
Now, Flora, thou hast but begun
To sail on life's deceitful sea,
O do not err as I have done,
For I have trusted foolishly;
The faith of every friend I loved
I never doubted till I proved
Their heart's inconstancy.
'Tis mournful to look back upon
Those long departed joys and cares,
But I will weep since thou alone
Art witness to my streaming tears.
This lingering love will not depart,
I cannot banish from my heart
The friend of childish years.
But though thy father loves me not,
Yet I shall still be loved by thee,
And though I am by him forgot,
Say wilt thou not remember me!
I will not cause thy heart to ache;
For thy regretted father's sake
I'll love and cherish thee.
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hymn 64
Adoption.
1 John 3:1ff; Gal. 4:6.
Behold what wondrous grace
The Father has bestowed
On sinners of a mortal race,
To call them sons of God!
'Tis no surprising thing
That we should be unknown;
The Jewish world knew not their king,
God's everlasting Son.
Nor doth it yet appear
How great we must be made;
But when we see our Savior here,
We shall be like our Head.
A hope so much divine
May trials well endure;
May purge our souls from sense and sin,
As Christ the Lord is pure.
If in my Father's love
I share a filial part,
Send down thy Spirit like a dove,
To rest upon my heart.
We would no longer lie
Like slaves beneath the throne;
My faith shall Abba, Father, cry,
And thou the kindred own.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Alaskan Balladry
Krinken was a little child,-
It was summer when he smiled.
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him,
Calling, 'Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!'
But the child heard not the sea,
Calling, yearning evermore
For the summer on the shore.
Krinken on the beach one day
Saw a maiden Nis at play;
On the pebbly beach she played
In the summer Krinken made.
Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he.
'Krinken,' said the maiden Nis,
'Let me have a little kiss,
Just a kiss, and go with me
To the summer-lands that be
Down within the silver sea.'
Krinken was a little child-
By the maiden Nis beguiled,
Hand in hand with her went he,
And 'twas summer in the sea.
And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him-
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm.
Now the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-
Winter where that little child
Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though 'tis summer on the sea
Where with maiden Nis went he,-
Summer, summer evermore,-
It is winter on the shore,
Winter, winter evermore.
Of the summer on the deep
Come sweet visions in my sleep:
His
fair face lifts from the sea,
His
dear voice calls out to me,-
These my dreams of summer be.
Krinken was a little child,
By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Crying, 'Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!'
But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-
Winter, cold and dark and wild;
Krinken was a little child,-
It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea,
And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.
poem by Eugene Field
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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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Surfs Up
A diamond necklace played the pawn
Hand in hand some drummed along, oh
To a handsome man and baton
A blind class aristocracy
Back through the opera glass you see
The pit and the pendulum drawn
Columnated ruins domino
Canvass the town and brush the backdrop
Are you sleeping?
Hung velvet overtaken me
Dim chandelier awaken me
To a song dissolved in the dawn
The music hall a costly bow
The music all is lost for now
To a muted trumperter swan
Columnated ruins domino
Canvass the town and brush the backdrop
Are you sleeping, brother john?
Dove nested towers the hour was
Strike the street quicksilver moon
Carriage across the fog
Two-step to lamp lights cellar tune
The laughs come hard in auld lang syne
The glass was raised, the fired rose
The fullness of the wine, the dim last toasting
While at port adieu or die
A choke of grief hard hardened i
Beyond belief a broken man too tough to cry
Surfs up
Aboard a tidal wave
Come about hard and join
The young and often spring you gave
I heard the word
Wonderful thing
A childrens song
Child, child, child, child, child
A child is the father of the man
Child, child, child, child, child
A child is the father of the man
A childrens song
Have you listened as they played
Their song is love
And the children know the way
Thats why the child is the father to the man
Child, child, child, child, child
Child, child, child, child, child
Na na na na na na na na
Child, child, child, child, child
Thats why the child is the father to the man
Child, child, child, child, child
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The gallery of my heart
The gallery of my heart
~
Like a portrait hung
In the gallery of my heart
A girl of undoubted beauty
Breathtaking and full of wonder
Holds my gaze completely
I find my words flowing
In a river of adoration
I dedicate her my soul
There is a girl of beauty
Beyond which none compare
Painted to a memory
In the gallery of my heart
The softness of her eyes
A warmth to her lips
Fair skin and cascading hair
What love may imagine
When looking upon
A girl in portrait hung
In the gallery of my heart
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Son Of A Rotten Gambler
And his love will be his vision
And he'll take you where you stand
And will you stand
Your life by his and help the boy become a man ?
Will he be the son of his father
His father
the teacher teachin' love
And honesty and bein' his own man handler
Or the son of
the son of a run of the millrun
Rotten gambler.
Will the devil be gettin' to you as you look back
Over what you've done.
And what you've done
Was it for reason or for rhyme or was it just for fun?
Will he be the son of his father
. . .
Back on the road now deacon will lose your hand
There ain't no kingdom for the gamblin' man.
You know the road now and you have made your stand
And when his eyes shine upon you
shine upon you
Will he be the son of his father
. . .
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Krinken
Krinken was a little child,--
It was summer when he smiled.
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him,
Calling, "Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the child heard not the sea,
Calling, yearning evermore
For the summer on the shore.
Krinken on the beach one day
Saw a maiden Nis at play;
On the pebbly beach she played
In the summer Krinken made.
Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he.
"Krinken," said the maiden Nis,
"Let me have a little kiss,
Just a kiss, and go with me
To the summer-lands that be
Down within the silver sea."
Krinken was a little child--
By the maiden Nis beguiled,
Hand in hand with her went he,
And 'twas summer in the sea.
And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him--
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm.
Now the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,--
Winter where that little child
Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though 'tis summer on the sea
Where with maiden Nis went he,--
Summer, summer evermore,--
It is winter on the shore,
Winter, winter evermore.
Of the summer on the deep
Come sweet visions in my sleep:
His fair face lifts from the sea,
His dear voice calls out to me,--
These my dreams of summer be.
Krinken was a little child,
By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Crying, "Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,--
Winter, cold and dark and wild;
Krinken was a little child,--
It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea,
And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.
poem by Eugene Field
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