Best of All
Over the years, I could recall
My father is not best of all
He brought me here
And left me uncared.
And now I am here
Struggling to get there
Never a hand he extend.
My mother one way
Is best of all
Solely she brought me up,
Me and my sisters.
By petty trading, and selling
Of almost all her priced wrappas,
She saw us through school.
Over the years I could recall
My mother one way is best of all.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Related quotes
A Childhood Play
I was struggling with my pant,
And a candy in my hand.
My mother ran behind,
As my father acted blind.
It was a childhood play which I now recall,
But it soon ended as I suddenly fall.
As I fall I faced towards the ground,
And when I was up I left something down.
One form my only three front teeth it was.
And what can I tell you how horrified I was.
I was crying with my best,
And my siblings got some rest.
They all laughed when they saw my face,
And for me it was end of days.
I was bleeding with a pain
Mother looked pale and stained.
She hugged and kissed me all around,
And it was a glass of water that my father found.
To make me feel happy he called me ‘Brave’,
As I still had that candy in one of my hand.
poem by Abhishek Pandey
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Somehow I Knew They Knew
My left hand has five fingers.
So does my right hand.
I look at them with my eyes.
I uncross my legs and look at my feet.
I breathe.
I am blessed,
With a mind that realizes...
This is not man made.
Or is it?
God...
Where are You?
In my hour of darkness.
'I brought you here!
And I'll take you out! '
My mother use to say that all the time.
To me and my sisters.
My father would just look.
That's all he had to do.
As if he was prepared,
To offer a hint or clue.
Somehow I knew they knew,
Something I didn't!
I am blessed.
I did not challenge my mother's words.
And God...
Thank You for keeping me silent.
Bringing me comfort as I prayed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Wedding Day
The Ice Queen, as everyone knows is my mother
a year after I left the Ice Queens dugeon I met
someonewe decided to get married.
I did not want to, but a invitation was to her.
THE ROYAL ICE QUEEN
MOTHER
r.s.v.p. stated will be able
I had been brought up in the
Catholic Church.
I had not been going to church.
So I felt like I did not have the right
to ask the church to bless
my marriage.
I would not experience the joy
my two sisters had.
Holding my fathers arm and walking
to the man I loved.
I would never have the memories of
hearing the words ''Who gives
this woman''?
And to hear my fathers answer,
'' I DO''
He was not there, the minute
I became a new wife.
He'd missed the most important
day in my life.
I know he did not do this by
his choice.
'' IT CAME FROM THE
ROYAL ICE QUEEN MOTHER''
herself.
My two older sisters had
beautiful church wedding.
My twin brother, brought
is then unborn son to his
formal wedding.
They were formal weddings
Gowns and Tucks.
All the silver trays
were pulled out for theirs.
The bar, was free you didn't
have to pay.
I love my sibling.
But why couldn't the
THE ROYAL ICE
QUEEN MOTHER
attend her youngest daughters,
little informal wedding?
But my little informal
wedding in that little
brown stone church
went on
.
It was a very beautiful
wedding.
on that very cold winter
night.
This all happened thirty
five years ago
We go each February
seventeenth.
We stand on the steps
and kiss and hug.
This has had happened for the
last thirty five years.
NO THANKS TO THE
ROYAL ICE QUEEN
MOTHER''
herself.
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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My Friends Back In My Prime Years
My friends back in my prime years I never did disown
It's just that I live far from them and apart we have grown
We drank and played football together but our separate ways we've gone
And we have forged new friendships and life of course goes on.
My friends back in my prime years may now look a bit gray
And they might not know me or I might not know them if by chance we met today
In my memory they have remained young but in reality
The years have left their mark on them as the years have left their mark on me.
Old father time the aloof one to anyone doesn't bow
And some of my friends of my prime years may be grand parents now
Perhaps they now are showing their age and time has left them slow
They could run fast as I recall some twenty years ago.
My friends back in my prime years I may now not recognize
For time leaves it's mark on all of us I've come to realize
I drunk beer with them in the pub and with them played football
And that was many years ago as I can well recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Like My Mother
There's candy
Icecream
Chocalate
Good dreams
And I like my Mother!
Mothers are sweet
Mothers are nice
They help you
Give you good advice
And they make you cookies!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I Like my Mother!
I really
Like
My Mother!
Theres Uncles
Cousins
Sisters
Brothers
Fathe rs
And I like my Mother!
And I pray God
You'll let my Mother live a thousand years
So I don't have to get a job or do anything
And I can just live with my mother!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I really
Like
My Mother!
poem by Art Paul Schlosser
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Random things about my Mother
My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue
My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake
My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane
My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine
My mother who knew
No contentment in living
My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two
My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died
My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury
My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears
My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years
My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets
My mother who was tamed
By my father
My mother who was captured by my father
My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh
My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint
My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin
My mother who love to walk about
My mother who gave a toe
A day away
My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot
My mother who was a great dresser
My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir
My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost
My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men
My mother who tried to settle down with my father
My mother who could never swim
My mother who loved to sing
My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town
My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing
My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family
My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.
My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve
My mother who I helped to live
My mother who I had to let die
My mother who lives in me
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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Dilema Of Going Home
Two decades now
Have I lived in America
And my mother
Calling from far away Africa,
Also my little sister
She propably was told of America
They all weap in my
dreams these days,
They want me back in Africa
To build the threshold of my father
That is far gone in decadence.
.
Home, I am coming home
To see my mothers face again
And my little sister Franscisca
She must be a woman by now.
But tell me brothers;
How could I ever go back to Africa
When I yet do not have wings for flight?
.
What would I say to the hungry
eyes of my mother, my sister?
What would I say to friends I left
behind my Africa ten years ago?
What would I say when they asked:
What have you brought for old
buddies you left behind ten years ago.
.
Ten years is long enough time
to be away from home,
And yet have nothing to show
for the labours.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-1)
At schooltime, my father left me at house gringo!
Yet I Kept my tender heart at home of lingo!
When I quested, for fate “he is right as rain.”
Tender tears exploded like MISSILES yet in vein;
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
While I missed mother’s love and father’s stories
All the night I stood without sleep with many worries
I asked the god, why two legs and hands!
Why not two bodies and two souls for errands!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
Sugarcane Juice, peanuts and berries!
Our green fields, summer holidays and holy tours!
When thousand memories flashes in mind, now,
How much I miss mom's care! How much I miss dad’s love!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
The small buns you bought for me still smell good,
The grapes brought, coming from city is still my favorite food;
The fruits you brought me with roots; are they heaven sent?
Yet I didn’t pay any rent pay as you are my parent!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
Do you know who my MAHATMA is? Oh, my brother!
He is not Mandela, nor Gandhi but my father
Who taught me A to Z rather?
What to do and what not to do, I gather!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
When I think of all the things you gave to me:
Your sacrifices in food; love and affection are some to name,
............................................. ................................................. .....
*A big NOTICE BOARD: Oops! Sorry the poem is NOT completed. This is just break time! Now continue Your reading in part 2 the poem.
Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-2) contin'd in part 2.. Read it.
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
First Teacher
First teacher is Mother
Next comes father
Mother gives birth
Mother is the earth
After five years
Father takes care
No substitute of
Father and mother
And they are ours
Life's newspaper.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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To Broaden My Perceptions
I don't recall my hand being held by anyone,
To make me feel safe and protected.
In fact I was made to feel I was in the way...
If it wasn't demanded that I'd take out the garbage,
Or carry ten gallon cans of oil to 'fetch'...
To heat the oil burners in a home I left,
When I was eighteen years old.
I even gave myself birthday parties.
And 'pretended' my parents attended,
Any of my school graduations.
Even though they didn't.
But that didn't stop my love for them.
To then be accused,
I was abandoning 'my' responsibilities.
When I declared I had 'had' it!
I was the oldest child.
Not anybody's father.
I had already grown older and wiser beyond my years.
To know what being abandoned meant.
I just got tired of being used.
So I left to let the military do that!
And glad I did to broaden my perceptions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Years After
Let my cry touch you, fate
You who killed my father
And let my mother follow him
Down below six years after
Let my cry touch you, fate
You who caused my guardian
To hate and maltreat me and
Drive me away seven years after
Let m cry touch you, fate
You who made me roam
Without a precise future after school
Confused even five years after
Let my cry touch you, fate
You who caused me to be
Dried up of love now that I
Miss mother fourteen years after.
poem by Samuel Nze
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Mistrust of Sex.
Ginny had a mistrust of sex,
It led into dark corners
she didn’t want to recall,
didn’t want to explore,
didn’t want to know.
Mother’d just died,
Father was too cut up
to notice the fingering and pokering
in shadowy places
out of sight of others.
Her husband tried,
years later,
in a gentle manner,
to open her up
to the joys of sex,
but she closed him up
and shut him down,
after kissing moved on
to touches and holding
and physical smut.
Ginny wished Mother’d been there,
hadn’t gone off with death,
hadn’t left her alone
with the bogeyman in the dark,
who touched her
and fingered her
just for a laugh and lark.
poem by Terry Collett
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Let My Cry Touch You, Fate
Let my cry touch you, fate
You who killed my father
And let my mother follow him
Down below six years after
Let my cry touch you, fate
You who caused my guardian
To hate and maltreat me and
Drive me away seven years after
Let m cry touch you, fate
You who made me roam
Without a precise future after school
Confused even five years after
Let my cry touch you, fate
You who caused me to be
Dried up of love now that I
Miss mother fourteen years after.
poem by Samuel Munachim
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Butter in her mouth
Butter in her mouth
School time is just too over, waking up and ready for the school otherwise I will beat you bitterly.
He put off the bed sheet from my body, stretched my hand,
In addition, put me on my foot.
Tears came in my eyes then I went slowly and slowly to my mother in the kitchen,
I put my finger towards my father
And complained about the rude behavior of my father,
Who was asking him to go to the school?
She embraced me; kiss my fore head, and politely asking me to become ready to school because I have to be an officer by studying in the school.
Orders were the same.
Father orders me to wake up and to go to the school while he was having a stick in his hand.
Mother also orders him to go to the school having butter in her mouth.
(From the diary of an Indian)
poem by Vijay Gupta
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Aproaching The New...the Unknown
it is not easy to save
or spare the years
itiis a tough business
though
ı have spared and saved so many years
once ı was a baby in a cradle
crying and seeking a refuge
in my mother bosom
then she was in flesh and blood
living beloved
now she is gone and left me alone
fed up with me
resting in her grave
may be a skeleton ı fear and salute
ı have never known father too
thoughmy mother...my father
my sisters and my big brother
always meet
ı n a photocopy
of an ancient..old and faded photograph
my wife put in my sleeping room
my father was a veteran soldier
of our liberatı on war
now ı am grown up
really
becomı ng an old man
a ping pong ball
walking in stalk
sometimes with a walking stick
lost one of my hip
no bosom to cry
with nowhere to shelter
just me and myself
approaching where ı never know
never guess
cause ı have enough of years
when ı remember them each
comes from my heart and eyes
the tears
fearing the new of everything
it is 20 of december
no snow this year
even the season is faking
may be the end we are approaching
for the word
for the universe
or rather for me
never the less
life living worth
some say it is fall
some say it is spring
some say it is the end
but ı have enough of spared years
let the rest be yours
poem by Metin Sahin
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Childhood Revisited
memories of childhood...
such a wonderful, hazy, warm feeling,
special memories, filled with love
come welling up, and send my senses reeling,
aromatic fragrance, wafting up from the kitchen,
aroma of my mothers cooking,
father getting ready for work,
how handome he is looking,
I'm ready for school., hair plaited,
clutch my little, sisters hand tightly
bags perched securely on our backs
and off we go, skipping lightly,
lessons and studies, dilligently done,
supervised by dad, but always fun,
carefree, happy times were those
one could do, what one chose....
the familiar house, and the close kinship
so many friends, and closely knit friendship,
no cares, no worries, they were not for us,
only love and protection, and a special fuss,
what wonderful years I can never forget
a happy childhood is an important asset
and now we are grown........
only memories are left....
when we are feeling down, or nostalgic,
just go back to those magical years...
relive those times, that sparkling innocence,
that time, devoid of from doubt and fears
oh childhood...so quickly did you fly
your very memory makes us sigh...
and remember.and smile, and feel content
for the Godgiven wonderful years, so well spent...
oh childhood, I hope I have been a good mother,
what I learnt from you, I hope I have given another,
a treasure for my children, to recall, and to cherish
a treasure to revel in and sustain, when we perish.
poem by Arti Chopra
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Secretly Having An Affair
I've been doing this,
For years.
Without thought of receiving attention,
For years.
And for years,
There has been no expectations.
Until someone brought it to my attention,
I should keep my opinions to myself.
Since Mother Nature had become influenced!
And it became known we were secretly having an affair.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Remembering Childhood
by accident you come across
an old picture
you recognize the face of your father
beside your mother
with his gun on the side of his body
as reservist of the army
you look closely
your mother pouts
and she is holding on to her
white skirt
you father's right hand grips
his gun
while the left holds on to
the chair just behind your
mother's neck
there is a baby being held
by your mother
it is sleeping and it looks
like you
your father does not like
you and you know it from the very start
you know how to pretend
till he died
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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