En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Kids! Kids! Kids!

You're once a sperm that your father didn't waste,
Dove to your mother's egg and gave her a positive test,
Became a fetus and made her crave for nuts and coke,
In nine months pain and joy; she's quite of a joke.

Valentine's day could have been better but you dare,
A name Valentino could've been your worst nightmare;
So you thought February thirteen is a lot wiser
Of choosing us as your parents; Kevin is much nicer.

Everyday, we watch you grow, walk, and play,
And we thought of your being alone is lonely;
Eighteen months thereafter is another baby,
A premature born named Kyle Wesley.

For a princess, it's a try but a condom got applied,
‘Cause mommy says: "two is enough to drive me crazy; "
Then, all of a sudden, a tubal ligation came up in her mind,
But what can I say, it's her choice; it's her body.

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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My Future

"Let's make him a sailor," said Father,
"And he will adventure the sea."
"A soldier," said Mother, "is rather
What I would prefer him to be."
"A lawyer," said Father, "would please me,
For then he could draw up my will."
"A doctor," said Mother, "would ease me;
Maybe he could give me a pill."

Said Father: "Lt's make him a curate,
A Bishop in gaiters to be."
Said Mother: "I couldn't endure it
To have Willie preaching to me."
Said Father: ""Let him be a poet;
So often he's gathering wool."
Said Mother with temper: "Oh stow it!
You know it, a poet's a fool."

Said Farther: "Your son is a duffer,
A stupid and mischievous elf."
Said Mother, who's rather a huffer:
"That's right - he takes after yourself."
Controlling parental emotion
They turned to me, seeking a cue,
And sudden conceived the bright notion
To ask what I wanted to do.

Said I: "my ambition is modest:
A clown in a circus I'd be,
And turn somersaults in the sawdust
With audience laughing at me."
. . . Poor parents! they're dead and decaying,
But I am a clown as you see;
And though in no circus I'm playing,
How people are laughing at me!

poem by Robert William Service
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The Ape And God

Son put a poser up to me
That made me scratch my head:
"God made the whole wide world," quoth he;
"That's right, my boy," I said.
Said son: "He mad the mountains soar,
And all the plains lie flat;
But Dad, what did he do before
He did all that?

Said I: "Creation was his biz;
He set the stars to shine;
The sun and moon and all that is
Were His unique design.
The Cosmos is his concrete thought,
The Universe his chore..."
Said Son: "I understand, but what
Did He before?"

I gave it up; I could not cope
With his enquiring prod,
And must admit I've little hope
Of understanding God.
Indeed I find more to my mind
The monkey in the tree
In whose crude form Nature defined
Our human destiny.

Thought I: "Why search for Deity
In visionary shape?
'Twould better be if we could see
The angel in the ape.
Let mystic seek a God above:
Far wiser he who delves,
To find in kindliness and love
God in ourselves."

poem by Robert William Service
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The Dove And Weasel

He was solitary, cruel n' tough
A weasel "Bad to the bone"
He, gentle, wise n' downy soft
"The dove of love" 'twas widely known

One day the dove came upon the beast
Touched down lightly on the ground
Weasel thought "I'll eat this tiny feast"
As hungrily he circled round n' round

Before he could pounce they locked eyes
Drool dripping off weasel's pointy chin
But something happened much to his surprise
The dove began to softly sing n' spin

'I bring peace n' goodwill to you" He cooed
Weasel froze in place n' stared in wonder
"I've come to teach you humility n' gratitude"
"To devour me my friend would be to blunder"

"I'm a weasel n' must do what weasels do"
"You're just another meal to me" he said"
"If they were here I'd eat your parents too"
"You'll have no need to sing n' spin once dead"

Undeterred the fearless dove sang on
"How sweet it is to love you precious one"
"I seek not be your folly or Rubicon"
"Come sing n' spin with me my son"

Hearing this the weasel began to cry
He begged forgiveness for his many sins
The dove moved close n' dried his eyes
Whispered softly;
"This is when your life truly begins"

Just then the Dove became a Living Jesus
The weasel became the first human being
The man fell down n' begged forgiveness
"How dare I destroy such a precious thing"

The Lord smiled n' said "Now you know,
"How peace n' love compel a soul to grow"

ROTMS

View writings, images and video by ROTMS at;

rotms.blogspot.com

poem by Ray Lucero
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My Infant Days

Air -- "The Rain upon the Roof"

When I was a little infant,
And I lay in mother's arms,
Then I felt the gentle pressure
Of a loving mother's arms.
"Go to sleep my little baby,
Go to sleep," mamma would say;
"Oh, will not my little lady
Go to sleep for ma to-day."

Oh! my parents loved me dearly,
For I was their eldest born,
And they always called me Julia
In a mild and loving form.
My parents will not forget me,
Though I married and left their home,
For they can remember clearly
How with them I once did roam.

Oh! my mother, how I love her,
Though her head is growing gray,
For in fancy I can see her
Bending o'er me night and day,
As she did when I was little,
Watching me in sleep and play --
Mother now is growing feeble,
Now I will her love repay.

Oh! my father, how I love him,
For he has worked hard for me,
For to earn my food and clothing,
In my little infancy.
And oh, I will not forget him,
While on earth I do remain --
May the God of heaven bless him
In this world of grief and pain.

poem by Julia A Moore
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The Little Big Man

I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am
as old as my father is.
My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate
and your books."
I shall tell him, " Do you not know I am as big as father? And
I must not have lessons any more."
My master will wonder and say, "He can leave his books if he
likes, for he is grown up."
I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is
thick.
My uncle will come rushing up to me and say, "You will get
lost, my boy; let me carry you."
I shall answer, "Can't you see, uncle, I am as big as father?
I must go to the fair alone."
Uncle will say, "Yes, he can go wherever he likes, for he is
grown up."
Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my
nurse, for I shall know how to open the box with my key.
Mother will say, "What are you about, naughty child?"
I shall tell her, "Mother, don't you know, I am as big as
father, and I must give silver to my nurse."
Mother will say to herself, "He can give money to whom he
likes, for he is grown up."
In the holiday time in October father will come home and,
thinking that I am still a baby, will bring for me from the town
little shoes and small silken frocks.
I shall say, "Father, give them to my data, for I am as big
as you are."
Father will think and say, "He can buy his own clothes if he
likes, for he is grown up."

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No

Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."

poem by Michael Drayton
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I Remember, I Remember

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born;
The rent was thirty-two a month,
Which made my father mourn.
He said he could remember when
His father paid the rent;
And when a man's expenses did
Not take his every cent.

I remember, I remember--
My mother telling my cousin
That eggs had gone to twenty-six
Or seven cents a dozen;
And how she told my father that
She didn't like to speak
Of things like that, but Bridget now
Demanded four a week.

I remember, I remember--
And with a mirthless laugh--
My weekly board at college took
A jump to three and a half.

I bought an eighteen-dollar suit,
And father told me, "Sonny,
I'll pay the bill this time, but, Oh,
I am not made out of money!"

I remember, I remember,
When I was young and brave
And I declared, "Well, Birdie, we
Shall now begin to save."
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from wealth
Than when I was a boy.

poem by Franklin P. Adams
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The Ghost Machine

Wittgenstein took a sip from his tea.

"You're wrong Descartes, I can tell you,

because body and mind are one".

"Wittgenstein is right", seconded Ryle.

He looked very angry

and shook his head as he continued:

"In claiming that your thoughts are separated

from your body you created a dogma

of the ghost in the machine."

"Gentlemen", Descartes said, "relax.

Where were you when I talked about these things?

You were not even born then".

"Wait a minute", said Bohm. "You're all wrong."

"What? " snapped out Ryle.

"You heard it correctly. You're all wrong", insisted Bohm.

"You have to explain", Wittgenstein said.

Descartes looked to be perplexed.

"Well", explained Bohm,

"since everything in the universe is information,

the existence of matter is nothing but a myth.

The universe is an enormous thought, a giant computer.

It is the machine, which is the ghost."

poem by Paul Hartal
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Can You Smell The Rain…This Is A True Story

A child was premature
Only after 24 weeks her mother gave birth
She was only 12 inches long
When she came into this world

Her mother and father
Were waiting for news
And as always
Doctors filled them with gloom

She will not live for very long
And if she does complications
Will unfold

She will be blind
She will be deaf
She will be retarded
She has not fully developed yet

Tears abashed as she cried in pain
Both parents distraught
At their tiny daughters plight

They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her

She survived 2 months
She was breathing still
They were fianaly able to hold her
Small tiny body in their arms
But still the Doctors said
She would not live long

And each time her parents
Would cry once more
This can't be true
She's breathing still

They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her

Two more months
Had passed on by
And still she breathed
And still she was alive

But alas the Doctors did say
She will not survive
Another day

Distraught once again
Her parents were sad
And once again they
Bowed their heads

They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her

Now five years on
She runs and plays
And does everything
A little girl does

And then one day
While out on a trip
With her loved ones
Her family and friends

She was chatting to mom
About things from the day
Of playing with friends
And her family

When suddenly she paused
And said out loud
Can you smell that?

Her mother concerned
Looked up to the sky
It was just about
To rain outside

She nodded to her
And said with a smile
Why yes little one
I can smell the rain

But shaking her head
She said no not that
Can't you smell that?

Puzzled she smiled
As she shook her head
Why yes my dear child
It's about to rain

Her daughter just smiled
And shook her head
Then patted her shoulders
And said out loud
It smells like him! ! !

Then her mother just wept
As her father smiled
And realized she was
Talking about God

The rain had stopped
The sun came out
She yelled with glee
I want to go play

She hugged her mom
Smiled at her dad
Its ok mom
It was just only God
Then ran off to play

poem by Kaila George
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The Spider

"Oh, look at that great ugly spider!" said Ann;
And screaming, she brush'd it away with her fan;
"'Tis a frightful black creature as ever can be,
I wish that it would not come crawling on me. "

"Indeed," said her mother, "I'll venture to say,
The poor thing will try to keep out of your way;
For after the fright, and the fall, and the pain,
It has much more occasion than you to complain.

"But why should you dread the poor insect, my dear?
If it hurt you, there'd be some excuse for your fear;
But its little black legs, as it hurried away,
Did but tickle your arm, as they went, I dare say.

"For them to fear us we must grant to be just,
Who in less than a moment can tread them to dust;
But certainly we have no cause for alarm;
For, were they to try, they could do us no harm.

"Now look! it has got to its home; do you see
What a delicate web it has spun in the tree?
Why here, my dear Ann, is a lesson for you:
Come learn from this spider what patience can do!

"And when at your business you're tempted to play,
Recollect what you see in this insect to-day,
Or else, to your shame, it may seem to be true,
That a poor little spider is wiser than you. "

poem by Jane Taylor
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What is—

215

What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—

Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—

You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!

poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Casualty

That boy I took in the car last night,
With the body that awfully sagged away,
And the lips blood-crisped, and the eyes flame-bright,
And the poor hands folded and cold as clay --
Oh, I've thought and I've thought of him all the day.

For the weary old doctor says to me:
"He'll only last for an hour or so.
Both of his legs below the knee
Blown off by a bomb. . . . So, lad, go slow,

And please remember, he doesn't know."
So I tried to drive with never a jar;
And there was I cursing the road like mad,
When I hears a ghost of a voice from the car:
"Tell me, old chap, have I `copped it' bad?"
So I answers "No," and he says, "I'm glad."

"Glad," says he, "for at twenty-two
Life's so splendid, I hate to go.
There's so much good that a chap might do,
And I've fought from the start and I've suffered so.
'Twould be hard to get knocked out now, you know."

"Forget it," says I; then I drove awhile,
And I passed him a cheery word or two;
But he didn't answer for many a mile,
So just as the hospital hove in view,
Says I: "Is there nothing that I can do?"

Then he opens his eyes and he smiles at me;
And he takes my hand in his trembling hold;
"Thank you -- you're far too kind," says he:
"I'm awfully comfy -- stay . . . let's see:
I fancy my blanket's come unrolled --
My feet, please wrap 'em -- they're cold . . . they're cold."

poem by Robert William Service
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Sympathy

If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would
you say "No" to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
Would you drive me off, saying to me, "Get away, you naughty
little puppy?"
Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call
me, and never let you feed me any more.
If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby,
mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away?
Would you shake your finger at me and say, "What an ungrateful
wretch of a bird! It is gnawing at its chain day and night?"
The go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods; I will
never let you take me in your arms again.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Breton Wife

A Wintertide we had been wed
When Jan went off to sea;
And now the laurel rose is red
And I wait on the quay.
His berthing boat I watch with dread,
For where, oh where is he?

"Weep not, brave lass," the Skipper said;
"Return to you he will;
In hospital he lies abed
In Rio in Brazil;
But though I know he is not dead,
I do not know his ill."

The Seaman's Hospital I wrote,
And soon there came reply.
The nurse's very words I quote:
"Your husband will not die;
But you must wait a weary boat -
I cannot tell you why."

The months of sun went snailing by.
I wrote by every mail,
Yet ever came the same reply:
"Your patience must not fail.
But though your good lad will not die,
We cannot tell his ail."

* * * * * * * * *

Ten months have gone - he's back again,
But aged by years a score,
And tells me with a look of pain
He'll never voyage more;
And at the tide, with longing vain,
He stares from out the door.

And in his sleep he turns from me
And moans with bitter blame
Of Spanish jades beyond the sea
Who wrought him evil shame,
So ever in him bleak will be
The Ill That Has No Name.

poem by Robert William Service
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A Strange Wild Song

He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
"At length I realize," he said,
"The bitterness of life!"

He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
"Unless you leave this house," he said,
"I'll send for the police!"

he thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
"The one thing I regret," he said,
"Is that it cannot speak!"

He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
"If this should stay to dine," he said,
"There won't be much for us!"

He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a Coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
"Were I to swallow this," he said,
"I should be very ill!"

He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!"

poem by Lewis Carroll
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The Wreck of the Golfer

It was the Bondi golfing man
Drove off from the golf house tee,
And he had taken his little daughter
To bear him company.
"Oh, Father, why do you swing the club
And flourish it such a lot?"
"You watch it fly o'er the fences high!"
And he tried with a brassey shot.

"Oh, Father, why did you hit the fence
Just there where the brambles twine?"
And the father he answered never a word,
But he got on the green in nine.

"Oh, Father, hark from behind those trees,
What dismal yells arrive!"
"'Tis a man I ween on the second green,
And I've landed him with my drive."

"Oh, Father, why does the poor Chinee
Fall down on his knees and cry?"
"He taketh me for his Excellency,
And he thinks once hit twice shy."

So on they fared to the waterhole,
And he drove with a lot of dash,
But his balls full soon in the dread lagoon
Fell down with a woeful splash.

"Oh, Father, why do you beat the sand
Till it flies like the carded wool?"
And the father he answered never a word,
For his heart was much too full.

"Oh, Father, why are they shouting 'fore'
And screaming so lustily?"
But the father he answered never a word,
A pallid corpse was he.

For a well-swung drive on the back of his head
Had landed and laid him low.
Lord save us all from a fate like this
When next to the links we go.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Clouds and Waves

Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me-
"We play from the time we wake till the day ends.
We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon."
I ask, "But how am I to get up to you ?"
They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your
hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds."
"My mother is waiting for me at home, "I say, "How can I leave
her and come?"
Then they smile and float away.
But I know a nicer game than that, mother.
I shall be the cloud and you the moon.
I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will
be the blue sky.
The folk who live in the waves call out to me-
"We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know
not where we pass."
I ask, "But how am I to join you?"
They tell me, "Come to the edge of the shore and stand with
your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves."
I say, "My mother always wants me at home in the everything-
how can I leave her and go?"
They smile, dance and pass by.
But I know a better game than that.
I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.
I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with
laughter.
And no one in the world will know where we both are.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Another Acrostic ( In the style of Father William )

"Are you deaf, Father William!" the young man said,
"Did you hear what I told you just now?
"Excuse me for shouting! Don't waggle your head
"Like a blundering, sleepy old cow!
"A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town,
"Is my friend, so I beg to remark:
"Do you think she'd be pleased if a book were sent down
"Entitled 'The Hunt of the Snark?'"

"Pack it up in brown paper!" the old man cried,
"And seal it with olive-and-dove.
"I command you to do it!" he added with pride,
"Nor forget, my good fellow to send her beside
"Easter Greetings, and give her my love."

poem by Lewis Carroll
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Frogs in chorus

The chorus frogs in the big lagoon
Would sing their songs to the silvery moon.
Tenor singers were out of place,
For every frog was a double bass.
But never a human chorus yet
Could beat the accurate time they set.
The solo singer began the joke;
He sang, "As long as I live I'll croak,
Croak, I'll croak,"
And the chorus followed him: "Croak, croak, croak!"

The poet frog, in his plaintive tone,
Sang of a sorrow was all his own;
"How shall I win to my heart's desire?
How shall I feel my spirit's fire?"
And the solo frog in his deepest croak,
"To fire your spirit," he sang, "eat coke,
Coke, eat coke,"
And the chorus followed him: "Coke, coke, coke!"

The green frog sat in a swampy spot
And he sang the song of he knew not what.
"The world is rotten, oh cursed plight,
That I am the frog that must set it right.
How shall I scatter the shades that lurk?"
And the old man bullfrog sang, "Get work,
Work, get work,"
And the chorus followed him: "Work, work, work!"

The soaring spirits that fain would fly
On wings of hope to the starry sky
Must face the snarls of the jealous dogs,
For the world is ruled by its chorus frogs.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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My Young Girl Twenties

"It's not love, "
I said
"it's my Young Girl
caught in the glare of his attentions
basking, unable to look away,
held in the Grip of his Intensities
He's my Adventure
something which crashes into my need
to experience
beyond thought and feeling
larger than even
rationality."

"Have you asked him about his feelings"
she said, "about you? "

"I asked him" she said
"he didn't answer
couldn't articulate
Shrugging the Shrug
of the Twenty Something;
a Muted Muttering
about wanting to feel everything about me
push me to some limit
of my needs, my sexuality
my love, my fears
and I was a Faberge Egg
wanting him
to do all those things
be his accomplice
sooner or later to cry diamonds
when it is over."

My Young girl
wants it
wants to see if
and when
how I break
rebel or take
what he is offering.

I want to lay down with
that Danger
his Young Boy represents
imbibe all
its excitements
we both taking advantage
of Life's Reckless Expediency
the coin in trade of someone
like me in my twenties
choosing
each day
to stay or walk away
from relationships.

My Young Girl wants to
shed her innocence
spectacularly
and if I am honest
I want the sheer variety
to continue on
after him
to see what is more
in the Young Boys
I'm yet to encounter.

Is that crazy
wanting to live
without caution or regret
vulnerable
yet still confident
of survival?
Is that possible? "

"Maybe, " she said
'maybe not.'

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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