Images of Hunger
A child weeps on
the bamboo floor
while mother
looks at the empty pot.
Father comes home
from the storm
stooping
like his lonely boat.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Related quotes
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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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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The couple’s quarrel
The child cries when its mother beats her.
It weeps when its father beats her mother.
If the father has sense to understand
He will find the alternative for his anger.
23.06.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In An Empty Home
You do feel lonely in an empty home;
So, come outside and, let me touch your heart with my sincere love.
Toe, tow!
Lonely with the muse of your sweet love in an empty home.
Brown face with brown hair!
In the prison of ice.
You feel lonely in an empty home;
Even though, you are very lovely.
You are like the gold and silver!
But, you feel lonely in an empty home.
Action, attraction!
But, you feel lonely in am empty home.
Green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes! !
But, you feel lonely in an empty home.
In, indicator!
So, come outside and, let me touch your hearts with my sincere love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Mother
A mother shows the child the world
A mother is its world when small
A mother shows the child what's love
A mother loves her child like a doll!
A mother makes the home and bed
A mother cares for all at home
A mother trains the child to walk
And stand on own, perfectly talk.
A mother is the teacher prime
A mother moulds the character
A mother shows the child to pray
And trust the unseen God all life.
A mother is the child's best friend
A mother knows its needs and wants
A mother cares for child when sick
And feels so proud, when child achieves.
Children, thank God for a good mother
On ‘Mother's day! '
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-05-12
poem by John Celes
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Mother, Father
Mother, father please explain to me
Why a world so full of mystery
A place so bitter and still so sweet
So beautiful and yet so full of sad, sad...
Mother, father please explain to me
Why forests march to desert speed
While snowcapped mountains melt away
What do we tell our babies, when do we say, oh
Mother, father please explain to me
How a man who rocks his child to sleep
Pulls the trigger on his brothers heart
He digs a hole right to the middle of this storm of hatred
Mother, father please explain to me
How it could be so this world has come to be
A precious balance in between
Such cruelty and such kindness please
Mother, father please explain to me
How this world has come to be
Unequaled in her blessings, oh, I see
Unbridled hatred so extreme, please tell me
Mother, father please explain to me
How this world has come to be so
Twisted between time and dreams
Oh, mother, father please explain to me
Oh, whats all this talk about?
All this talk about it
Spinning down, down, down, down, down
All this talk about
Endless words without
Nothings done
Mother, father do you know
Why one mans belly overflows
Another sleeps in hungers bed
Oh, we trade our world for a piece of bread
Oh mother, father please explain to me
How this rare worlds come to be
A place so full of color yet overflowing
Always in black and white
Drowning in the waters of our...
Mother, father please explain to me
How this world has come to be
While still blessed in all the things we see
Such a sad, sad home for you and me
Come out, and hold,
Come on out you
Come on out you
Come and save yourself
Come on out you
Come on were taking the water
Were taken the water
Were taken the water
But you know
We got the freedom
We got the freedom
Theres no God above
And no hell below
Oh, its here with us
Its up to us
To keep afloat
How this sweet world has come to be
Oh to keep afloat
Mother, father please explain to me
How this rare world has come to be
Oh, let the blue planet
Let the blue planet
Mother, father please explain to me
Mother, father please explain
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Authorship
You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don't
understand.
He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really
make out what he meant?
What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can't father
write like that, I wonder?
Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and
fairies and princesses?
Has he forgotten them all?
Often when he gets late for his bath you have to and call him
an hundred times.
You wait and keep his dishes warm for him, but he goes on
writing and forgets.
Father always plays at making books.
If ever I go to play in father's room, you come and call me,
"What a naughty child!"
If I make the slightest noise you say, "Don't you see that
father's at his work?"
What's the fun of always writing and writing?
When I take up father's pen or pencil and write upon his book
just as he does,-a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,-why do you get cross with me
then, mother?
You never say a word when father writes.
When my father wastes such heaps of paper, mother, you don't
seem to mind at all.
But if I take only one sheet to take a boat with, you say,
"Child, how troublesome you are!"
What do you think of father's spoiling sheets and sheets of
paper with black marks all over both sides?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The 'Weird' Child
I was the 'weird' child.
You know...
The odd one out!
The one with chores and responsibilities.
The one all the kids would laughed at,
When I had to stay home...
Sometimes with my sister and I alone.
And told not to answer the door or telephone.
And if we did...
'You'll be sorry for that,
When I get back.'
My mother would say.
In a way that was understood.
And when my mother and father would return...
No excuses were made,
Or jokes told.
If the floor wasn't swept...
A frown I would get from mom.
If I forgot to line the garbage can with newspaper.
I was told to empty it.
Wash it quick...
And do it without a sound.
And I was grounded,
If I looked as if I wanted to say something about it.
My father 'tried' to be strict.
But my mother handled the 'raising' business.
My mama had us go get a 'switch'.
From a bush.
Strip it.
And whipped us with it.
If we did not do what mama said!
I was the 'weird' child.
Made to feel different then by my peers.
And today I see many of them,
That bring me to tears.
They don't know how to do anything...
But complain!
And when mama would lift up that switch,
Prepared to swing it...
I gritted my teeth.
And I closed my eyes.
But she was the one that ended up crying.
My sister and I would look at each other...
As if to wonder why.
~She whipped us...
And she's crying? ~
'Sssshhh. Shut up! '
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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Daddy Please Don't Hurt Mommy
A little girl stood crying as the father beat the mother,
next to the girl stood her older sister, and older brother.
Alcohol was the demon that drove the beating hand,
the mother bruised, and sobbing cowards from the man.
Why does daddy do that thought the little girl?
Oh how I hate my father, he's the worst person in the world.
The mother now alone in the bedroom with a razor above her wrist.
'Please mommy don't do it, ' the youngest child did persist.
The father starves the mother, three days in a row,
the little girl hates her father, yet the father is too drunk to know.
Is alcohol the problem or does there exist more?
The little girl's answer comes from her sobbing mother lying hurt on the cold, hard floor.
poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson
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Every Child!
the faces of...
every child who'll
go to bed hungry tonite...
every child afraid to sleep
for fear of the soldiers,
the bullets, the bombs....
every child abused
by his parents...
every child humiliated
for being different.
every child who's never
known his own father...
every child with no hope
for an education...
every child sleeping
in homeless cars.
every child alone,
lonely, without love.
every child of every broken home,
every child, every color, every country...
staring at me this sleepless night,
tearing at my heart...
all my children!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Father
Father oh father
Hear me if you can
Is it true what they say
That life is a dream
I dont understand
The things that make rain in my eyes
Are they real or are they lies
You know I hear so much about you now
Id give anything
To go on a little boat with you
Talk about the scheme of things
On a little boat with you
Father oh father
Guide me if you can
Or give me the chance to follow you home
I am your son but I wish I knew you
When you were young
Were you lonely as a boy
You know Id give so much to see you now
Id go anywhere
Pick a little stick and walk with you
Talk about the scheme of things
On a short walk with you
Father oh father
You give me just a little hope
I feel something out there reaching for me
Well here I am
Wont you take me with you
Out of this maze
And away from this place
Because it gets so cold and lonely here
Ill do anything
To sit on a little rock with you
Talk about the scheme of things
On a small rock with you
Show me show me show me the way
Before they grind me down
And bleach me grey
Send me power not to be afraid
And when I close my eyes
Let me see you once in the light
Father oh father
Heal me if you can
Is it true what they say
That life is a dream
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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the Fisherman
THE FISHERMAN
All his life in his sun-burnt boat he is out there
on the sea,
To eke out an honest living with his catches at
sea!
The sea is his second home, where his soul
breathes free!
The sea remain placid, the sea remain calm,
Rocking his boat gently like a mother patting
her son!
But when the sea raves and foams in the mouth,
The fisherman calmly surveys the distant storm
clouds!
He silently sets sail towards the safe shore;
Though at times he boldly tries to ignore!
And should his boat overturn and capsize below,
His mother will keep him afloat - as he swims
to the shore!
-Raj Nandy
27 Mar 09
Infinite Love
Innocent love was within deception
Which resulted in conception
Of a child who was by her father rejected
And wrongfully denied and neglected
A wet face from the mother’s tears
As she worried how she’s going to get through the years
A little girl with her father’s face
With a broken heart and an empty space
Oh! How mother tried as hard as she could
To raise her right and do what she should
Rebellion stepped in and the girl lost respect
She was addicted to sex, and lost control of herself
She hated being home, and loved being on the streets
Seeking what was not home between the sheets
She lived carelessly doing whatever she please
But silently hoping for love; so her addiction would cease
Although she may have thought; she wasn’t alone
As the father her father she seeks was on his throne
Wherever she went he was always with her
He cherishes her more than gold or silver
One day she read psalms 136
And her father told her don’t be deceived by devilish tricks
Don’t you know how much you mean to me
My feelings for you are beyond infinity
What you are finding is not love
It’s not in front of you it’s from above
So stop being confused by lies of men
And know that true love will never end
poem by Nikiesha Richards
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No one weeps for the dead
The mother weeps for she lost her son.
The wife weeps for she lost her husband.
The daughter weeps for she lost her father.
No one wept for he lost himself.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar (18 December 2007)
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The Beggar-Man
Abject, stooping, old, and wan,
See yon wretched beggar-man;
Once a father's hopeful heir,
Once a mother's tender care.
When too young to understand
He but scorched his little hand,
By the candle's flaming light
Attracted, dancing, spiral, bright,
Clasping fond her darling round,
A thousand kisses healed the wound.
Now abject, stooping, old, and wan,
No mother tends the beggar-man.
Then nought too good for him to wear,
With cherub face and flaxen hair,
In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed,
Cap of lace with rose to aid,
Milk-white hat and feather blue,
Shoes of red, and coral too
With silver bells to please his ear,
And charm the frequent ready tear.
Now abject, stooping, old, and wan,
Neglected is the beggar-man.
See the boy advance in age,
And learning spreads her useful page;
In vain! for giddy pleasure calls,
And shows the marbles, tops, and balls.
What's learning to the charms of play?
The indulgent tutor must give way.
A heedless wilful dunce, and wild,
The parents' fondness spoiled the child;
The youth in vagrant courses ran;
Now abject, stooping, old, and wan,
Their fondling is the beggar-man.
poem by Charles Lamb
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That Cant Speak!
racial melting pot,
night falls into day.
the faces of the poor,
the soles of a rich man's shoes.
detainees caught and tortured,
for freedom, or terror?
the man with the gun,
the baby in his mother's arms.
the house empty set ablaze,
photographic ashes on the floor.
soldiers sweep the building,
mother and child hide in a corner....
no letters from home,
no home for the innocents.
the river stopped with sewage,
dead fish in the water....
the hurt that cant speak,
my hand on your breast!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Earth Weeps
the earth weeps
for its children,
lost in the darkness
of passion and greed.
turned away from the limitless skies
of their father.....
turned away from the breasts
of she who succored them....
burning the home they live in
for the sudden rush of fire!
breaking out the windows of hope,
eating food they cannot swallow.
wild hogs,
blindly, stupidly,
destroying everything
in their paths.....
the crumbs of their insatiable lust
hanging on their chins,
their eyes glazed, and empty....
no one home anymore!
the trees kneel with sorrow,
and the rivers cry for deliverance....
the earth weeps,
...and so do I!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Crys
Crys are various and many-to list, it would go like this: -
The cry of a newborn just come from Heaven
The cry of the mother's joy knowing her child is born well
She holds her child to her breast to let it know that she loves the child
The cry of the father's joy holding the child in his arms
The father kissing the child on its forehead so the child can feel its father
The cry of the wolf in the woods gathering the pack together
The bleat of a mother sheep after giving birth to her child
The cry of a young boy who fell on the ice while ice skating
He had hurt himself quite badly
The cry of a little girl who fell and scraped her knee
Of all the crys in the world these are just a few
April 25,2006, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
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A Paper Boat On A Murky River
on your hand is a paper boat
you made last night
on a rainy day like this
you put on a gray rain coat
the river rises
perfect for your scheme
you put the boat gently
on the brown water
white paper boat
carried by this murkiness
your hands push
the paper boat leaves
tonight you sleep on
the wooden floor
it is mahogany brown and you
become the paper boat
sailing inside your dream
the floor becomes the big river
your thoughts become the wind
your eyes become two moons
the room is as dark as the night
the dream is so alive like a mother's song.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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