The Beginning...
wading the waters i pushed my way
struggling hard to touch the land
held upside down, was my first view
of the world i’m to pass by
washed and tidied, i lie lost and helpless
a pair of hands cuddled me close…
i had nothing else but to pinch
all that i needed from her
merciless at my demand, i howled
and cried with not a dropp of tear
filled to brim, i would slip into
the world unknown to all…
slowly with the manna as my diet
i began to move the little i could
getting habituated to wail and demand
not a moment did i give her rest
demanding her constant presence
regaling as she gathered me…
suddenly one night in the middle
of an innocent sleep did i turn
on my belly i lie waking her up
in glee she drew me to her as a gift
at that independent movement
on that long infant summer night…
i kept smiling in that mystic glee
my hands splashing and cuddling
the damp sheets did my tender hands
carry into my mouth, comfort lit large
on my infant face as the body recalled
the touch of the warm flow…
somebody sat by my baby bed
touched me on my toes
a tickle went up
soft tender lips as a reflex
filled the infant face and
ripples of light flowed in…
what was it i was writing
in the thin air around me?
what memories left behind
did the infant mind recall?
i smiled and smiled as my little
fingers went writing in the air…
somebody lifted me
up into the air
my small lungs
struggled and gasped
all around me were
peals of laughter…
somebody wrapped me
into a bundle and held me
close to heart against the chill winds
and the hold tightened around me
with each wave of chillness
i dreamed warm infant dreams…
from the dreams i crawled
into the world on my belly
one hand folded under it
i went round and round
i leaped and leaped and hit
my nose against the floor…
28jan2010
14.20hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Mystic
infant hands
tender fists
holding tight
rosy dreams
smiles divine
dancing on
delicate lips
god's grace
on fluid eyelids
mystic hues
ringing around
mother's bosom
swells in pride
milk of love
knows no bounds!
every infant
a mystery
every infant
a mystic!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smile,
All the livelong night beguile.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the dovelike moans beguile.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee doth mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are his own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake
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On Watching Discovery Channel
this i heard
in the middle of
an unsettling night
a joyful cry of a seal
this i saw
in the middle of
a restive night
a seal licking its
infant in glee
this too i heard
a piercing wail
cracking the feverish night
as the infant breathed
its last...
followed by silence
and grieving eyes
the seal slowly slid back
into the ocean
a huge lump
didn't allow me to swallow
the remaining dark night
06jun2010
01.30hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Motherhood
She sat on a shelf,
her breasts two bellies
on her poked-out belly,
on which the navel looked
like a sucked-in mouth—
her knees bent and apart,
her long left arm raised,
with the large hand knuckled
to a bar in the ceiling—
her right hand clamping
the skinny infant to her chest—
its round, pale, new,
soft muzzle hunting
in the brown hair for a nipple,
its splayed, tiny hand picking
at her naked, dirty ear.
Twisting its little neck,
with tortured, ecstatic eyes
the size of lentils, it looked
into her severe, close-set,
solemn eyes, that beneath bald
eyelids glared—dull lights
in sockets of leather.
She twitched some chin-hairs,
with pain or pleasure,
as the baby-mouth found and
yanked at her nipple;
its pink-nailed, jointless
fingers, wandering her face,
tangled in the tufts
of her cliffy brows.
She brought her big
hand down from the bar
with pretended exasperation
unfastened the little hand,
and locked it within her palm—
while her right hand
with snag-nailed forefinger
and short, sharp thumb, raked
the new orange hair
of the infant’s skinny flank—
and found a louse,
which she lipped, and
thoughtfully crisped
between broad teeth.
She wrinkled appreciative
nostrils which, without a nose,
stood open—damp holes
above the poke of her mouth.
She licked her lips, flicked
her leather eyelids—
then, suddenly flung
up both arms and grabbed
the bars overhead.
The baby‘s scrabbly fingers
instantly caught the hair—
as if there were metal rings there—
in her long, stretched armpits.
And, as she stately swung,
and then proudly, more swiftly
slung herself from corner
to corner of her cell—
arms longer than her round
body, short knees bent—
her little wild-haired,
poke-mouthed infant hung,
like some sort of trophy,
or decoration, or shaggy medal—
shaped like herself—but new,
clean, soft and shining
on her chest.
poem by May Swenson
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A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet Sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee,
Thy Maker lay and wept for me,
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee
Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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From random pages
For once the eager lover
Affected to offer his best
And lo, there he is…
Crushed under shame!
The teenager ran
With the moving bus
To show her his 'worth'
There he is in a pool!
The young son blushed
When the father tried to know
The father smiled
The girl left the town!
I saw real fear in the eyes
Of a woman pregnant
While crossing the road
Her hands carefully clutched at her belly!
The young bride in smiles
Her eyes eager with expectation
Tears smudged her cheeks
For parents she would never see!
An infant cries and cries
Mother’s sterile pathetic breasts
There another mother, breasts oozing
No infant to warm her heart!
For one last time
I played the match
Of my life…
And simply lost it!
Several pages of life
Each intriguing and interesting
Not so easy to turn any page
The book burdens the elbow!
04oct2010
23.01hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sleep! Sleep! Beauty Bright
Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest.
O! the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break,
From thy cheek and from thy eye,
O'er the youthful harvests nigh.
Infant wiles and infant smiles
Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake
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A cradle song
Sleep Sleep beauty bright
Dreaming oer the joys of night
Sleep Sleep: in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep
Sweet Babe in thy face
Soft desires I can trace
Secret joys & secret smiles
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
Oer thy cheek & oer thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break
From thy cheek & from thy eye
Oer the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1793)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Cradle Song
Sleep, Sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep, Sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek & o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful lightnings break.
From thy cheek & from thy eye
O'er the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Dying Child
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.
His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.
Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?
He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.
And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.
When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.
poem by John Clare
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Silent Night
Instrumental
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon virgin mother and child,
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Weve kissed the kids goodnight,
Weve got their stockings by the fire.
A flame lights up the room and hand in hand,
We watch it start to snow.
The lights glow on the tree,
And we drink last hot coffee.
Your heads upon my shoulder,
And they just played misletoe and wine on the radio.
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon virgin mother and child,
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night
Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
All is bright
Round yon virgin
Mother and child
Holy infant so,
Tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night
Holy night
Son of god
Loves pure light
Radient beams from thy
Holy face
With the dawn of
Redeeming grace
Jesus lord at thy birth
Jesus lord at thy birth
Silent night
Holy night
Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
All is bright
Round yon virgin
Mother and child
Holy infant so,
Tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
song performed by by Wilson Phillips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
round your virgin, mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, holy night
Shepherds, quake at the sight
Glory streams from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing allehujah
Christ the savior is born
Christ the savior is born
Recitation
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
round yon virgin, mother and child
Holy infant so infant and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night (feat. The Grisgby Twins)
Silent night,holy night
All is calm, all is bright
'Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and loved
Sleep in havanly peace
Sleep in hevanly peace.
Silent night, holy night
Sheapards quake at the sight
Glories stream from Heaven afar
Hevanly ghosts sing Alleluia
Christ the savor is born
Christ the savor is born.
Silent night, holy night
Son of God, loves pure light
Radint beams from thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jeasus, Lord at thy birth
Jeasus, Lord at thy birth.
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
'Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and loved
Sleep in havanly peace
Sleep in hevanly peace...
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night
(arranged by reba mcentire)
(whats written in sentences and not verse at the beginning is what
Reba
Explains at the beginning, the rest is the song)
On christmas eve in 1818
A blizzard stranded the tiny village of ogledorf
Nestled in the austrian mountains
That same day the people of st. nicholas church found their organ
Broken
So the priest and organist began composing a song that could be sung
Without
An organ yet beautiful enough to express their christmas joy
All day and all night long they worked
And at midnight the gentle carol silent night was born
The pure clear tones echoed through the hills
And the world has been captured by the beauty of that simple song ever
Since.
Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
All is bright
Round yon virgin
Mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night
Holy night
Shepeards pray at the sight
Glory streams from heaven afar
Heavenly ? sing hallelujah
Christ the savior is born
Christ the savior is born
Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
And all is bright
Round yon virgin
Mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night
Holy night
Sleep in heavenly peace
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Emigrant Mother
ONCE in a lonely hamlet I sojourned
In which a Lady driven from France did dwell;
The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned,
In friendship she to me would often tell.
This Lady, dwelling upon British ground,
Where she was childless, daily would repair
To a poor neighbouring cottage; as I found,
For sake of a young Child whose home was there.
Once having seen her clasp with fond embrace
This Child, I chanted to myself a lay,
Endeavouring, in our English tongue, to trace
Such things as she unto the Babe might say:
And thus, from what I heard and knew, or guessed,
My song the workings of her heart expressed.
I
'Dear Babe, thou daughter of another,
One moment let me be thy mother!
An infant's face and looks are thine,
And sure a mother's heart is mine:
Thy own dear mother's far away,
At labour in the harvest field:
Thy little sister is at play;--
What warmth, what comfort would it yield
To my poor heart, if thou wouldst be
One little hour a child to me!
II
'Across the waters I am come,
And I have left a babe at home:
A long, long way of land and sea!
Come to me--I'm no enemy:
I am the same who at thy side
Sate yesterday, and made a nest
For thee, sweet Baby!--thou hast tried,
Thou know'st the pillow of my breast;
Good, good art thou:--alas! to me
Far more than I can be to thee.
III
'Here, little Darling, dost thou lie;
An infant thou, a mother I!
Mine wilt thou be, thou hast no fears;
Mine art thou--spite of these my tears.
Alas! before I left the spot,
My baby and its dwelling-place;
The nurse said to me, 'Tears should not
Be shed upon an infant's face,
It was unlucky'--no, no, no;
No truth is in them who say so!
IV
'My own dear Little-one will sigh,
Sweet Babe! and they will let him die.
'He pines,' they'll say, 'it is his doom,
And you may see his hour is come.'
Oh! had he but thy cheerful smiles,
Limbs stout as thine, and lips as gay,
Thy looks, thy cunning, and thy wiles,
And countenance like a summer's day,
They would have hopes of him;--and then
I should behold his face again!
V
''Tis gone--like dreams that we forget;
There was a smile or two--yet--yet
I can remember them, I see
The smiles, worth all the world to me.
Dear Baby! I must lay thee down;
Thou troublest me with strange alarms;
Smiles hast thou, bright ones of thy own;
I cannot keep thee in my arms;
For they confound me;--where--where is
That last, that sweetest smile of his?
VI
'Oh! how I love thee!--we will stay
Together here this one half day.
My sister's child, who bears my name,
From France to sheltering England came;
She with her mother crossed the sea;
The babe and mother near me dwell:
Yet does my yearning heart to thee
Turn rather, though I love her well:
Rest, little Stranger, rest thee here!
Never was any child more dear!
VII
'--I cannot help it; ill intent
I've none, my pretty Innocent!
I weep--I know they do thee wrong,
These tears---and my poor idle tongue.
Oh, what a kiss was that! my cheek
How cold it is! but thou art good;
Thine eyes are on me--they would speak,
I think, to help me if they could.
Blessings upon that soft, warm face,
My heart again is in its place!
VIII
'While thou art mine, my little Love,
This cannot be a sorrowful grove;
Contentment, hope, and mother's glee,
I seem to find them all in thee:
Here's grass to play with, here are flowers;
I'll call thee by my darling's name;
Thou hast, I think, a look of ours,
Thy features seem to me the same;
His little sister thou shalt be;
And, when once more my home I see,
I'll tell him many tales of Thee.'
poem by William Wordsworth
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All The Moms Aren't Bad
All the Moms aren't Bad
A smart cop Nandhia
heard the cries of an infant
in the hands of a beggar
who tried to move the hearts
of the passers-by for looting alms
to fill her ever-hungry purse
and pay the balance of the baby-price
to the cursed, widowed mother.
Being alerted by the probing
suspicious looks of the cop,
the beggar hardly tried to board a bus
before the woman-cop pulled her back
and told her to feed the wailing baby.
The shabby mom feigned to feed the baby
but the three weeks old infant
was not stopping her cries.
The police grilled the mule to tell
the story of the baby born to a bitch.
No pallbearers will come forward
to carry her coffin to the grave.
No one will be there to bury the face
in hands and weep for her loss.
The Dengue will kill her
or the tsunami will drag her
by her forelock into the sea.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Our Hands
My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.
Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,
Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,
My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.
poem by Rebecca Adams
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On Another's Sorrow
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow’s share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant’s tear;
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give His joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.
O! He gives to us His joy
That our grief he may destroy;
Till our grief is fled & gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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