Niobe
By children's births, and death, I am become
So dry, that I am now mine own sad tomb.
poem by John Donne
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Related quotes
Six Six Six Revealed (repeating cycle) (Jul 7th,2004)
(one)
Love brings war
Love breeds hate
Love births peace
Love begats death
Love blossoms life
(two)
Life blossoms love
Life begats death
Life breeds hate
Life brings war
life births peace
(three)
Peace births life
Peace brings war
Peace begats death
Peace blossoms love
Peace breeds hate
(four)
Hate breeds peace
Hate brings love
Hate births war
Hate blossoms life
Hate begats death
(five)
Death begats hate
Death breeds life
Death blossoms love
Death brings peace
Death births war
(six)
War births death
War begats peace
War blossoms life
War breeds hate
War brings love
Misconstrued
never ending or beginning
One last bringing of war
Begatting death of the cycle
Blossoming life as it is meant to be
Bringing cataclysmic profound love
Birthing true peace and tranquility
poem by Nicholas McDonough
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Death is a relief.
No birth is welcome; the world is heavy.
Each death is welcome; the world gets relief.
With a birth, as its food, many births perish.
With a death, many births would get relief.
29.09.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Births to illegal immigrants now account for nearly one out of every ten births in the United States.
quote by Nathan Deal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As the births of living creatures are at first ill-shapen, so are all innovations, which are the births of time.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature births haiku
But dear lover, love for you
Births sweet senryu
quote by by Leslie Alexis
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You And The Children
i have written some
poems about
children
not the nursery rhymes
for them
honestly i do not like
to hear them
reading them to me
do not ask me
i am saddened
these children are never
mine
they are yours as you
have taken cared
of them
from the very beginning
from the womb
of their mothers
you must still care
for them
till the tomb of
time
i accept i am of the lesser kind
you are the mother
of them all
when their mothers left them
you are water and fire
and flower and cloud
and the sun
and the moon when
darkness came
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death Of A Crow
Death Of A Crow
halloween night
in a city park
a dead crow
under an elm tree
I was there
standing alone
a flash light in hand
wet in autumn rain
looking
children in raincoat
passed by
a police car siren
wailed and faded
into distant darkness
no elegy
no dirge
no requiem
no tomb stone
a crow's death
is not tragic
and that is the tragedy
of the crow's death
Battered Suitcase, v 1, issue 3, oct 2008
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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The Patteran
From over the leagues of ice and snow, and the miles of scorching sand;
From back of the days of long ago, and the lonely sea and land—
To the end of the world and our Gipsy race, to the death of our dark-eyed line,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine,
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine—
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
I have given them health and strength, pure blood, clear skins for a glorious youth;
I have set in their souls contempt for sham, and a deathless regard for truth;
I have bequeathed the spirit to fight, I have given the will to rise,
And the slumbering fires of Hate and Love in their dreaming, dreaming eyes.
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
I have given the love for their native land, wherever that land may be
(My children came from the East, my friends, and round by the Northern Sea),
And a son of a son of mine enemy, to the end of his treacherous line,
Shall be stricken to earth, if he dare but speak, by a son of a son of mine.
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
poem by Henry Lawson
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My daughter writes from Australia
Dad! Iwas really amazed
By seeing your name on an Aborigine graveyard tomb!
I replied her; 'Do not get frighten please,
Dear daughter in this cycle of births & deaths
This aboritve Man lives and dies in every inch of this mysterious journey!
If you have time just keep a fragrant flower over there
As every father likes the fragrance! '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Reason
Of the births, mine is special for the reason,
It mattered on my mother’s bed - all the treason!
poem by Naveed Akram
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A little clock face
It has memorys
It has anniversary
It has death
It has births
It has alot for a little clock faces.
The Holy Virgin
The Holy Virgin
The time has…has come the time of death,
The death of my life, death of my breath,
Death of all but one…death of one but all,
Yet into the void for death I shall call.
It is near but death itself is nearer,
For all those who shall not be cheerer,
Death was the love I called upon into the world,
It was love that trembled as my death built a new world.
A new world with one less,
A new world with a greater mess,
For death of one is death of all,
Still into the void, My love for death I shall call.
‘Cause there is none like death
And none like death can take my breath.
For I was me and me alone,
And I was mine and mine own.
‘Cause there is none like me-
None as different…and not one so free.
Death was all I had ever known,
From when I as a seed into the earth was sown,
To the skies I reached out yet grew not,
Higher than all I was yet was so merely short.
I knew not what I wanted,
But I knew that what I was gifted,
But I knew not what I had to do,
But I knew very well what to do.
Behind bars I had threw mine soul and heart,
But not my mind which was my delicate art,
‘Cause that was all I had,
It was merry yet sad,
‘Cause I was far from all, I severed myself,
Yet my love was not for myself,
Unfathomable was my love for love,
Yet I hid it all up in a cove.
But I did what I did,
For I was me and not some other silly did.
I told them not when they told I was wrong;
When they told I was bad I told I was wrong,
For I knew my action,
Yet lost was the proper reaction.
Sins were mine, sins to all,
Sins were mine but mine sins not all.
Robbed by death I was of all but one,
One was my mind- the special one.
For my mind was mine and mine alone,
Amidst all it sparkled and shone,
For death touched it not as what it was it knew not,
Yet of that it never forgot,
For it was the only that was beleft,
When death made love to earth and none was left,
Because when all was gone,
Left was the different one,
When gone was the origin,
Left behind was my mind – The Holy Virgin.
JamesGreen…
poem by James Green
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In Death, My Final Part
A tower grim; a glowering darkness,
And only brown of red the other hue
– I saw it in the distant eyes –
And yes, He knew, but focussed only
On the mortal soul of mine –
After all, He had a role to play,
And wine: my shivering blood to quaff!
If only I could Him betray –
To break the seal of destiny;
Escape the lone cacophony
That emanates from wailing minds!
Damn the fate of His – it awes and blinds!
But oh! the mighty hammer strikes a toll;
The slow approach of Him upon the knoll
Commences exudation of a dying heart.
Endorsing all, I honed my final part.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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The final part
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Something is Missing
I went to the fun-fair
To have some fun
Had a lot to see
Then went shopping
Bought some goodies
With ‘him’ and ‘them’.
Came back home
With snacks and sweets
Served them all
And savoured it too
Had a nice evening stroll
In the park and streets.
I enjoyed every bit of it
With ‘him’ and ‘them’
And yet I think
And I did feel that
Something was missing…
So now I write
And I ponder too
What is it
That bothers me
And makes me miss
On all such occasions
When I go out and have fun
With ‘him’ and ‘them’.
It was just not today
But almost every day
On all such outings
And “at home” evenings
I do feel that
Something is missing.
And so I delved deeper in me
And thought of that something
Which never misses me
Nor needs me in its life.
Yes – I know it is a living being
And it is so far away
I cannot make it mine
And yet so close
I always feel it is mine.
That very Being so very far
And yet so close
It always makes me feel
Yes – Something is Missing.
So I kept probing further
Into my consciousness
To find the one thing that is there
Yet still “invisible” and just not there.
And I found that
Something is Missing
Is the one and only
Soul-mate I’ve searched all through…
And yet that mate’s soul never found me.
So I’ll keep feeling till the end of my life
That Something is Missing
Till his soul finds me
Or my soul merges into him.
And my search ends
To find us both
Soul-mates forever
For aeons till eternity…
This is just the Beginning
Of a lifetime search
Seeking its End.
And as they say:
It can take years and years
Of lives and births
Till its destination is reached.
For it is the journey of the soul
To seek its Friend.
It could be an endless wait
For many re-births
Of life and death.
And yet, it could be
Worth the Wait
In my soul’s search
For its Soul-Mate.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I See This Negligence In Children's Eyes
'Where is 'my' beginning? '
I see this negligence in children's eyes.
I see their intelligent minds ignored,
By unfocused parents...
Who believe raising their children,
Is a chore assigned.
And not blessed by The Divine,
By design and...
Who art in heaven.
'Where is 'my' beginning?
To receive the attention I am not getting.'
And I don't wonder why,
When these children grow denied...
They despise their parents!
Or 'whoever' raises this sense of hate,
Created within their minds to find and ignite.
As if to spite their births.
When I recognize what is in those eyes,
From my own experience I use to choose to deny...
I deliberately make eye contact with these children,
Who 'know'...
When someone else perceives their feelings,
And this shows.
To leave them with a quick smile.
And that attention given!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beach and flows
The shores of the line
the sands of time
the wispers of mine
The god thanks thy thee thyme
Children all trying to rhyme
These children are nor mine
Seeing waves crashing
sounding like their smashing the rock
Also Cattle's on farms causing a flock to run
Wile children are playing having fun
and the england football won! !
poem by Chloe Fitzpatrick
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He who had been dead was dead no more
‘He's mine' boasted the grave in victory
'He is dead so now he belongs to me'
But Death had forgotten about the One
Who's God's One and Only Belovèd Son.
Jesus had arrived upon that sad scene
giving hope where only despair had been.
'I am the Resurrection and Life, ' said He
'The power of Death is subject to me.'
'Where have you laid him? ' sadly Jesus sighed
'Come and see, Lord, ' both the women replied.
Seeing their helplessness at the graveside
Deep tears of sorrow the Son of God cried.
They opened the tomb, rolled the stone away
Then they heard Jesus in a loud voice say
'Lazarus come out' and amazingly they saw
That he who had been dead was dead no more.
'Remove the grave clothing and let him go'
and each semblance of death was removed so
and His power over death Jesus did show
it that town of Bethany long ago.
Accustomed to the pain
The innumerable funerals
Witnessed give me hope that after my death
My children will do likewise for me too.
Throwing away people and things valued
By their parents, on their deaths, gives me pain
That mine too will meet the same fate post death.
13.05.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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