Request to a Year
If the year is meditating a suitable gift,
I should like it to be the attitude
of my great- great- grandmother,
legendary devotee of the arts,
who having eight children
and little opportunity for painting pictures,
sat one day on a high rock
beside a river in Switzerland
and from a difficult distance viewed
her second son, balanced on a small ice flow,drift down the current toward a waterfall
that struck rock bottom eighty feet below,
while her second daughter, impeded,
no doubt, by the petticoats of the day,
stretched out a last-hope alpenstock
(which luckily later caught him on his way).
Nothing, it was evident, could be done;
And with the artist's isolating eye
My great-great-grandmother hastily sketched the scene.
The sketch survives to prove the story by.
Year, if you have no Mother's day present planned,
Reach back and bring me the firmness of her hand.
poem by Judith Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Poem for my Grandmother
By the time
I knew grandmother
She was no more
It took sisteen-years
To know
Of her pains
On that sick bed,
My sisteen-year-old
Knowingness was shocked
To hear mum narrate her past
Grandmother as indeed a great
Woman n her life time.
Each time I go to her grave
I break down and cried for her,
I wish grandmother saw
The best of me
Before she was taken to the beyond
I know she would be proud of me
Let this poem of mine
Be for her,
My great grandmother.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Great Grandmother
great grandmother
grandmother's mother
she walked through my life
like red roses, that dropp over one's path
roses that hold us back to savour
the meaning cast between
two melancholic lines of a poem
great grandmother
grandmother's mother
she walked through my life
so sparingly, always with the
fervent wish to build a bridge to my life
you know it because she always walked
away with tears glistening in her eyes
tears glistening in her eyes
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Father Freak (1) (Took Son's Wife And Killed Son's Daughter)
A 4-year-old daughter was murdered,
by a 45-year-old grandfather,
who had a love affair with his daughter-in-law,
who is a 23-year-old woman whose husband's heart got gnawed.
The husband found out the affair and had their marriage got undone.
The grandfather did'nt have any consideration for his son.
He admitted beating the grand-daughter to death,
stuffing his body into a suitcase and throwing into the river bed.
Murder occured in May, about 3 months ago.
3 weeks ago, her great grandmother contacted Authority for her no-
show.
Then the disappearance brought to police attention.
How could they commit a crime full of sins?
They have children of their own,
but about parental love they have never known.
The father not only robbed his son of his wife,
but also put an end to his grand-daughter's life.
There are actually some bad fathers,
who could be compared to freak Monster.
Happy Birthday Daughter
To our beloved daughter
Jessica Nicole
That we love and adore
We would like to say a few words
To celebrate this special day
You are another year older
Even a year smarter
And maybe a bit wiser
What year you have had
You have grown
Into a wonderful woman
Became a mother
With a beautiful daughter
Which has given us such a thrill
Today is your special day
Which we pray will be filled
With great peace and joy
A day full of great things
Things that bring you
Great happiness and enjoyment
Maybe even things
That makes you laugh, dance, and sing
Or maybe just a bit more complete
For on this special occasion
We would like to say
You are another year older
We love you
We wish you the best
And very special
Happy,
Happy Birthday
Our darling daughter dear
poem by Scott Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Don't Forget who is your Father
God is Great
He created you and me so ladies and gentleman
he is the only person to praise and pray
Cause some of us we pray Alan people you pray him
who is him God is the one who created us
so guys help me to Thank him every time i'm sick i call him cause
he is the hiller the killer of diseases in the world
Help me to sing.
How great is our God sing with me how great is our God
all we sing is how great is our God age to age praise his
Great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great great great great great
GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD..
Thank you Help me pliz.
poem by Ruvimbo Daisy Matsika
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Three yards up the road
When your great-great-Grandmother
sold across the brush of cotton
was singing songs of Africa
and working under lash and lock
and yoke the white man slaver set
the child in England shivered
Silently as Dada died or Mama died
she moved to separation from her own
became a Parish burden picking oakum
was sold to northern mills in groups of slaves
locked inside forbidding winter temples
stocking dross the Parish sent away
When your great-great-Grandmother
sold by stronger tribes in Africa
to make them rich and build their acres
to feed the rich man's people hunger
passing cramped across the ocean
watching daily deaths - or hourly
the child in England shivered
Wearing worn out summer clothing
shoeless in the depths of winter
working fourteen hours unstopping
Hunger semi-slaked by gruel slops
in mills where childhood took a beating
When your great-great-Grandmother
had her babies traded from her
on plantations where the working time was long
and overseers beat and sometimes killed
and raped and pillaged every woman
drunken eyes could squander
the beaten child devoid of mother
dragged a body dwarfed by starving
mis-shapen from the broken bones untreated
locked inside her working prison
sealed at night with others in a tomb
where straw - and other ill-used bodies - comforted
And you can say and lift your head
When my great-great-Grandmother
was taken out of Africa by white men
she ceased her African-African slavery
began her slavery to white men
Then you turn and call me racist
And I have nothing more to say
except my great-great-Grandmother
having parents dead or starving
was a burden on the Parish of her birth
which sold her into untold desolation
in a country which pretended to be kind
and left her slave and starving
as a cog inside an Empire
where the rich grew richer still
on the blood of starving children
out of Africa or three yards up the road
poem by Charlotte Peters Rock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Story
I was born in a year
Of a great depression,
.
My parents were born here
A life made of deprivation,
.
Dave, gave me my name;
By instructions of my mother
.
My mother told me all about
My runaway father,
.
My mother did her best
To bring me up better,
.
My mother told me
I would be a leader
- a speaker
- a fighter,
.
I left my mother' s home
To search for survival,
.
Sam said I have become
A great photographer,
.
I have a craving for the arts
And poems that don't rhyme.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Life Is Like A River
we give away like the way a river flows
day to day
we may start with the petals of the flowers
we let them fall one by one
to the flow of the river
then we begin again with the leaves and then
the twigs and the branches and then if we have
nothing more to give we give away the tree itself
to the flow of the river
we look at ourselves we give every part of us
piece by piece to the flow of the great river
our properties our honor our clothes and when all these
are given away we start to give back our hands, our feet
we look at every pocket of our senses and when everything
is given away we shall now give the last that we have to the flow
of this great river of life
we let flow our soul. we have given everything
sometimes we ask that we stay for a while, but this cannot be
the law of the great river of life is clear, we give everything away
slowly, willingly, until all the pain of giving is gone away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lines For An Album
Over the river and through the woods
To grandmother’s house we go ...
She waits behind the bolted door,
Her withered face in thirty pieces,
While blood runs thin, and memory,
An idiot without a name,
Recalls the snows of eighty years,
The daughter whose death was unexplained,
Darkness, blue veins, and broken leases.
Grandmother waits behind the door
(Sight dims beyond the curtain folds)
With her toothless smile and enuresis.
Over the river and through the woods
To grandmother’s house we go ...
poem by Weldon Kees
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Photography Is Kin’s Thing
At the Lake Street Painting festival I did meet,
a photographer named Kin who is really sweet.
He shot photos of my princess on sidewalk not street.
being a rogue artist the sidewalk was the place,
that I decided to use my chalk to paint.
Paint a small square by the Hummingbird hotel,
Kin shot great photos of Sarah Star not Mel.
Since then Kin shot photos of my painting 3x5,
also castle scene painting this year with keen eye.
We went to wildlife Wakodahatchee Wetlands by Jog,
we photographed birds, alligators and frogs.
Kin visited me at the Royal Art & Music Fest,
photos he took turned out best above all the rest.
Kin says he’s my fan, and never charges a fee,
he supports all artists like cartoonist like me.
Thank you Kin
for being a great photographer and friend.
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ballade Of The Hardy Annual
Many a jest that refuses to die
Bobs up again as the seasons appear;
Deathless it hits us again in the eye-
Changeless and dull as the calendar year.
Musty and mouldy and yellow and sere,
Stronger, withal, than the sturdiest oak;
Ancient and solemn and deadly and drear-
Down with the grandmother-funeral joke!
Soon as the snow has forgotten to fly,
All through the day of the 'leathery sphere,'
Jokelets and pictures and verses we spy
All on the theme of the grandmother dear.
Bonnets, umbrellas, and buckets of beer
Please us and tickle us quite to the choke.
But-on this matter our attitude's clear-
Down with the grandmother-funeral joke!
Giggle we can at a blueberry pie;
Scream at a comedy king or ameer;
Simply guffaw when the jestermen guy
Marriage, a thing at which no one should jeer.
Things that in others elicit a tear
All of our risibles simply unyoke;
But from this stand we're unwilling to veer:
Down with the grandmother-funeral joke!
L'ENVOI
Brothers in motley, the season is here;
Small is the boon that we sadly invoke:
Butcher it, murder it, jump on its ear! -
Down with the grandmother-funeral joke!
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. Teaching might even be the greatest of the arts since the medium is the human mind and spirit.
quote by John Steinbeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Rock Steady Vibe (Rock Steady Remix)
Our love is rock steady
Rock steady, rock steady
Our love is rock steady
Love is like a punishment
Homegirl here to represent
So innocently you seem to come my way
While Tinkerbell and Cupid play
They sit there and laugh
I sit here and I can't believe my eyes
You found me at last
But we're too human to see the way we'll agonize
A real love survives a rock steady vibe
A real love survives a rock steady vibe
Rock steady, rock steady
Our love is so rock steady
Rock steady
Steady now, stop rocking it
It's a delicate environment
Retire but sleeping is a Shanti love
Be careful now don't wake it up
It's never gonna last
It's never gonna make it back alive
So now can we relax
I really hope that we will actually survive
A real love survives a rock steady vibe
A real love survives a rock steady vibe
It's never gonna last
It's never gonna makes it back alive
So now can we relax
I really hope that we will actually survive
A real love survives a rock steady vibe
A real love survives a rock steady vibe
Rock steady
Our love is so rock steady
Rock steady, rock steady
song performed by by No Doubt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
There's only one test of a great children's book, or a great children's film, and that is this: If it can be read or viewed with pleasure by adults, then it has the chance to be a great children's film, or a great children's book.
quote by Chuck Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Raging River
The river rages through the land
Cutting the earth with its mighty hand
Digging the canyons across the face of time
Revealing a land that is intertwined
The river brings life as it moves along
The animals drink from it and makes them strong
The river is a roadway, where great boats do ride
The river is mighty and has great pride
The river takes and gives what it sees fit
Many a great tribe stands in awe of it
Even the great river takes time to rest
Knowing it has done it’s very best
There is a raging river flowing through you and me
It cuts through our soul, setting the spirit free
Let the river flow, do not dam it up
Feel the never ending energy, drink from it’s cup
Let your river flow outward and keep in mind
As it cuts through each one, we are all intertwined
poem by L.T. Padgett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Death Comes To Any Age
There is one story that makes me shudder
And so with care I live each day
It is about a mother and a daughter
Who went to a mall for her birthday.
The mother promised the eight year old
For a cellphone as her requested gift,
Excited to call her Dad, she was told-
As they crossed a street, she ran so swift.
The daughter had crossed ahead and saw
That her mother was left at the other side
And so like a child she ran back although
The lights had changed for the street so wide.
The lights turned to green and it was a 'go'
As all vehicles started to go running
Cars and trucks speeding traffic flow
Not seeing the small child who was just then crossing.
The truck driver saw her but it was too late
The brakes did not have the time to hold
The little girl met her untimely fate
As the truck ran over that eight-year-old.
The hysterical mother went into shock
Seeing her child's brains on the pavement
In grief she almost had a heart attack
Screamed in tears all her anguished lament.
The lesson here that Death teaches us all
One may be eighty or be eight-year-old
But when He chooses to give us a call
With Him, there's no young and there's no old.
This is a true story that happened in our city in front of a big mall. All who witnessed the tragedy were affected by it.
-
February 3,2010
Philippines
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grandma's Treasure Box
Each of us
when we reached 14
would make the Visit to
Grandmothers house
to see what was inside
her Treasure Box;
the Family Treasure Box
where each year
one of us
got to see
what she had
hidden there..
My Dad had been;
my older brother
had been
and now it was my turn
to see that part of
Family History.
No one who'd seen
could talk of it.
No one could reveal to anyone
what was in Grandma's secret box.
No one did.
No one would risk
Grandmother's upset.
She lived beneath
the 'L' in Chicago
refusing to move
and they built
the tracks
right over her house;
each time one passed
it rocked her house
like rolling thunder;
Varoom, clacky clack
another one
going by.
Stubborn was not the word
for Grandmother.
She still wrote letters
30 years later
to every Mayor
complaining about the
tracks and the trains
saying she wanted them torn down.
Every month a letter.
Grandmother never
gave up;
never forgot;
fierce in her loves
fierce about her neighborhood
fierce about things which displeasured her
fierce about family
fierce about everything.
I sat with her,
apron on:
she served me pie.
'Sonny' she said
now you at the age
where you need to
learn grown-up things.
Like your Dad and brother
your turn now come
to see what drives
this family;
our family heirloom so to speak.
You'll see now.
As you grow up
you hear people talking about it
but we are the only family that
has it in our treasure box.
Lot's want it
but we the only one's
that has it.
She walked me up her tiny
narrow stair case to the attic
my head spinning,
wondering what it could be.
What did we have in our family
that the whole world wanted?
The treasure box was small;
a faded gold color
with a hand-carved lid
covered by Grandma's
liver-spotted hand
which shook in the dim
light.
She shifted the box,
opening it with a tiny key
smiling faintly
her eyes moistening
as a sliver of sunlight
reflected into the opening box
and I could just begin to
see what was inside.
'There it is'
she said
'What is it? ' I said,
staring at a piece of cloth;
satin sheen
with a lace border.
'Every since your great
grandmother got
it has been the luck of this family
and so people's all over the
world hear about but
we the only one's who got it.
'What is it?
Your great great grandmother's;
cut from her mother's wedding dress
and from that day
this families' luck changed.
I looked at her eyes
looking for an answer there.
'Grandma what is it?
You heard of the Silver Lining'
Yes, I said.
Well this family has the only one.
It is the Silver Lining from your great, great,
grandmothers wedding dress.
Grandma had it
and she believed it had saved our family
all these years.
'I took it out when
your mother had her cancer
and she got better
and it took away her pain.
I took it out when your younger brother
had his accident, and he lived.
I took it out when your grandfather went to war
and he came home safe.
I take it out when ever this family needs things.
It is our Silver Lining.
Now you must never speak
or tell what is in the treasure box
or it will break the spell.
I never did to this day
Today I have the Treasure Box
waiting for my child
to have a chance to see.
Grandma's gone
leaving behind her Silver Lining
for the rest of us.
And on some days
I do take it out
when things look
like they might go bad.
Just for luck.
Everyone
is always
looking for a Silver Lining
and some luck.
All the Grandmothers
gave us ours.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Time turned cruel
The time turned cruel on me
I was shocked at news to find again lonely and free
He had breathed his last in hospital bed
He was no more and had been declared dead
It is easy for male to recover from shock
He can withstand up to the last till running out of stock
He can manage the scene and come back on feet
Prepare self to accept any challenge and meet
I am not mentally robust
Some times I loose confidence and trust
I am not made of stubborn stuff
I fear sometime to tell lie or offer bluff
Since I am left alone and must eventually bear
All consequence that has been thrust near
I must gear up self to meet the worst tomorrow
As I have no idea how things will allow
I have lost no hope and can cope up with time
I can put up with hard reality and face any time
He was strength to me but I should not cry over it
I must chase the opportunity with firmly placed feet
My daughter is the only surviving soul
So nice, helpful hand and beautiful
I have great hope in her to come out
Show to the world that there is nothing difficult to talk about
I find sea and its waves very close
Waves go up with force and make typical noise
All that fascinates me with wonderful change
Wind also blows powerfully but I skillfully manage
God has given me chance to prove ability
Females are no sitting ducks and can show quality
Either in good time or in bad times with demonstration
That they can face any rough weather in question
I am out with daughter on sea beach
Sea is out stretched and eyes can't reach
Yet I feel sea is very much magnificent
Whatever I do is correct and right with his consent
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
From pools of blood
From pools of blood bushes, trees
and aloes grow in the veldt
where British soldiers
fired on my countrymen
and some bayoneted them.
Concentration camps where twenty thousand
women and children died without dignity
at the hand of foreigners,
who claimed to be fellow Christians
are now covered with grass
and that past are being blotted out
as if the misery, the indignity,
the mass murder
never happened
and great Queen Victoria
is still dignified
and still I hold Great Britain responsible
for the murder of my great grand mother,
for the destruction
of my great grand father’s farm,
for the seizure
of my other great grand father’s property,
for sending him to St. Helena
as a prisoner of war,
for invading my country
for making profit from the minerals
and the quarter Scotsman in me
together with my three quarters Afrikaner parts
forever wants to be free
from the enslavement
which that foreign nation brought.
[Note: My own great grandmother died in a British concentration camp and my great grandfather was sent by the British to St. Helena as a prisoner of war and as a result of this, my grandfather(Gert Strydom) grew up in a orphanage.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Question Me Now, My Children
Question Me Now, My children
Ask questions of me, my children
For time has a way…
Of slipping through fingers
Like reapers through hay
Your heritage is a treasure
That one day you’ll have need
Questions in need of answers
And no answers to heed
Was your great grandfather
A brown-eyed lad
Was your great grandmother
Perhaps a little bit mad
Ask about your ancestry
So interesting and rich
Was great aunt Sarah just an ol’ maid…
Or was she really a witch
How did they live the course of their day
And how the difference from yours
You live in a city, in a modern way
Perhaps they lived in the moors
How did your father meet your mother
What was their courtship like
And did grandmaw, elope with grandpaw
Did cousin Jenny marry up with uncle Mike
Did great-great grandmaw come from Ireland
Was her name “Whalen” changed from “Whelan”
By careless and lazy immigration officials
At a bustling and confusing, Ellis Island
Did these people bite their fingernails
Have a wart on their nose
Have children die prematurely
Enjoy happiness, suffer woe
Question me now, my children
For I get older, soon will come my time to go
And ‘twill be too late and ‘sadly twill be your fate
Of your rich heritage to ne’er know
Ask questions of me, my children
Before time takes me to task
Else when and what you wish to know
There will no one to ask
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!