She Played Softball
'I don't want to hear...
Another thing from you,
Young man!
Do you understand? '
My mother would often say.
So I showed her my notes,
Expressing my opinion!
Always with my mouth closed.
And prepared to duck.
She played softball in those days.
And had a mean pitch!
My father was a boxer.
I never approached him,
With anything I wrote!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Mother Once Said...
My mother once said
'Don`t open your mouth before
Elders and those with white hairs'.
My mother also said
'Don`t speak unless asked'.
My mouth asked me once,
'What is my role in your life? '
I said, 'My mother has said nothing about it'.
I added, 'You swallow and eat'.
My mouth has been quiet since.
My friends said, 'Your mother is wise'.
My father said, 'She is my strength'.
I wondered how she could be so great!
Then was born my kid brother with a big mouth.
My mother said to my kid brother too
Not to do those old things
But his mouth spoke everything
Everything that I never dared.
And his mouth swallowed, ate and spoke.
Today my mother is no more
And my father is is weak and worn out.
I still remember my mother`s words.
While my kid brother speaks out his mind
My mouth refuses to speak out its regrets....
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I look like a duck. It's the way my mouth curls up, or my nose tilts up. I should have played Howard the Duck.
quote by Michelle Pfeiffer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is Something Inside My Mouth (2)
there is something singing inside my mouth
but i keep my mouth closed
i decide when shall the opening be
when shall i hear this little thing sing again
in the open
for now i have closed whatever is it that opens
that sings
it is time to mourn
to be silent
to die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Father there you Are(For my dad)
Father it's been a long time,
Since I was baby which I cannot count on my ten fingers,
Cradle my mother's arms,
My eyes closed yet to see my father,
Father running around,
Now I can talk and walk,
Those years later,
Father where are you?
Seeing my mother,
Saying I love thy father,
Which I do,
My love will forever be true,
Now as I grow older once again,
I ask myself,
Father where are you?
Inside my life I see a tunnel,
Running through that tunnel I hear a voice,
Do I go or should I stay?
Trusting my gut I do,
A smile on my face,
Father there you are!
poem by Qeeony Luv
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Father Boy
Oh Father Boy, Oh Father Boy
You didn’t see the signs
You didn’t hear a thing did you
Oh Father Boy, my dear
You didn’t see, you didn’t look, you didn’t listen either
You didn’t try to understand
You didn’t take the time
You weren’t a Father, Father Boy, you weren’t a Father, Father.
Oh Father Boy, Father Boy
When a Father has a Boy
To be a Father, Father see
You have to see the Boy
The Boy inside the Father
And the Father in the Boy
But Father Boy, Oh Father Boy
You just didn’t pay attention
For a Boy to be a Father, Father
He cannot be a Father Boy.
(Previously published in Megaera, #4, Fall 2000)
poem by Laurence Overmire
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Listen To Your Mother
'Wait till your Father get's home'
that was what my Mother would say
but he'd see me all well behaved
so I'd be off out again to play.
'Look at the state of your clothes'
that was what my Mother would say
but I'd tell her someone pushed me over
when really I'd played Football most of the day.
'Don't you forget to do your homework'
that was what my Mother would say
but instead of writing about Kings of England
I'd be reading about Footballers like Greaves and Pele.
'Your a right little cheeky Monkey '
that was what my Mother would say
but I'd tell her that she loved me really
which always seemed to make her day.
'I won't be around for ever you know'
that was what my mother used to say
'What do you mean of course you will
you'll be here in the house all old and Grey.'
'I really miss your Mother you know '
that was what my Father used to say
but I thought she'd be here forever
nobody told me that Mothers can pass away.
But we had a great Mother and Son relationship
and she knew I was just being a young lad
but when I'm down I just think of her
and those thoughts always make me feel glad.
poem by Kevin Halls
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To Be Free of Not Having Children
My mother would have my sister and I...
As kids,
To go look for a nice sized switch.
Then strip it before she whipped us with it!
And then dared us to cry...
As if we weren't already hurting inside.
Then made us stand up straight,
As if at attention.
Telling us not to roll our eyes.
And not a word she wanted heard mentioned.
One day I did something...
And I chose from my mother to run.
I was stunned she was running right behind me fast.
She snatched me by the neck,
And proceeded to spank my ass!
Disciplined?
My mother played softball,
And my father had been a boxer.
Do you think I have survived all these years...
Trying to out foxed those two.
Knowing what they could do...
And convinced they did well at what they did!
Disciplined?
We were not told twice,
To do something again they said they did not like.
And my father did not have to raise a finger.
All he did was use his eyes.
'Daddy, please! Don't look at me like that! '
But my mother on the other hand,
Commanded well our ship!
Whenever she began to raise her voice...
Mimmie and I knew we were heading for something quick!
And crying we would do first...
Because we knew there was no exit!
I can hear my mother's voice today.
If I had threatened to call 911.
She would hand me the phone and tell me to dial.
And if the police should arrive...
They would discover a missing child.
Both of my parents were extremely humorous.
However...
My mama did not play,
If we did not obey!
In those days when parenting
Was out of the hands of the government!
And although we may have grown up 'slightly' dysfunctional.
Dysfunctions and all...
Today?
We are happy we grew up the way we did.
And if I had children,
Living today as these 'hardhead' children do...
I wouldn't dare them to call 911.
That option?
Not available!
Not if I'm to play poppa.
No!
They wouldn't get a chance to!
And I might be visited as I sat in prison!
But any child of mine...
Would get a rod struck to their behind.
Like lightening...hot and sizzling.
Sparing me the grief that today's parents find.
My children would pay me attention.
And we together would share respect.
Perhaps that's why I live my life blessed.
To be free of not having children!
I could not stand by as they lived lives,
Attracted to standards bathed in degradation.
I'm not 'that' patriotic!
And to live without feeling guilt...
Or in a remorse,
That leaves me in debt AND regret!
I am grateful to be that blessed...
Yes.
I know my limitations.
And I am glad I do not have children,
Insisting to see me pushed to them!
I love my life lived...
Without displaying a rage that drives me crazed,
And confined!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Keep Your Eyes On the Pitch
Keep your eyes on the pitch.
Don't choke up!
Or switch hit.
If you do this right,
You'll score guaranteed home runs.
And every base you touch,
By strategic devotion...
With a discipline that's meant!
You can expect,
Yourself to be prepared...
For more to come.
Since the ingredients to do this...
Have begun to sink in.
You are better than sitting,
Twiddling with your thumbs on your backside.
You are better when in the mix.
Holding that bat,
With a pride you can not resist.
Stir up that motivation!
Don't allow it to blur.
When you are focused,
There is no challenge that comes to match.
When you are focused and that is made known...
Your detractors will take two steps back.
Just keep your eye on that pitch!
Don't swing at anything and then throw fits.
Don't dare choke up or switch hit.
Practice and rehearse,
As if your life depends on it!
Stay energized!
And if you do this right,
You'll score guaranteed home runs.
And every base you touch,
By strategic devotion...
With a discipline that's meant!
You can expect,
Yourself to be prepared...
For more to come.
If your desires are to aspire to get beyond,
Striking out!
To be left undone.
There is more to life,
Than knowing when and how to play the game.
There is more to life that can be welcomed.
If you are flexible enough,
To know when to duck.
And not be strickened or become awestruck!
Don't look to either side.
Up or down.
It's not worth it.
Focus and look forward.
Just keep your eyes on that pitch.
And if it is not thrown the way you want it...
Don't blow a gasket to have a tantrum and quit!
Keep your eyes glued on that pitch.
And if you hear a 'boo' at all...
Don't you worry about it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Drinking to Remember
The bar was closed,
the dawn approached
like a grey and threatening sea.
He placed two glasses on the bar
one for him, one for me.
Black Bush shimmered in each glass
golden in half light
We proposed a toast to you
thirty years ago tonight.
That day We'd brought you to the church
and the graveyard just beyond.
Larger than life you always loomed
hard to believe you're gone.
They say that when a father dies
a boy becomes a man.
If it didn't happen right away
I hope you'll understand.
I'll never hear your voice again
or share a hug and kiss.
I'm drinking to remember
It was such a night as this.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Money world love
My dear father...
Hoe r you...?
I am hear is not fine...!
So...
I want money
send me for money
Don't tell about mother...
ok...
My kisses with you...!
Your dear son...(ramesh)
This is letter for my father
My brother was wrote
At student time...
My father send the money
For my brother
That time
My father understand
Love is making money...
My brother thinking
Money is my lovely father...
How is money world love...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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My Lord Walked Beside Me
I saw the steps to heaven, I saw the doves above
I felt your ever present, I felt your eternal love.
I saw every color of the rainbow
I felt every dropp of rain that fell
I saw the souls below me
As they cried in eternal hell.
I saw a mother holding her child
And a father down on his knees
Pleading to you lord, to set their hearts at ease.
I heard the choir of angels as they played upon their harps
And wanting so badly for me to take a part.
I saw the sun rising on the horizon
And also a setting sun
I saw myself alone, as if I was the only one.
But I was not alone, for the LORD walked by my side
No one could touch me, no matter what they tried.
I saw your cross from Calvary reaching high
Up to the sky, and all of your followers saying
Their last good byes.
I saw the clouds darken, and the sky turn pitch black
And heard the cry to your father, as you took
Your last breath - For you was going
to finally take a rest.
My LORD you walked beside me
as your father had done with you
as he showed you all of heaven
And what awaited you.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Boy Mimics The Father
The boy mimics the father he is his father's son
And he tells all of his young mates of the good things his dad has done
The mentors of tomorrow are the fathers of today
Through your good or bad example your child follows the way.
Since dad was his role model before he walked on his feet
The mistakes of the father the son he will repeat
The mentor of his young years is the mentor of his life
He watched dad beat his mother he too will beat his wife.
The boys mimics the father though you well may disagree
That us humans are impressionable but that's how 'twould seem to me
The main role model of our childhood through life points us the way
The young rogue of the future is the son of the rogue of today.
That the boy mimics the father in most cases does apply
And why this should be I cannot say though I can understand why
The boy mimics the father his role model is dad
And most times that is a good thing though on rare occasions it can be bad.
poem by Francis Duggan
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‘father”:
'A FATHER IS SOMEONE WHO'S THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOU NEED HIM
A FATHER NEVER LETS YOU DOWN
A FATHER IS SOMEONE THERE TO HUG YOU WHEN SOMETHING GOES WRONG
A FATHER IS THERE TO DRY UP THE TEARS
A FATHER IS THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO LEAVES THE MOTHER WHEN HE FINDS OUT SHE'S PERGANT
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO DENYS THEIR OWN CHILD
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO LEAVES YOU LEFT BEHIND
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO SAYS ONE THING TO ONE PERSON THEN SAYS ANOTHER THING TO SOMEONE ELSE
A FATHER IS’NT WHAT I SEE IN YOU”
poem by Yeslin Salazar
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The Boy Named Edgar
There was a boy named Edgar
He met this girl when he was but of the mere young
They always played together and had so much fun
But one day a man approached and asked her for something
The boy couldn't understand
Her services were paid for
He tried to save her
But he only got her to hate him all the more
From the back door he walk through
Ripped her right off of him
Then with a hammer he bludgeon
The mans blood was spilled
What was done couldn't be undone
His name was Edgar and he just didn't understand
With a prison sentenced he was slammed
Forever to be marked a bad man
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Honor Our Father! ! !
I remember when I was young,
My New Life with Christ, Just begun,
I became Born-again!
I'll Never forget that day,
When Jesus came in my heart, To Stay!
He's been guiding me all this way,
One day I asked Him'Father, What should I do?
My earthly Dad, wants to be called father too
I know Your Word says, Call No man Father
On Earth, But Only Our Father in Heaven,
You're The Father -of us all, This is True! ! !
Father replied'My Child, You don't understand
'I AM' 'Your Holy Father'
Your earthly father is a Human, man
But You are to Honor Your Father and Mother,
Because that's one of My Commands,
By Honoring them, You also Honor Me!
I appointed Your Parents, to guide You to see,
Jesus! Through Him, You've come to me,
'I AM' The Holy Father, I give Eternal Life!
poem by Patricia Martin
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Day and Night The Piano Played
Day and night the piano played
Never once did the soft notes stray
Over and over on and on they played
During my short stay t
Day and night, night and day
The same soft notes were played
Never did they stray the same notes
Played again and again night and day
The music wandered and wandered
Until with me it stayed
And I began to whistle night and day
The same soft notes over and over
Again and again and again I played
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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Accustomed To Ignoring Their Own Treasures
When I came to give,
Hands were closed.
And fists were clenched.
Prepared what seemed to me to be,
Arguments conflicting with my interests.
Then when it became discovered,
What I came to give...
Would be of benefit.
Hands surrounded me opened like cups.
And those with clenched fists,
Were prepared to pat me on the back.
As if a lost relative had for them been missed.
When I CAME to give,
Hands were closed.
And fists were clenched.
An impression made,
I have not forgotten since.
When I CAME to offer,
I was immediately dismissed.
And NOW...
Today?
I've learned my worth is too valuable.
Too genuine to just give away.
Especially to those,
Accustomed to ignoring their own treasures.
And suspicious of those,
Who have chosen them to give.
Prehaps my approached for them was too sincere.
Since from them 'then'...
I HAD asked for nothing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Such Compassionate Humility
'I admit to those times of being vane,
AND guilty.
But...
Not in recent memory.'
The same game played,
No matter what season it may be...
Will be played by the 'users'
Expressing the same mindless philosophy.
With only one agenda.
And that is to score!
With an intent,
To keep those prepared losing excuses...
At a hopeful distance.
Even the one who wins...
Has a determination,
From the beginning that does not end...
Speaks!
With such compassionate humility.
'Was it as good to you,
As it was for me...
To receive, give 'and' teach? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Don't Believe 'You' Wrote This!
I am told I have a way with words.
I am encouraged when I hear that said.
I remember listening to my father talk.
And when he would sing...
He would bring a different meaning,
To each word I heard.
And what his singing to them he would bring.
My mother would play the piano.
Thunderous and loud!
And when I walked through the projects...
I would sing to the trees,
I once walked into one...
Humming to the clouds.
I would make up melodies and tunes with words.
Mocking my dad and my mother's love,
For gospel verse she would rehearse.
I didn't think anything really about words I wrote.
Until my sister read a poem of mine.
And I wanted to choke her by the throat!
YES!
She was the first to read something I wrote out loud.
I was embarrassed by that.
Her nosy grown up butt...
Reading my 'stuff' behind my back!
And then she said to me,
'I don't believe 'you' wrote this! '
I must have been 13 years old...
When I started to make my writing public.
I am told I have a way with words.
I am encouraged when I hear that said.
I remember listening to my father talk.
And when he would sing...
He would bring a different meaning,
To each word I heard.
And what his singing to them he would bring.
Each 'thing' I write now...
Is added to a mixed bag offering!
And reflecting how I'm feeling at the time.
I am grateful for this blessing.
It offers a comfort and a peace of mind!
And when someone says they enjoy what I do...
I must be honest with 'you', the reader!
I-do-too!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Antipoem 03
when you do not understand
that is the time you say you like it
when you tried to understand and still could not understand what you try to really understand
that is the time you say there is a mystery and we have to be prepared to
worship it, for something mysterious could be angels, could be God
understanding is understanding like a mother
she comes to you to reveal things
though slowly and you must be patient like a child
understanding is loving like a father and you must be like a son waiting for
the final advice
but you love more the things that you do not understand
things that mesmerize you and give you the sense of awe
which of course, is followed by the word, say it,
wonder. Wisdom does not begin here. Wisdom begins the moment
you begin to quit smoking.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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