They've All Been Duped
A bragging is done about the number of babies made.
But not one of the 'donators' prove themselves worthy,
To stay up to the grade they charade.
And the mothers are heard,
Taking their frustrations out on their kids.
As if the children are responsible to be born into ignorance.
This is not a reflection of any ethnic group.
They've all been duped by a majority,
Crooked and stupid.
And a backfire comes to be done.
A payback for being idiotic and dumb,
Comes to strike with a strut!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Online II
Unmarried fathers,
Unmarried mothers,
And, children are born left and right! !
But, who is now online?
Babies,
With unmarried fathers and unmarried mothers;
Babies,
With married fathers and married mothers;
But, this issue is now investigated with care,
Because, other accessibilities are now found at various locations!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Children!
those brown skinned babies...
starving in Haiti, Africa,
and around the world.
laying dead victims
of bombing and gunfire...
are our children.
those white skinned,
black skinned babies,
born into the housing developments
and trailer parks,
into crackhead pill popping
poverty... those,
are our children too!
those blood stained babies,
found in desperate dumpsters,
our children, again.
those unborn babies,
born into hopeless situations,
or never to be born
into a world cold and hard...
our children too!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Abortions on the Increase
The world kills babies by the millions;
What cruel hearts could love to kill their own?
The babies killed are wholesome and healthy;
But Nature kills just those who can’t survive.
The right to life is baby’s basic right;
To kill a new-born babe is not correct;
God sees the tears of unborn babies all;
The God of life will punish those who kill.
The guilt of abortion can wreck one’s life;
Some mothers have committed suicide;
What insane minds dare kill their unborn kids?
Though maimed, some fetuses are born alive!
No species kills its own within the womb;
The right to life is prime for all species;
All parents rear their young ones though deformed;
But man alone kills babies though well-formed!
Oh, won’t you stop such treacherous killing?
Breast cancer afflicts mothers who abort;
Abortions lead to more miscarriages;
Stop murder of unborn babies in womb.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-4-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Just End It
Love's confusing,
Heartbreaks are stupid,
Life's dumb,
Animals are too cute,
Bikes are dangerous,
Guys are weird,
Teachers dont understand,
Pricipals are idiotic,
Family is bad,
Money is hard to get,
Too young to get a job,
Too young to drive,
Too young is what everyone says,
Made fun off,
Stomach pain,
Guys being stupid,
Pets dying,
I quit,
I give up,
I'm just gonna end it all,
Before it kills me...
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Major Congenital Anomalies (’Tis better to be dead but...)
A babe that’s born with brain anomalies;
With some inborn metabolic errors;
With chromosomal abnormalities;
’Tis better to be dead but...
Some babies with thoracopagus;
Some with spinal cord abnormalities;
Those with true hermaphroditism;
’Tis better to be dead but...
Some babies born of mothers infected;
Babies with teratogenicity;
Babies with just seal-like limbs:
’Tis better to be dead but...
Abortion is the treatment of choice then;
Yet, when babies are born accidentally,
Life on earth can be miserable to all;
’Tis better to be dead but...
And still such babies continue to be born
To faulty diagnoses antenatal;
Litigation may award money;
’Tis better to be dead but...
Yet, parents kill their healthy babes in womb;
Can abortion be ev’r justified then?
Such unborn have been killed without reason!
’Tis better to be live but...
Copyright by Dr John Celes 17-09-11
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother Poems
We have Fathers Poems
Why not Mothers Poems?
Without our Mothers, we won't be born,
Without Mothers, We are so forlorn.
Babies, Mothers nurture,
And guide us in our future.
To Mothers everywhere,
Lovely poems, I do declare!
Babies Making Babies
They thought they would enjoy the risk.
Of doing it...
Without the benefit,
Of being prepared for it.
Babies.
Making babies!
They put their parents into fits.
Who thought they taught their kids,
To realize...
The heartache that would come from it.
But they are babies,
Making babies.
Born in these times...
When it's easy to pay no mind,
To what others say...
To have it their way.
No one can find...
A sympathy,
When these young minds are gone.
To wander,
And roam alone.
They thought they would enjoy the risk.
Of doing it...
Without the benefit,
Of being prepared for it.
Babies.
Making babies!
They put their parents into fits.
Who thought they taught their kids,
To realize...
The heartache that would come from it.
But they are babies,
Making babies.
No one can find...
A sympathy,
When these young minds are gone.
To wander,
And roam alone.
Born in these times...
When it's easy to pay no mind,
To what others say...
To have it their way.
Today!
To have it their way.
Today!
And these babies.
Making babies!
Stay that way!
Leaving a sadness,
With the rest of us...
To pay!
And arresting a joy,
That fades away!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wishing And Willing..
When the baby kicks in the womb,
A few parents touch to have the kick,
Most mothers excited, while the fathers too,
A few miss this opportunity as not bothered to,
The crying of the babies never fails to wake up,
The loving hearts of the mother and father,
The crying of the mothers never fails to shaken up,
The young hearts of children, who see the rift,
Hearts of children love their mother,
As it listened to her beats day and night,
Hearts of children are attracted to the mother,
As she is the one, who listens to their blabber,
The crying of babies never fails to wake up the mother,
The crying of mothers never fails to shaken up the children.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Little Bit Stupid
You stole a wig from your sister
And a gun from your dad
I geuss i knew when i kissed ya
You're a little bit mad
You don't care if you get sick
Living on bubble gum
Maybe too much lipstick
Made your mouth go dumb
I have to say that we were suited
But you know what they say about Cupid:
Little bit stupid
Little bit stupid
So we got ourselves messed up
And we did it with style
And the way we were dressed up
Was a little bit wild
Stack heels and tiaras
We were oh so refined
Or maybe too much mascara
Made my eyes go blind
I don't know if we were deluded
But i know what they say about Cupid:
Little bit stupid
Little bit stupid
I guess to do what me and you did
You have to be just a bit like Cupid:
Little bit stupid
Little bit stupid
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A troop of baboons (Terzanelle)
I saw a troop of baboons gather
with mothers inspecting for ticks
in a group coming together
feeling through heads with finger nails making sharp clicks
and small mouths finding nipples
with mothers inspecting for ticks
and two old cripples
came hobbling along
and small mouths finding nipples
and some female baboons howling as if in song
and babies
came hobbling along
and some were agitated as if having rabies,
and there were large females
and babies
and as guards a group of huge males.
I saw a troop of baboons gather
and there were large females
in a group coming together.
[References: Les Chercheuses de Poux by Jean Arthur Rimbaud and The Sisters by Roy Campbell.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Now You're Wishing For A Man You Never Had
Oh Boy,
Why did you do her wrong?
When you knew she had your back,
All day long.
You must be taking,
Some ill-advised medication to do that.
And Girl,
Why did you let him do it?
Aint that much love in the world,
To be taking that crap.
Don't let him lower your elevation.
You should have left him on the curb,
To trot his own tracks.
And Boy,
You better get your head together...
With a putting of those games you play,
Away...
Where you said you began to pack your toys.
If you wish back what you nearly destroyed.
'Do I wish you two back together? '
And Girl,
You wished with him kids?
You shouldn't have made a wish like that...
But you did.
Well...
You've got them!
And...
Alone on your own.
You wanted 'your' babies!
And a Boy that's not grown.
Well...
You've got them!
And...
Alone on your own,
Wishing for a man you never had.
You wanted 'your' babies!
And a Boy that's not grown.
Now you're wishing for a man you never had.
You wanted 'your' babies!
And a Boy that's not grown.
Now you're wishing for a man you never had.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Kids
Theyre taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
Theyre taking her children away
Because she was making it with sisters and brothers
And everyone else, all of the others
Like cheap officers who would
Stand there and flirt in front of me
Theyre taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
Theyre taking her children away
Because of the things that they heard she had done
The black air force sergeant was not the first one
And all of the drugs she took, every one, every one
And I am the water boy, the real games not over here
But my heart is overflowin anyway
Im just a tired man, no words to say
But since she lost her daughter
Its her eyes that fill with water
And I am much happier this way
Theyre taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
Theyre taking her children away
Because number one was the girl friend from paris
The things that they did, ah, they didnt have to ask us
And then the welshman from india, who came here to stay
Theyre taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
Theyre taking her children away
Because of the things she did in the streets
In the alleys and bars, no she couldnt be beat
That miserable rotten slut couldnt turn, anyone away
I am the water boy, the real games not over here
But my heart is overflowin anyway
Im just a tired man, no words to say
But since she lost her daughter
Its her eyes that fill with water
And I am much happier this way
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
To Solicit With A Petition
Did you not choose selectively...
Your champions,
At the onset of the race?
And did you not confirm this again and again,
With others giving you an opportunity...
To change your mind with a taking of your time.
And did you not state,
How impressed you were with those images...
You simply could not replace.
With a bragging done of your choices made.
And a laughter in view of those witnessing,
A mocking of a sadness in your competitor's face.
So why have you found it necessary,
To solicit with a petition...
A race you lost at the cost of your embarrassment?
With a campaigning of complaints,
That the race had been fixed.
And you were not aware of a possibility of being tricked.
Do you wish now to prove your assessment is ridiculous?
Since you chose with no one in an adverse debate,
Not only the area of topic, time and the place...
For each event to start.
But it was you who clearly stated,
There would be absolutely no excuses to make...
And the end of 'your' artificially produced charade.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Growing up #2
I never talk much about my Dad
Because, when I do I get very sad
I can't give my dad much credit
Dad didn't raise us, mom did it
Oh please don't get me wrong
I loved him, he used to sing songs
But dad could be mean with his words
I know, because I always heard
I heard him talk to mom, like she was a dog
And when he wanted his kids, it was to kill a hog
He would take us to his mothers
And they would sit and talk about others
They talked mean about mom and her kids
Like he didn't help bring us into this world, but he did
Don't get me wrong, I loved him, because he was my dad
But he always put his mother in front of my mom, and that was sad
Dad took us to his mothers one day
And we were sent out to play
While my dad set at her table and ate banana pudding
kids wasn't allowed to eat, mom got mad, because her kids couldn't
So mom came out and set with her kids
When dad got done, the fight was on, and she did
It was months before mom would go back over there
Heck it was months, before we went any where
The eight kids that mom and dad had
It was all left up to my mom, and that is so sad
If I had A gold award, I would ask my mom to stand up
Because dad didn't help us grow up
This gold statue, Is awarded to my mom
For raising five girls and three sons
poem by Frieda Lumpkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
With An Unabashed Bragging Done
You have a beautiful home,
Landscaped in a wonderful setting.
You have a family and prized possessions,
And investments you have made...
That have returned to you sweet dividends.
You drive a very nice car.
And your taste in fashion is exquisite.
You receive countless social invitations,
With an unabashed bragging done...
Whenever I visit.
And yet...
You express an insecurity about that,
Which implies an unhappiness.
I have none of your 'assets' to impress.
But...
I am thrilled.
And this seems to make you upset.
My path and direction taken,
Has had nothing to do with you.
Is there something about my own decisions made...
You believed I secretly,
Competed with you with something to prove?
And I have accomplished 'that' which I said I would do?
What is it?
'I was hoping you would fail.
In fact,
You have made me feel the fool.'
Well...
You did make that your choice.
And those choices you have made,
Surround you too.
We all make our choices.
Some are not so pronounced,
As those of others...
Who love to show and tell with a strut.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Their Brains in the Bottom Drawer
With some people, the more power they receive,
and the bigger boots they get,
they file away their brains in the bottom drawer.
Their brains end up where there ass should be,
and their ass where their brains should be.
This leaves everyone to wonder,
did they get a degree in stupidity.
We meet them all the time,
and we all know the old saying,
a little power goes to their head.
How many times
have we heard that said?
Little people with big notions,
well beyond their station.
Some people are born to be leaders,
some others are the righter of wrongs.
Some think they know it all,
but most of them are dumb.
They abuse the power they have acquired
in a most idiotic way,
so in the bottom drawer their brains are bound to stay.
(2 May 2007)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Would The Children Think
She wakes up in the morning with the new sunrise
Looks at her husband sleeping still
Inside she cries
She makes the children breakfast
Gets them on their way
Watching them through the window
She prepares to face another day
Then her husband tells her
That he wont be home til late
Theres so much work hell have to stay behind
But she knows it isnt work thats on his mind
But still hell never leave her
Cause what would the children think
Where would the children go
What would the children do
If they knew the way it was
But theyll never learn because
What would the children think
Where would the children think
At the gate she kissed him
And watched him walk
Hoping this small charade
Will stop the neighbors talk
She turns to hide a tear
Inside her gilded cage
She cries for the love she could not hold
And lost to someone half her age
Then her pride and breakin heart
Tell her to run away
But she values what shes got a little more
Two kids, one 9 and nearly 4
And she would never leave them cause
What would the children think
Where would the children go
What would the children do
If they knew the way it was
But theyll never learn because
What would the children think
Where would the children think
What would the children think
Where would the children go
What would the children do.
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ignorance Has Died
Why are they so gloomy?
Sitting and dressed as if for mourning?
'They have been there for a few days,
Sitting in a vigil.
Praying over the demise of ignorance.'
LOL...
You can not be serious.
Why don't you tell them,
Ignorance has yet to pass.
'Are you kidding?
Do you realize how long it took me,
To devise some kind of a plan...
That would keep them quiet.'
So how long you think they will sit like that?
'I don't know.
I paid some kids a few dollars,
If for two weeks they would walk up and down the streets...
Carrying school books and talking loudly,
About their Math and English classes.
I'm on a roll,
So I'm pulling out all stops to see what happens next.'
But it is still Summer.
All the kids are on vacation.
'When I told those children sitting in that room,
That 'ignorance' has died.
I was joking.
I thought they knew it was a joke.
They have been sitting like that for at least two days.'
And that's why you pay the other kids?
'Yeah.
Do you know how much I've spent on cellphones,
Video games, iPods and 3-D Tv's?
To get those kids nagging off my back.
And all I had to say...
Was 'ignorance' has died? '
I don't believe it!
'You?
I've been trying to find something totally ridiculous to say,
To get them to clean up their rooms.
I'm glad I don't drink or smoke crack.
I don't believe it either.
But you are my witness.'
And all you said was 'ignorance' has died?
'I swear to you.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My African Sister
My sister is an African nun
that sits below grass houses
and rocks babies
until the sun goes down.
She pounds grain
into a fine powder and
shoos the flies away
from the faces of children.
She never puts her head
down to rest.
My sister wraps the babies
tight within the confines
of cobalt swathing,
and occasionally she spits
out the poisons she
inhales.
The children surround
her as she sings in her
native tongue, her tales
of life would scare us
three times or more
The horrors of skulls
that are just beyond
her door, and the way
they made a rabbit
bleed would make you cry.
When my sister speaks
of death, she rocks the
babies slowly. She is
not frightened
when the sounds
of night are right
outside her door
While some others sleep
she is working, cleaning,
taking the children down
to the river, giving
bread to hungry mouths.
My sister's hands
fold for a simple prayer,
African mantra of the night,
never stopping, only knowing
that her babies need her.
poem by Louise Marie DelSanto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dribbling Balls Being Playfully Tossed
For decades they've kept the same charade.
To stand on urban corners...
Idled to brag,
About children abandoned they fathered.
Some even spent jail time sharing cells with sons.
Not having a clue what this has done.
And everyone of them meet and greet everyday.
Wasting time and their lives away.
They wish to unify this ignorance.
With games of sports played...
As their babies mamas,
Look on from behind fences.
With beliefs this connects,
To benefit a long lasting wisdom in retrospect.
Yet a maturity from their minds,
Has been dissected!
And a respect for progress,
Is left rejected.
For decades they've kept the same charade.
To stand on urban corners...
Idled to brag,
About children abandoned they fathered.
And a society that has condoned this,
Does not seem to bother to comprehend...
The feeding of these cycles,
Weaken and demean.
Once this investment has been deposited...
The return is mediocrity.
And mediocrity neither glitters brightly.
Nor does it sparkle with a sheen.
Especially when motivation...
Has been demoted and freed of expectations!
Cheered on by those mesmerized...
By the sweat inducing effects,
Of dribbling balls being playfully tossed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!