He Is My Man
He has been master of the house,
Whilst I maimed his body in this blouse.
He is lank-limbed as a man,
I am short and stubby as a can.
My can is like a cup which pours by itself,
With hands in the pockets of the elf
Who practices magic once again -
My father spanked me as a child at ten.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
He...a father...an insentient.
He is a father,
Walking door to door,
Running here and there,
Begging the sympathy,
Ragging his own,
Only for his child,
Who is now in coma,
Fighting with death,
He...a father...an insentient.
He is a father,
Staring at the body,
His eyes are foggy and wet,
That body belongs to his son,
Who is now past only,
Only for a few dollars,
Or for a sympathy of kind hearts,
He...a father...an insentient.
He is not alone,
Lots like him around us,
Waiting for our hands,
Seeking for our helps,
He can not but cry,
He is so incapable,
Only see his child to loose,
Far away from him,
He...a father...an insentient.
You, me, anyone of us,
Would be one like him,
Please raise our hands,
Save a life of a child,
Not for the sake of god,
Not for him or his child,
Just for us, our child,
Not let them to die for dollars,
Not let to sigh and cry,
Any man of poverty like him,
He...a father...an insentient.
poem by Kafil Uddin Raihan.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Summer Rain
It rained whilst we were dancing
and our clothes became wet through.
Your blouse clung to your body
and I got closer to you.
We kissed and danced as it poured
and our body heat rose in the air.
The music was soft and romantic
and our hands were everywhere.
Our clothes fell onto the balcony
in the warm August rain,
but still we kept on dancing
as our passions remained.
Flashes of lightening and thunder
brought a chill to the air,
so we danced into the bedroom
and continued in there.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Charity Begins At Home
A shake of the tin
The money drops in, but is it a sin
Youre standing in rags
Youre selling your flags
But who gets the dough at the end of the day
We saw your drop-dead fancy wheels
Your little house up on the hill
But when your conscience pricks
A little sacrifice sweetens the pill
So keep your hands in your pockets
Charity begins at home
Keep your hands in your pockets
Charity wont leave you alone
We take to the stage
The audience rave, were doing our bit
A heavenly cast, a blast from the past
Theres a song to be sung, will it make number one
We wanna see your money roll
But our eyes are on the hall of fame
'cos business is business
And hits are the name of the game
So keep your hands in your pockets
Charity begins at home
Keep your hands in your pockets
Charity wont leave you alone
Everywhere that we turn
There are mouths to be fed
How can we sleep
The battle goes on while were
Safe in our beds
So dont turn away
No dont turn away
Your doors are locked
You switch on the box to take in a show
You think that youre safe
But here comes that face
And wouldnt you know its that message again
They want to take your plastic cash
Your hand reaches out to the phone
Keep your hands in your pockets
Charity begins at home
Keep your hands in your pockets
Charity begins at home
Keep your hands in your pockets
Charity wont leave you alone
Everywhere that we turn
There are mouths to be fed
How can we sleep
The battle goes on while were
Safe in our beds
So dont turn away
No dont turn away
Keep your hands in your pockets
Charity begins at home
Keep your hands in your pockets
Charity wont leave you alone
(repeat 5x)
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is icy cold
It is icy cold and a man
with a short sleeved shirt passes
and it doesn’t look
as if the young girl
with a blouse
are getting cold.
There’s taxi’s
and picking people up
and a few vagrants
sleep in front
of the doors of buildings
to hide against the wind.
People stand with their hands
in their pockets
to fight the cold
and some are lighting
their first cigarettes.
The talking of the schoolgirls
has disappeared
and they are looking at papers
and I wonder if
they are writing a test,
or is it the head girl
that stands near to them
that causes them this morning
to behave.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Father's Room
I saw a picture in my father’s room,
tucked away in a worn paper box.
It was of him and my mother,
holding hands.
They were young too.
My mother a beauty in her violet blouse,
and my father in an old T-shirt.
They smiled.
As I sat,
wondering who the photographer was,
my Father came home,
and asked me to mow the grass.
poem by Christopher Parsons
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Who Is A Father?
What is a father or better yet who?
Who is a father? What does he do?
Is he a man with a spouse? Does he live in your house?
Does he get up early and stay up late?
Just to make sure there's food on your plate?
Is he caring or daring? Does he talk real fast?
Is he wise and unerring? Does talk about the past?
Is he short or tall? Does size matter at all?
When you hear his voice do you answer his call?
Who is a father? Did you get the right one?
Who is a father? Are you a daughter or a son?
Who is a father? Did you get one?
I have a Father! He never leaves me alone!
In the arena of fathers some answer the call
Then there are those who always fall
Short of God's vision for their life
God gave them to you to pray they get right! !
Who is your father?
Did he leave before you were born?
Make God your father! !
Then you're neither forsaken nor forlorn!
Who is your father? Does he know you by name?
My Father in Heaven knows your very frame?
poem by Sabrina Robinson
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Why should I take your time...?
Why should I take your time
describing in loving detail
the day so many years ago
when I smelt the air on a cliff-top –
sunlight, stubby wind-blown salt flowers,
still glitter of the sea, etc –
and knew freedom, liberation,
the blessing of landscape,
the magic of perspective…
all in the unfamiliar, so innocent, cliff-top air
that touched immortal on the cheek…?
I guess it’s like an expensive gift that you give
without unwrapping its elaborate protection;
inside, something both banal, and magical:
not the memory; but the memory
of being, just being; just being a child;
when the world spoke of itself
in every magic detail, unwrapped itself and
with so much to say…
the magic of memory; being, not quite forgot;
offered to you, not wrapped by me,
(watching your face as you open it…)
but, from yourself?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Who Practices Abstinence
There's always talk about...
The getting of sex.
There's always talk about...
An innocence to protect.
And there's always talk about...
What children will do next,
If they don't ignore temptation...
And practice abstinence.
Who practices abstinence...
When the meaning's lean on doing.
And who practices abstinence...
When we're marketed to be teased,
To please...
The senses,
With a pleasure to release.
Who practices abstinence.
Who practices abstinence.
There's always talk about...
The getting of sex.
Yet...
Who practices abstinence.
Yet who practices abstinence.
There's always talk about...
An innocence to protect.
Yet...
Who practices abstinence.
Yet who practices abstinence.
When the meaning's lean on doing.
And who practices abstinence...
When we're marketed to be teased,
To please...
The senses,
With a pleasure to release.
Who practices abstinence.
Who practices abstinence.
Who practices abstinence.
Who practices abstinence.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Mule and The Molecule
This meeting was not liked by the Stubborn Mule,
But he had no choice because Tinsy is his fuel.
Since Tinsy is the smallest thing that there is on earth,
Stubby decided to see just what this little guy was worth.
“Hey Tinsy, you’re so small, I’ll bet you can’t be in a stone.
I’ll bet you live in your own tiny place, just yourself alone.”
Tinsy replied, “Well Stubby, stone and everything is made of me.
Trillions like me are in all things in this world, including your body.”
Stubby thought for a while and then said to his newfound friend,
“Now that I understand, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to offend.
I think you can explain to my buddies who all of you are.
If they realize that you’re part of them, they’ll treat you like a star! ”
Tinsy replied, “I don’t want them to treat me like a star.
They just need to appreciate that I am a part of what they are.”
Tinsy Molecule and Stubborn Mule now have a life of fun.
They work together and play together since they are really one.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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A father, A child. The meaningful bond
A father, A child. The meaningful bond
A father whispers to the child
As the child continues to ignore his spoken words
As if his owner was almost invisible from the corner of his eye
The child shouts – silence” the father then trembles disfigured to heart
He stands crying tears of fury with the spark of love of his child’s naivety.
The child carries on his missions, his father watches him do his thing”
When finally one day the child realizes his insane character, the father then
Ignores his presence..
Appreciate what you have here, now, but not always.
because 'you never know'.
poem by Noorie Ali
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Did It Prevent Your Sun Kissed Dreams?
Father that sundial, is it death…
Is it Father - the hand of death?
Is it the sword that cuts short a bird's flight?
'Child, we're all adjacent, the window of life.
The window of light…'
O' Father is it a guillotine!
Does it covert our breath…
O' Father how, much, time
Do we have? Left…
'Child, we're all adjacent, the window of life.
Until the bird in your soul, takes flight'.
'Child, a question - answer your father this.
Did it prevent your sun kissed dreams? Last night.'
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Triolets
Triolet One
That little house so cramped and small
Where first as newlyweds we came
Became for us a magic hall
That little house so cramped and small
Helped our love grow.Now we recall
With Memory's warm and steady flame,
That little house so cramped and small
Triolet Two
'Good Night', we both say, 'And God Bless.'
Then snuggle together for sleep.
To banish all cares and all stress,
'Good Night' we both say, 'And God Bless.'
Whilst gently your hair I caress
Until, just before slumbers creep,
'Good Night, ' we both say, 'And God Bless'
Then snuggle together for sleep.
Triolet Three
Where I used to play as a child
Has become a Leisure Centre.
In Eden's days it was woods run wild,
Where I used to play as a child.
And Eve with her slow smile beguiled
And there became my mentor.
Where I used to play as a child
Has become a Leisure Centre.
poem by Michael Morris
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Something About Snow
I feel them.
Cold but warming.
Inside my pockets.
Inside my pockets,
I play with loose change.
While in my mind deciding...
Whether to make a snowball,
From fresh snow.
Or should I go sit in my car...
Kept running.
I remember as a child,
I would love the snow.
I would love to make and throw snowballs.
Not thinking of my hands.
Or the cold!
Or being chased.
I take my hands out from my pockets.
I feel the heat released by the change!
I hide behind a tree.
People walking do not see me.
I hit one with a snowball.
I remember as a child,
I would love the snow.
I would love to make and throw snowballs.
Not thinking of my hands.
Or the cold!
Or being chased.
Those days have passed.
I can not run so fast.
Today I drive.
Hopefully not to be recognized.
I would love to make and throw snowballs.
Not thinking of my hands.
Or the cold!
Or being chased.
There is something about snow,
That leaves an impact!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Magic Bus
Every day I get in the queue (too much, magic bus)
To get on the bus that takes me to you (too much, magic bus)
Im so nervous, I just sit and smile (too much, magic bus)
You house is only another mile (too much, magic bus)
Thank you, driver, for getting me here (too much, magic bus)
Youll be an inspector, have no fear (too much, magic bus)
I dont want to cause no fuss (too much, magic bus)
But can I buy your magic bus? (too much, magic bus)
Nooooooooo!
I dont care how much I pay (too much, magic bus)
I wanna drive my bus to my baby each day (too much, magic bus)
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ... (you cant have it!)
Thruppence and sixpence every day
Just to drive to my baby
Thruppence and sixpence each day
cause I drive my baby every way
Magic bus, magic bus, magic bus ...
I said, now Ive got my magic bus (too much, magic bus)
I said, now Ive got my magic bus (too much, magic bus)
I drive my baby every way (too much, magic bus)
Each time I go a different way (too much, magic bus)
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ...
Every day youll see the dust (too much, magic bus)
As I drive my baby in my magic bus (too much, magic bus)
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kenton Comes to Tea
Kenton comes to tea.
Dunne serves at table.
Kenton knew Hazel
even as a child.
Her late father's friend
watches Dunne pour tea
into his teacup.
Your dear father's death
was quite sudden he says.
We were in Paris
touring when news came
Hazel says softly.
Who was the other?
Kenton asks Hazel.
Dunne here my maid came.
Oh I see he says
gazing at Dunne's thighs
hidden behind cloth.
He was a good man
Kenton says firmly
I've known him for years.
Dunne wants to refute
but remains silent.
Her master's abuse
of her sexually
remains in her mind.
Hazel looks at Dunne
she knows the secrets
knew her father's deeds.
Kenton rattles on.
Hazel remembers
her months in Paris
with Dunne at her side.
Art and galleries.
Cafes on corners
smoking and drinking.
Talking and laughing.
Both of them bathing
always together
touching and feeling
kissing and holding
in one bed at night.
Dunne slices the cake
pours Hazel's black tea
her blue eyes searching.
Kenton eats his cake
talks between mouthfuls
spluttering small crumbs.
Dunne studies Hazel
her eyes undressing
her tongue like a snail
moves slowly between
her mistress's thighs
her hands embracing
the smooth naked skin
in her memory.
Hazel looks away
the room is so warm.
She knows that soft stare
sexual and hot
and she whispering
more of that don't stop
scratching through the air.
Dunne hears her and smiles
pours Kenton more tea.
He is unaware there's love in the air.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O, Son of God!
“Make not my Father’s house
An house of merchandise”…
John- 2: 16
O Son of God!
Ever since thou left us,
We have made this world,
Thy Father’s house,
A house of merchandise!
To appease our weapon interests
We created belligerence
Built distrust fought wars
Sold hatred in exchange
Of doves of peace
When dost thou come down?
Once again amongst us
To demolish this temple this body
Where greed presides,
Just as thou destroyed
Thy body on cross
Along with all our sins!
When dost thou come down?
To rebuild a house of no hate
Just as thou proved thy words that
Thou wilt raise it up in three days
And just as thou resurrected
As thou promised!
18th December 2009
poem by Kesav Venkat Easwaran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Oughta Be Spanked, Boo
Whack, whack, whack...
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack...
You wanna be spanked?
Whack, whack, whack...
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack...
You wanna be spanked?
Whack, whack, whack...
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack...
You oughta be spanked,
Boo.
You come home late to ask me...
'Where've you been?
I didn't see you...
Comin' in.'
You come home late to ask me...
More than enough.
To try to hide...
Your crooked stuff,
But...
Whack, whack, whack...
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack...
You oughta be spanked,
Boo.
You come home late to ask me...
More than enough.
To try to hide...
Your crooked stuff,
But...
You oughta be spanked,
Boo.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
You oughta be spanked,
Boo.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
You oughta be spanked,
Boo.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
'I like it! '
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
'I like it! '
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
You oughta be spanked,
Boo.
'And I like it! '
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Form Of Injustice
a tall child
is angry
picks a pebble
on his sling
and hits the
eye of the
the short
child on the
road
the eyeball explodes
blood flows
the short child
screams
the tall child
runs away
laughing loudly
he is far away now
and nowhere to
be seen
the short child keeps
on screaming
some people in the market
hear
run towards the
site
go near to ask
what happened
and then one by one
leave
to do their
respective chores
for the
ordinary day
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Keep Your Faith Placed Safe
Fortunes meant for you,
Are not for anyone else to keep.
Unless they are holding it,
To be released to you.
And you are within reach.
People numbed from their surroundings,
Sleep.
Intoxicated by medications,
To ensure they stay away...
From wishes to be on top of the heap.
And lay under burdens tolerated,
With a sharing of addictions...
That has convinced them not to leave.
Don't dropp a tear or weep for them.
Stretched to the max,
With their pockets getting thin...
They are
And this they confirm,
Enclosed in minds suffering within.
With a slow burn inside they earn.
Afraid to relax their grasp that holds,
Onto old routines...
From them they can't let go.
As most routines on some bestow.
But a fortune meant for you,
Will come...
And that is true.
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of the Maker.
Yes a fortune meant for you,
Will come...
And that is true.
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
Whatever you need The Master will feed,
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
Refuse to brood like so many do,
And keep your faith placed safe...
In the hands of The Maker.
Whatever you need The Master will feed,
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
Refuse to brood like so many do,
And keep your faith placed safe...
In the hands of The Maker.
Keep your faith placed safe,
In the hands of The Maker.
Keep your faith placed safe,
In the hands of The Maker.
Keep your faith placed safe,
In the hands of The Maker.
Keep your faith placed safe,
In the hands of The Maker.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Wasnt His Child
(written by skip ewing)
He was her man, she was his wife
And late one winter night
He knelt by her
As she gave birth
But it wasnt his child,
It wasnt his child
Yet still he took him as his own
And as he watched him grow
It brought him joy
But it wasnt his child
It wasnt his child
But like a father he was strong and kind
And I believe he did his best
It wasnt easy for him
But he did all could
His son was different from the rest
It wasnt his child
It wasnt his child
And when the boy became a man
He took his fathers hand
And soon the world
Would all know why
It wasnt his child
It wasnt his child
But like a father he was strong and kind
And I believe he did his best
It wasnt easy for him
But he did all could
He grew up with his hands in wood
And he died with his hands in wood
He was gods child,
He was gods child
He was her man
She was his wife
And late one night
He knelt by her
As she gave birth
But it wasnt his child
It was gods child
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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