The Milkman and a Widow's cry
The old Mill by the Riverside
And a middle aged widow stands
At the rickety gate.
The handsome lad who brings milk
Early in the morning
And the Sun pretends
As an Onlooker.
She took the boy inside
And locked the door.
Asked the boy to sit on the sofa
She's seated close to him and relaxed.
The boy seemed to be totally perplexed!
She took out a small book from her nightgown pocket
And gave it to the boy to read aloud.
He reads; 'When the daybreak
Perhaps a boy comes with milk
He looks like our neighbor Midwife's son
Let him read this in my absence.
Believe me, I am reborn your old soldier
And you don't feel lonely
Don't cry and I'll bring you milk everyday..................!
The boy watched the tears fell from her tiny eyes
And he stopped reading.
He hurries sullenly leaving the premises by saying;
'Please do not worry Madam!
I'll stay a night or two on a full moon day
And read this leisurely
That I promise you earnestly.'
Then she smiled and it seemed incredibly complicated.
*To my Life-school Art Teacher, the poetess Sandra Fowler in gratitude!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
I read a book
I read a book
Not to enhance my looks
I read a book
Maybe to avoid being a crook
I read a book
Not just to learn how to cook
I read a book
To ascertain how to defend my rights
Not just to acquire knowledge
Reading a book I pledge,
Is one of the roads to the light
I read a book
To understand how a kings territory
Is defended with pieces such as the rook
I read a book
So there will be no questions asked
When I count correctly what you took
I read a book
So that I play not ignorant
Now on life I’ve a different outlook
I read a book
So if I come up with all the right answers
I will know for sure it is not merely a fluke
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Warm Milk And Toast
Warmed milk sweetened with honey
toast buttered with a thin spread of jam.
A bedtime story told by my Grandpa
times of Castles and Giants, living in some Fairy Tale land.
The warmed milk would make me sleepy
the toast would fill that nightime hunger need.
Sounds of Grandpa's soft loving voice
as he would sit on my bed and read.
My Grandpa's gone so many years ago
now I am one myself.
I warm and sweeten my Granddaughters milk
and take that same book down off her shelf.
Her eyes are wide open, as she chomps away
at the toast with butter and jam.
She tells me how much she loves me so
and just how neat of a Grandpa that I am.
I see her eyes growing heavy now
as I continue to read the story.
And am proud that I'm a Grandpa
and now can read, my Grandpa's Fairy Tale Story.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Johnny Came Marching Home
A book written by Dalton Trumbo
was assigned as class reading
one summer session-
much of it read aloud
by the teacher.
A sweltering classroom
windows open
to summer sun
and sharp
crack of bat-
high school athletes
in full vigor,
running bases
and catching
pop flies!
Perhaps it was the teacher's
voice that involved us
as we identified with
the young soldier's
plight.
Whatever it was worked!
*I can't hear. My left arm!
I wonder what they've done with it!
He had no arms and no legs.
He was blind. It wasn't a dream.
Jesus, Joe there must be some other way! *
All the time the teacher read
we could hear the players
outside chattering away
as they ran and scored runs!
Dust motes in afternoon sunlight
seemed alive.
Then the bell rang
and we sat stunned
Our summer was almost over!
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Domestic Shades 2
1
She's a lady of transition
Four houses, yes or no her own decision
Her absence brings in a chaos
Her presence makes a fracas..
Who else? my maid the great
Quality, punctuality remarkably ten percent
Washing the vessels useless
Sweeping and mopping hopeless
I cannot still reject her totally
Known devil is ever better truly
Carrying the election-gifts
Easily away from her works she drifts
Madam of possible politics
Possibly be the Mayor in sooner times
2
Milk-man! a seller of no quality
And a man of no punctuality
And hence today's milk I reserve
For tomorrows coffee to serve
Sometimes a messy haywire..
Milk curdled, awaiting the milkman in dire
For the fresh milk waiting and waiting..
So what, that man has no timing
's been totally annoying
I grumble about the government..
Treating the illoyal, imperfect with a betterment
As I grouch about the bitter
So do the people around here
As the milkman is a sample bitter
So are many more like variety- vendor
Scavenger and street sweeper
Improper creatures!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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ReD
Able, are you -
To kill the I in me -
Remove, can you -
The thorns which corns me to fake, reborn -
Clean, will you -
My veins clustered with poisoned custard -
Addictions to the addiction -
Welcomed by my pain -
Axe my head, read what is read, read again -
Red is read -
Bloody to the end -
My blood reads -
I read red
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Milkcow Calf Blues
(Robert Johnson)
Tell me, milk cow, what on earth is wrong with you?
Tell me, milk cow, what on earth is wrong with you?
Well, well, you have a new calf, hoo hoo, and your milk is turnin' blue
Your calf is hungry, and I believe he needs a suck
[Spoken:] Now, you know that calf done got hungry
Your calf is hungry, and I believe he needs a suck
Well, now, but the milk is turnin' blue, hoo hoo, and I believe he's outta luck
Now I feel like milkin' and my, cow won't come
I feel like churnin' it and my, milk won't turn
I'm cryin' plea-hease, please, don't do me wrong
You can give-a right milk and butter, now, baby, you-hoo, will stay at home
My milk cow been ramblin', hoo hoo, for miles around
My milk cow been ramblin', hoo hoo, for miles around
She been troublin' some other bull cow, hoo hoo
Lord, in this man's town
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bit News
Donkey milk
Is...
Good for health...
This thinking for
South indian poeple's...
So...
New born baby
Given for donkey's milk...
I also drink for
Donkey milk at childhood...
My gran mother told for me...!
Donkey milk is for
Only at donkey...
But...
People idea is...
Donkey's milk is how is
Help full for human health...?
I don't no...!
Miss or mrs univers
Celeo patra also
Take bath for
Donkey's milk...
For his beauty...
It history bit news
How much true
I don't no...!
You know...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Milkcow Blues Boogie
(words & music by k. arnold)
Well, I woke up this morning,
And I looked out the door.
I can tell that old milk cow
By the way she lowed.
Hold it fellows, that dont move me.
Lets get real, real gone for a change.
Well, I woke up this morning
And I looked out the door
I can tell that that old milk cow
I can tell the way she lowed.
Well, if youve seen my milk cow,
Please ride her on home.
I aint had no milk or butter
Since that cows been gone.
Well, I tried to treat you right,
Day by day.
Get out your little prayer book
Get down on your knees and pray.
For youre gonna need,
Youre gonna need your loving daddys help someday.
Well, then youre gonna be sorry
For treating me this way.
Well, believe me, dont that sun look good going down?
Well, believe me, dont that sun look good going down?
Well, dont that old moon look lonesome
When your babys not around.
Well, I tried everything to get along with you.
Im gonna tell you what Im going do.
Im gonna quit my crying, Im gonna leave you alone.
If you dont believe Im leaving, you can count the days im
Gone.
Im gonna leave.
Youre gonna need your loving daddys help someday.
Well, youre gonna be sorry
You treated me this way.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sister Cat
Cat stands at the fridge,
Cries loudly for milk.
But I've filled her bowl.
Wild cat, I say, Sister,
Look, you have milk.
I clink my fingernail
Against the rim. Milk.
With down and liver,
A word I know she hears.
Her sad miaow. She runs
To me. She dips
In her whiskers but
Doesn't drink. As sometimes
I want the light on
When it is on. Or when
I saw the woman walking
toward my house and
I thought there's Frances.
Then looked in the car mirror
To be sure. She stalks
The room. She wants. Milk
Beyond milk. World beyond
This one, she cries.
poem by Frances Mayes
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One Summer Afternoon
A book written by Dalton Trumbo
was assigned as class reading
one summer session
much of it read aloud
by the teacher
sweltering classroom
windows open
summer sun
sharp crack
of bat
high school athletes
in full vigor
running bases
and catching
fly balls
Perhaps it was the teacher's reading
that drew us into the story and involved
us in the narrator's plight - whatever
it was worked
*I can't hear. My left arm. I wonder what
they've done with it!
No legs you see. No more running walking
crawling if you have no legs. He had
no arms and no legs.
He was blind. It wasn't a dream.
He thought Jesus Joe there must
be some other way.*
All the time the teacher read
we could hear the players
outside chattering away
shouts as a run scored
dust motes in the afternoon
sunlight seemed alive
Then the bell rang
and we sat stunned
Our summer was almost over
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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When The Book Of Life Is Read
Recorded by hank williams, sr.
Words and music by hank williams, sr.
Capo: 4th fret/key: f#/play: d
[d] in lifes many battles that [g] you will have to [d] fight
Just stay close to jesus and [e7] journey in his [a7] light
Then [d] on that judgement morning [g] when all pain has [d] fled
Youll stand in gods kingdom, when the [a7] book of life is [d] read.
[g] when the seals are broken and [d] names are read aloud
Youll see many loved ones [e7] standin in the [a7] crowd
So [d] brother keep on prayin and [g] follow where youre [d] lead
Youll stand in gods kingdom, when the [a7] book of life is [d] read.
All your dreams of heaven will come true on that day
When the sky shall open and this earth melt away
Then all gods faithful children will raise up from the dead
United in gods kingdom, when the book of life is read.
What a happy feelin to know hell always care
And when our work is over heaven with him well share
Theres be no pain or sorrow, no tears will eer be shed
When we stand there in gods kingdom and the book of life is read.
Note. chords for 3rd and 4th verses same as 1st and 2nd
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Open Lips
Through all the struggling with my sister
i started to kiss her open lips
and knead my sisters breast through the bra
and her blouse, and her panties open FULL became.
and just you read wanting more and more.
The sensation was too much for her
and she slowly started to relax
allowing me to play with her body
when her milk laden breast started to leak.
I was so thirsty and my too was jutting out under her shorts.
The moment I felt my sisters breast milk in my hands
I lifted the loose end of the Saree
and started to open her blouse looks pale rich fully
while my sister tried to prevent me.
Removing the hooks was too tedious, 'so I caught hold of her blouse
and tore at it, ripping it with the eye teeth.
The act shocked and excited my sister and she gave a loud gasp.
Then I pulled the bra up exposing both
the white milk laden breast with the dark chocolate nipples
and big aureoles. I groped both the breast with my hands and my lips descended to the nipples.
The moment I sucked the nipples
my sister gave a groan and milk started to jut out into his mouth.
Suddenly the baby started to cry
and my sister forcefully pushed me out away.
She tried to cover her breast with the Saree
while picking up the baby
and quickly ran to another, ' ROOM but not that far away.
I was really disappointed
and at that moment mine too by her made a leek
as I thought that the milk
which I had drunk from my sister is gone through me as well.
But I was afraid
as if she might tell to our mama about this
and I thought about the other situations.
It will be a big shame for me.
So I had decided to leave San Fransisco, as early as possible.
Next morning I woke early and packed my dress
and told mama that I am going to my home
and then he called my sister
and I was afraid and shame to look into her eyes
and I said goodbye to her in a low voice
and mama dropped me OFF at the bus stand.
I thanked God for several times
because if mama came to know about that
what will be ours the news situation.
But my sister asked me to wait until again next year, she became.
poem by Gut Master
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Stevie Smith reading her poems
She was not yet really 'known' -
but asked to read by this small group
of older Jewish refugees and eager youngsters,
talent destined for a fame,
at the tiny Gaberbocchus Press
which did not affect at all
the self-contained aloneness
that walked up the aisle from door to barely stage
and in a clear dry voice neither apology nor hope
read her poems that gave a meaning
to the new word 'throwaway' - they were her,
she read them, threw the invisible sheets away,
and if you caught them as you laughed
which was easier than crying tears,
so be it.
Her voice at the poems' end
was herself: as if, not waving, no, but drowning, neatly,
with a certain acceptance,
in the incomprehensibility of life; she read
as if when the poem ended
you might quickly but quietly rise from your seat
and leave, not rudely but because
there was nothing more to say
poem by Michael Shepherd
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About Your Denial....
Do not think that i am speaking of death
your view must be limited like an afternoon without hope for light
You have pocketed a smile
as though you are preparing for your usual cry
Do not think that life has gone awry
like the glass that spilled the milk
rolled on the table and fell on the floor
the sound of shattered pieces of glass
that feeling of stain
that silence that expects the reverse
of what actually happened
Come to think of it
this is just a path where everyone passes
they look forward for something else
like an open door that leads to a garden
a pool
a line of coconut trees
another view of the sea
a net full of fish
Come to think about it again
i am talking about life that remains life forever
you know it well
as it is written in the main page of your heart
you feel its song
you have read each word
and your soul has mastered it well
But for the meantime that you are lost in the middle
of everyday affairs
you pretend that you have forgotten it
afraid of the next door that opens
you settle for a chair....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gratitude dawning
Alarm clock. The sun rises.
The buses, railways, flights are running.
There’s a bottle of milk on the doorstep.
Facts of life. Except when they’re not there.
Who lives a life of continual gratitude for life?
Hey guys, the sun which disappeared last night
has turned up again today! Wow! Relief! Let’s get down
on our knees, raise hands, voices… and
while we’re about it, put your hands together for
all morning milkmen, where they still deliver milk…
Except – no milk this morning.
Shall you telephone – politely,
with a subtext of unpractised gratitude?
I only saw the current milkman once;
said to him, this is the first time I met you…
he said, well, you’re not around at 4 ay em are you?
So you telephone. A foreignish voice from
the land of holy cows replies from
a script I guess, …your previous milkman…
left the company… late…on his way…
Morning gratitude. The cow who gives you
the love for her calves, in liquid form;
yielding too, the butter for your toast;
the pig who gave her life for your bacon rasher;
the hen who parted with her offspring for you
to kill its life in sizzling frying pan…
they’re all female, you’ve just noticed; how about
the oranges whose liquid praise of the morning sun you drink?
tomatoes, mushrooms, anybody?
maybe you should write a note to the dairy,
say, please convey to the milkman
who has now left the company for
pastures new, hur hur, and we hope
a creamy, frothing future,
our gratitude for services rendered
which we would not ourselves
be easily persuaded to take on…
yes, maybe you should.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I'm Not Like You
I sit here now,
Writing this poem.
You read it now,
No matter what’s goin.
Sometimes it’s rainy,
Sometimes it’s not.
You read this poem now,
Go do you the homework you forgot.
Life can be simple,
It can also be complicated.
Be when read this now,
Please don’t get frustrated.
Thanks for reading this,
You’re a cool person that much is true.
But to spend the time and read,
I’m probably not much like you.
I love milk so much! I make a point of drinking a glass of milk every day. So now anyone who did those milk ads with the milk mustaches, they're my heroes.
quote by Natalie Portman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Locked Doors
For the angels who inhabit this town,
although their shape constantly changes,
each night we leave some cold potatoes
and a bowl of milk on the windowsill.
Usually they inhabit heaven where,
by the way, no tears are allowed.
They push the moon around like
a boiled yam.
The Milky Way is their hen
with her many children.
When it is night the cows lie down
but the moon, that big bull,
stands up.
However, there is a locked room up there
with an iron door that can't be opened.
It has all your bad dreams in it.
It is hell.
Some say the devil locks the door
from the inside.
Some say the angels lock it from the outside.
The people inside have no water
and are never allowed to touch.
They crack like macadam.
They are mute.
They do not cry help
except inside
where their hearts are covered with grubs.
I would like to unlock that door,
turn the rusty key
and hold each fallen one in my arms
but I cannot, I cannot.
I can only sit here on earth
at my place at the table.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Rest To Read
Read any...
Any thing read...
Read...
Day with night...
Read...
Reading is
Happy...
Reading
Is boor...
Reading
Is Knolage...
Read...
Reading is
One of body
Rest...
Rest is
One of the reading
Time...
Read daily
Take rest daily
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Versicles
I Read the 'Christabel';
Very well:
I read the Missionary';
Pretty - very
I tried at Ilderim ;
Ahem!
I read a sheet of 'Marg'ret of Anjou';
Can you?
I turn'd a page of Scott's 'Waterloo';
Pooh! pooh!
I look'd at Wordsworth's milk-white
'Rylstone Doe';
Hillo!
&c. &c. &c.
March 1817.