Well remembered a heartbroken mother's grief
A courageous but disturbed poor mother has brought her daughter
A ragged doll with sunken eyes.
It's a birthday gift picked from a garbage bin
Beside a wealthy house in the town.
Oh! She cried secretly like a turtledove's cooing.
I dedicate this poem for Happy Father's day.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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Lost and Found
In a southern city lived a wealthy family;
In a southern city was the happy home
Of a father and mother and a little daughter.
In peace and contentment they lived alone.
But one summer evening there happened a misfortune,
Which caused the parents to weep and mourn,
For this little daughter, a loving little treasure,
Was a poor little wanderer far, far from home.
It happened thus, -- the mother went out calling
On a widow friend, who lived all alone;
She left her little daughter in the care of her father,
And through his neglect she wandered from home.
The father rocked his child, till her eyes closed in slumber;
Thought he to himself, I'll go over across the way,
And see a neighbor friend; he'll be there this evening,
And I must see him before he goes away.
He left his little one, he supposed, sweetly sleeping
In her little cradle, in the house alone,
And in his great hurry he left the gate ajar;
This thoughtlessness caused destruction to his home.
Soon after he was gone she awoke from her slumber,
Poor child, she then found herself all alone,
For no one was there, no one heard her weeping
As she wandered away far, far from home.
She wandered along on the busy thoroughbare,
No one seemed to notice this little one alone;
She wandered down Broadway till the little feet were tired,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
At last, getting weary, she sat down on the pavement,
And soon fell asleep, so tired had she grown;
In her troubled sleep she would softly murmur, papa;
This poor little lost one so far away from home.
A policeman came along and saw her sweetly sleeping,
On the pavement at midnight alone.
He gently picked her up and took her to the station,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
He advertised, but could not find her parents;
At last he took her to the orphan home,
Where she lived till a farmer in the country
Took her to live with him, this wanderer alone.
The father died o'er the loss of his daughter,
The mother sought for her three years alone;
At last she found her with kind people in the country,
Her poor little wanderer far away from home.
Kind people can imagine the joy of the mother,
When she found her little loving one.
"Oh God," exclaimed the mother, "I have found my little Alice,
My poor little wanderer far away from home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Happy Birthday
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Well, its time to celebrate your birthday, it happens every year
Well eat a lot of broccoli and drink a lot of beer
You should be good and happy that theres something you can eat
A million npeople every day are starving in the street
Your daddys in the gutter with the wretched and the poor
Your mamas in the kitchen with a can of cycle four
Theres garbage in the water
Theres poison in the sky
I guess it wont be long before were all gonna die
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Well, whats the matter little friend, you think this party is the pits
Enjoy it while you can, well soon be blown to bits
The monkeys in the pentagon are gonna cook our goose
Their fingers on the button, all they need it an excuse
It doesnt take a military genius to see
Well all be crispy critters after world war iii
Theres nowhere you can run to, nowhere you can hide
When they drop the big one, we all get fried
(come on boys and girls, sing along, ok? )
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Wow! (background screaming, sound effect)
Well theres a punk in the alley and hes looking for a fight
Theres an arab on the corner buying everything in sight
Theres a mother in the ghetto with another mouth to feed
Seems that everywhere you look today theres misery and greed
I guess you know the earth is gonna crash into the sun
But thats no reason why we shouldnt have a little fun
So if you think its scary, if its more than you can take
Just blow out the candles and have a piece of cake
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Wow!
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
(happy birthday!)
And a pinch to grow an inch!
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unexpected Father.
Your mother
had brought Helen
home for tea after school
and she had held on
to the handle
of the pram
your mother pushed
and you walked
along side
thinking of whether
to show her
your toy soldiers
and cowboys and Indians
and the guns
that fired
loud banging caps
or whether to just sit
and watch the TV
and eat your tea
and show her nothing
but once you got home
and your mother went off
to the kitchen to prepare
the tea stuff and such
Helen looked at you
and shyly smiled
and said
Can I see your sister's dolls
and pram
and does she have
a doll's house
I could play with?
you dismissed the idea
of showing her
the guns that fired caps
or your toy soldier collection
and took her
into the room
where you kept the toys
and pointed to
your sister's dolls
and the pram
and said
Take care
my sister doesn't like
people messing
with her stuff
and Helen nodded
and picked up a doll
and held it to her chest
and rocked it
to and fro
and walked up and down
murmuring there there sounds
that echoed softly
around the room
Where's your sister?
Helen asked
will she mind me
rocking the baby to sleep?
Guess not
you replied
and stood watching her
as she walked
and talked to the doll
in an undertone
and you stood there
hands in pockets
like a father
of an unexpected child
wondering what to say
or do and taking in
her thick lens glasses
and her eyes
seemingly enlarged
focusing on the doll
and the way her head
moved from side to side
so that her plaited hair
went from side to side
and up and down
and she said softly
and suddenly
We may have a baby like this
one day and you had better
say something more
than you are now
or I'll think
you didn't want it
and off she walked
up and down the room
and hoped your mother
would come soon
and save you from the fate
of being the father
of a doll with a dodgy eye
and a painted smile
but having a tender spot
for Helen
all the while.
poem by Terry Collett
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My Little Doll
I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world;
Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears,
And her hair was so charmingly curled.
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day;
And I cried for more than a week, dears,
But I never could find where she lay.
I found my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day:
Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,
For her paint is all washed away,
And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears
And her hair not the least bit curled:
Yet for old sakes' sake she is still, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world.
From The Water-Babies.
Eversley, 1862.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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The Gift
He was born in Bethlehem they say, there was a star to light the path to where
He lay. Rich or poor they came from far and near, cause they'd all heard the
reason He was here.
CHORUS:
He was the Son God sent to one and all. Put on this earth to hang there on that
cross. Born to die so we could live. He had the birthday, we got the gift.
They wrapped him up with gentle hands. God hoped the world would understand.
Eternal life we shall receive. And all that He asks in return is that we just
believe.
CHORUS:
He was the Son God sent to one and all. Put on this earth to hang there on that
cross. Born to die so we could live. He had the birthday, we got the gift.
There's no way in this world we could repay the miracle He gave us on that day.
CHORUS:
He was the Son God sent to one and all, put on this earth to hang there on that
cross, born to die so we could live. He had the birthday, we got the gift.
On our Savior's birthday, we got the gift.
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh To Be Wealthy And Famous
Oh to be wealthy and famous living in a big house by the sea
With a Rolls Royce in my garage of money worries quite free
Seen as a successful person with heaps of money to spend
Everyone would want to know me everyone would be my friend.
I could help the poor and needy for others I could do good
I could help you out then poor fellow instead of saying I would help you if I could
Money it speaks every language pity the poor and downtrod
Surely there is nothing greater than money the great paper god.
I could do wonders with money help those in dire poverty
Be an example to others to worthy causes donate generously
Instead I struggle for survival one of the poor of our Street
Life for me an uphill battle struggling for to make ends meet.
Oh to be wealthy and famous the wealthiest man in the Town
I could be generous with money help those financially down
Instead I am just a poor battler who would wish to be my friend
I who must be careful with money and count every dollar I spend?
poem by Francis Duggan
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Failed Musician
Failed Musician?
My uncle died, he was on holiday in Piraeus when a pig fell off
a balcony, he left a piano and since his wife didn’t want it in her
house, mother took it, only because it would lend an impression
of high culture, and no one else in our neighbourhood had one.
I played on it day and night, picked up tunes on radio and played
them on the piano; people where impressed, mother too, but she
needed her rest worked long hours at a canning factory; one day,
coming home from school, a big empty space, I cried mother gave
me Danish pastry, they were a day old but still tasty. I’m glad she
sold the piano, though I might have ended up a restaurant pianist
driving from town to town playing evergreens as background music
for bored diners
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Im The Girl
Ive got a memory
A thousand years old
And I know secrets
Ive never been told
And Ive got jewels
I havent found
And theyll return me
To the ground
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
And Im a siren
Ill wreck you on my shores
And Im godiva
Ill call you back for more
And Im medusa
And Im your favourite doll
And Im a georgia okeefe
Hanging on your wall
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter before
And I remember being born just sound and light
And sound and light and light
And I remember the first time, skin on skin in the arms
In the arms of the night
Well how many times have we looked up into the starry skies
And how many times have we felt the passion rise
Every ruby-lipped girl baby, old lady, squaw junkie, girl after girl after girl
Every muse, whore, good witch, princess, back arching, year after year after year
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
Before.
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mad Wanderer
There came to Grasmere's pleasant vale
A stranger maid in tatters clad,
Whose eyes were wild, whose cheek was pale,
While oft she cried, "Poor Kate is mad!"
Four words were all she'd ever say,
Nor would she shelter in a cot;
And e'en in winter's coldest day
She still would cry, "My brain is hot."
A look she had of better days;
And once, while o'er the hills she ranged,
We saw her on her tatters gaze,
And heard her say, "How Kate is changed!"
Whene'er she heard the death-bell sound,
Her face grew dreadful to behold;
She started, trembled, beat the ground,
And shuddering cried, "Poor Kate is cold!"
And when to church we brought the dead,
She came in ragged mourning drest;
The coffin-plate she trembling read,
Then laughing cried, "Poor Kate is blest!"
But when a wedding peal was rung,
With dark revengeful leer she smiled,
And, curses muttering on her tongue,
She loudly screamed, "Poor Kate is wild!"
To be in Grasmere church interred,
A corpse one day from far was brought;
Poor Kate the death-bell sounding heard,
And reached the aisle as quick as thought:
When on the coffin looking down,
She started, screamed, and back retired,
Then clasped it....breathing such a groan!
And with that dreadful groan expired.
poem by Amelia Opie
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Have a Happy Blessed Birthday
Its yo' birthday,
I wanna wish u,
This day, its somehow special,
its yo' birthday,
A remarkable day,
filled with cheer,
smile for today,
hope its fun,
thank God for today,
for today, its a gleeful day,
may u stay and live,
till another years and more birthdays.
Celebrate today,
Enjoy the fullest today,
Butta also some for us,
the dead and gone.
Its yo' birthday,
Happy birthday to you,
Some years back you was brought to this Earth today,
Yo' mum and daddy are,
Great people towards today,
Pray for them.
Grasp that and gift of wishes,
Behold the sky,
Today it's yo' birthday,
And all yours,
I found the birds whistling, singing,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear ma friend,
Happy birthday to you.
Also hope you lite the candles,
For a brighter tomorrow,
Than today.
poem by Kiyaga Lyttle Cephas
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Our baby boy....
When your mother was crying in pain,
I took her to hospital, then I heard your
mother's loud scream along with your soft cry
Your mother brought you into this world as an angel.
You were lying next to your mother innocently
My son, your cry brought tears of love in my eyes
When I looked at you first my heart filled with happiness
You were looking very healthy boy
You were trying to look at me through your fresh new eyes
I saw your tiny legs were rocking in the air
and your tiny hands were clapping for me
I gave one of my fingers to you to hold and you held me tightly
and you want to kiss my finger too
When I wrap you in my arms I felt that my dream come true
We waited for you so long and your arrival made our house lighten
God has listen to our prayers and given you as his gift.
I will be watching you growing up and teach you all the good things
You will be learning all the best and I am sure that you will show me
your best when you wear your cap and gown on your graduation day.
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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Mirror
An aboriginal brought home a mirror
Gave it as gift to his wife dear
Something she never knew earlier
She looked into it once and
Screamed in horror
And shouted at her mother
“Your son-in-law brought me a sister
Miserble will be my life hereafter”
Mother too looked into the mirror
Smiled she and consoled her daughter
“Don’t worry my dear
She can never be your competitor
She is ugly and much, much older”
poem by Sathya Narayana
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She Died
She died,
And I saw the loved ones cried
Right on her mother's arms she slept,
And not a word she said when she left,
Or if at all to return.
I missed the way she walked;
How she talked.
And the mother, she's getting no younger,
Can she bring forth another daughter?
A daughter to soothe the pain
This daughter left behind her.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Small Town
Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity
Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic thats me
But Ive seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now shes small town just like me
No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be
Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look whos in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and thats good enough for me
Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And thats probly where theyll bury me
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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September 8, Birth of the Blessed Mary
On the world of God,
A mother that protects us from bad.
She always makes us happy,
Her name is Mama Mary.
On the 8th day of September,
I’ll thank her so much ever!
For being such a mother,
At the side of God the Father.
Came from the land of Bethlehem
A poem made for her
To celebrate her birthday
On the 8th day of September
Happy Birthday to Mama Mary,
I wish her to be healthy.
Unlike others who are wealthy,
But doesn’t have a family.
poem by Thomas Allen Rainer A. Badiola
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Happy Birthday.
A daughter is born, a son is crying,
The world rejoiced when you cried,
Why do you cry! Why did you cry?
Is it because of fear, is it?
You rose your eyes, yes you did,
You saw darkness and heard mysteries voices,
Or you saw scary faces yet humble and caring,
Or was it the shadow that had no shape? Was it?
Or it was that movement of those who came to take you?
Tell me son, will you tell me daughter?
Is it because you knew this world,
You knew being in this world is a punishment?
You knew you won’t be able to change anything?
Happy birthday boy, let us celebrate girl,
For your accomplishment and the success,
For your stand to reach this far,
For your discovery of life and understanding.
Let us shout, for your creativity and innovation,
For knowing that you’ll have to stay and,
Make this world understand someday,
That when you will die it will cry and you will rejoice,
Waiting for your next mission.
Happy birthday.
poem by Dickson Mseti
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Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Nothin' To Say
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way!
Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks objected to me--
Yit here I am, and here you air; and yer mother--where is she?
You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in size;
And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes:
Like her, too, about _livin_' here,--because _she_ couldn't stay:
It'll 'most seem like you was dead--like her!--But I hain't got nothin' to say!
She left you her little Bible--writ yer name acrost the page--
And left her ear bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age.
I've allus kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away--
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; you wasn't a year old then!
And now yer--how old _air_ you? W'y, child, not '_twenty_!' When?
And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git married that day?
... I wisht yer mother was livin'!--But--I hain't got nothin' to say!
Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found!
There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there--I'll bresh it off--turn round.
(Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away!)
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Mother's Collection: Tissues, Bones, And Blood (fourth)
Fourth Born
While they were carefully restoring
The damaged done to the sacred house
I heard a whisper in my ear,
“Mother you have a baby girl.”
I had thought I would have another
boy and would call him “Lanzy- granddaddy’s name”
Like my first born, I asked myself, what to do with
This little pink bundle of joy?
Oh my, a girl! Your dad jumped for joy for
the little girl born of my tears, tears, and pains.
Now a quarter century later- right before my eyes-
You’ve become a beautiful daughter, wife, mother, and sister.
Your passion to be and to do your best is evident in all of this.
A mother learns much from her daughter:
To be a good listener,
An astute debater who gets in the last word.
To be caring and compassionate.
Be her mother instead of her girl friend…
Our reign as females are evident in all of these.
Now allow me to present my gift to you…
Oh, how I wish to give you diamonds and sapphires;
Rubies and emeralds!
Sorry darling, those things I have not.
But this I have a whole lot: “my eternal, unconditional love”
April 12,2006
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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