Window Into The Past
A Window into the Past.
Visiting time over, mother was ill in hospital she had been so tired lately.
Nearby a small stream, an empty box of matches was my raft, rudderless
it rushed down rapids and disappeared under ground, under the town
and I wondered if it reached the docks. I had bought mother a chocolate,
in the same shop that sold oranges and but they were too expensive,
but ate most of the chocolate while listening to her instructions, to peel
spuds, buy milk and yesterday loaf (half the price) , open a tin of sardines.
But first I had to go down to the docks see what ships were in and also try
to find my raft. When I came home mother stood smoking in the kitchen,
she had peeled the spuds. They had let her out only so she could pack her
suitcase; she had to go up the mountains, where the air was pure, and be
cured… and I knew why I hadn’t found my raft.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
Mother In Law
(a. toussaint)
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
The worst person I know
Mother in law, mother in law
She worries me so
Mother in law, mother in law
If she leaves us alone
We could have a happy home
Sent from down below
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Satan should be her name
Mother in law, mother in law
To me theyre about the same
Mother in law, mother in law
Everytime I open my mouth
Steps in trying to put me out
How could you stood so low
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Come home with my pay
Mother in law, mother in law
She asks me what I made
Mother in law, mother in law
She thinks her advice is a contribution
If she would leave that would be the solution
Dont come back no more
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law....
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chocolate Town
Couldn't taste the taste that I was tastin'
Couldn't hear the waste that I was makin'
Tired of the life I was facin'
Couldn't tell one from another
Couldn't hide a secret from my mother
Any other mother wouldn't bother
Makin' time breakin' ground
Sail brown bay to chocolate town
Got me on the porch I'm in the front row
Says "shit's for real man" like I don't know
Get your punk ass back to the dog show...
Makin' time breakin' ground
Sail brown bay to chocolate town
A new breath I feel the grip releasin'
Scraping my guts off of the ceiling
I've got that sunny bunny feeling
Makin' time breakin' ground
Sail brown bay to chocolate town
Makin' time breakin' ground
Greyhound bus to chocolate town...
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chocolate Milk, Chocolate Syrup, Chocolate Cup
chocolate milk, chocolate syrup, chocolate cup
when im putting in chocolate syrup i put too much
i wish i had a chocolate pup in a chocolate cup
in a chocolate world!
but that would be alot to eat
for just one little girl!
if chocolate was a talent
Id be the chocolate master!
chocolate storms and tornadoes are natural chocolate disasters!
there would be chocolate houses and chocolate apartments and chocolate hotels for rent!
People eating chocolate all day without paying a single cent!
All their money would be in chocolate banks w chocolate robbers
Chocolate dinners like chocolate spaghetti and chocolate covered lobsters!
Chocolate chocolate chocolate BOOO!
(and no vanilla)
Drew
poem by Drew Bailey Golden
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Chocolate Is A Food Group
I love chocolate.
So should you.
Milk chocolate,
Dark chocolate.
It's good for you, too.
Chocolate cake,
Chocolate candy,
Chocolate pie.
Take away my chocolate
And I might die.
White chocolate,
Hot chocolate,
Even chocolate soup...
Any chocolate lover knows
Chocolate is a food group.
poem by Rich Reitz
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Everyday Life And Chocolate
Everyday life and Chocolate.
A sweet shop in the middle of nowhere, I had bought a box of chocolate,
but had no money, the owner took my sack of hay given to me by a farmer
to make a mattress, as payment. Now I sleep on top of a big kitchen table
for fear of rats. When I get up at night to drink water, I can hear them
hissing under the floor board. The candy man’s daughter is dying, she has
always been in love with her image and can’t bear the thought of parting.
from her mirror. Last night I fell off the kitchen table, dreamed I was back
at sea and my ship was pitching and rolling, bet it gave the rats a fright.
The phone rang it was my mother, couldn’t hear what she said, bad line
between heaven and earth. Went to the candy man’s daughter’s funeral
the casket was decorated with colourful sweets and expensive chocolate,
the sermon was light hearted the priest looked as he was on a high. I don’t
eat chocolate anymore, but live on raw carrots. So slim you are fat people
tell me; my diet is carrots I say and the rush to the green grocer to buy some,
but they continue to eat sweets. Things are looking up the farmer gave me
another sack of hay and a rat catching terrier, and every morning it puts
the night’s catch on the kitchen table.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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An event to recall on Mother's Day - That mother is no one other than me
Summer evening
Sun still harsh
Me, then fourteen
My mother's younger sister
Came forward to tell
A story about a mother
Mumbai, then Bombay
Highrise residential quarters
Fourth floor
Big Hall
Two big bed rooms
Two baths
Big kitchen
Grill-less windows
Free flow of air
Lot natural light
A mother in the kitchen
Preparing food
For her husband
And their three sons
The youngest about two years old
Left on the kitchen table
Mother being busy around
The child not seen now
Mother realised just then
Would have slipped
Across the open window
She was right
The child has fallen
But on the sun shade
About four feet below
Her two year old son
On an open sun shade
Not less than forty feet
Above the ground level
No time to lose
No time waiting for help
From outside
Mother too slowly
Slipped about four feet onto the
Just two feet wide sun shade
Picked up the child
Put him onto the kitchen work table
Managed to climb back to her kitchen
I was thrilled
I was to ask a number of questions
One important being
Is the mother is so courageous
My aunt finished telling
That mother is no one other than me
And that son is no one other than
My third son
Both that mother and son
Are safe, living and active
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Little Andrew
Air -- "Gypsy's Warning"
Andrew was a little infant,
And his life was two years old;
He was his parents' eldest boy,
And he was drowned, I was told.
His parents never more can see him
In this world of grief and pain,
And Oh! they will not forget him
While on earth they do remain.
On one bright and pleasant morning
His uncle thought it would be nice
To take his dear little nephew
Down to play upon a raft,
Where he was to work upon it,
An this little child would company be --
The raft the water rushed around it,
Yet he the danger did not see.
This little child knew no danger --
Its little soul was free from sin --
He was looking in the water,
When, alas, this child fell in.
Beneath the raft the water took him,
For the current was so strong,
And before they could rescue him
He was drowned and was gone.
Oh! how sad were his kind parents
When they saw their drowned child,
As they brought him from the water,
It almost made their hearts grow wild.
Oh! how mournful was the parting
From that little infant son.
Friends, I pray you, all take warning,
Be careful of your little ones.
poem by Julia A Moore
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A Tin Of Sardines
A tin of Sardines.
Mother by an assembly line putting tiny sardines into tins,
a machine did the rest, a squirt of oil and a lid stamped on.
Sardines side by side, in total darkness, wait to be eaten.
But first of all the sardines had to be smoked, the smoker
my mother’s lover, he visited her every Sunday afternoon,
and I was sent out to find a place that sold ice cream, even
when it rained. Rusting sardine cans, littering the wayside,
don’t walk barefoot in the grass at summer time. Mother
by an assembly line, putting sardines into tins, the smoker
had another girlfriend now and I got no Sunday ice cream.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Chocolate!
Chocolates, Chocolates, Chocolates,
Milk- chocolate, Mint-chocolate and semi-sweet,
Yummy dark chocolate is such a treat.
Chocolate yoghurt, sauce and chips,
And the chocolate dips,
One can have lot of sips.
Some are hard, some are smooth,
But at times give you saw-tooth,
Chocolate-shake, Hot chocolate are some drinks,
Which makes you wink.
Chocolate to express your love,
Which makes you feel above,
Chocolate to say sorry,
And then no worry.
So is chocolate healthy?
Or is just a mystery?
Or is chocolate a delight?
But, chocolates are just so right.
poem by Anju Addanki
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When my mother was dying in the hospital, he thought, when she knew her end was coming, it was not me she looked to but someone who stood behind me: her mother or the ghost of her mother. To me she was a woman but to herself she was still a child calling to her mother to hold her hand and help her. And her own mother, in the secret life we do not see, was a child too. I come from a line of children without end.
quote by J.M. Coetzee
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Love Chocolate
I love chocolate, oh yes I do.
Eating chocolate is a must too.
I love chocolate, how about you?
They say dark chocolate is now good for you too.
I would eat chocolate while watching Mr. Magoo.
I would eat chocolate instead of dodo.
I like a good chocolate candy bar.
I would even eat chocolate from a jar.
I want to eat chocolate all day long.
Eating too much chocolate may be wrong.
They need to write about chocolate in a song.
Some people eat chocolate just to belong.
I would even eat chocolate in my Froot Loops
I would even eat chocolate with a big group.
poem by Nichole Kaci McKnight
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Raft of Emotion
I’m trapped on a raft of emotion,
Surrounded by mountains of doom.
The clouds of despair have been gathering,
Over dark seas, of impending gloom.
But sat on a rock of happiness,
Is a saucer of joy and of hope.
And if I could wade over to it,
Or pull myself across on a rope.
I know that this raft of emotion,
Could become a boat filled with glee.
And the clouds of despair could all disperse,
But the only one who can change this is me.
Heath Gunn 2009
poem by Heath Gunn
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Broken Window
Broken Window
“Stand aside, the shop keeper impolitely said,
paying customer first.” Mother and I stood aside
and waited it took long busy now before Yule,
she had a card from the social to purchase boots
and jumpers and I was getting fidgety and upset.
Finally we got our stuff in a brown paper bag,
time was hard fancy papers was for those who
had money. I was seven but the humiliation was
gnawing a big hole in my guts, mother said:
“Beggars can be choosers” I was silent.
The local paper reported about a broken shop
window, oddly nothing was stolen, I smiled
proud of my mother, she had a job nearby
cleaning the office of a tropical fruit importer,
in a good mood now she smoked a cigarette.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sea Of Chocolate
Sea of chocolate
We swim in it
We dive
In the sea of chocolate
And at the same time we
Tasted the chocolate
So sweet
The chocolate is
Like pure love
And pure passion
That fills our heart
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Mother
My mother
Once was
The centre
On my circle maker
My mother
Once was
The warmth
Around a cold hand
My mother
Once was
The smile
On a pensive face
My mother
Once was
The rule
To run rings around
My mother
Once was
The champion
Of assurance and affection
My mother
Once was
The guide
Through a foreign land
My mother
Is now
The open window
Of a tamed bird
My mother
Will always be
In my heart
And part of me.
poem by Stevie Taite
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What is a mother? pt 2
What is a mother? A mother is a friend.
What is a mother? A mother is your hero.
What is a mother? A mother is someone who can make your wishes comes true.
What is a mother? A mother is sugar and spice.
What is a mother? A mother knows all the coolest music and style.
What is a mother? A mother is everything in between.
What is a mother? A mother is a better version of you.
What is a mother? A mother is your mommy till the day that you leave this world behind.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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What is a mother?
What is a mother? A mother is a friend.
What is a mother? A mother is your hero.
What is a mother? A mother is someone who can make your wishes comes true.
What is a mother? A mother is sugar and spice.
What is a mother? A mother knows all the coolest music and style.
What is a mother? A mother is everything in between.
What is a mother? A mother is a better version of you.
What is a mother? A mother is your mommy till the day that you leave this world behind.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Mother the biggest gift of Allah to us
Mother the biggest gift of Allah to us
Mother the candle burn herself to light our life
Mother the other name of kindness
Mother who hold us nine month and suffer
Mother who feed us from her blood and milk
Mother stays sleepless all the nights holding us
Mother teach us how to walk and talk
Mother guides us and secures us
Mother loves us from start to end
Mother is mother no one can take her place
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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GS [or the Fourth Cook]
He has notions of Australia from the tales that he’s been told—
Land of leggings and revolvers, land of savages and gold;
So he begs old shirts, and someone patches up his worn-out duds.
He is shipped as ‘general servant,’ scrubbing pots and peeling spuds
(In the steamer’s grimy alley, hating man and peeling spuds).
There is little time to comfort, there is little time to cry—
He will come back with a fortune—‘We’ll be happy by-and-by!’
Scarcely time to kiss his sweetheart, barely time to change his duds,
Ere they want him at the galley, and they set him peeling spuds
(With a butcher’s knife, a bucket, and, say, half a ton of spuds).
And he peels ’em hard to Plymouth, peels ’em fast to drown his grief,
Peels ’em while his stomach sickens on the road to Teneriffe;
Peels ’em while the donkey rattles, peels ’em while the engine thuds,
By the time they touch at Cape Town he’s a don at peeling spuds
(And he finds some time for dreaming as he gets on with the spuds).
In the steamer’s slushy alley, where the souls of men are dead,
And the adjectives are crimson if the substances are red,
He’s perhaps a college black-sheep, and, maybe, of ancient blood—
Ah! his devil grips him sometimes as he reaches for a spud
(And he jerks his head and sadly gouges dry-rot from a spud).
And his brave heart hopes and sickens as the weary days go round;
There is lots o’ time for blue-lights ere they reach King George’s Sound.
But he gets his best suit ready—two white shirts and three bone studs!
He will face the new world bravely when he’s finished with the spuds
(And next week, perhaps, he’ll gladly take a job at peeling spuds).
There were heroes in Australia went exploring long ago;
There are heroes in Australia that the world shall never know;
And the men we use for heroes in the land of droughts and floods
Often win their way to Sydney scrubbing pots and peeling spuds
(Plucky beggars! brave, poor devils! gouging dry-rot from their spuds).
poem by Henry Lawson
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My Mother's friend
she has huge breasts,
her skin is dark like tea my mother makes
she sits with my mother in the kitchen talking crap
they have been there for three hours now
I look through the gap in the door and the frame
She is smoking, her lips kiss the cigarette
She is old enough to be my mother
I wish she was sometimes
I would do everything she asked
I wish she was my mother
poem by Robert Cooper
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