My Heart Stealing Student
“ I will break your limbs
if you dare go out of the school”,
I bellowed and gave the boy in first standard,
a prod with the stick.
The little Saran wasn’t a bit quailed.
Wearing a loose shirt
and moving his tongue from left to right,
“ I stole only a half-pant
and keep it safe in the hostel”,
the prowler said and looked at the ceiling fan.
“ You egg-lifter (from the shop) , I’ll throw you out”
I yelled and lightly slapped at his cheek.
He turned his face to the left.
“What’s your father? ”, when I shouted,
“He is dead”, he said with ease
and turned his back to me.
When his teacher told me
the boy was kidnapped from the hostel
and taught to steal and beg in trains by a blind rogue,
pointing to some cigarette burns on his hands
for disobeying the orders of that wretch,
“My God, then how he was brought back? ”,
I asked her caressing him.
“While the sot was crossing the rail track,
leading the boy from behind,
the thief was hit by a train
but the boy escaped and turned up here”.
I looked at him with wonder
as he got God’s grace as a child.
“O my Saran! ”, I cried and scooped him
and put him on a branch of a Punga Tree.
I told his teacher to dote on him
and looked up to advise him.
But he has gone!
Interesting incidents intervene
to show the thrills of human strife.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Mirror...
I Looked At The Mirror
Mirror, Looked Back At Me
I Asked The Mirror
What Do You See?
The Mirror Smiled
“Same As You See”
I Touched The Mirror
The Mirror, Touched Me
Pressing To Break Thru
Glass Vanity
For Tho’ Eye To Eye
Sometimes I See
Mirror’s Right
Is Left To Me
And My Right Side … Made Mirror Left
I Got Perplexed At Imagery
And I Turned Away From Mirror
And Mirror Turned From Me
Our Backs To Each Other
Exposed Rigidly
But, Both Turned Back To Face
And Touch Same Place, And Be
Contained and Content
In Each Other’s Space Respectfully
We Shattered The Barrier
Between Mirror and Me
Back To Reflecting Our World
And The Same Things, We See …
Oh … Mirror, Mirror …
Reflecting You … Seeing Me …
poem by MoonBee Canady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Creation of the Moon
The man cut his throat and left his head there.
The others went to get it.
When they got there they put the head in a sack.
Farther on the head fell out onto the ground.
They put the head back in the sack.
Farther on the head fell out again.
Around the first sack they put a second one that
was thicker.
But the head fell out just the same.
It should be explained that they were taking the head
to show to the others.
They did not put the head back in the sack.
They left it in the middle of the road.
They went away.
They crossed the river.
But the head followed them.
They climbed up a tree full of fruit
to see whether it would go past.
The head stopped at the foot of the tree
and asked them for some fruit.
So the men shook the tree.
The head went to get the fruit.
Then it asked for some more.
So the men shook the tree
so that the fruit fell into the water.
The head said it couldn't get the fruit from there.
So the men threw the fruit a long way
to make the head go a long way to get it so they could go.
While the head was getting the fruit
the men got down from the tree and went on.
The head came back and looked at the tree
and didn't see anybody
so went on rolling down the road.
The men had stopped to wait
to see whether the head would follow them.
They saw the head come rolling.
They ran.
They got to their hut they told the others that the head
was rolling after them and to shut the door.
All the huts were closed tight.
When it got there the head commanded them to open the doors.
The owners would not open them because they were afraid.
So the head started to think what it would turn into.
If it turned into water they would drink it.
If it turned into earth they would walk on it.
If it turned into a house they would live in it.
If it turned into a steer they would kill it and eat it.
If it turned into a cow they would milk it.
If it turned into a bean they would cook it.
If it turned into the sun
When men were cold it would heat them.
If it turned into rain the grass would grow and the
animals would crop it.
So it thought, and it said, "I will turn into the moon."
It called, "Open the doors, I want to get my things."
They would not open them.
The head cried. It called out, "At least give me
my two balls of twine."
They threw out the two balls of twine through a hole.
It took them and threw them into the sky.
It asked them to throw it a little stick too
to roll the thread around so it could climb up.
Then it said, "I can climb, I am going to the sky."
It started to climb.
The men opened the doors right away.
The head went on climbing.
The men shouted, "You going to the sky, head?"
It didn't answer.
As soon as it got to the Sun
it turned into the Moon.
Toward evening the Moon was white, it was beautiful.
And the men were surprised
to see that the head had turned into the Moon.
What Is Your Favorite Work Of Art?
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE WORK OF ART?
What is you favorite work of art?
The answer that I'd like to hear is "You! "
You've been my favorite still the start
of our relationship, and when I view
you even in a reproduction
made by a camera I want to touch
the source of this work's great seduction,
the work of art I love so very much.
Even if you don't say "You! "
and your answer doesn't correspond
to mine, please do not look askew
at me while you are looking far beyond.
Kate Murphy interviews the director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.in the NYT,4/29/12. He tells her:
I first heard Rufus Wainwright by accident about five years ago. I was doing research at Hampton Court in England and I came out one summer afternoon and he was doing a sound check. I heard him sing a song called "The Art Teacher, " which just happens to be about a girl falling in love with an art teacher at the Metropolitan Museum and looking back on this experience in her middle age. It's such an evocative and brilliant song, and I've loved his music ever since.
There are the song's lyrics:
THE ART TEACHER
There I was in uniform
Looking at the art teacher
I was just a girl then;
Never have I loved since then
He was not that much older than I was
He had taken our class to the Metropolitan Museum
He asked us what our favorite work of art was,
But never could I tell it was him
Oh, I wish I could tell him -
Oh, I wish I could have told him
I looked at the Rubens and Rembrandts
I liked the John Singer Sargents
He told me he liked Turner
Never have I turned since then
No, never have I turned to any other man
All this having been said,
I married an executive company head
All this having been done, a Turner - I own one
Here I am in this uniformish, pant-suit sort of thing,
Thinking of the art teacher
I was just a girl then;
Never have I loved since then
No, never have I loved any other man
4/29/12 #10,032
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ten Thousand Angels Cried
Stillness Filled The Heavens On Crucifixion Day
Some Say It Rained I Don't Know If It's True
Well I Can Just I'magine Ten Thousand Angels Cried
That Would Seem Like Rain To Me And You
The Angels All Stood Ready To Take Him From The Tree
They Waited For The Words From His Voice
And When He Asked The Father Why Has Thou Forsaken Me
They Watched The Saviour Die Of His Own Choice
I've Never Seen Ten Thousand Angels Cry
But I'm Sure They Did
As They Stood By
And Watched The Saviour Die
God Turned His Head Away
He Couldn't Bear The Sight
It Must Have Looked Like Rain
When Ten Thousand Angels Cried
As The Sun Slipped Away
The Skies Turned To Grey
And When Jesus Gave His All
That's When The Tears Began To Fall
I've Never Seen Ten Thousand Angels Cry
But I'm Sure They Did
As They Stood By
And Watched The Saviour Die
God Turned His Head Away
He Couldn't Bear The Sight
It Must Have Looked Like Rain
When Ten Thousand Angels Cried
It Must Have Looked Like Rain
When Ten Thousand Angels Cried
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes from You Light Up My Life
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Look Away
I saw her standing there
Tears upon her cheek told me something was wrong
I asked her what it was
She looked away and said my daddys home.
I knew what that meant
It meant that I could never see her again
I had seen this once before
I didnt wanna deal with it anymore
Look away she said, as she turned to me
And when I tried to hold her, I couldnt let her be
Let her be, let her be
I said why, why do you make me cry
She said I love you so, look away I dont wanna know
I saw her standing there
Tears upon her cheek told me somethings wrong
I said what baby
She looked away and said my daddys home
Look away she said, and she turned to me
But darling, oh I loved her, couldnt let her be
Let her be, let her be
Look away, she said I love you so, look away.
song performed by by Hootie & The Blowfish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Look Forward
'Hi friend, how are you? '
Looked back; To my surprise - 'You? '
'Yeah, yeah, you never turned back'.
'Sorry late night, so didn't look back '.
After years I saw him, very thin.
On a single blow to flee unseen.
'Working where' I asked.He silenced.
May be of no job, I guessed
He walked back and forth.
Looked funny and fishy in truth.
He worded, 'what are you doing?
O' know in a paper mill you're working '.
I doubted him to spy me long.
A school mate viciously wrong,
Left out and forgotten by everybody,
Now holding me. Around us was nobody.
Hour passed, he said bye.' Hold on
What are you' I went on.
'Ghosting' answered to vanish. Felt something
God! since then I don't look back!
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hogarth Experiment Part 5
Peter levelled the shotgun
at the insect as big as a sheep
and pulled the trigger and again.
The blast knocked
the beast away from his father.
He quickly reloaded
as another giant insect
came close to his father.
The creature spun sideways
as the shot hit it.
Both creatures rose to their feet.
His father picked up the pitchfork
and jammed it deep
into the first insects head.
The insect wobbled on its legs
before collapsing dead.
The other moved giant insect
towards the fallen insect.
Peter had reloaded the shotgun
and fired both barrels at the head
of the advancing insect.
The head of it seemed to explode.
Peter reloaded the shotgun again.
His father ran towards him
pushing out of the way
of another giant insect.
They scrambled to their feet
and ran to the farmhouse.
They bolted the door
and moved to the window.
What they saw astonished them.
More and more giant insects landed
and seem to examine the fallen ones.
They then lifted them into the air and flew off.
John looked at his son.
Their battle was over.
All the giant insects disappeared
along with the two they had killed.
John went across to the phone
and telephoned the police.
He told them what had happened,
half expecting them to laugh.
They asked for his address
and said they would be sending
some people out to him.
They told him to remain inside with his family
and keep the windows and doors
locked until they arrived.
An hour passed and several armoured personnel carriers
stopped in the farmyard.
A dozen or more troops
emerged from the vehicles.
The Officer in charge
deployed them around the vehicles
before he and a short spectacled man
came to the door of the farmhouse.
John Fairchild let them in.
The short spectacled man introduced himself
as Raymond Constantine from Cambridge University
where he taught about insects.
The reason why they took so long to get there
was that he had to be flown down from Cambridge.
He asked if they could describe the insects
that they had battled with.
As they old him, Constantine frowned.
He then asked how many did they see?
John wasn’t sure,
but he estimated over twenty.
Constantine face grew paler.
He knew what kind of insects
had attacked them
and that very thought of that worried him.
He then asked what size they were.
John’s answer frightened Constantine even more
when he told him they were as large as sheep.
Constantine turned to the Captain
and said they must get back to HQ.
He then turned to John
and warned him
that he must not go out in the daytime.
Evenings and at night were Ok,
but not during the day.
Constantine and the Captain then left.
On he journey back to HQ
Constantine kept his eyes on the skies.
The insect John Fairchild had told him about
were social insects
and lived in nests of up to ten thousand workers.
Their nests were in a hole the ground.
The problem was going to be to locate the nest
and kill all the occupants,
but mainly the queen.
She would have to be destroyed.
Several times, he thought he saw something,
but they were merely birds.
As the continued, deeper into the valley
a humming sound arose around them,
slowly getting louder and louder.
Constantine turned to the driver
and shouted at him to stop.
The sky turned from blue to black
as a mass of insects flew overhead.
Constantine’s face turned ashen
with horror at what he saw.
Several of the insects seemed
to be carrying human bodies.
Others had small animals.
Several of the soldiers left the armoured vehicles
and were firing at the insects.
Sudden they swarmed them.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Sent My Child To School Today
I sent my child to school today
With his little lunch box
When he came home he said his friend
Had gotten the chickenpox,
I sent my child to school today
And asked him what he learned
He told me about firemen
They taught him how not to get burned,
I sent my child to school today
He said, 'Do you know what they taught me? '
He told me they taught him numbers
As well as his ABC’s,
I sent my child to school today
A smile on his face
I gave him a kiss and a hug
And said, 'See ya funny face! ',
I sent my child to school today
His smile bright and wide
But an older child brought in a gun
How did he get it inside? ,
I sent my child to school today
As in every day
But the child with the gun started shooting
The reason? No one could say,
I buried my child after school today
All I can do is cry
I lost my child at school today
And nobody can tell me why.
poem by Doug Hollywood Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Question of Love.
After climbing off
the school bus
she grabbed the sleeve
of your coat and said
I want to talk to you
and so you stayed behind
as your sister and hers
walked on ahead
and her brothers ran off
in a game of tag
she released your sleeve
and brushed the hair
out of her eyes
what is it? you asked
walking beside her
along the side of the road
the winter afternoon darkening
what was Roland
saying to you in class?
she asked
Roland?
yes Roland
in the last lesson of maths?
you looked over
at the tall trees
becoming tall giants
as the sky began to dim
he was talking about his sister
you said
then why was he looking at me?
perhaps he finds you attractive
you replied
she slapped your arm
with her hand
don't talk nonsense
he wouldn't find
Marilyn Monroe attractive
if she sat
on his bony knees
she said looking at you
with her big blue eyes
you rubbed
your injured arm
playfully
he was saying his sister
had found his collection
of dirty magazines under his bed
you said
a car whizzed by
and she turned
and shouted back at it
some words her mother
would have slapped her
for saying
she sighed and said
why can't you tell me the truth?
you stopped and stood facing her
her blue eyes gazing at you
searching yours
as if she'd left something there
on a previous occasion
he said he didn't know
what I saw in you
her eyes enlarged
and what did you say?
she asked
in the sky over her shoulder
the moon was beginning to shine
in competition
with the weak sun
I said you snogged
pretty good
you said
she slapped your arm
and walked on
no
you called out
I was only joking
she stopped
and turned
and glared at you
I said you were the best thing
to happen to me
since God created Sundays
you're lying
she said
all right
you said
seeing her eyes watering
I said I loved you
you said
looking at her
wondering if her hand
might slap you again
did you?
yes
and what did he say?
she asked
he just shrugged
his shoulders
and drew a picture
of Mr Parrot on the corner
of his maths book
she was silent
and looked by you
at the incoming traffic
then kissed your cheek
leaving a damp patch
like a small oasis
on a dry landscape
of your 14 year old skin
conjuring up images
her mother
would define as sin.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Waiting By The School Gates
Look who's over
by the school gates
Reynard said
and you looked over
and there was Christina
with her school bag
over her shoulder
and her hands tucked
in the pockets
of her green coat
see you tomorrow
Reynard said
and walked on
giving Christina a stare
as he did most girls
finding them an enigma
yet to be solved
when you got
to where Christina was
she took her hands
out of her pockets
and put a hand
on your arm
I wish I was going
on the school bus
with you
then I could sit next to you
and I could tell you
about myself
and not have to cram
everything into a rush
of words as I do
at school
you looked over
to where the school bus
was waiting
you still had
five minutes
or so before
it took off
and you knew
Fred the driver
always did
a head count
before hand
don't you wish
I was there
on the bus too?
she asked
squeezing your arm
with her fingers
you turned
and looked at her
sure I do
you said
but you live here
and I live miles away
I know
she said
and I miss you
once your bus goes off
and I know
I won't see you
until the following day
and the weekend is worse
because then
I don't see you
for two whole days
other kids
passing through
the school gates
stared at you both
and Hill said
come on
or you'll miss
the bus
and he laughed
and moved on
and Christina stared
after him and said
what's his problem?
and you said
oh he hasn't been born yet
he gets this way
and she laughed
and said
maybe I'll come
on the country bus
to your village
and we can meet?
sure that'd be good
you said
and her eyes lit up
and she smiled
and leaned
towards you
and gave your cheek
a peck
and you said
look I got to go
and you took her hand
and gave it
a quick kiss
then turned
and walked quickly
towards the bus
knowing her eyes
were following
your every step
and that maybe
she dreamed
of you at night
and imagined you
beside her
and her dolls
and Teddy Bear
and you in turn
maybe imagined
at night
you too were there.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Rain
When my older brother
came back from war
he had on his forehead a little silver star
and under the star
an abyss
a splinter of shrapnel
hit him at Verdun
or perhaps at Grünwald
(he’d forgotten the details)
he used to talk much
in many languages
but he liked most of all
the language of history
until losing breath
he commanded his dead pals to run
Roland Kowaski Hannibal
he shouted
that this was the last crusade
that Carthage soon would fall
and then sobbing confessed
that Napoleon did not like him
we looked at him
getting paler and paler
abandoned by his senses
he turned slowly into a monument
into musical shells of ears
entered a stone forest
and the skin of his face
was secured
with the blind dry
buttons of eyes
nothing was left him
but touch
what stories
he told with his hands
in the right he had romances
in the left soldier’s memories
they took my brother
and carried him out of town
he returns every fall
slim and very quiet
he does not want to come in
he knocks at the window for me
we walk together in the streets
and he recites to me
improbable tales
touching my face
with blind fingers of rain
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Angelic Me
My teacher told me to behave
But behaving’s what I never craved
She thought I acted too outlandish
Just being me was too out-Stan-dish
The girl’s pigtail in the inkwell soaked
How it got there was my little joke
I whistled when teacher turned her back
Music’s what our classroom lacked
To the principals’ office I was sent
It clearly became a daily event
She told him I was rude and frightful
Yet my friends in class thought me delightful
My mother when she came to school
He told her I was the classroom fool
She didn’t believe that awful man
Could say that of her angel Stan
Whistlers’ mother, she knew best
She knew her son was not a pest
So much to my teachers’ dismay
I was back in class the very next day
The inkwell reclaimed that girls’ pigtail
The teacher warned, but to no avail
Behind back whistles, once more the norm
Angelic me was back in form
poem by Stanley Cooper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Teacher Says, Teacher Goes
Teacher says,
teacher goes,
teacher smiles,
teacher knows,
what you have done,
was clearly a mistake,
maybe it is,
time for a break.
Teacher says,
teacher goes,
teacher smiles,
teacher knows,
that you have been naughty.
That you have been quite foughty.
That you are being rude,
don't call teacher a dude.
Teacher says,
teacher goes,
teacher smilies,
teacher know,
that you were making faces,
behind teachers back,
that you were throwing spitballs,
at the teacher's pet.
Teacher says,
teacher goes,
teacher smiles,
teacher knows.
So enough is said,
so now you know,
that whatever you do.....
Teacher says,
Teacher goes,
Teacher smilies,
Teacher knows
poem by Jasmine Aira
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Paddling bully
In the seventh grade I had a bully for a teacher.
He was ugly and he was indeed a horrible creature.
He gave paddlings and that really got us kids annoyed.
He'd smile when he paddled because it was something he enjoyed.
He gave over twenty paddlings a day.
Even if we did no wrong, he'd paddle us anyway.
One afternoon all I did was speak to a friend.
My teacher hit me seven times on the rearend.
It really hurt when he hit me with his paddle.
A lot of kids don't squeal but I decided to tattle.
I told my uncle who stands 7'3' and weighs 250 pounds.
He said he was going to visit my school and that my teacher was going down.
My uncle told my teacher that he had no right to paddle me just because I talked.
Then he broke all of my teacher's limbs and he couldn't even walk.
I got a new teacher and I said Hooray!
My former teacher decided to stop teaching on that very day.
poem by Randy Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mummy, I'm Sorry
I told you I didn't love you with a smile on my face
But the smile quickly faded when I saw your heart break.
From internal bleeding, your eyes turned red
As red as the handprint you left on my cheek
The cheek you use to kiss when you tucked me in' I remember your smile then.
I was ungrateful for anything you did for me
The sacrifices
I took your love for granted
Wiped it off like lint on my shirt
Now you're hurt
I take it back
All that I've said
I don't mean none of it
I love you Mum
More than words can say
Thank you for everything
Everything
poem by Tiana Webb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Summer 1962
Christina sat next to you
on the school playing fields
the summer day was hot
and she sat there
cross-legged
her school skirt
touching on her knees
and you looked beyond her
wondering if the girl
who had kissed you
at Christmas
while carol singing
was looking over at you
from a group of girls
across the way
I wish I had
my bathing costume on
Christina said
so do I
you said looking back
at her taking in
her white knees
catching the summer sun
she giggled and looked away
did Cedric tell you about me
and what I told him?
she asked
her profile
like some Renoir girl
yes
you said
remembering Cedric's words
and his blushing face
he seemed put out
you added
you don't want to worry
about Cedric
she said
he hates me getting into boys
as she said this
you looked over
at the girl who kissed you
and she was staring
over at you and Christina
and seemed annoyed
and as you gazed at her
you still felt that kiss
on your lips
and that embrace
in the moonlight
and Christina touched
your knee
and said
if you want privacy
we can always go up
into the woods by the fence
and you said
did you hear about Brilton
the teacher of English?
No
she said
what?
he's been sacked
why? she asked
running her hand
along your thigh
for taking boys home
in the lunch period
you said
oh
she said
removing her hand
what for?
You looked
at her knees
in the sunlight
how the light
seemed to warm them
no idea
you said
and you looked away
with a picture
of her knees
carried in your head.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Cedric Said About His Sister.
Cedric followed you
around the playground
at high school
it seemed he wanted
to say something to you
but instead he just followed
you around until
as you stood looking over
at the playing field
where kids were gathering
in their break period
he said
my sister likes you
how do you know?
you asked
because she told me
he replied blushing
looking over at the playing field
isn't she your twin?
Yes
he said
going red
gazing at his sister
standing with a group
of friends on the field
you looked over at the girls
at Cedric's sister waving a hand
so that's Christina
yes
he muttered
the one with the dark hair
and waving a hand
then he went silent
and looked at you
Mother said she's too young for boyfriends
he said after a few moments
but she doesn't listen
she does what she wants
so she told me to tell you
she likes you
and so you nodded
and waved your hand
back at the girls
and there was an explosion
of giggling and laughter
and waving of hands
and then they ran off
onto the field
and as they ran off
you noticed Cedric's sister
had a cute butt
but you didn't tell him that
you just turned and said
fancy a game of ball?
and he just nodded
and said nothing more
about his sister at all.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thy Will Be Done!
I always thought that Jean La Mare was strange,
Gave me the creeps,
With lank, uncared for russet hair
And eyes with depths and deeps,
She hung her head when walking by
Wore dresses to her shins,
She had no friends at school, at lunch
Sat by the rubbish bins.
Her father was the picture of a
Martinet of old,
Bolt upright, at attention he
Would rant at her, and scold.
An Army Colonel, long retired
His wife dead in the ground,
His thoughts for bringing daughters up
Were ancient, and profound.
She dared not answer back, nor baulk
At anything he said,
He kept her close, so close we thought
That she slept in his bed.
We never saw her out of school
She cooked and cleaned and swept,
When asked if she'd be at the Ball,
She turned away, and wept.
Time passed, and we had left the school,
Got on with living life,
I met someone, and pretty soon
Had caught myself a wife,
But my old friend from schooldays
Richard Carson, lived alone,
He said he'd not met anyone
Who thrilled him to the bone.
We'd all turned just on thirty when
He dropped the big surprise,
He said that he'd asked Jean La Mare!
I answered, 'Is that wise? '
It seems the Martinet had died,
Was safely in his box,
So Jean was free, and so was he
To tie the wedding knots.
I saw her at the wedding there,
The first time then for years,
I saw her laugh for once, she laughed
So much, it came to tears.
They seemed so happy in that church,
Her burden dead and gone,
But Richard told me later of
Her curse - 'Thy Will Be Done! '
For every evening of her life
She'd get down on her knees,
Before a varnished wooden box
And pray that she had pleased!
The box stood on the mantelpiece
And Richard dared not ask
Just what was in that box; he thought
It was her father's ash!
She'd pray and ask for guidance, then
She'd listen in the gloom,
He never heard a murmur but, she did,
Before that tomb!
She'd answer statements no-one made,
Would wail, then plead, implore,
While Richard stayed away and hid,
Stood listening by the door!
He asked her what her father said
When he'd approached him once,
The old man turned and marched away,
He'd felt quite like a dunce!
He'd asked if he could take her out,
The Colonel stood and glared:
'If you should even speak to her, young man,
I'll see you dead! '
But Jean had blushed and looked away,
And wouldn't answer then,
She muttered: 'He just didn't want me
Mixing with young men! '
But then she started acting strange,
Would slyly look away,
Whenever he came in the room
As she was going to pray.
He came to see me, looking ill,
He said he was unwell,
That Jean was getting stranger by the day
His life was hell!
She'd served him up a meal that made
Him sick, perspire and weak,
I told him he should get away...
He found it hard to speak!
I didn't want to interfere
But things were looking grim,
I went around to see them, well, not her,
I cared for him.
She flashed a look of hate at me,
Unbridled, undisguised,
She looked like some fanatic with
Grey analytic eyes.
She left us then to talk, and I
Saw on the mantelpiece,
The box that he'd described to me,
I said, 'Just call the Police! '
I'd flipped the clasp, the front swung down
It opened up to dread,
For staring at us both, we saw
His eyeless, staring head!
Then Jean came back, let out a scream,
Attacked me with a knife,
I caught her wrist, said: 'Richard,
Just restrain your crazy wife! '
She fell down on her knees and cried:
'I tried to be a son! '
Then listened, as if hearing it,
Then said, 'Thy will be done! '
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Stranger (story)
(story 03/14/11)
I saw a man coming down the road
Head held high, eyes were strong.
He stopped and asked of me
If he could have a bite to eat.
His clothes were all torn and tattered
I asked him what was the matter.
He looked at me and his eyes turned down
His face changed from a smile to a frown.
Hard times I have come across
I was let go by my boss
He said the times was making him downsize
And he had to let go of people to survive.
Everyone was doing the same
People losing their jobs was quite a shame.
Being a farmer who had hard times too
I knew exactly what he was going thru.
So I invited him inside to sit for a spell
For traveling these roads could really be hell.
He was given some soup to take
the chill out of his bones
And was told by the farmer that he wasn’t alone.
He was then given some dinner to eat
To this man it was quite a treat.
The farmer told him he could bathe and
stay the night - and if he wanted to leave
He could leave at first light.
He laid out some pajamas for him to wear
Even gave him some clean underwear.
The bed in the spare room was “ oh so nice”
And he slept peacefully throughout the night.
When he awoke there was breakfast on the table
Coffee, ham and eggs, and cream cheese on a bagel.
After having breakfast he felt like a new man
He looked for the farmer to shake his hand.
He thanked the farmer and asked him his name
He pointed to a wooden nameplate which said:
J. CHRISTHISSON- but some call me J.C.
He then told him he put a fresh set of clothes
On his backpack, turned around and didn’t look back.
So he put on his new clothes and out the door he went
Thinking that this man was heaven sent.
As he walked a mile down the road
He felt guilty that he didn’t thank him properly
For being so kind to a man in need.
He ran back to the farm house and knocked at the door
To be greeted by someone he had never saw.
“I am looking for the farmer who owns this place! ”
That would be me! What can I do for you?
He said: no! that can not be! It was a younger
Man, not as elderly with a beard and shoulder length hair.
He gave me dinner and invited me in, let me bathe
And to have a good nights sleep, then gave
Me these clothes and breakfast to eat.
I don’t see how here you could have stayed
When my wife and I were in another county far away.
But there has been stories going around
About someone helping people when their luck was down.
As he said that - the strangers back pack fell
to the ground, and he heard a clatter.
The man looked at him and asked what was the matter.
He opened his backpack and a wooden name plate fell to the ground
And broke in three- when he looked he could not believe what he saw.
The three parts said: J.CHRIST-HIS-SON
And a cross and rosary laid alongside with a note with one word.
HOPE
Now who could this man have been?
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Possibilities of Ice
One day at school
I decided to put a pool
Of ice water over Mrs. Stuart's desk
When she sat down in the chair
The bucket turned in the air
And boy I swear what a mess
She stood up to shout
The person responsible will be out
Of school for a couple of days
It was funny to see
The stunned looks of glee
But not as funny as that teacher's face
Although I got out
Because of that teacher's shout
Mr. Owen said to me
Nice work young one
But the trouble's only begun
Because when you come back there'll be
Mrs. Stuart with a bucket of ice
And a room full of unsanitary mice
So Mrs. Stuart
I'm as sorry as I could possibly be
But you should have sen the look on your face
The day that you yelled at me.
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!