Broken Dreams...
i watch him when he
arrives home, bringing his
baby
armalite and a pack of
dirty clothes and a notebook
(is he listing those that owe
him or those
that he plans to see
again
after 20 years of having to
spend his life
among the natives
in the far away
mountains?)
he leaves his boots
at the doorway
combs his hair
and wipes his sweat
still clinging
to his long beard
(with white
locks)
he looks for mother
(specifically now the available
matter is only the picture
for she had long been
dead
missing him
the void within her heart)
'mother had long
been gone', sister told him,
he heaves a sigh
and breathes some more
i suspect he
may cry, but i know, i know
as he is, and really is,
he couldn't
there are other reasons
for tears to fall
not this one, not this one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Spanish Boots
(beck, stewart, wood)
I used to work and take a salary
In a hole up near a foundry
But it did not take me too long
To get my boots on a so long!
Long spanish boots on a so long!
I took a day job in bethlehem
I nearly threw in the towel then
But it did not take me too long
To get my boots on a so long!
High spanish boots on a so long!
Dig it
I took a spanish haberdashery
Restored with 15th century tapestry
But oh, mr. nesbitt got the best of me
So I strapped on my boots and said so long!
Laced up my high boots and so long!
Goodbye
... am on a job you see
cause my old boots they mean too much to me
Leather boots are just a mystery
Put on my boots and said so long!
High spanish boots on and so long!
Put on my boots and said so long!
Those old spanish boots
Put on my boots and said so long!
High spanish boots
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Spoke in Code
Father spoke in code
Mother understood.
She would cry
once he went to bed.
I never understood the code.
My sister didn't either.
As we got older, we quit
asking Mother what he said.
A feral cat claimed our yard.
It would leap the fence
when anyone appeared.
Except, of course, Father.
When he came out to walk
around the garden after supper,
the cat would sit straight up,
then rub against his leg
and look at him as if it understood
what others never could.
My sister used to say
the two of us were proof
Father and Mother
got together twice.
I told her I wasn't so certain.
I looked a lot like Mr. Brompton,
the next-door neighbor.
He used to buy us sugar cones
from the ice cream truck.
My sister, by the way, didn't look
like anyone in the family either,
but that was 40 years ago
when I last saw her.
I went away to college
and she got married.
We were never close after that.
Not even Christmas cards.
Forty years is a long time.
Now, we plan to get together
for a weekend this summer
before one of us dies.
I suggested we wait
till one of us is terminal.
What's the rush, I said.
But my wife told her
I was only kidding,
that we'll be coming
and not to make a fuss.
Burgers and hot dogs
will do just fine.
I know what Sis and I
will talk about that weekend,
the two people we'll always
have in common, no matter
how many years and miles
may lie between us.
Father and Mother have been
dead for decades now
but they're still alive in us.
I talk in code, my wife says,
and my sister cries a lot,
now that her husband's dead.
The one thing I want to know
is if my sister knows
what happened to the cat.
It knew the code,
may have had some answers.
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At The Time When Mother Left For Ozamis
i remember now
it was at that time when mother packed her clothes
and left my father for good
back in the little village where mother
was raised by grandmother
as a naive girl
keeping things to herself.
she dwells in a house of silence.
it was at that time when father said
that he loves her very much
that losing her would mean his death
but mother was no longer in the house
where we grew.
and of course, mother did not really believe him.
she died ahead of him, and he got drunk everyday, and
he put her picture on top of his chest and he cried all night long
staring at her face, black and white, her hair her mouth.
he died a year after and he was buried just beside her pantheon.
i still wonder if mother would believe him.
the silence is overwhelming. no one sweeps the heaps of leaves
and no wind is strong enough to clean the mounds filled with thick grass.
come summer time, i see white daisies blooming, and a black butterfly
hovers to stop a while. I watch closely this new turn of events.
it is like poetry. Some metaphors. Symbols, and hints. Love's mouth
wanting to say all over again, what the heart has constantly hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dilema Of Going Home
Two decades now
Have I lived in America
And my mother
Calling from far away Africa,
Also my little sister
She propably was told of America
They all weap in my
dreams these days,
They want me back in Africa
To build the threshold of my father
That is far gone in decadence.
.
Home, I am coming home
To see my mothers face again
And my little sister Franscisca
She must be a woman by now.
But tell me brothers;
How could I ever go back to Africa
When I yet do not have wings for flight?
.
What would I say to the hungry
eyes of my mother, my sister?
What would I say to friends I left
behind my Africa ten years ago?
What would I say when they asked:
What have you brought for old
buddies you left behind ten years ago.
.
Ten years is long enough time
to be away from home,
And yet have nothing to show
for the labours.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Gift, Not Given
'Christmas was great Mommy', says the little girl-
'Yet, Santa did not give the one present
I wanted more than any other in the whole world:
Why is my Daddy still absent? '
The Mother had naught with which to make reply;
She knew herself responsible for this void:
For years, she has witnessed her Daughter's hue and cry-
'I know my Daddy loves me, so why would he continue to avoid
Me as though I do not matter, for all these many years-
Why would he cause me all these many tears! ? '
No matter what this Mother seeks to give,
She has realized she has only ever taken away;
No matter how long she may live,
She will ne'er out last the guilt of that Christmas Day!
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is Never A Home For A Vagabond
you arrive from a long trip
you take the stairs back home
the sound of the jet plane
still hounds your ears
you step into a garden
and the grass tells you
with each
blade that you have not arrived
at all
it is always strange
always
you miss home but there is really no home
when you step upon
the floor of the house
you plea for
a home but there is really no home
no little boy meets you and calls your name
no little girl dances for you
what you have are the dogs
and they have their own language for missing you
but they are never enough
when you arrive
in a moment after putting all your
dirty clothes in the bin
you pack again for shirts and shorts and
rubber shoes
the long way behind the kitchen
door
gives you another map for escape
you forget home
there is never one
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Long Blues
(by leroy carr)
How long, baby how long,
Has that evening train been gone?
How long, how how long, baby how long?
Went to the station, didnt see no train.
Down in my heart, I have an aching pain.
How long, how how long, baby how long?
I feel disgusted, I feel so bad
Thinking bout the good time that I once had had.
How long, how how long, baby how long?
I could see the green grass growing on the hill;
I aint seen no greenback on a dollar bill.
How long, how how long, baby how long?
Youre gonna be sorry you feel so blue.
When you want me, baby, I declare I want, want you.
How long, how how long, baby how long?
Dont have no money for to ride the train.
I would ride the rugs, baby, to be with you again.
How long, how how long, baby how long?
How long, baby how long
Must I keep my, my watching point?
How long, how how long, baby how long?
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The tears that I cry are not yours
I am not your friend who tried
to kill you last night
I am not you friend who mustanize
and try to get intimacy
I am not your friend who killed you
your father, then came back home with a gun on my face
I am not your friend
who is your friend
then your friend
what is a friend
when you have a friend
then a friend who is my friend
when I have a friend
The tears that I cry are not yours
I have never had a friend
like my mother
I have never had a friend
like my father
I have never had a friend
like my brother
my sister, she hates me
as much as I hate her
The tears that I cry are not yours
who is she to take off
her clothes in the middle of
the street and say the door will
be closed in the next fifteen minutes round
The tears that I cry are not yours
‘she my mother, my mother who cries
every time she thinks of
me’
you are my sister
but you were my sister
when my sister was born
The tears that I cry are not yours
every time I see her
I am happy
for she knows what it means to…
‘she used to come home to me
and say poy I have something for you to eat
don’t tell anyone
The tears that I cry are not yours’
poem by Amos Motlanthe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Wrote About Our Mother.
She wrote about our mother and it took me far away
And many, many years in time back home to Claraghatlea
And as I read her letter I fought to choke the tears
For Millstreet, Cork and Ireland and happy childhood years.
She wrote about our mother long under Tanyard soil
And memories flooded back to me of one with ready smile
Of woman who worked hard for us for no reward or pay
The heroine of our childhood years of happy by gone day.
She wrote about our mother with sense of love and pride
And memories flooded back to me and tears welled up inside
For one who done her best for us her very best she tried
And I still feel she is with us her spirit never died.
A letter from my sister in east Rockaway in New York
Reminding me of childhood years in Millstreet County Cork
She wrote about our mother whose passing left a void
And memories flooded back to me and tears welled up inside.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother O My
Mother O My
Being who I am... isn't what define me
It's the willingness to be who I be
To those who call me mommy
They are the air i breathe
The heart in my chest
With them i bring my A game
School them to never settle for second best
Yes this is my quest
Mother O My
I see them learning more everyday
Whether in school or at play
Listen to all they got to say
I never realized how hard this profession I chose is
Bandage cuts and wipe noses
Fix hearts that feel broken
Mother O My
The toughest job I'll ever love
Thank god high above
For the blessings
Of my daughters and my sons....
Mother O My
Who is taking all my time
3 baby boys…
3 young men…
3 superstars
I am the one they know
I am the one they need
The only mother they will ever have
The only mother who will take care of them no matter what or when
The only mother who loves them unconditionally… there is no end
Mother O My
In the final phase of growth
3 young men
Now becoming
3 grown men
Feels like time has consumed itself…
Taking itself away…feel there is something I've missed
There is more that needs to be witnessed
Mother o My
I had my time but it's not enough
Something flies above
Taunting my core
Making my spirit to soar
To find that missing piece
Ready to take flight…
3 baby boys
Ready to leave the realm of my protection
Could it be the sentiment of closeness that mocks me
Mother o My
I now understand the vibes my Mother went through when we left home
In a sense I am ready
In a sense I am not ready
Too fast…too soon
One more year for my 1st baby boy…
18 years of watching the growth of my gentle giant
Three more years for 2nd baby boy
15 years of watching the growth of my mini me
Four more years for 3rd baby boy
13 years of watching the growth my baby boy
Mother O My
Tears fall as the accomplishments shine through each of you
Without the help of God and Family…Just don't know how we would of made it
Superstars is what you will always be
All that hard work…seeing the seeds planted…grow…the greatest perk
Mother O My
I know you have to leave & soon will say good bye
Please be gentle as you take your journey
Away from your Mother Always remember…
Mother O My how I love you
Mother O My precious ones
Mother O My heart is always with you…
Collab:
(Mamas) Kaye Brown & JenOfPoetry™
© Jan.10,2012
poem by Jen Of Poetry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dicky
Mother
Oh, what a heavy sigh!
Dicky, are you ailing?
Dicky
Even by this fireside, mother,
My heart is failing.
To-night across the down,
Whistling and jolly,
I sauntered out from town
With my stick of holly.
Bounteous and cool from sea
The wind was blowing,
Cloud shadows under the moon
Coming and going.
I sang old roaring songs,
Ran and leaped quick,
And turned home by St. Swithin's
Twirling my stick.
And there as I was passing
The churchyard gate
An old man stopped me, 'Dicky,
You're walking late.'
I did not know the man,
I grew afeared
At his lean lolling jaw,
His spreading beard.
His garments old and musty,
Of antique cut,
His body very lean and bony,
His eyes tight shut.
Oh, even to tell it now
My courage ebbs...
His face was clay, mother,
His beard, cobwebs.
In that long horrid pause
'Good-night,' he said,
Entered and clicked the gate,
'Each to his bed.'
Mother
Do not sigh or fear, Dicky,
How is it right
To grudge the dead their ghostly dark
And wan moonlight?
We have the glorious sun,
Lamp and fireside.
Grudge not the dead their moonshine
When abroad they ride.
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rock Me To sleep
Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight;
Make me a child again, just for tonight!
Mother, come back from that echoless shore;
Take me again in your heart as of yore --
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair,
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Backward, turn backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears --
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain --
Take them and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay --
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away --
Weary of sowing for others to reap --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded -- our faces between --
Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I tonight for your presence again;
Come from the silence, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old --
Let it drop over my forehead tonight,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light!
For, with its sunny-edged shadows once more,
Haply will throng all the visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother! the years have been long
Since I last listened to your lullaby song;
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream;
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep --
Rock me sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The King’s Beard
There lived a king with beard so long
And scalp with scarcely hair!
He used a comb and sang a song
And groomed it with great care.
The king was proud of his long beard
That made him look so wise!
The queen, his wife knew he looked weird
And cursed him for its size!
The queen was therefore always sad;
His lip got hid by hair!
But one day, she was rather glad;
She told him, she couldn’t bear!
One day, the king slept while he read
A book that was folklore!
He had a dream asleep in bed;
“His beard had grown some more! ”
A burning candle-stick fell down
And lit the curtain-blind;
His beard had caught the fire sown!
The king was off his mind!
His nose smelt smoke: he woke in fright;
His beard was all aflame!
He shaved the stubs of hair by night
And took on him all blame!
The next day when the people saw
The king, they couldn’t believe
Their eyes and gazed at him with awe!
“Could eyes of dawn deceive? ”
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The End Of May
'Our governess is not in school,
So we may talk a bit;
Sit down upon this little stool,
Come, little Mary, sit:
'And, my dear playmate, tell me why
In dismal black you're drest?
Why does the tear stand in your eye?
With sobs why heaves your breast?
'When we're in grief, it gives relief
Our sorrows to impart;
When you've told why, my dear, you cry,
'Twill ease your little heart.'
'O, it is trouble very bad
Which causes me to weep;
All last night long we were so sad,
Not one of us could sleep.
'Beyond the seas my father went,
'Twas very long ago;
And he last week a letter sent
(I told you so, you know)
'That he was safe in Portsmouth bay,
And we should see him soon,
Either the latter end of May,
Or by the first of June.
'The end of May was yesterday,
We all expected him;
And in our best clothes we were dressed,
Susan, and I, and Jim.
'O how my poor dear mother smiled,
And clapped her hands for joy;
She said to me, 'Come here, my child,
And Susan, and my boy.
''Come all, and let us think,' said she,
'What we can do to please
Your father, for to-day will he
Come home from off the seas.
''That you have won, my dear young son,
A prize at school, we'll tell,
Because you can, my little man,
In writing all excel:
''And you have made a poem, nearly
All of your own invention:
Will not your father love you dearly
When this to him I mention?
''Your sister Mary, she can say
Your poetry by heart;
And to repeat your verses may
Be little Mary's part.
''Susan, for you, I'll say you do
Your needlework with care,
And stitch so true the wristbands new
Dear father's soon to wear!'
''O hark!' said James; 'I hear one speak;
'Tis like a seaman's voice.'-
Our mother gave a joyful shriek;
How did we all rejoice!
''My husband's come!' 'My father's here!'
But O, alas, it was not so;
It was not as we said:
A stranger seaman did appear,
On his rough cheek there stood a tear,
For he brought to us a tale of woe,-
Our father dear was dead.'
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laid So Low
Chewed the bone down too low
Got fed on tea and sympathy
Blew the sail like the wind
I wish you were my enemy
I was humble for you
What a fool i've been to have
Laid so low for so long
Into that void of silence
Where we cry without sound
Where tears roll down
Where tears roll down
And where your mother's violence
Sent your soul underground
Where tears roll down
Where tears roll down
Drew the blade way too slow
Was shackled by your honesty
Made a mess, i guess i have should have known
That life was lust and liberty
Not a chance mutation or the last temptation
Laid so low for so long, so low
Into that void of silence
Where we cry without sound
Where tears roll down
Where tears roll down
And where your mother's violence
Sent your soul underground
Where tears roll down
Where tears roll down
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sisters And Brothers
I wish I had a sister, who would be there all the time
I wish I had a brother, who would be all mine
I wish I wasnt alone anymore just as I am
so mabey I need to take a stand
all I have is my mother.
My sister and brother are both gone
not one of them here when I get home
sometimes not even my mother
I have to have a sister or brother.
My sister and brother both are gone
but they wont be alone for long
for even though I never saw them from the start
they will always be here in my heart.
poem by jamika Eichelberger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cry Baby Cry
Cry baby cry
Make your mother sigh
She's old enough to know better.
The king of marigold was in the kitchen
Cooking breakfast for the queen
The queen was in the parlour
Playing piano for the children of the king.
Cry baby cry
Make your mother sigh
She's old enough to know better
So cry baby cry.
The king was in the garden
Picking flowers for a friend who came to play
The queen was in the playroom
Painting pictures for the childrens holiday.
Cry baby cry
Make your mother sigh
She's old enough to know better
So cry baby cry.
The duchess of kircaldy always smiling
And arriving late for tea
The duke was having problems
With a message at the local bird and bee.
Cry baby cry
Make your mother sigh
She's old enough to know better
So cry baby cry.
At twelve o'clock a meeting round the table
For a seance in the dark
With voices out of nowhere
Put on specially by the children for a lark.
Cry baby cry
Make your mother sigh
She's old enough to know better
So cry baby cry cry cry cry baby
Make your mother sigh.
She's old enough to know better
Cry baby cry
Cry cry cry
Make your mother sigh
She's old enough to know better
So cry baby cry.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rock Me To Sleep, Mother
BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears,—
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,—
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures,—
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;—
Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!
poem by Elizabeth Chase Allen
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Orange County Suite
Well I used to know someone fair
She had orange ribbons in her hair
She was such a trip
She was hardly there
But I loved her
Just the same.
There was rain in our window,
The FM set was ragged
But she could talk, yeah,
We learned to speak
And one year
has gone by
Such a long long road to seek it
All we did was break and freak it
We had all
That lovers ever had
We just blew it
And I'm not sad
Well I'm mad
And I'm bad
And two years
have gone by
Now her world was bright orange
And the fire glowed
And her friend had a baby
And she lived with us
Yeah, we broke through the window
Yeah, we knocked on the door
Her phone would not answer,
Yeah, but she's still home
Now her father has passed over
and her sister is a star
and her mother smokes diamonds
and she sleeps out in the car
Yeah, but she remembers Chicago
The musicians & guitars
and grass by the lake
and people who laugh'd
and made her poor heart ache
Now we live down in the valley
We work out on the farm
We climb up to the mountains
and everything's fine
and I'm still here
and you're still there
and we're still around
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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