Distant
that guy over there
that woman waiting in that corner
that child sitting at the edge of this bus station
that old man begging with a tin can on his right hand and a staff on his left
that vendor shouting for you to buy a drink and a loaf of bread
that silent man inside the bus looking nowhere
that man that woman that child without you knowing their names
they are your brothers and sisters and our children
they are you too in their bodies and faces and arms and legs and hands and toes
every part of each is a part of you
so please be careful not to choose to hurt in word and in deed and even in
thought
because at the end of all these hurting and hurling
you shall be
hurt too
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Picture Of Greed
on one hand
he carries a
big loaf of bread
on the other
he carries a
basket
of the same
loaf of bread
on his head
is another
basket of
the same loaf
of bread
a little child
spreads his
hands for
a loaf of bread
then he speeds
his way
as he bites
a loaf of
bread in
his mouth
the little child
follows him
and there he
is closing the
door of his
house all
made of bread
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Child Was Hurt
When I was a child you hurt me.
I was nothing but a mere girl.
I was only 5 years old.
I couldnt fight you couldnt fend you off.
A child was hurt.
A child was hurt for your fantasies.
That child was me.
I was only a wee girl.
A child was hurt.
It used to be a cool place to play.
It once was my faviorate place to go.
But you took that from me.
As well as raping me.
A child was hurt.
You said it was a game.
I knew it was rong.
It didnt feel right.
I begged you to stop.
You looked laughed and carried in.
A child was hurt.
A child was hurt.
I was so much smaller than you.
You towered over me.
You had the power.
And you didnt care.
A child was hurt
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Child Woman, Woman Child
Orbison/dees
Coo coo, thats you, wonder why I love you, you do voodoo, thunder clouds above you
Crazy, kooky, lazy spooky, oh what a clown, always around
And I have found youre a woman. child woman. woman child
Long legged woman when I see you walking you look good
Hey little woman when I hear you talking you sound good
Child woman, woman child youre driving me wild child woman woman child
Youre into my mind then youre out of my mind child woman
You wind and unwind my mind, time after time child woman ooh child woman, yeah child woman
Flying uptight, dont know where youre going, trying your kite when the wind is blowing
Funny lady, sunny, shady off to the fair, sun in your hair
Oh, youre aware youre a woman child woman, woman child
Strong minded woman when you start groovin you look fine
My kind of woman when you start movin you look fine
Child woman, woman child youre driving me wild child woman woman child
I dont see you there, I see you everywhere child woman
I dont even care -yes, I really do care child woman, ooh child woman,
Hey child woman child woman, woman child
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Precious Moments of Mothering
Here inside this church
We sat on the same pew.
While others focused
their eyes at the front aisle
and towards the pulpit,
here beside me, I found
this woman cuddling
her own baby.
She held her child
close to her bosom,
hugged her
with all her warmth,
whispered words
to her ears
and drowned her child
with her loving smiles.
The child giggled,
closed her eyes and slept,
secured and contented
in her mother's robust arms
cuddled and assured
of a peaceful world.
Here beside this woman
I remembered my three girls
who now have moved out
to manage their own life.
Here on a Sunday in this church
I journeyed to the past days.
This woman's hugging
her own child
This mother's enfolding
her child by her two
strong arms
This mother's peace
while holding her child
touched deeply my heart.
Silently tears ran through
my cheeks as silent whispers
of such a great wave of emotions
of missing my own children
while recalling the precious moments
of mothering a child.
____________________
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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By poor mother
“A man who treats his woman like princess is proof that he has been born and raised in the arms of queen”…….
By: Im Sorry. I Never Meant to Hurt You
Certainly a friend and woman had remained princess
as they were close with full access
but alas! I was raised by ordinary poor woman
I was still rich in happiness as an ordinary
What a rich and cultural and heritage?
With the pure heart who ever have written on page?
I would love to kiss her hand and acclaim
You will be real princess to whom I would love to claim
Not any ordinary man or woman can write
What an abundance love and foresight to ignite!
A rare honor to mother whoever has given birth
We never forget her memory till the arrival of death
Mother is real queen when child is in her hand
She has powerful kingdom on this earthly land
What else she will need to nourish the child?
Except to rise with love showing her self as gentle and mild
Love may only treasure to part with new born
Whole world may seem to be in her lap is clearly shown
What a satisfaction and gladness to shine on lovely face?
When child smiles at her and cries in case
Such child would never disrespect womenfolk
His behavior may clearly reflect when skillfully talk
Why someone may prefer to treat badly to anyone?
When she is going to be dear and near to only one?
No dear poetess you have done wonderful presentation
There is nothing more to hurt if taken in its relation
Nice behavior to anyone regardless of gender may certainly reflect
His intention with nice treatment is observed as nice act
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Breastmilk
Of craftiness and subtleness!
But if i have breatsmilk,
I will feed my child all day.
Like a caring mother who cheerishes her children,
I will feed my child all day long.
Your baby needs breastmilk like,
A woman after hwer own heart;
And you are a devoted woman of a higher rank.
Sisters, Mothers, Women!
Of the sweet smelling aroma of your breastmilk;
But the family in heaven is like a child with the mother.
Stand the test and be obedient in all things,
Give your baby food and forget about your phone calls!
For you are not my mother and,
You are not an African woman.
I know how it feels and,
I know who you are;
But feed your baby with breastmilk at all times.
Like a house without hands,
Give your baby breastmilk to keep the child healthy;
For out of the blessings of the Creator you've got this child.
The door is now open on you,
The truth is now set for you,
The care is now in your own hands,
But your child really need this milk.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Am Not A Woman...
I am not a woman that loves with a heart
I am not a woman that's silly and smart
I am not a woman with open wounds
I am not a woman that's more attuned
I am not a woman that you hold dear
I am not a woman that has no fear
I am not a woman that's loved or lost
I am not a woman that doesn't know the cost
I am not a woman that's hurting inside
I am not a woman that has no foolish pride
I am not a woman that can't look you in the eye
I am not a woman alone that cries
I am not a woman that's imprisoned with chains
I am not a woman that holds her will in vain
I am not a woman, or mother, or friend
or wife, or daughter, or one to depend
I am not a woman of all and more
Because I gave it away to the one I adore
what's left is all you see
Just a woman that truly believes
Your Loss
you dumped me
did you dump your kid too
one day your kid will
want to know about you
your child will ask why
why you dont care
why you dont see him
why arent you there
you child will want to know
everything about you
maybe come looking for you
then what will you do
your child will ask
what has he done
why you dont love him
why did you never come
your child will hurt
as long as he lives
wondering why
and what gives
you must be very
cold inside
hurting a child
why
i can give answers
try make him feel peace
but his
emptyness will never cease
your dumping your child
is mean and cruel
to him, not me
its your loss, you fool
poem by Sandy Nobody
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Dont Hurt A Woman
I was angry, I said things I shouldnt say
But please dont turn your back
Sometimes I get so upset
But I take it all back
Please dont go, I know I was wrong
Sometimes I dont know what comes over me
But I try to remember
Dont hurt a woman
Dont hurt a woman
I was angry, I said things I shouldnt say
I must have lost control
Sometimes something clicks in my head
And Im not myself anymore
That wasnt me, you cant believe everything you see
Lets make believe I never said a word
And Ill try to remember
Dont hurt a woman
Try to remember
Dont hurt a woman
Try to remember
Dont hurt a woman
Ill try to remember
Dont hurt a woman
cause I lovin you
So long
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Way Back Home
(Vince Gill)
A little girl was cryin'
for her mama and her daddy
She couldn't understand why they were gone
She never knew the danger
Of talking to a stranger
Now the girl can't find her way back home
A little boy went walkin'
Down to the corner market
To buy a loaf of bread and an ince cream cone
He never knew the dnager
Of talkin' to a stranger
Now the boy can't find the way back home
Too many kids are missin'
Is anybody listening?
Won't you be the children's eyes
They're all alone
The hardest part's not knowing
Where they are or where they're going
Won't you help the children find
The way back home
The faces on milk cartons
Thrown away and soon forgotten
What if one of those sweet kids
Was your very own
Tonight those kids are weeping
While yours are safely sleeping
Won't you help the children find
The way back home
Too many kids are missin'
Is anybody listening?
Won't you be the children's eyes
They're all alone
The hardest part's not knowing
Where they are or where they're going
Won't you help the children find
The way back home
Won't you help the children find
The way back home
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hurt
(words & music by j.crane - a. jacobs)
Im so hurt to think that you lied to me
Im hurt way down deep inside of me
You said our love was true
And well never, never part
Now youve got someone new
And it breaks my heart
Im hurt, much more than youll ever know
Yes darling, Im so hurt
Because I still love you so
Even though you hurt me
Like nobody else could ever do
I would never hurt, hurt you
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Cry, Child
Don't cry, child
For children starving far away
For homeless people on the streets
Begging for change.
Don't cry, child
For those of us who have no dreams
Who live in dark holes
That we dig ourselves, laboriously - why?
Don't cry, child
For forgotten rainbows
Or melancholy rainstorms
For wispy clouds, always drifting away.
Don't cry, child
For who you are not
Or who you have been
For who you are.
Don't cry, child
For the last animal of it's kind
The mother who cannot feed her children
A planet in need.
Don't cry, child
When you stand on the edge of forever
And wish you could fly
And see the world at your fingertips.
Don't cry, child
For long-gone yesterdays
Or yearned-for tomorrows
Don't cry, child
For what you have done today
Forgive
Start a new day
Make it better than the last.
poem by Nina Dringo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Hurts Whom?
Hurt, is that lesson of life,
Perfect pool of Imperfects,
A kid may get hurt
Or may hurt its parents too
its parents may hurt
Or may hurt their kid too,
A brother may get hurt,
or he may hurt brothers and sisters too,
Sister gets hurt
Or she may hurt her brothers and sisters too,
Mother gets hurt or she my may hurt father too.
Father may get hurt Or may hurt mother too,
A friend gets hurt
Or may hurt his friend too!
A lover get hurts, or may hurt one's lover too,
Teacher may gets hurt
Or may hurt student too
Student gets hurt Or he may hurt his teacher too,
Life is a pool of Imperfects
And only Imperfects can perfect life,
And life is that greatest class room,
Where the greatest and perfect teacher teaches perfect lessons,
But life when teaches, we just close the chapter,
'saying it is our fate! '
Is it true that one has to hurt others to make his living?
Living a life, and make a Living aren't the differ?
People are determined to build life than live a life,
Where one may hurt others,
This the story of Buddha asking kisa Gouthami ' I will save your child, but bring handful of mustard from a home where death not entered! '
This is the story,
'I will heal your hurts, if you can bring some dust of a man's feet, whoever neither got hurt nor hurt others! '
Life a that teaches and hurt is that lesson,
Which shows the one who hurts is Imperfect than who gets hurt,
Both are still imperfect,
The one got hurt is more imperfect,
And he is the one who hurts himself,
by his desires and expectations,
He is the one who gives chance to others to hurt,
With his misunderstandings!
Hurt is the result of our own imperfection say those have seen and understood life in perfect!
God is that only perfect and he is out of life cycle,
And He can only be healer of all hurts!
Perfection can make us hurt free, but imperfection is the life,
Those who ant life let them adjust themself with imperfection of own first and with that of others,
What you say, is it perfect or imperfect? You please, decide and tell me!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Why Would It Hurt?
Why would it hurt?
The names that he says
The jokes he makes
Why would it hurt?
When I know they aren't true
When the mean nothing
Why would it hurt?
To know someone thought that about you
To know he judges you without knowing you
Why would it hurt?
But it does doesn't it?
It hurts
But you won't show weakness in front of him
poem by Autumn Winds
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Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.
She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over
the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother
would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the
waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman
in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,
as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,
having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly
away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
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My Washington Woman
The wages of an unskilled working man never paid enough
From time to time a nickel on a race keeps him from giving up
A blue collared man in Seattle never lives on white collared street
But there was food on the table for my Washington woman and me
The work slowed down and the one day
The foreman laid me off
That night in a tavern down on my last dime
I met a girl from Arkensal
Her daddy was a banker in Little Rock
She had a mansion on white collared street
The next morning my Washington woman woke up without me
From city to city, and state to state, I get her in shame
My Washington woman had six months left
Before out child would bring her pain
That Arkensal woman hurt me
As we crossed the Arkensal line
But the arms of Seattle
Are the arms that kept huggin' mine
For year I have basked in expensive wines
Taste champagne every day
I gave up all the things I loved
For all these things I hate
I locked up all of her forgiveness, the day I set myself free
And the heart of my Washington woman stopped beating for me
My Washington woman sends me a letter every once in a while
Inside a folded wordless page is a picture of my child
All but words, the room grows cold with a feeling of jealousy
And there's a silence between
My Arkensal woman and me
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inner Self (mirror of emotions)
Ever looked at yourself in a mirror
did you like anything about you
look at your innerself
rare emotions come up
dont know what to feel anymore
numb inside but hurt also
all you want to do is hurt yourself
trying to get back your happiness
but you know its gone
knowing its not coming back
look in the mirror
what has changed you
into this person
dont know who you are
makes you mad
where you shatter the mirror with your fists
shouting why! ! ! and you look at your fists
and just laugh
knowing it satisifed you for a little bit
until a wash of emotions rise again.
You cant control them
the only comfort you have
is hurting yourself and god
you look into that mirror
seeing your eyes fill with tears
knowing the person you loved
is gone
cant do nothign to bring them back
mad at yourself for not talking to them
not knowning when they will go
ALL YOU THINK OF IS WHY!
AND TO HURT YOURSELF.
but you cant do it..
poem by Ashhy Quebedeau
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Man & woman (3) 12 / 26 / ooo in bed
1) In bed a man's fail bring a woman's sorrow, but a woman's fail bring man's
exhaustion
2) In bed the hard part ends soft, but the soft parts end hard
3) A pole and a drench/ in bed the pole is bare and dry, but the drench is full
of fluid and shade
4) In bed the hard part ends thirsty, but the soft part ends full
5) In bed a woman cares for her inner part, but a man cares for external.
6) In bed one with monthly period, but the other is with daily one.
7) In bed a woman dries her body, but a man sweats salty water.
8) In bed the soft part shrinks deeper, but the hard part struts out
9) in bed a woman topping her man can smell another woman smell
10) In bed a silent woman angers her man, but a silent man arouse his.
poem by Jabberm Alessawy
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I Dont Even Know Their Names!
his spirit left his body,
and walked through the hells.
a firm voice spoke:
'keep your eyes open,
look, and see! '
he saw dark skinned children,
their bodies frail and thin,
their features carved with hunger.
he saw women and children,
running from the bombs,
young men gunned down,
in the streets.
he saw the homeless family,
sleeping in a beaten old car,
hoping no one would come
to make them move.
he saw the young addict shaking,
the young woman helpless,
her baby crying in the bare apartment.
he saw the young man sent to prison,
trying to hide his fear,
a fear so strong they
could smell it on him!
he saw the woman who'd been beaten,
the man jobless and angry.
he saw millions of Native Americans,
slaughtered, and left for the crows.
he saw the old couple hungry,
in their apartment with no lights,
and no heat in the dead of winter...
'i cant take it any more,
what has this got to do with me?
i dont even know their names! '
'their names are anybody, and everybody...
they are why you must return.
they are your children, your
brothers and sisters, your father
and your mother...
they are your responsibility!
you must return to finish the work! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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W.w.j.d.
I saw a man today
he was dirty and cold
W.W.J.D.
There was a child on the street
she was beaten and scared
W.W.J.D.
A woman was sitting in her car
hurt and crying
W.W.J.D.
We have all forgotten how to be human
we no longer feel sympathy
have we forgotten what a man did for us
He was beaten, bloody, and hurt
but He carried His cross
He took away our sins
so the next time you see someone
be they hurt, scared, hungry, or cold
just for an instant think
W.W.J.D.
poem by Sierra Morrow
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