En.Citatepedia^®.ro

From My Window To The Road Below

a brown boy
beside his pregnant mother
hand gripping

a bus stops
it is going to the mountain
loaded with
boxes and bags
and a crowd of
people

the boy sees his father
carrying
a net bag of fish

he gets away from
mother and
runs across the road
where father
is waiting

an over speeding
motorcycle is
coming

screeching sound
and screams
and then

silence, i, close my eyes
and walk away

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Family Man

Written by lindsey buckingham and richard dashut.
Walk down this road
When the road gets rough
I fall down
I get up
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...
Walk down this road
In the cool of the night
Dont know whats wrong
But I do know whats right
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...

song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Road Incident....

a red easy ride is parked
along the graveled road beside a
cemented fence

it is one hot afternoon

a little girl carries on her head
a bunch of ripe bananas
following mother carrying a basket of
clothes

a man wearing a shirt with green row stripes
runs toward the market rushing

it is beginning to rain on this hot afternoon

after a while, the road is flooded
a little boy runs across the road against
an over speeding truck

and then what we hear is a mother
screaming for help

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unseen

something's wrong with mother always cleaning the house
and father complains for she does nothing but sweep and scrub
and dust and wipe and rub,
the floors are shiny and father does not like it
he may slide and the children too
and each may hurt the body, but mother cannot be stopped
and we complain like what father does, but mother does not
really mind, for she has become so hardheaded because father
slaps her and we make her deaf with our grumblings

until then when mother died and father cried and we felt we had all our
lives wasted, but there was one in the family who smiled
someone who thought that mother simply did what she liked best
clean the dirt, mop the floors, get all the spider's cobwebs

someone sees the beauty of mother, she's doing her chores still
but now unseen

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Half my father

Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?

poem by David E. Patton
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My Parents

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
Ilove you i love you

I looking for you
to talk about my heart
which still ill
untill i will see you

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you

You are the third one
In my small heart
After ALLAH and
And my prophet MOHAMED

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you

Oh ALLAH is ordering us
Not to make them angry
Never to tell them
the smallest word ouufff

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you

Oh ALLAH loves who
Makes his parents happy
And forgives those
Who have a lot of mistakes

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
Ilove you i love you

Oh ALLAH enter me
To the higher Firdaous
With my parents and
every single MUSLIM

Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you

poem by Abderaouf Laoud
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On His Father's Side

On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.

poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Male parental hierarchy.

My parents are two, grandparents four
And great grandparents, eight and so on.

I am known by my father, his father,
And his father and so on by male side.

My mother, her mother and father, their
Mother and father and so on are ignored.

My fathers’ mother and grandfather’s
Mother and so on go to oblivion.

I am known by my father, his father
And his father and so on as a family.

All women from whom I have drawn
Their genes have been shut out.

Parental hierarchy is represented
By male, women dislodged at every stage.
25.08.2009

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Father there you Are(For my dad)

Father it's been a long time,
Since I was baby which I cannot count on my ten fingers,
Cradle my mother's arms,
My eyes closed yet to see my father,
Father running around,
Now I can talk and walk,
Those years later,
Father where are you?
Seeing my mother,
Saying I love thy father,
Which I do,
My love will forever be true,
Now as I grow older once again,
I ask myself,
Father where are you?
Inside my life I see a tunnel,
Running through that tunnel I hear a voice,
Do I go or should I stay?
Trusting my gut I do,
A smile on my face,
Father there you are!

poem by Qeeony Luv
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The family tree

I am known by my father
Though equally owned by mother.
I trace from my father’s father,
And not from father’s mother
Nor my mother’s mother or father.
Has family tree any sense?
19.08.2010

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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She Sinful Or Wild

All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right

until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she

had been waiting for
the one she'd dreamed
about but then it all

went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was

the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that

episode in the bath
when she tried to
drown herself as her

mother had before her
and she discovered her
as a child coming home

from school and the
door was ajar and when
she went in there was

her mother with her
wrists slit and blood
and her mother drowned

and dead and now sitting
there in her mother's
chair her father some

place her husband poking
some other and all or
nothing at all seemed all

there was left apart from
the few books on the shelf
the Bill Burroughs her mother

had read and left and that
Bukowski book she'd found
in some second shop and the

battered Bible which her
father had beat her about
the head and backside with

as a child when her father
had been boozing or she
had been sinful or wild.

poem by Terry Collett
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To be fanatic

Mother is a Christian, father, an Islam,
Mother’s mother, a Jain,
Mothers father, a Buddhist,
Father’s mother a Saivite,
Father’s father a Vaishnavite,
And their forefathers none,
Which religion must I be fanatic of?
24.10.2009
[saivites = followers of God Siva;
Vaishnavites = followers of God Krishna]

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dark Skies

Never trust dark skies,
Mother says, sitting next
To you in her wheelchair
Aged and infirm, her mind
Shot through with senility;
And you remember her telling
You, that as a young girl, she
Would walk with her mother
And younger siblings, to take
Her father’s Sunday roast dinner,
Hidden in the compartment of
The pram beneath her two baby
Sisters, to the work place where
He waited, and her mother saying,
Make sure the others do not make
Off Etty, and your mother as she
Was then, with her big blue eyes
And long curly hair, having that look
About her, as if she could see her
Father’s death in 1936, and him no
Longer waiting, no longer waiting for
Them all patiently and hungrily there.

poem by Terry Collett
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Random things about my Mother

My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue

My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake

My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane

My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine

My mother who knew
No contentment in living

My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two

My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died

My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury

My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears

My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years

My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets

My mother who was tamed
By my father

My mother who was captured by my father

My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh

My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint

My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin

My mother who love to walk about

My mother who gave a toe
A day away

My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot

My mother who was a great dresser

My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir

My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost

My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men

My mother who tried to settle down with my father

My mother who could never swim

My mother who loved to sing

My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town

My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing

My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family

My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.

My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve

My mother who I helped to live

My mother who I had to let die

My mother who lives in me

poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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Happy Female Father’s Day

I patiently waited for another year,
For father’s day to come
To wish that special person a happy day
Happy father’s day, to my mom

The father figure, was very rare
Games together were numb
I wonder what a father’s love might be
Happy father’s day, to my mom.

So on this day set aside for dads,
I want to let you know
That you are the one I treasure most,
And to you my love I owe

Thank you for another father’s day,
I longed for this day to come,
Never knowing the love, of a visiting dad
Happy father’s day, to my mom

My mother dear, my mother dear,
You are the best, in every way
So I stand tall and wish for you
A happy female father’s day.

poem by Troy Brown
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Remembering Childhood

by accident you come across
an old picture
you recognize the face of your father
beside your mother
with his gun on the side of his body
as reservist of the army
you look closely
your mother pouts
and she is holding on to her
white skirt
you father's right hand grips
his gun
while the left holds on to
the chair just behind your
mother's neck

there is a baby being held
by your mother
it is sleeping and it looks
like you

your father does not like
you and you know it from the very start
you know how to pretend
till he died

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mothers Love

he relationship of a son towards both his parents is very complex. A son will likely feel a close bond with his mother, yet see his father as an adversary and competitor. When a son sees how his father interacts with his mother he will either attempt to model his father's behavior or reject his father's example of relationships with woman. From the parents' point of view, having a son can be one of the greatest joys they will ever experience but also one of the greatest challenges. Balancing the need to offer freedom to your son while placing appropriate boundaries may be an area of contention.

Source: Son Poems - Poems about Sons

poem by Raju Raj
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First Teacher

First teacher is Mother
Next comes father
Mother gives birth
Mother is the earth
After five years
Father takes care
No substitute of
Father and mother
And they are ours
Life's newspaper.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Crawling To The U. S. A.

I thought I would go to the sea and shrink down very tiny
And slide inside the telephone wire that runs under the briny
Till I found there is a way of crawling to the u.s.a.
You had better not go too far
Theres one way out, theres only one way
Leave your mother and your father
Crawling to the u.s.a.
Saw it late one night on a secret channel
Its farther on along the tunnel
Its way beyond the final station
Thats the one they never mention
You had better not go too far
Theres one way out, theres only one way
Leave your mother and your father
Crawling to the u.s.a.
You dont have to pay them that much
You had better bring your lunch
Its undercover, around the houses
Up your skirt and down your trousers
You had better not go too far
Theres one way out, theres only one way
Leave your mother and your father
Crawling to the u.s.a.
She said, I catch you taking liberties and they do not impress me
Attach me to your credit card and then you can undress me
Everybody is on their knees except the russians and the chinese
You had better not go too far
Theres one way out, theres only one way
Leave your mother and your father
Crawling to the u.s.a.

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rednecks unite!

My father is my brother
My sister, with three ears,
Is his significant other.

My sister is my mother
And somehow, also my brother
My father's father am I
The vile thought makes me shudder.

Grandma was a mule,
Grandfather's sperm, she used as fuel
A french aristrocrat,
Made love to my mother, for he prefered his women fat

A letter written for my eyes
Containing news of demine
Said my true mother was some other
And my father, not her brother.

Jubilant and joyous,
My wife is what used to by my sister.. Or brother?

poem by Thy Mother
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Who are these people?

Who are these people? where are they streaming? Glass eyes tight shut as though they were dreaming?

Garrotted, throats slit as a token of sacrifice to the eternel god's,
Bodies cast down to the depth's of brooding pete bogs.

'Did you surrender yourself, your will to the ritual, Or be this simply a punishment for a crime, we shall never know.'

Sword's split skull's, not hard enough to kill
Just to lull, least drag their victims senses into the void.
Calling on the Goddess of spring through to autumn, of summer's sun and winter rain
Only your head, throne of the soul survives the passage of time to breathe again.

'From where did you come? ' ask's the child to his mother
'From my mother, her mother before her'
'So where does my father fit into this, what seem's such simple a matter? '
'He work's his hand's to the bone, then come's home late, wait's at the table just to get fatter.
That's what he does, he seems happy enough, he has no illusions to shatter'
'What off my father, from wence doth he stem, from his father and father before? '
'Nay, It goes way further than that, to back when, our only mother was the mother of yore
Mother of earth, blessed mother of pearl, reveal to us the wisdom's with which you blanket the world.

poem by David Lacey
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