THE QUICK BRUISE AND RUN Of LOVE by Marjorie Evasco
(for Mary Ann & Marc)
I.
Summer twilight slices into two
Halves of a sweet cantaloupe;
At table, the speckled stargazer
Opens its fragrant petals windward;
At my foot, our old cat dreams.
Nothing here betrays the grace
We speak of at each meal, together
Or alone. Today, while one of us
Sits under the tamarinds,
And another wades the golden river,
I alone sit at table, a mother
Attending to the core of fruit
Cleaving to the knife, the fuchsia
Flower sundered by summer’s heat,
The cat purring its ninth life away.
II.
Yesterday night after dinner, we told
An old story, pausing at a part
We did not love but could not
Gnaw off. It is your hurt fathered
Into child’s shape, vulnerable
To faithlessness. As the story twists
In the telling, you speak of a new-
Born child, whose limbs could break
Or neck snap. were one of you to hold
The tender heels and swing against a wall.
We need to put this story right.
III.
Long, long ago on a fevered night,
A mother sat by her child’s bed,
Damp cloth soothing flame of forehead,
Limbs. in her vigil she vowed
On pain of death, to beg the life
Or health back into those cheeks.
The fever broke, she held her kind
And knew the gods had ears.
Son, Daughter, take this story-child
With care. In the curve of your arms
Your father’s fruit survives the fall,
Becomes your bruised but living grace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Child In Your Arms
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
I know it's hard to understand
Why I was taken from your hands
One day we'll meet again
Mother and father hand in hand
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Pick a star in the sky
And see the twinkle in my eye
As I send you my love
From heavens above
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
All the new mothers above
Giving their love
To the new born child
In heavens above
Mother father watch over me
And jesus will watch over you
I feel your love in heavens above
I'll see you here
When it's your time to come
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Oh mummy dear
I see you and daddy so near
My life as just begun
In heavens above
So don't be afraid to live your life
Be glad and happy to what comes to you
I'll keep you safe as I watch over you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Sweet child in heaven
Sleep in peace
I hope you see all you want to see
Be who you want to be
God bless
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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This Cradlesong perhaps that keeps you awake
The beggar-maid's lullaby never be a sweet one?
This cobbled street warm in day
And night it's too cold,
I am under the night sky
And the dew drops fall
My child cries in her dream
And she wants to know
Where the father's been?
I cannot lie and I tell her a sad story..................One night like now
Your father stopped for a matter
Sky knows well that he begged for a lodging
As he said nowhere to go.
I gave him my used bedspread
Patches are here and there,
Rats eaten when they're hungry?
We didn't sleep that whole night
Thanks he gave me the warmth
And he told me a long story like a movie
When shooting stars collapsed in the milkyway!
But he left early in the morning
With a promise to take me somewhere.
Dear daughter, This story's not yet finished
And I am waiting for him to continue?
*We two form a multitude.
-Ovid
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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An event to recall on Mother's Day - That mother is no one other than me
Summer evening
Sun still harsh
Me, then fourteen
My mother's younger sister
Came forward to tell
A story about a mother
Mumbai, then Bombay
Highrise residential quarters
Fourth floor
Big Hall
Two big bed rooms
Two baths
Big kitchen
Grill-less windows
Free flow of air
Lot natural light
A mother in the kitchen
Preparing food
For her husband
And their three sons
The youngest about two years old
Left on the kitchen table
Mother being busy around
The child not seen now
Mother realised just then
Would have slipped
Across the open window
She was right
The child has fallen
But on the sun shade
About four feet below
Her two year old son
On an open sun shade
Not less than forty feet
Above the ground level
No time to lose
No time waiting for help
From outside
Mother too slowly
Slipped about four feet onto the
Just two feet wide sun shade
Picked up the child
Put him onto the kitchen work table
Managed to climb back to her kitchen
I was thrilled
I was to ask a number of questions
One important being
Is the mother is so courageous
My aunt finished telling
That mother is no one other than me
And that son is no one other than
My third son
Both that mother and son
Are safe, living and active
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Song: XI
Mother, mother, do you not hear?
Mother, they come; there is news to tell!
– Give me your hands, my daughter dear:
'Tis but a ship that saileth well.
Mother dear, have a care, give heed!
–They go, my daughter, away they speed.
Mother, the danger is sore, alas!
– Child, my child, it will quickly pass.
Mother, mother, She draweth near!
– It is down in the harbour, daughter dear.
Mother, mother, She opens the door!
– Child, they go, to return no more.
Mother, She enters! I am afraid!
– Child, they now have the anchor weighed.
Mother, I hear Her speaking low.
– Child, my child, it is they that go.
Mother, She makes the stars go dark!
– Child, 'tis the sails of a shadowy bark.
Mother, She knocks at the casement still!
– Child, maybe it is fastened ill. . . .
Mother, mother, my sight grows dim. . . .
– Child, they sail for the open sea.
On every hand I can hear but Him. . . .
– O child, what is it, and who is He?
poem by Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck
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Born To Be Ransomed
Born to be ransomed,
Born for a reason,
On one side Love,
On the other side Security,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed elsewhere,
Or,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed with them,
Born to be ransomed,
Held ransomed by those,
For security measures of the father and mother,
So,
They are called on by the beckoning,
Of,
Those holding child held by ransomed,
Is what people do when child means,
A lot to mother and father,
Love and security in family keepings,
Born to be ransomed,
With intent to use child,
By the takers of child,
To profit and gain,
For themselves in lifes times,
When child born is then used,
Till,
Mother and father is killed,
And,
Child is then raised in a racket,
For,
What mother and father were,
And,
Left for the child when child grown,
In giving is receiving,
All that has good intentions,
Gives for good reasons,
Yet,
Why one is born to be ransomed,
Is,
The what see's and pre-desires,
The placement and life,
Of,
What two in love have made,
The unborn child then becomes,
The ransom of what wants,
What,
The two have in love and wealth,
When this goes on and child is grown,
The eyes that see and yet do not understand,
Is,
The child raised seeing all,
From,
The good ways,
To the bad ways,
To the cruel ways,
To,
The crimes committed and seen,
Is,
The eyes of seeing,
From,
Been born in a world disrupted,
Is,
A child born and ransomed,
What is of matter,
Mattering to two,
Two in love,
That,
Choose to be one,
One as in a couple,
To matter and be,
For,
What matters to them,
Is,
What brings matter of two,
To,
Become a matter of one,
A,
Child born of two,
Yet,
Now matter's to none,
But,
What ransoms the child out,
Till,
The child grew to be,
And,
Left them all behind,
Knowing,
Mother and father are dead,
Living,
Life knowing too much,
Just,
From been the ransom,
The ransom,
Of,
All,
That,
Is,
Of,
Mother and father,
Till,
All,
Of,
Mother and father's,
Income and places,
Was,
Spent and giving to others,
Tis,
Then,
Ransomed child grown,
Can,
Leave,
With noting,
But themselve,
To have some kind,
Of life,
Somewhere else,
Faraway!
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Child
Child,
God knows
how much I love you.
Child,
I may not be
the kind of mother
that you want,
I may not have given you
the kind of life
that you want,
but I'm your mother
and no one can change that.
Child,
you are so dear to me,
and all through my life
I wish nothing
but your happiness.
Child,
forgive this mother
for not having the strength
to protect you from sadness
of being apart
from your loved one.
But child,
I am more sad
when you cry for a man
whom I think
not worthy of you.
So child,
please bear the pain
because I believe
that somewhere
there is someone
worthy of your love.
Child,
trust me
you will find that man,
if you just set yourself free
from your wrong love.
Child,
I'm your mother...
I have raised you,
and I know
what is best for you.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Dulcis Memoria
Long, long ago I heard a little song,
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,
That far into my heart it found the way:
A melody consoling and endearing;
And still, in silent hours, I'm often hearing
The small, sweet song that does not die away.
Long, long ago I saw a little flower,--
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So fair of face and fragrant for an hour,
That something dear to me it seemed to say:
A thought of joy that blossomed into being
Without a word; and now I'm often seeing
The friendly flower that does not fade away.
Long, long ago we had a little child,--
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
Into his mother's eyes and mine he smiled
Unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay.
An angel called! Dear heart, we could not hold him;
Yet secretly your arms and mine infold him--
Our little child who does not go away.
Long, long ago? Ah, memory, make it clear--
(It was not long ago, but yesterday,)
So little and so helpless and so dear
Let not the song be lost, the flower decay!
His voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping:
The smallest things are safest in thy keeping.
Sweet memory, keep our child with us always.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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The Crys
Crys are various and many-to list, it would go like this: -
The cry of a newborn just come from Heaven
The cry of the mother's joy knowing her child is born well
She holds her child to her breast to let it know that she loves the child
The cry of the father's joy holding the child in his arms
The father kissing the child on its forehead so the child can feel its father
The cry of the wolf in the woods gathering the pack together
The bleat of a mother sheep after giving birth to her child
The cry of a young boy who fell on the ice while ice skating
He had hurt himself quite badly
The cry of a little girl who fell and scraped her knee
Of all the crys in the world these are just a few
April 25,2006, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
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A Special Child Is Born
He was a very special child, who was born in a very miraculous way,
He was born of a virgin on what was otherwise a very ordinary day.
For He was conceived by The Holy Spirit inside his mother's womb,
He was then born in a manger, because in the inn there was no room.
However, He was born a King and would become the Savior of us all,
This was not very obvious, as He was born among animals in a stall.
This was very humble beginning for the creator of the entire world,
Yet He brought a message of peace and hope for all of us to herald.
God spoke first to his mother Mary about the child she did conceive,
You shall give him the name Jesus and many in Israel will believe.
God spoke next to Joseph about the child Mary suddenly found within,
His name shall be Jesus for He will save His people from their sin.
And one day this little child who many people will come to adore,
Won't be lying in a manger, but be on David's throne forevermore.
The night that He was born the sky was filled with an awesome light,
And fear fell over shepherds who were watching their sheep at night.
It was an angel saying fear not, as I bring you good news to herald,
In the City of David a child has been born the Savior of the world.
Today Jesus who died and was raised to The Father's side in Glory,
Waits with Salvation for all who believe it's more than just a story.
(Copyright © 03/2003)
Story For A Sweet Child
To a child who lives in a mansion
Where you be blessed with luxury
You are a child, so sweet, so sweet
You smile like an angel in pink
Child, dear sweet child
I am an old grandmother
Wretched not beloved
When there comes a time
I will tell you a story
A story of destruction
Destruction.
poem by Niji Chrys
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Machinist Talking
I sit at my machine,
Hour long beside me Vera aged nineteen,
Babbles her sweet and innocent tale of sex.
Her boy, she hopes, will prove
Unlike his father in the act of love,
Twelve children are too many for her taste.
She looks sidelong, blue-eyed
And tells a girlish story of a bride
With the sweet licence of Arabian queens.
Her child, she says, saw light
Minute for minute, nine months from the night
The mother first lay in her lover’s arms.
She says a friend of hers
Is a man’s mistress who gives jewels and furs
But will not have her soft limbs cased in stays.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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The Manger Mouses Story
john john the story telling mouse
sat high on a toadstool house
telling the story as it was told to him
and at the children he did grin.
he started to tell the story of peter mouse
and how story telling came about.
this was the story as it was told to me
and been passed down throughout our history.
when the angels came down to bless
the child in the barn, they did not see.
a distant relative of you and me.
he was peter mouse who would
crawl into the barnyard house.
he was there putting away his goodies
at that time, and everything that night was going fine.
when entered the human couple
with all their belongings on the donkeys back.
the man human started piling up the hay
where his wife would now stay.
from his hiding place he could see
that her stomach was as big as can be.
he laid his wife down upon the hay
and to the lord he did pray.
he said: ' this is the only place
that we could find, and it's just about that time.'
soon afterwards she felt the pains
and prepared herself for what was to come
our GODS first born son.
this manchild was as beautiful as can be
and above the barn a star shone so brightly.
he saw a choir of angels come down
'and praised the child on the ground.'
then he saw the shepherd boy
and soon three kings from afar
who followed this shining star.
the angels blessed all that was within
and he felt a chill begin.
they stayed until she felt fine
then through the mountains they did climb.
peter mouse was right in back
never stopping or letting up slack.
he saw this child grow up to be a man
and preached GODS words throughout the lands.
he followed every step of the way
and witnessed all that JESUS had done
from dawn to setting sun.
JESUS had seen him many years back
and from that day forward
carried him in his pack.
he lived to be a hundred and ten years old
and told the story to all his fold.
since then its been passed on
from generation to generation
for he has been our salvation.
poem by Louis Rams
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Christmas Manger
it is said that this night was the most beautiful night.
every star in the sky was shining very bright
there was not a cloud in the sky as far as the eye could see.
yet! it was foretold to kings of three different nations.
that a woman was about to give birth
to a child which would save this earth.
they packed up everything that they would need
and traveled on this beautiful night
to see this most glorious sight.
when they saw this child with eyes so blue
they knew that this was true.
for this child had such piercing eyes
that it saw through them and touched the sky.
his eyes gave the kings such tranquility
and a flaming desire in their souls
that this child they wanted to hold.
as they passed him from one to another
they looked upon the blessed mary and joseph
kneeling in the hay.
that they all began to pray.
they blessed this child with more than gold
for throughout the world this story would be told.
and even till this very day
we thank god in every way, for this beautiful
child who was born that night.
to give all of mankind a belief greater than they
and to wash away-the sins that we are born with at birth.
they say that the location of the manger was never found
that with time it was torn to the ground.
yet! people come from all over the world
in search of that sacred place.
so that they may feel his grace.
they feel his presence and know he's there
to erase all their fears.
yet the search should not be on the ground
but thru his love found all around.
give of yourself all that you can
and he will give you the helping hand.
poem by Louis Rams
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One Winged Angel
A goddess with grace
A demon with strength
Will be born
A child of faith
A child of wisdom
A child of might
The child will know the way to fight
The child will soar the skies above
The child will know a once true love
The child will sing a loving tune
The child will die a once full moon
A child of good
A child of bad
This is a child that cannot be sad
A wing of an angel on the left
A wing of a devil on the right
This is the story of the monster of the night
He walks through the day a normal man
Through the night he's one you cannot stand
Once a child of beauty and grace
Now a fiend of wicked and waste
He walks through the forest seeking all
Creatures of size big and small
In the night he finds a place
With a man he'd like to taste
Closer up he begins to walk
While the man begins to talk
A song he sings
The monster does hear
Calms the beast while so near
The beast begins to change its face
And once again the child of grace
As the child stands in wait
An arrow strikes to seal his fate
In the moonlight a child has died
On horseback the hunter rides
Closer to see his kill
In his mind for just the thrill
As he sees the fallen angel
A puddle of blood with body mangled
He cries in tears for what he's done
It's now time for the sun
The child rises from the ground
With a halo so very round
As the angel takes it's leave
The man now he so believes
Of the one winged angel.
poem by Cody J Walker
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Once when I was in Hawaii, on the island of Kauai, I met a mysterious old stranger. He said he was about to die and wanted to tell someone about the treasure. I said, "Okay, as long as it's not a long story. Some of us have a plane to catch, you know." He stared telling his story, about the treasure and his life and all, and I thought "This story isn't too long." But then, he kept going, and I started thinking, "Uh-oh, this story is getting long." But then the story was over, and I said to myself "You know, that story wasn't too long after all." I forget what the story was about, but there was a good movie on the plane. It was a little long, though.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Child, One Day
(gerry house, layng martine, jr.)
Three wise men, a shining star
A mother and a father who had come so far
How could they know about their son
And the miracle hed become
That he held the soul of man
In his tiny little hands
Chorus:
One child one day
And the universe will never be the same
From bethlehem
Cause the angels voices rejoicing in his name
Oh, and I believe with all my heart
That he will show the way
And you and I will meet
One child one day
A small white church, a mountainside
Cathedrals filled with music, and golden light
Oh, we gather everywhere
For the peace thats always there
For the story that is told
Of a birth so long ago
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From The Tuscan
WHEN in the west the red sun sank in glory,
The cypress trees stood up like gold, fine gold;
The mother told her little child the story
Of the gold trees the heavenly gardens hold.
In golden dreams the child sees golden rivers,
Gold trees, gold blossoms, golden boughs and leaves,
Without, the cypress in the night wind shivers,
Weeps with the rain and with the darkness grieves.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Death Comes To Any Age
There is one story that makes me shudder
And so with care I live each day
It is about a mother and a daughter
Who went to a mall for her birthday.
The mother promised the eight year old
For a cellphone as her requested gift,
Excited to call her Dad, she was told-
As they crossed a street, she ran so swift.
The daughter had crossed ahead and saw
That her mother was left at the other side
And so like a child she ran back although
The lights had changed for the street so wide.
The lights turned to green and it was a 'go'
As all vehicles started to go running
Cars and trucks speeding traffic flow
Not seeing the small child who was just then crossing.
The truck driver saw her but it was too late
The brakes did not have the time to hold
The little girl met her untimely fate
As the truck ran over that eight-year-old.
The hysterical mother went into shock
Seeing her child's brains on the pavement
In grief she almost had a heart attack
Screamed in tears all her anguished lament.
The lesson here that Death teaches us all
One may be eighty or be eight-year-old
But when He chooses to give us a call
With Him, there's no young and there's no old.
This is a true story that happened in our city in front of a big mall. All who witnessed the tragedy were affected by it.
-
February 3,2010
Philippines
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Beauty of a Mother
The beauty of a woman starts
When her womb begins to grow
The child that she'll give birth
Soon will call her, “my mother”
The beauty of a mother reigns
When her arms cradle her child
And her charm shines within
Her heart full of love and care
The beauty of mother un-fades
When her hands guide her child
In all places walking side by side
To protect her child from danger
The beauty of a mother is her brain
To teach her child to read and write
To let the child know the difference
Of what is wrong and what is right
The beauty of a mother is her act
To treat her child without compare
To list none of whatsoever is best
For her child is the gem of her life
Then the beauty of mother reflects
From the eyes of her child in return
To respect, love, and care for her
When age and time set them apart
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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So Called Story
Harsh words,
spillling over,
warning the loving daughter.
Hurtful words,
telling the daughter
a one-sided story,
of a tale of deception.
Mother did wrong,
by blaming the father.
By pinning it all on
the new victim of his love.
Choosing to leave the daughter,
Choosing to leave the mother,
Choosing to leave the dear family behind him.
Moving on with a new life
to start again.
Forgetting all that was
Such a sad story to tell the daughter
who never wanted to know.
The secrets behind the new loving family.
Never knowing the truth.
This so called story
is all she now knows.
of the ending of times
between mother and father.
poem by Nicole Gehrman
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