Cotyledons I
The last wish of the poor mother:
Son, don’t spend to cure my illness.
Reserve it to rear your children.
Let me die as cotyledons do.
28.07.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Union Cures The Illness
For any illness,
The symptoms and signs are within oneself, but
The cure is obtaining medicines from source outside;
Whereas,
For the illness of a well jeweled mistress
Who is longing for union with lover,
She herself is the medicine,
Union cures the illness.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have Reserved Time to Write This; Why?
I sat in the nature reserve
Watching the animals playing football
I was just a reserve
Not in the first eleven
I had a seat in the theatre reserved
I watched the play unfold
I not an actor I’m too reserved
I’m in the audience where I belong
I was called up by the army
Served before; but they wanted me to re-serve
I was playing tennis; the ball went wide
They made me re-serve
Reserve your energy
Reserve your nerve
Keep your humour in reserve
Keep your reserve in reserve
I reserve the right to say you asked me to write this
And I have kept the best in reserve
You will have to reserve an appointment
With a proper poet after you’ve read this
An anagram of reserve
Is reverse
I wish I could reverse time
Then I wouldn’t have wrote this
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cure For Me
I acquire the cure for my ills,
The solution is final for my illness.
It is death that resides in the middle of life,
I ignore when I am like a fortunate man.
The illness will be cured due to beasts,
They enter the planet through the vacuum.
The illness is again discontinued.
My Satan is conquered for all those watching
So that ill men who see can nevertheless find
The very soul to be complete.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Mother After Mother
Mother after Mother
Surviving evolution
Reaffirms the overall
Requirements for balance
For that which remains.
Here life depends on Coexistence
With Father star burning.
Fragile Mother, poor! Poor Mother.
What of her children?
What of their homeland?
Mothers Children, look out
See the past drifting away,
Sees future immortality
Manifest machines to travel eternity.
Mother Dreams infinity.
poem by Chris Lane
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Mother Is Dying: Part 2 (Filicide)
Mother is infuriated
Mother is irritated
Mother is agitated
Mother is aggravated
Tormented by Her children
Sickened by Her children
Scarred by Her children
She is beginning to die
Mother was gentle
Mother was accepting
Mother was enduring
Though mother is now corrupted,
Similar to Her children
Her anger boils from her very core
Swirling vortexes of hatred dominate the skies
Her loathe floods Her children’s lives
The incarnate of Her disgust with Her children
Is devastating and cataclysmic
Her children can no longer find
Sanctuary from mother’s mercy
Mother is too enraged to rationalize
Mother will create The Rapture.
Mother will cause The Apocalypse.
Mother will eliminate humanity.
Mother will commit filicide.
poem by Alex Gomez
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Children’s Day,2009
Our children are the gift from God;
You spoil the child by sparing rod;
The priceless wealth from Heav’n above,
That are being aborted now!
Children must be brought up with care;
They have the right to food and air;
Yet, freedom is seldom given;
To begging alms, some are driven!
Children need to learn and to play;
God dwells in them, some always say;
No home is complete without them;
They’re matrimony’s diadem!
How some struggle to have one child!
Yet some rear them like beasts in wild;
The future of the world depends
On healthy children’s dividends!
But why are children ignored much?
Denied are they love, human touch;
Their lives are lost in umpteen ways;
World’s children pass such sadder days!
O world, wake up from your slumber!
Children are bigger in number;
The health of nations is their health;
World’s children are the planet’s wealth!
Let’s make the world a better place;
Let children wear a smile on face;
Let parents rear them with due care;
Without good children, none can fare!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-14-2009
poem by John Celes
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Poverty
I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.
Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a hovel so dismal and rude;
And though gnawing hunger they felt,
They had not a morsel of food.
The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother they’d run;
‘Oh, give us some breakfast,’ they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.
She viewed them with looks of despair,
She said (and I’m sure it was true),
‘’Tis not for myself that I care,
But, my poor little children, for you.’
O then, let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this,
That in a poor cottage of clay
They may know what true misery is.
And what I may have to bestow
I never will squander away,
While many poor people I know
Around me are wretched as they.
poem by Jane Taylor
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For My Mother
My dear sweet mother Kay,
Is so very special in every way
Her heart is really big and pure,
And never needs any cure
No matter what the time may be,
She has always been there for me
I was shown by her how to bake,
All the Christmas cookies that I make
She's also been a second mother,
To Kristen, my own daughter
Hardly ever selfish is she,
For the good thing she likes to see
I'm so very blessed to have her here,
Because she really is such a dear
Written and dedicated to my mother Kay, on Mother's Day 2009.
poem by Janice Herzog
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We Are Running On Reserve...(raw, For Edit/revision)
we've been together for so long...
know which route we always take...
when the rains blur our windshields
and the sun heat our seats...
we sleep atop the moon bathed hill...
on beaches with calming waves...
roamed each road we never planned to take
but never we have felt before...
we are running on reserve...
we just cannot tell...
because we are running on reserve
our ride could not end well...
we are running on reserve
we are running on reserve...
we are running on reserve...
a red light keep flashing unnoticed
each bump were too much to take
we are running on reserve
so our end, we cannot tell...
the headlights are dim,
the horns shout making us deaf
the brakes push automatically
we are running on reserve...
and we near our end
poem by Albert Arsenio Sison
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What children know (understand)
Children know laughter
They know tears
Children know peace
They know chaos
Children know acceptance
They know rejection
Children know joy
They know pain
Children know abundance
They know lack
Children know health
They know illness
Children know fulfillment
They know emptiness
Children know hope
They know dismay
Children know love
They know hatred
What they don’t know is WHY!
poem by Namie Elisha
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A Tribute to Mothers on ‘Mothers’ Day ‘09’
A mother keeps the human race going!
She gives the kid(s) the important training;
She does the baby’s cleaning and nursing;
She tends to children’s bathing and cleaning.
A mother is the crux in kid(s) growing!
And children into adults keep turning;
She does the child’s dressing and nail-paring;
She sings the songs when child goes off sleeping!
A mother keeps the home and does cooking;
About the children all, she keeps thinking;
Most days, she does the chores and dish-washing;
She hardly gets some time for own sleeping!
A mother loves to work and keep slogging!
Sometimes, in vain for help, she keeps begging;
Some modern moms take to even blogging;
A few spend much time at husbands, nagging!
A mother knows the art of good loving!
Some are good in punning, joking, rhyming;
A mother teaches kids at fine writing;
She spends the night in ‘about all’, dreaming!
A mother soul is fixed to kid(s) rearing!
To problems all, she gives a good hearing;
Nothing amiss can escape her seeing;
At times, she gives the kid(s) a good beating!
A mother tells kid(s) to be God-fearing!
Some mothers can be bold and ev’n daring;
Some mothers can’t stay without arguing;
Good mothers believe in giving / sharing!
A mother is a great human being!
When someone leaves, she keeps her hand(s) waving;
For love sometimes, some mothers keep craving;
The world somehow keeps most mothers crying!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-13-2009
poem by John Celes
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We Let the Illness In
At first, we both make contact
With mucus membranes,
And we let the illness in.
The fevers we may contract
Fester in our brains,
And we let the illness in.
We won't know how to react
While writhing in pain,
And we let the illness in.
Yet, such is the fate we pick,
Choosing to be sick,
And we let the illness in.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Message From Eid 3id
What is Eid 3id
Its about Forgeting your greed!
Get up off your feet
What is Eid 3id
give up your feast
Share your sweets with those crying begging in the streets
Go, wipe the tears of those children in need
What is Eid.3id
Take a walk visit the sick, poor and the old
Pray for the sick, feed the poor, keep the old warm
away from the cold
Im EID 3id, i'll be with you soon
The children, the sick, poor and the old
Every day they spend without a smile, is a lost day
If you have money, give to the poor
If you don't have money, go visit the sick give them hope
If you don't have money, with one touch you can take away the loneliness from the old and show them that you care
Let them Wear a smile as you know one size fits all
If you do this, Everyone will smile in the same language
Im Eid 3id
how beautiful to see a mother's face light up with a smile because her child is having something to eat, it shouldn't be like this we all diserve to smile in the same language
This Eid.3id
i will share with them what i have, and if they don't have a smile, I'll give them one of mine
Only then i can feel complete
On the day of EID 3id
poem by Salma. Torrez
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House Of The Rising Sun
There is a house in new orleans
They call the rising sun
And its been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know Im one
My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new bluejeans
My father was a gamblin man
Down in new orleans
Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and trunk
And the only time hes satisfied
Is when hes on a drunk
Oh mother tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the house of the rising sun
Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
Im goin back to new orleans
To wear that ball and chain
Well, there is a house in new orleans
They call the rising sun
And its been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know Im one
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother! Oh Mother
Mother! oh mother!
Where are your children?
Where have they been?
Where have they lost?
Mother! oh mother
Am on you
Yet can't see you
Is you don't like me
Or you don't like us
Mother! your children
Some on edges
Many at peaks
Why are all not equal
Are all not your children?
Maa I understand you
You have lost your children
You are been polluted all over
Maa my mother
Please batter your creation
Batter and make it new
This is a humble request
From one of your children.
poem by Abhimanyu Kumar.s
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Mother Earth's Lullaby
My son will be a polite king in the near future,
A farthest poor country.
I am sure that you donate all the horses
To a zoo and travel in a public bus.
You leave the palace for home for the elders
And reside in a rented house.
You pawn your crown
And spend the wealth for the needy men.
Soon when other kings propose their daughters
Definitely you say ' I am sorry '.
And you choose an innocent farm lassie as your partner.
She gives you precious children and whatever you want.
And you never think of a harem.
You live the entire life in harmony.
One day you become old like others.
You catch illness as mild influenza
And it may leads to fatal.
Not to worry my son!
I keep you a place in my bosom
And sing this lullaby until you rest in peace.
* Dedication to my deceased loving mother Esme. My heart still laments for my
dearest poor mom! . You taught me to recite thousands of lullabies in your melancholy voice. ' A poet lives in every individual but some they do not aware'. I remember that you have written this phrase somewhere a long time ago.The only fault I see in your heart is the unlimited love.You gave me the hope to walk on this gravel road..........thank you very much Mom! I cry secretly thinking of you.
Please show me the way and advise me,
Where I have to start & finish this journey? I feel always that you are beside me. Mom! I am sorry, as I am helpless now.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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o2b4u
Oh to be yours forever
.Under opalescent mother of pearl skies
.To sink into your lazy lagoon of sheer tranquility
.Where sorrows once accumalated-now are days gone by
Oh to bathe in your crystaline reflection
.Your absolute and sheer perfection
.My choice of transparency restless in my selection
.Wanton at times with maudlin indiscretion
Oh to be the grass under your feet
.Or the chalice of yours to drink
.Perhaps your feet stepping ever high
.Changing stormy weather to sun in a blink
Oh to be the rooster who crows in your morn
.Of your every brand new day
.To spend time my beloved in your magical, mystical world
Where absolute health prevails and illness forever gone away
June 6,2009
poem by Theodora Onken
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You can die of the cure before you die of the illness.
quote by Michael Landon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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