The Patchwork Bonnet
Across the room my silent love I throw,
Where you sit sewing in bed by candlelight,
Your young stern profile and industrious fingers
Displayed against the blind in a shadow-show,
To Dinda's grave delight.
The needle dips and pokes, the cheerful thread
Runs after, follow-my-leader down the seam:
The patchwork pieces cry for joy together,
O soon to sit as a crown on Dinda's head,
Fulfilment of their dream.
Snippets and odd ends folded by, forgotten,
With camphor on a top shelf, hard to find,
Now wake to this most happy resurrection,
To Dinda playing toss with a reel of cotton
And staring at the blind.
Dinda in sing-song stretching out one hand
Calls for the playthings; mother does not hear:
Her mind sails far away on a patchwork Ocean,
And all the world must wait till she touches land;
So Dinda cries in fear,
Then Mother turns, laughing like a young fairy,
And Dinda smiles to see her look so kind,
Calls out again for playthings, playthings, playthings;
And now the shadows make an Umbrian Mary
Adoring, on the blind.
poem by Robert Graves
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Related quotes
Nature
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Lovely Playthings
Dawn brings lovely playthings to the mind,
But sunset fights and goes down in battle blind.
The banners of dawn spread over in mystery,
But nightfall ends a boast and a pageantry.
After the halt of dawn comes the slow moving of
Time till the sun's hidden rush and the day is admitted.
Sunset dies out in a smother of something like love,
With dew and the elm-hung stars and owl outcries half-witted.
poem by Ivor Gurney
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The Unseen Playmate
When children are playing alone on the green,
In comes the playmate that never was seen.
When children are happy and lonely and good,
The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.
Nobody heard him, and nobody saw,
His is a picture you never could draw,
But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home,
When children are happy and playing alone.
He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass,
He sings when you tinkle the musical glass;
Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why,
The Friend of the Children is sure to be by!
He loves to be little, he hates to be big,
'T is he that inhabits the caves that you dig;
'T is he when you play with your soldiers of tin
That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win.
'T is he, when at night you go off to your bed,
Bids you go to sleep and not trouble your head;
For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf,
'T is he will take care of your playthings himself!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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We say that a girl with her doll anticipates the mother. It is more true, perhaps, that most mothers are still but children with playthings.
quote by F.H. Bradley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spinning
Like a blind spinner in the sun,
I tread my days;
I know that all the threads will run
Appointed ways;
I know each day will bring its task,
And, being blind, no more I ask.
I do not know the use or name
Of that I spin:
I only know that some one came,
And laid within
My hand the thread, and said, 'Since you
Are blind, but one thing you can do.'
Sometimes the threads so rough and fast
And tangled fly,
I know wild storms are sweeping past,
And fear that I
Shall fall; but dare not try to find
A safer place, since I am blind.
I know not why, but I am sure
That tint and place,
In some great fabric to endure
Past time and race,
My threads will have; so from the first,
Though blind, I never felt accurst.
I think, perhaps. this trust has sprung
From one short word
Said over me when I was young,--
So young, I heard
It, knowing not that God's name signed
My brow, and sealed me His, though blind.
But whether this be seal or sign
Within, without,
It matters not. The bond divine
I never doubt.
I know He set me here, and still,
And glad, and blind, I wait His will;
But listen, listen, day by day,
To hear their tread
Who bear the finished web away,
And cut the thread,
And bring God's message in the sun,
'Thou poor blind spinner, work is done.'
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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All Of Your Toys (Master Backing Track Take 20)
Once upon a once in awhile
It's hard to remember to smile
Just like all of your toys
Can't you see I don't wanna play
I don't need it
Can't you say you want me to stay
I'll believe it
Just like all of your toys
When all of your playthings someday disappear
Girl, will you be happy, with nothing but tears?
With nothing but tears?
Once upon a once in awhile
It's hard to remember to smile
Just like all of your toys
Don't you ever feel kinda sad
'Cause you're lonely?
Thinkin' 'bout the love that we had?
Are you lonely?
Just like all of your toys
When all of your playthings someday disappear
Girl, will you be happy, with nothing but tears?
With nothing but tears?
Just like all of your toys, I don't wanna be
Just like all of your toys, I don't need to be
Just like all of your, just like all of your toys
Just like all of your toys
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blind Love
Words and music by tom waits
Now youre gone
And its hotels and whiskey and sad luck days
And I dont care if they miss me
I never remember their names
They say if you get far enough away
Youll be on your way back home
Well Im at the station
And I cant get on the train
Must be blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
Oh blind love
Blind love
Stone blind love
Stone blind love
Well the streets turning blue
The dogs are barking and the night has come
And its tears that are falling
From these brown eyes now
And I wonder where you are
And I whisper your name
(I whisper your name)
And the only way to find you
Is if I close my eyes
And find you with my blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
Oh blind love
Blind love
Stone blind love
Stone blind love
Oh its blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
The only kind of love is stone blind love
Oh blind love
Blind love
Stone blind love
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mid the Piteous Heaps of Dead
'MID the piteous heaps of dead
Goes one weary golden head
Tossing ever to and fro,
Calling loud and calling low.
Mother, mother, step so light,
Mother, lay your fingers white
On my forehead like a dew !
Mother, mother, where are you?
Still so loud he makes his cry
That the dying cannot die;
All the writhing field's one groan
While he lies and cries alone.
But his mother's far away;
Cannot hear him cry and say:
Mother, I am dying, come!
Mother, I am lost from home!
Mary, Mother of all men,
Come and comfort him in pain.
Take his young head to the breast
Where your Child and God had rest.
Mary, Mary, step so light.
Mary, lay your fingers white
On his forehead! He shall dream
That his mother comforts him.
Mary, Mother, croon him o'er
Lullabies you sang before!
Mary, ease him, crooning low,
In the way that mothers know!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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When A Blind Man Cries
If youre leaving close the door.
Im not expecting people anymore.
Hear me grieving, Im lying on the floor.
Whether Im drunk or dead I really aint too sure.
Im a blind man, Im a blind man and my world is pale.
When a blind man cries, lord, you know there aint no sadder tale.
Had a friend once in a room,
Had a good time but it ended much too soon.
In a cold month in that room
We found a reason for the things we had to do.
Im a blind man, Im a blind man, now my room is cold.
When a blind man cries, lord, you know he feels it from his soul.
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do you hear it?
Do you hear it?
The laughter?
You don't know, do you
That we are only here to serve THEM
Those so high, high above us
We are their pawns, their playthings
To them we are nothing
They sit on their thrones laughing
At us
Laughing their laughter,
The laughter of dark gods.
poem by Jesse Bourque
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The Holidays
'AH! don't you remember, 'tis almost December,
And soon will the holidays come;
Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money,
I'll buy me a sword and a drum. '
Thus said little Harry, unwilling to tarry,
Impatient from school to depart;
But we shall discover, this holiday lover
Knew little what was in his heart.
For when on returning, he gave up his learning,
Away from his sums and his books,
Though playthings surrounded, and sweetmeats abounded,
Chagrin still appear'd in his looks.
Though first they delighted, his toys were now slighted,
And thrown away out of his sight;
He spent every morning in stretching and yawning,
Yet went to bed weary at night.
He had not that treasure which really makes pleasure,
(A secret discover'd by few).
You'll take it for granted, more playthings he wanted;
Oh no–it was something to do.
We must have employment to give us enjoyment
And pass the time cheerfully away;
And study and reading give pleasure, exceeding
The pleasures of toys and of play.
To school now returning–to study and learning
With eagerness Harry applied;
He felt no aversion to books or exertion,
Nor yet for the holidays sigh'd.
poem by Ann Taylor
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The Blind Slave Boy
Come back to me, mother! why linger away
From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day!
I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,
And wonder my mother should leave me alone!
But there’s no one to joy or to sorrow with me;
For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share,
And none for the poor little blind boy will care.
My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast
Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed;
Once more let me feel they warm breath on my cheek,
And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak!
O mother! I’ve no one to love me – no heart
Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part;
No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind,
O! none like a mother can cherish the blind!
Poor blind one! No mother thy wailing can hear,
No mother can hasten to banish thy fear;
And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child!
Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal
The anguish that none but a mother can feel,
When man is his vile lust of mammon hath trod
On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God!
Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone,
She hears in her anguish his piteous moan,
As he eagerly listens—but listens in vain,
To catch the loved tones of his mother again!
The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall
On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall,
And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy,
Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Color Me Blind
I had a dream,
Last night I was blind
And I couldnt see
Color of any kind
Picture the world,
Minus a rainbow
When day becomes night,
Then where will the sun go
Dancing alone,
Just me and my shadow
Color me blind,
So I can see no evil
Why do we dream,
In black and white?
Color me blind
Why do we dream
In black and white?
Color me blind
I had a dream,
I was looking, over the mountain
But ive, Ive yet to see the,
The so-called promised land
Picture the world,
Without any color
You couldnt tell,
One face from the other
I dont understand
Why we fight with our brother
Color me blind
Just to love one another
Color me, color you,
Color me blind
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Holidays
"Ah! don't you remember, 'tis almost December,
And soon will the holidays come;
Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money,
I'll buy me a sword and a drum. "
Thus said little Harry, unwilling to tarry,
Impatient from school to depart;
But we shall discover, this holiday lover
Knew little what was in his heart.
For when on returning, he gave up his learning,
Away from his sums and his books,
Though playthings surrounded, and sweetmeats abounded,
Chagrin still appear'd in his looks.
Though first they delighted, his toys were now slighted,
And thrown away out of his sight;
He spent every morning in stretching and yawning,
Yet went to bed weary at night.
He had not that treasure which really makes pleasure,
(A secret discover'd by few).
You'll take it for granted, more playthings he wanted;
Oh naught was something to do.
We must have employment to give us enjoyment
And pass the time cheerfully away;
And study and reading give pleasure, exceeding
The pleasures of toys and of play.
To school now returningto study and learning
With eagerness Harry applied;
He felt no aversion to books or exertion,
Nor yet for the holidays sigh'd.
poem by Jane Taylor
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Children's playthings are not sports and should be deemed as their most serious actions.
quote by Michel de Montaigne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Automobiles
Human
contrived playthings
that transports fat asses
places we would never, ever
walk to.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Golf is a game in which you claim the privileges of age, and retain the playthings of childhood.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night Of Fear
The silent night has turned to a night of fear
With windows howling wind into your ear
You listen to the spirits far behind
These things you hear are too much for your mind
The bell strikes and your spine chills like the grave
The chill that turns your blood from red to grey
You know that with these things you see and hear
The silent night has turned to a night of fear
Image on your bedroom wall
Shadows marching in the hall
Just about to flip your mind
Just about to trip your mind
Just about to flip your mind
Just about to trip your mind
The green and purple lights affect your sight
Your mother cannot comfort you tonight
Your brain calls out for help thats never there
The silent night has turned to a night of fear
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She-Once-Was My Mother
I've never forgotten
My mother's braveness
She, who stood unbroken like a rainbow
Of a multitude beautiful colours...
She- once- was my mother
And all her courage-
Uncomparable with
Any living thing...
She-once- was my mother
Those moments of terror,
Those places where no
Crickets, snakes, and birds'sounds
Could be heard,
She navigated through
Without a cheerful shadow
Ah! She- once- was my mother
And despite the rumbling bombs
And rockets'songs,
She wouldn't fling her full-topped cases
On the sorghum-filled walking way
As my father had done
When he left her behind
Can't you see!
She- once- was my mother
And the continuous calls
Of the word 'maman',
Of my baby brother- behind her back,
Couldn't supress her
She was still not easilly broken like an egg
Hard like canadian rocky mountains...
She- once- was my mother
Even as the calls kept on,
A suitable place, she would fetch
To make him suck her breasts
And continue her way-afterwards
How tenacious!
She- once-was my mother
And later, when I and siblings saw her,
Down, the joy knocked my heart
And said, 'yes girl-she once had been your mother'
poem by Mariechantal Tuyisabe
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