On An Infant Which Died Before Baptism
'Be, rather than be call'd, a child of God,'
Death whisper'd!--with assenting nod,
Its head upon its mother's breast,
The Baby bow'd, without demur--
Of the kingdom of the Blest
Possessor, not inheritor.
April 8th, 1799.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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The Childless Woman
O Mother of that heap of clay, so passive on your breast,
Now do you stare at death, woman, who yesterday were blest?
Now do you long to fare afar, and guide him on the way
Where he must wander all alone, his little feet astray?
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me seven and seven
The high God seals upon the brow,
And summons from his heaven.
Blest as a bride were you, woman, that time of years agone,
When love, giver of life, came close and led you to his throne.
And blest were you—have you forgot?—when through the moons of pain
The life love-given tugged at your heart and bound you with its chain.
But I now, but I now—
Seared by the high God's scorn—
Lives that will never come to birth
Body of me has borne.
And when the hour was come, woman, your dark and perilous hour,
When the twin spirits, Death and Life, clutched you with jealous power,
Rent by their war you lay half lost, until a baby's cry
Summoned you forth past world on world to sit with God on high.
But I now, but I now—
Never my baby's voice
Has called me forth from vales of woe
With seraphs to rejoice.
You in your arms have clasped him, woman, and fed him at your breast.
You sang him little songs at night, and lulled him to his rest.
The ages gone were yours then, and yours the years to be.
You gave him of your hope and saw the light no eye shall see.
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me born in dream
Cry out for robes of flesh; I see
Their wistful eyes agleam.
O mother of that heap of clay so passive on your breast—
Now do you stare at death, woman?—nay, peace, for you are blest.
Blest are you in your joy, woman, blest are you in your pain—
Once more he calls you past the worlds to sit. with God again.
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me nine and nine,
That looked on life and death with me,
Are neither God’s nor mine.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Being A Mother
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS A WORD
MOTHER IS A PERSON
MOTHER IS A WOMEN
BUT WAT IS REALLY A MOTHER?
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS WOMEN WHO GIVES BIRTH
NO........
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO CARES OF HER BABY
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO IS WILLING TO GIVE HER LIFE FOR THEIR BABY'S
ANY WOMEN CAN HAVE A BABY
ANY WOMEN CAN GIVE BIRTH
ANY WOMEN CAN BE CALLED MOM
BUT ONLY A REAL WOMEN
ONLY A REAL MOTHER CAN TAKE OVER HER RESPOSABILITIES
ONLY A WOMEN CAN DO WHATS BEST FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! !
A MOTHER LIKE ME
A MOTHER LIKE U
A MOTHER WHO CRIES FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO PRAYS FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO GIVES HER LIFE FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO STARVES TO FEED HER CHILD
A MOTHER WHO IS WILLING TO SLEEP IN THE COLD FOR THEIR CHILD,
A MOTHER WHO MAKES HER CHILDREN FEEL SAFE IN HER ARMS,
BEING THAT MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
BEING THAT MOTHER TAKES ALOT OF WOMEN N A PERSON
BEING A MOTHER........
poem by Leticia Sanchez
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Our Captain's Last Words
Where the foremost flag was flying,
Pierce'd by manny a shot and shell,
Where the bravest men were dying,
There our gallant captain fell.
"Boys! you follow now another;
Follow till the foe shall yield;"
Then he whisper'd, "Tell my mother
Stephen died upon the field."
"Mother!"
"Moth er!"
"Stephen died upon the field."
Through the battle they bore him,
But his words were growing wild;
Heeding not the scenes before him,
Stephen was once more a child.
"Ah, she comes! there is no other
Speaks my name with such a joy;
Press me to your bosom, mother,
Call my still your darling joy."
"Mother!"
"Mother !"
"Call my still your darling joy."
Men who were not used to weeping,
Turn'd aside to hide a tear,
When they saw the pallor creeping,
That assured them death was near.
Kindly as he were a brother,
Strangers caught his parting breath,
Laden with the mumur "mother"
Last upon his lips in death.
"Mother!"
"Mother!&qu ot;
Last upon his lips in death.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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‘Happy Birthday! ' Dear Mary, Mother of Christ.
Blest is the virgin child who rose
To be, Christ's mother upon earth,
Although immaculate by birth,
And through her fiat, though God chose!
Blest is the womb that bore Jesus,
‘Immanuel' or ‘God with us! '
For although vexed in mind and heart,
Obeying God, she did her part!
Blest is the disciple of Christ,
Who made Him do miracles first;
And shared His agony till cross,
With sorrowful heart, by His loss!
Blest is the Eve who's Heaven's Queen,
With stars upon her crown for sheen,
Who intercedes for sinners all,
Who repent and obey God's call!
Blest is the Lady God-favoured;
To those who pray, she keeps her word;
Recite the rosary and see,
The world of men, transformed holy!
We wish you ‘Happy Birthday' Mother dear;
Heaven rejoicing today, let's all hear;
When we succumb to death, may you be near,
And preserve soul from mortal sin's great fear!
Dedicated lovingly to the Blessed Mary, ever Virgin!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-09-12
poem by John Celes
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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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Mary Of Magdala
Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of worth
The little baby she brought to birth.
Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed:
'O God, I am very much afraid;
For out of my body, by sin defiled,
Thou biddest me make a little child.
'O God, I have turned my face from Thee
To that which the angels may not see;
How can I make, from my deep disgrace,
A child whose angel shall see Thy face?
'O God, I have sinned, and I know well
That the pains I bear are the pains of hell;
But the thought of the child that sin has given
Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven.'
Mary of Magdala held her breath
In the clutch of pain like the pains of Death,
And through her heart, like the mortal knife,
Went the pang of joy and the pang of life.
'We two are two alone,' said she,
'And we are two who should be three;
Now who will clothe my baby fair
In the little garments that babies wear?'
There came two angels with quiet wings
And hands that were full of baby things;
And the new-born child was bathed and dressed
And laid again on his mother's breast.
'Now who will sign on his brow the mark
To keep him safe from the Powers of the Dark?
Who will my baby's sponsor be?'
'I, the Lord God, who died for thee.'
'Now who will comfort him if he cry;
And who will suckle him by and bye?
For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry,
And I think that my time has come to die.'
'I will dandle thy son as a mother may;
And his lips shall lie where my own Son's lay.
Come, dear little one, come to me;
The Mother of God shall suckle thee.'
Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed;
'I never deserved a child,' she cried.
'Dear God, I am ready to go to hell,
Since with my little one all is well.'
Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean.
'Poor mother, thy tears have washed thee clean.
Thy last poor pains, they will soon be done,
And My Mother shall give thee back thy son.'
Frozen grass for a bearing bed,
A halo of frost round a woman's head,
And pious folks who looked and said:
'A drab and her brat that are better dead.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Torturous
In April - quite some time ago - her
mother died in a sea of flames, but
the wound is still raw, she cannot
forget how little time they spent
together
In April last year her partner died in an
accident that left her knee injured for
life; this April brought the death of his
mother also - my child, the only thing
left is trying to
Load the dice on your behalf, impossible
to know the cause of your torturous route
through a tragic life - by visualising future
happiness in meditation, I'm trying to
enlist the help
Of universal forces and love - to attract more
prosperity and joy for you; take shelter with
us as a safe refuge - start to focus on visions
that will lead to fulfilment of dreams…
****************************** ***
Carine's partner Nico died on 29 April 2011
and we have received word that his mother,
Katinka, died this morning 4 April 2012 -
and Carine's own mother Leonie also died
in April quite a few years ago - April has
become such a scary month for her; the
only recourse left for her stepmother is
to pray for her future happiness…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Benediction
Blest in death and life beyond man's guessing
Little children live and die, possest
Still of grace that keeps them past expressing
Blest.
Each least chirp that rings from every nest,
Each least touch of flower-soft fingers pressing
Aught that yearns and trembles to be prest,
Each least glance, gives gifts of grace, redressing
Grief's worst wrongs: each mother's nurturing breast
Feeds a flower of bliss, beyond all blessing
Blest.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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To My Mother
I chose you.
I am my mother's baby,
And you gladly raised me.
I am your daughter,
Proud to call you my mother.
At times we don't see eye to eye,
I know you will always remain in my life.
With you by my side,
I'm always going to make you smile.
Always there giving great advice,
You know can walk the streets with your head up high full of pride.
Because we both know you made an amazing child.
And like d poem goes.....
To my mother may I inherit her strength
Everyone knows momma knows best.
! ! ! ! HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY! ! ! !
poem by Anita Khelawan
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Mother, I May Have Been A Naughty Child
Mother, I may have been a naughty child,
But I am your child nevertheless!
You own the world, mother, you are the queen of the world,
And look at me, I go about in the habit of a beggar.
You are bent on neglecting me,
But I love you anyway, it is you, only you that I call upon.
Just as a child runs to his mother even after she has scolded him,
So do I run to you.
How could you push me away from you, mother,
You are my mother, are you not?
Oh, why did you cast me away, mother,
Leave me to play in the dust?
I would have been a better child,
Had only you been a little more kind to me.
I am sad and angry, mother,
I shall go away anywhere my eyes and my feet take me to.
I do not care now whether i live or die now, mother,
I am going away.
poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam
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April 16th
The child in her womb have spoken,
So dail her in Room Number 22;
And there she was admited and about to deliver her baby.
April 16th 2006 is still in my mind,
With pharmatical cocktails to tell my story;
But the medications put her to sleep.
Pain at her back,
Movements in her stomach,
And of a baby to walk along with, through the waters of love;
But she was admitted to deliver a baby.
Life is like a planted garden in which you eat from,
With bald heads and shaved bears;
But April 16th is still in my mind.
Oil, wheat and new wine;
There are no longer tears in my eyes;
And from one room to another and, from place to place!
For she was admitted to deliver her baby,
But she finally landed in Room Number 147.
Rooms numbers 2,4,5,22 and 147 recorded her muse;
And her mother and her sister came to visit her!
But with the daily visits of mine to boost up her ego.
The status of love and the spirit of care,
Ans she gave birth to a bouncy baby boy! !
For the Doctors and the Nurses did their best,
And it was a nice delivery.
April 16th was like the wake up call,
And with the abundance of medicaments to boost up her ego;
But she finally amde it through and was able to deliver.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Magnificat
THIS is Christ's birthday: long ago
He lay upon His Mother's knee,
Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low--
God's gift to her, as you to me.
My baby dear, my little one,
The love that rocks this cradling breast
Is such as Mary gave her Son:
She was more honoured, not more blest.
He smiled as you smile: not more sweet
Than your eyes were those eyes of His,
And just such little hands and feet
As yours Our Lady used to kiss.
The world's desire that Mother bore:
She held a King upon her knee:
O King of all my world, and more
Than all the world's desire to me!
I thank God on the Christmas morn,
For He has given me all things good:
This body which a child has borne,
This breast, made holy for his food.
High in high heaven Our Lady's throne
Beside her Son's stands up apart:
I sit on heaven's steps alone
And hold my king against my heart.
Across dark depths she hears your cry;
She sees your smile, through worlds of blue
Who was a mother, even as I,
And loved her Child, as I love you.
And to her heart my babe is dear,
Because she bore the Babe Divine,
And all my soul to hers draws near,
And loves Him for the sake of mine!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Call Me Number One
I used to love you
I fought for your selection
To be a target
For your weapon of affection
I was a dog for you
You put your marker on me
But my soul was not for sale
And you tried to take it from me
But - hey now now
Hey now now
I know what youre doin
You pushed me too far
And if you want me back!
Want me back
You better -
Call me number one
Head man here
The original son
Baby
Hey, hey hey
Call me number one
Head man here
The original son
Baby
Hey, hey, baby!
You were the fire
I was just the piston
You were the planet
At the centre of my system
Your love is terminal
And I let you give it to me
Your loves a juggernaut
And you tried to drive it through me
Call me number one
Head man here
The original son
Baby
Hey, hey hey
Call me number one
Head man here
The original son
Baby
Hey, hey, baby!
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Cant Be With You
Lying in my bed again
And I cry cos youre not here
Crying in my head again
And I know that its not clear
Put your hands, put your hands
Inside my face and see that its just you
But its bad and its mad
And its making me sad
Because I cant be with you
Baby I cant be with you
Thinking back on how things were
And how we loved so well
I wanted to be the mother
Of your child
And now its just farewell
Put your hands in my hand
Well find another end
And come with me,
And my head, and my head
On anyones shoulder
Cause I cant be with you
Baby I cant be with you
Cause youre not here, youre not here
Baby I cant be with you
Cause youre not here, youre not here
And baby Im still in love with you
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Copacetic
You look awesome in that yellow skirt,
My copacetic lover you are the one,
Can I hold your hand right now,
The world longs to know,
The possessor of such an angel,
The pride of mine so profound,
Right in the presence of such excellence,
Your beauty the Indians dont know,
The Chinese wish to see,
My love you are copacetic,
Touch me touch my heart,
Some let go, I never let go,
Whisper in my ears those words,
Oh how I love you,
My copacetic love
You are good than the most,
So much better than the rest,
Even the trees off the jungle know you
The grass can even testify your beauty,
Some wish to take your breath for a wife,
Some even want to marry your shadow,
The stars spell out your name,
The clouds dont pur out water,
Knowing you walking on mother earth,
Those fine legs the mosquitoes respect,
The world calls you beautiful,
The foolish call you nice,
The wise call you wonderful,
Your mother called you pretty,
I call you copacetic my lover
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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The Eve of My Death
The eve of my death, a baby was born, and this kept me alive.
The eve of my death, a baby took her first stumbling steps, and this kept me
alive.
The eve of my death, a school bus filled with laughing children drove away,
and this kept me alive.
The eve of my death, I looked out my window to see my child be swept
away to prom, and this kept me alive.
The eve of my death, my baby, my child reached out her hand to accept her
diploma, she is not a baby or a child any more, and this kept me alive.
The eve of my death, I walked with my daughter down the isle, and this kept
me alive.
The eve of my death, I held my new born grandson in my arms, and this kept
me alive.
The day of my death, I feel my grandson's tears hit me like a cool spring rain,
I see his father behind a podium an inch away from tears, I feel the
flowers on the casket that holds the only thing that keeps me alive.
poem by Stephen Howard
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April is My Birth Mother
April is my birth mother
I am a child of spring
April is my birth mother
I am a child in need
poem by David E. Patton
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Nativity Scene
It seemed an inauspicious birth,
another mouth to feed on earth.
A stable in a crowded town,
the only lodging to be found.
Caesar Augustus had decreed
a census of his realm proceed.
As Bethlehem is David’s town
Its narrow streets were filled with sound.
Perhaps a midwife helped the girl
Produce the Savior of our world
Bringing forth her child in pain,
so that we might salvation gain.
Their little donkey oversaw
the baby swaddled on the straw.
Mother Mary did her best
to nurse the baby at her breast.
A whispering of angels may
Have directed Sheppards where they lay.
A conjunction, seeming like a star,
might lure Magi traveling far.
A folk in darkness witnessed light
Upon that primal Christmas night.
Blest be the child of Mary’s womb
And faithful hearts that give Him room.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Voice of Deserving
King David showed the kindness of being a child and
the Old Testament comes to mingle the New Testament,
as Jesus of the Nazarene hold the key to the kingdom
of God; anchor on the child-like happiness of a little
one, where the Father welcome that excitement of that
day to come
meek and humble the road to pass, the hundreds of
angels of the seventh sky; sings the alleluia, chanting
the deserving child to enter on the plateau of lasting
memory with the giver of eternity
let the soul guide our faith, in the avenue of endlessness
passion of search and zeal it with life returning essence
of perfection in every mood of wisdom; as the heart
cloth the silk of sincerity, indulge with the humbleness
commitment of trust on the Lord of the skies
listen and hear that call and whisper the silent soul,
little child on the sky; hunger, starvation and death, as
each cry flight my heart to fall in an echo of distance
land, and answer thy call, lead my angels to guide and
show my mercy, as i love their joy
let my tongue and my arm be the wind that brought
the pleasant pleasure of joy, to the deserving moment
of voice in your kingdom come Lord and be the point
to hold the little child as they cry in your loving care
lead me dear Lord as my tears of mercy fall into the
ground to pity my sinfulness i may.......
poem by Antonio Liao
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A Mother's Collection: Tissues, Bones, And Blood (fourth)
Fourth Born
While they were carefully restoring
The damaged done to the sacred house
I heard a whisper in my ear,
“Mother you have a baby girl.”
I had thought I would have another
boy and would call him “Lanzy- granddaddy’s name”
Like my first born, I asked myself, what to do with
This little pink bundle of joy?
Oh my, a girl! Your dad jumped for joy for
the little girl born of my tears, tears, and pains.
Now a quarter century later- right before my eyes-
You’ve become a beautiful daughter, wife, mother, and sister.
Your passion to be and to do your best is evident in all of this.
A mother learns much from her daughter:
To be a good listener,
An astute debater who gets in the last word.
To be caring and compassionate.
Be her mother instead of her girl friend…
Our reign as females are evident in all of these.
Now allow me to present my gift to you…
Oh, how I wish to give you diamonds and sapphires;
Rubies and emeralds!
Sorry darling, those things I have not.
But this I have a whole lot: “my eternal, unconditional love”
April 12,2006
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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