The Pact
We played dolls in that house where Father staggered with the
Thanksgiving knife, where Mother wept at noon into her one ounce of
cottage cheese, praying for the strength not to
kill herself. We kneeled over the
rubber bodies, gave them baths
carefully, scrubbed their little
orange hands, wrapped them up tight,
said goodnight, never spoke of the
woman like a gaping wound
weeping on the stairs, the man like a stuck
buffalo, baffled, stunned, dragging
arrows in his side. As if we had made a
pact of silence and safety, we kneeled and
dressed those tiny torsos with their elegant
belly-buttons and minuscule holes
high on the buttock to pee through and all that
darkness in their open mouths, so that I
have not been able to forgive you for giving your
daughter away, letting her go at
eight as if you took Molly Ann or
Tiny Tears and held her head
under the water in the bathinette
until no bubbles rose, or threw her
dark rosy body on the fire that
burned in that house where you and I
barely survived, sister, where we
swore to be protectors.
poem by Sharon Olds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Dolls
She said: "I am too old to play
With dolls," and put them all away,
Into a box, one rainy day.
I think she must have felt some pain,
She looked so long into the rain,
Then sighed: "I'll bring you out again;
"For I'll have little children too,
With sunny hair and eyes of blue
And they will play and play with you.
"And now good-bye, my pretty dears;
There in the dark for years and years,
Dream of your little mother's tears."
Eglantine, Pierrot and Marie Claire,
Topsy and Tiny and Teddy Bear,
Side by side in the coffer there.
Time went by; one day she kneeled
By a wooden Cross in Flanders Field,
And wept for the One the earth concealed;
And made a vow she would never wed,
But always be true to the deathless dead,
Until the span of her life be sped.
* *
* * *
* *
More years went on and they made her wise
By sickness and pain and sacrifice,
With greying tresses and tired eyes.
And then one evening of weary rain,
She opened the old oak box again,
And her heart was clutched with an ancient pain
For there in the quiet dark they lay,
Just as they were when she put them away...
O but it seemed like yesterday!
Topsy and Tiny and Teddy Bear,
Eglantine, Pierrot and Marie Claire,
Ever so hopefully waiting there.
But she looked at them through her blinding tears,
And she said: "You've been patient, my pretty dears;
You've waited and waited all these years.
"I've broken a promise I made so true;
But my heart, my darlings, is broken too:
No little Mothers have I for you.
"My hands are withered, my hair is grey;
Yet just for a moment I'll try to play
With you as I did that long dead day...
"Ah no, I cannot. I try in vain . . .
I stare and I stare into the rain . . .
I'll put you back in your box again.
"Bless you, darlings, perhaps one day,
Some little Mother will find you and play,
And once again you'll be glad and gay.
"But when in the friendly dark I lie,
No one will ever love you as I . . . .
My little children . . . good-bye . . . good-bye."
poem by Robert William Service
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The Language Of The Wind
i took a hammer
to the altar and destroyed
every image i'd made of god...
threw my holy books
out into the trash,
my beads, and my necklace.
stopped praying, stopped thinking,
got up off my knees...
walked out into the yard,
and built a fire!
i took off my clothes,
and crawled on all fours.
bayed at the moon,
growled at a rabbit,
and burst into tears
when i tried to howl.
took a lit branch from the fire,
and threw it at the house...
all i could feel was anger,
hunger, and the beat...
wild eyed, i collapsed,
and hugged the earth...
darkness, sweet darkness,
wrapped her arms around...
stars reappeared in the blackest sky...
i rose up and shook
your spirit from me!
softly began to pray
in the language of the wind.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beautiful Rose
Off on the prairie, where the balmy air
Kisses the waving corn,
There lives a farmer, with a daughter fair--
Fair as a summer's morn!
She has a nature gentle as a dove,
Pure as the mountain snows;
Say! is it strange that everyone should love--
Love such a girl as Rose?
Beautiful Rose! lovely Rose!
Pride of the prairie bower!
Everybody loves her--everybody knows
She is the fairest flower.
Rose is a lady yet from early dawn,
Labors her skillful hand;
She is the housewife, now her mother's gone--
Gone to the better land.
Rose has the beauty--father has the gold--
Both will be hers one day;
For she is young, while he is growing old--
Old people pass away.
Clerks from the city, plowmen from the field,
Lords from a foreign land;
Each in their turn have very humbly kneeled--
Kneeled for her heart and hand.
But to them all she made the same reply--
Kindly but firmly, "No!"
And none but I can tell the reason why--
Why she should treat them so.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Into The Fire
The sky was falling and streaked with blood
I heard you calling me, then you disappeared into the dust
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
You gave your love to see, in fields of red and autumn brown
You gave your love to me and lay your young body down
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need you near, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
It was dark, too dark to see, you held me in the light you gave
You lay your hand on me
Then walked into the darkness of your smoky grave
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your love bring us love
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our baby boy....
When your mother was crying in pain,
I took her to hospital, then I heard your
mother's loud scream along with your soft cry
Your mother brought you into this world as an angel.
You were lying next to your mother innocently
My son, your cry brought tears of love in my eyes
When I looked at you first my heart filled with happiness
You were looking very healthy boy
You were trying to look at me through your fresh new eyes
I saw your tiny legs were rocking in the air
and your tiny hands were clapping for me
I gave one of my fingers to you to hold and you held me tightly
and you want to kiss my finger too
When I wrap you in my arms I felt that my dream come true
We waited for you so long and your arrival made our house lighten
God has listen to our prayers and given you as his gift.
I will be watching you growing up and teach you all the good things
You will be learning all the best and I am sure that you will show me
your best when you wear your cap and gown on your graduation day.
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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My Father's Hands
I see my father's hands
Long fingered, elegant beauty
Shivering tremors replacing strength
Once they held the world
Once they held my hands
Safe in their elegant length
when I first faced this world
My small hands in his
shivering tremors, giving me strength
I see my father's hands
When I look at my own
Good Friday
The Crucifixion- Jesus Spoke Seven Times
The day was Friday and time: Nine O’clock:
To Golgotha, the ‘Place of Skull’, they came;
And on the cross, they wrote His glorious name:
I N R I: in Latin, Greek, Hebrew-
‘Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews’
And Jesus spoke for the very first time:
‘Father, forgive them for they do not know
What they are doing.” Lk 23: 34
They tore His garments and auctioned them Mt 27: 25
They mocked at Jesus, and spat on his face; Mt 27: 39
The thieves spoke angrily to him but one
Believed that Jesus was truly a king.
And Jesus spoke for the second time thus:
“Truly, I say to you, today,
You will be with me in Paradise.” Lk 23: 43
When Jesus spoke the third time, He told His mother,
“Woman, this is your son.”
And to the disciple, He said,
‘This is your mother.” Jn 19: 26-27
The robbers two, were crucified with Him;
One to His left and other, to His right;
At noon-time, darkness fell: the land turned dim;
Till three O’clock, there was not much of light;
When Jesus spoke for the fourth time aloud:
‘Eli, Eli, lema sabackthani! ’ which meant:
‘My God, My God, Why have You forsaken me? ’
When Jesus spoke for the fifth time, He said,
“I thirst, ” Jn 19: 30 and they offered a sponge with vinegar!
And the sixth time when Jesus spoke:
‘It is finished; and ‘it is accomplished’ Jn 19: 28
And when He spoke for the seventh time
It was the last and Jesus cried aloud:
“Father, into your hands, I commend my spirit” Lk23: 46
A soldier pierced the side of Jesus when,
Blood and water gushed forth from the wound!
The curtain of the Temple was torn apart
And there came upon the land, an earthquake. Mt 27: 51-54
Jesus was taken off the cross and buried. Mk 15: 46
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-21-2008
poem by John Celes
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Unexpected Father.
Your mother
had brought Helen
home for tea after school
and she had held on
to the handle
of the pram
your mother pushed
and you walked
along side
thinking of whether
to show her
your toy soldiers
and cowboys and Indians
and the guns
that fired
loud banging caps
or whether to just sit
and watch the TV
and eat your tea
and show her nothing
but once you got home
and your mother went off
to the kitchen to prepare
the tea stuff and such
Helen looked at you
and shyly smiled
and said
Can I see your sister's dolls
and pram
and does she have
a doll's house
I could play with?
you dismissed the idea
of showing her
the guns that fired caps
or your toy soldier collection
and took her
into the room
where you kept the toys
and pointed to
your sister's dolls
and the pram
and said
Take care
my sister doesn't like
people messing
with her stuff
and Helen nodded
and picked up a doll
and held it to her chest
and rocked it
to and fro
and walked up and down
murmuring there there sounds
that echoed softly
around the room
Where's your sister?
Helen asked
will she mind me
rocking the baby to sleep?
Guess not
you replied
and stood watching her
as she walked
and talked to the doll
in an undertone
and you stood there
hands in pockets
like a father
of an unexpected child
wondering what to say
or do and taking in
her thick lens glasses
and her eyes
seemingly enlarged
focusing on the doll
and the way her head
moved from side to side
so that her plaited hair
went from side to side
and up and down
and she said softly
and suddenly
We may have a baby like this
one day and you had better
say something more
than you are now
or I'll think
you didn't want it
and off she walked
up and down the room
and hoped your mother
would come soon
and save you from the fate
of being the father
of a doll with a dodgy eye
and a painted smile
but having a tender spot
for Helen
all the while.
poem by Terry Collett
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A Phoenician Woman Of Faith
your praying every single time
your heart is moved to take in
a stray dog or cat; I remember
a Phoenician woman who cried
out to the Lord, son of David;
because her daughter was badly
demonized; Jesus said to his disciples
“I was not sent forth to any but
to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
When the woman made obeisance
saying “Lord, help me! ” In answer
Jesus said “It is not right to take the bread
of the children and throw it to little dogs.”
With a mother’s love praying for her
daughter the Phoenician woman replied
“Yes Lord, but even the dogs do eat
of the crumbs falling from their master’s
table.” Jesus replied “Oh woman, great
is your faith; let it happen to you
as you wish.” In faith her daughter
was healed from that hour on. Thus Matthew 15: 21-28.
every time we give more than
we have to give we emulate Jesus
who gave to a faithful Phoenician
woman although she was not
a lost sheep of the house of Israel
she received in faith her daughter
healed just like similar faith encounter
a Roman centurion from Capernaum
who believed from a distance Jesus
could heal because he had authority
and in faith the manservant was healed Matthew 8: 5-13.
God gives authority as God has chosen
Jesus cared even when his disciples
thought Jesus should not it was Jesus
who miracle feed hungry five thousand
every time Jesus cared when others
thought Jesus should not to Father God
Jesus was praying as every single time
we care when others think we should not
we are also praying as my own father
was often praying when others knew it not
Inspired by the poem ‘You’re Praying’ by Eric Cockrell.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I Was The Child of The Night
I was the child of the night
Dark is my father
The moon is my mother
Star of stars was my sister
I was the child of the night
My father is a symbol of fear and helplessness
My mom is the charm
My sister is the beauty of the night
I was the child of night who afraid of the dark night
Mom, please tell to father i would not like the darkness
But my mother said, need not be afraid, my daughter, my light will always protect you from the dark night.
I always give you a glimmer of light in the darkness.
And see your sister, she was very beautiful among the dark of night.
My daughter, the darkness is tranquility.
Many people would like stay in it although it will make them are scared and helpless because
They are find peace in the darkness.
My Unicorn
I finally went outside the house
Walked slowly down
Its stairs
Moving towards the path
That my father trod
Many years ago
The same path that mother
Too walked upon
Years ago to follow those
She loved most
Now, taking the same path
I too, look for those
I truly love
The white horse that father left
That mother caressed
With her tiny hands
The little bird that barely
Knew how to fly
Fallen and then learned to fly
Away
The face of the white princess
Powdered cheeks with
My kisses my sweet memories
I had seen almost everything
That was left
Except the white horse
That they have taken
Away from me
She was my only unicorn.
poem by Antonio Liao
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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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What If!
Adam - what would you say to me today?
Would you be sorry for the lies told
about my seduction? Would you tell the truth today?
Would you admit that we developed equally from
tiny particles through space and time!
Holy Pope - do you weep at night about the blood
that's clinging to your fortunes? About the
children sacrificed, the virgins raped and the women
burned in the name of God! Do you think that today
God would accept an invitation to your house?
Jesus - would you be dressed in a suit today trying to
sell your writings to strangers? Would the publishers reject
you, having missed bloody crusades and endless wars!
Would you dream of the path of destruction you caused, if
born over 2000 years ago before praying in the synagogue?
Revising history could we have a daughter of God, born
to forgive the sins of men. Could God her mother be a merciful
ruler teaching forgiveness, peace and love. What if God is a
woman and we have it all wrong! What if men could admit
that their scriptures and laws are written to protect men only?
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Death Threats
You're threatening my life?
Because I won't give you my money for taking care of my mother.
Let me understand this right.
You owe taxes on the house your currently staying.
You owe money to the V.A. acquired for her.
You receive 1100 a month in her pension.
You married my sister
You make 25 an hour, and your wife make 34 an hour.
You already drained all our mothers saving accounts.
You took everything out of my moms house and sold it..
How dare you.
I'm losing my house and already lost my mothers.
No thanks to your kids.
Who did so much damage to hers.
That I went bankrupt in all the repairs.
Yet you still believe I owe you more.
I am her power of attorney, that doesn't mean I have to work for you..
If you think I have a check ready and waiting.
You are sadly mistaken.
If you come to my house be prepared to leave abruptly by the sound of gun fire.
Your children even hate you.
You made them your slaves by the giving them the abuse you so craved.
My mother took pictures which really pissed off my sister.
Always on the drugs, how do you think it will look if you come to my house high making death threats.
Do you think that is something I will regret?
But don't fret its only a lean.
Till debts are repaid.
Oh I'm just letting you know I'm not afraid.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Today I Give Pain Its Freedom
i will be a little lax today
setting pain carefully and letting them go
giving them wings to fly away from me
and telling them not to come back
for a while, giving them a break
i open the entrance at the front door
with some streamers and flowers
some bees and dragonflies and butterflies
on the stairs of the house
beside the door and the windows
welcome happiness, welcome home!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Seans In The Sky
-daddy, when did we have no house?
-when?
-when, when did we have no house and we rented this house?
-in 1973, we didnt have this house, yet, thats when we bought this house
-oh!
-two years before you were born
-oh, and I just wasnt coming with you? to find this house?
-no, well you werent born yet. you were still in the sky.
-oh, and when I came back, was down here, what did I went in?
-a little, a little cardboard box. with a little blanket in, little teeny tiny
Teeny tiny little boy in a little tiny cardboard box. they used to have apples in it, hmm
You used to do this here.
-a apple box!
-well, a little cardboard box, you see. like they bring groceries in. and it was you instead of the groceries.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sh.. You may be Killer Of God!
when I was kid and innocent,
Often I was hanging on her
waist,
weeping to take me into her
arms,
when she was free, She gladly fulfilled my request
But when she was busy,
She used give toys,
When my imaginations fail to
please me,
I get bored of toys and threw them away,
Then she came and told,
See god is there in toys too,
You hurt Him when you throw!
She showed Some photos and
pictures, strange to me some were with
four hands
One with an eye on forehead!
Some are having beautiful face,
Some with some strange face,
I asked her who are these, Why they have strange faces
and too many hands and eyes?
Tell me the how I look?
Is My face is like you?
She told me several stories,
I then started playing with dolls as if they are Gods!
Strangely the toys started
winking and talking with me,
When in play I talked and
laughed with them! Mother was telling the stories of
rivers, mountains and men with
fountains of extraordinary
spirits, Mother was telling more and
more stories
Mother Wanted me to sleep,
so that she can go to work!
But I was not bored of these
stories, Ever I was eager to listen, even
when I was in sleep! So many time when I fell asleep,
She fed my food and milk,
Simply I eat and drank without
knowing!
Next morning I used to complain,
No one cares when I am hungry, Where I sleep and why they
forget me,
Later I came Mother never forgot,
Only I forgot and slept! When my mother died
Too young I was and never cried, Then in dreams, one day I saw
the death of my father,
and when that dream become
true,
I never wept as I wept in dream
itself! Then my brothers and sister and
friends
And I boldly accepted,
As soldier in war field,
Then my son, I laughed and said
strange these dolls who played with me,
Fell and shattered into pieces!
Then went that Lord,
elephant headed giant,
Then to the one with three eyes
Then to the one with lion head, All came and played and Became
one with me,
Still question came to mind is it
true,
Then Buddha, then Jesus then
then finally Ever smiling Krishna, All were dwelling in me with
mother Goddess,
Then came that day when I called
no one came,
Mad I was, went wandering..
Came and sat on a grave, I was weeping, weeping And
weeping,
Oh God!
Where are you?
There came a dog,
There was a cow and donkey
Suddenly came a man who
looked mad,
In dirty clothes clad
He sat beside me and looked into
my eyes, I too looked into his
Calm lakelike eyes, The stone, the tomb, the air and
everything,
All around started saying I am
here,
I am here,
The dog, the cow, the ant at my feet and that man and trees
around me started singing,
I am here, I am here,
When I saw where that man
gone,
He become every thing, from, dirty shit of donkey to
infinite world,
Then became small and entered
my heart,
See I was always with you and
always everywhere, None can express me completely
than that pure soul,
Clean with love and kindness,
Some day if you lose these
virtues,
You kill me and crucifix Me and
I can't resurrect in dirty heart,
And you will be Killer of God!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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My mother's hands
My mother had thick, wide, hands,
callused from years of hard work.
I used to like to hold them,
feel their strength and warmth
Those were the hands that cared,
caressed and held her me close.
Those were the hands that scrubbed
and washed, cooked for us and nursed.
My mother had beautiful hands
and would paint her nails light pink.
They were warm, artistic hands
that could crochet well and knit.
Those were the hands that created,
made beautiful shawls and clothes.
Those were the hands that altered dresses
I wore ‘til they were old.
My mother had beautiful hands
that cooked and cleaned and scrubbed,
and within the things that those hands did
were bundles and bundles of love.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The Cottage
The house my earthly parent left
My heavenly parent still throws down,
For 'tis of air and sun bereft,
Nor stars its roof with beauty crown.
He gave it me, yet gave it not
As one whose gifts are wise and good;
'Twas but a poor and clay-built cot,
And for a time the storms withstood.
But lengthening years and frequent rain
O'ercame its strength; it tottered, fell,
And left me homeless here again,
And where to go I could not tell.
But soon the light and open air
Received me as a wandering child,
And I soon thought their house more fair,
And all my grief their love beguiled.
Mine was the grove, the pleasant field
Where dwelt the flowers I daily trod;
And there beside them too I kneeled
And called their friend my friend and God.
poem by Jones Very
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Enough Of Me
We were all wounded in some domestic war
I found you to settle my score
You looked like father
You felt like mother
My mind told my heart
There is no other
And I gave you my soul
And every ounce of control
I gave you my skin
And my original sin
I gave you my pride and my side
oh my pride
Ain't that enough
I turned your dreams into lightning
Ain't that enough
I held the world back for you
Ain't that enough
I loved you past the point of dying
Ain't that enough of me for you
I was so sure one and one gave you one
My noisy love is coming undone
Now you leave like father
Disappointed like mother
And I know in my heart
There is no other
And I gave you my soul
And every ounce of control
And I gave you my shame
And my eternal flame
And I gave you my need and my seed Oh my need
Why can't you hold on
song performed by by Melissa Etheridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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