Feeble Dug By Starving Bony Hands
haunting image
of a small tiny
shallow hole
in dug ground
just big enough
to hold naked
body of a dead
baby but a few
months old
feeble dug
by starving
bony hands
of loving
mother
starving
to death
is among
the most
painful
images
my
inner
mind
often
shows
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Baby I Need Your Loving
Baby, I need your loving
Baby, I need your loving
Although you're never near
Your voice I often hear
Another day, another night
I long to hold you tight
'cause I'm so lonely
Baby, I need your loving
Got to have all your loving
Baby, I need your loving
Got to have all your loving
Some say it's a sign of weakness
For a man to beg
Then weak I'd rather be
If it means having you to keep
'cause lately I've been losing sleep
Baby, I need your loving
Got to have all your loving
Baby, I need your loving
Got to have all your loving
Empty nights echo your name
Sometimes I wonder will I ever be the same?
Oh yeah!
When you see me smile
You know things have gotten worse
Any smile you might see, darling
Has all been rehearsed
Darling, I can't go on living without you
This emptiness won't let me live without you
Loneliness inside me, baby
Makes me feel half alive
Baby, I need your loving
Got to have all your loving
Baby, I need your loving
Got to have all your loving
song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ain't That Lovin' You Baby
I could ride around the world in an old oxcart
And never let another girl thrill my heart
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you so?
I could meet a hundred girls and have loads of fun
My huggin' and my kissin' belong to just one
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you so?
If you gave me nine lives like a tommy cat
I'd give 'em all to you and never take one back
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you so?
I'm putting on my Sunday suit and Im goin' downtown
But Ill be kissin' your lips before the sun goes down
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you so?
Ain't that loving you baby?
Ain't that loving you so?
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A little Flower
A flower grew out of the ground
A tiny flower from the dirt
A tiny living soul from underground
A baby crawling from the dirt
A little innocence of wild color
A tiny spark of hope
A tiny pleasure free of charge
A flower that i called my own
A little baby ran towards it
A tiny flower crushed beneath the feet
A little human innocence
A little bliss destroyed by ignorance
A little flower dead on the ground
A little baby jumping up and down
And only me from my own window, witnessed the death of my own flower beneath the feet of blissful child without idea of his first crime...
poem by Dmitriy Kokarev
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Forest Sprite
There was a little fairy
Sat beneath a tree -
Humming to her tiny self
A haunting melody;
Just a little tinkle
Was all that I could hear
Floating on the evening breeze
High and crystal clear;
Surrounded by a rainbow,
Sparkles lit the air -
Tiny wings did flutter
Sprinkling gold dust in her hair;
A tiny little forest sprite
Had slipped the bonds of space,
Perhaps a mere imagined thought
Had brought her to this place;
How sweet the sound she echoed
Within this forest spot -
Though I had never seen a sprite
Her image now I caught;
This tiny little fairy
Sat beneath a tree -
Humming to her tiny self
A haunting melody.
Slipper
made to carry weight that hold for something
may fall to the ground to repose, for everything
has go down in the soil it grow
strap with light material just to hold on the feet
for where ever it step the whole body stand to
behold, keep it always straight, and never it be
as easy for time can’t be hold but to go away
yet! Nobody have to think as the baby had only
to cry when mother milk is delay, now believe
that worth sees no one, hold everyone for even
slipper catches anyone in the yeses that see
only precious strap that hold the toe and knee
will Tell how it is done, unless it is gone, the
important lives remind the hands
let every fingers wiggle the feet, until the
dirt dried in the sun …..
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Aint That Loving You Baby
(words and music by clyde otis and ivory joe hunter)
I could ride around the world in an old oxcart
And never let another girl thrill my heart
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you so?
I could meet a hundred girls and have loads of fun
My huggin and my kissin belong to just one
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you so?
If you gave me nine lives like a tommy cat
Id give em all to you and never take one back
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you so?
Im putting on my sunday suit and Im goin downtown
But Ill be kissin your lips before the sun goes down
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you so?
Aint that loving you baby?
Aint that loving you so?
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet XXVII: Naked You Are As Simple as one of your Hands
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
You have moonlines, applepathways:
Naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as the night in Cuba;
You have vines and stars in your hair;
Naked, you are spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails,
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
And you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
And becomes a naked hand again.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Morning (Poem From The Movie Il Postino)
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
you have moon-lines, apple-pathways:
naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba;
you have vines and stars in your hair;
naked, you are spacious and yellow
as summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails-
curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
and you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
your clear light dims, gets dressed - drops its leaves-
and becomes a naked hand again
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Mortal One
Three months after he lies dead, that
long yellow narrow body,
not like Christ but like one of his saints,
the naked ones in the paintings whose bodies are
done in gilt, all knees and raw ribs,
the ones who died of nettles, bile, the
one who died roasted over a slow fire—
three months later I take the pot of
tulip bulbs out of the closet
and set it on the table and take off the foil hood.
The shoots stand up like young green pencils,
and there in the room is the comfortable smell of rot,
the bulb that did not make it, marked with
ridges like an elephant's notched foot,
I walk down the hall as if I were moving through the
long stem of the tulip toward the closed sheath.
In the kitchen I throw a palmful of peppercorns into the
saucepan
as if I would grow a black tree from the soup,
I throw out the rotten chicken part,
glad again that we burned my father
before one single bloom of mold could
grow up
out of him,
maybe it had begun in his bowels but we burned his
bowels
the way you burn the long blue
scarf of the dead, and all their clothing,
cleansing with fire. How fast time goes
now that I'm happy, now that I know how to
think of his dead body every day
without shock, almost without grief,
to take it into each part of the day the
way a loom parts the vertical threads,
half to the left half to the right like the Red Sea and you
throw the shuttle through with the warp-thread
attached to the feet, that small gold figure of my father—
how often I saw him in paintings and did not know him,
the tiny naked dead one in the corner,
the mortal one.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Sharon Olds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Small Little Rag Doll
The small little rag doll
Made with love
Each stitch sown
By tender loving hands
Places under the tree
Wrapped in Xmas cheer
The little rag doll
A waits to be held
Small young hands
Rips wrappers apart
And smile with delight
At the little rag doll
The gingham dress
The Goldie lock hair
And sown on smile
Make a small child gasp
At a beautiful sight
Loving she holds
The little rag doll
And makes her a bed
In her make believe world
Her mother look’s on
With pride and Joy
That her little baby girl
Loves her little rag doll.
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Naked Body In The River
i put you in the river
naked,
perfect body for my
feast at night till dawn
and then i sleep in
the morning
too tired
these loving eyes
still dead about you
someone beyond
the touch of my fingers
naked body
so beautiful but
it has no eyes
and hence
cannot see me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Evarytime
Notice me
Take my hand
Why are we
Strangers when
Our love is strong
Why carry on without me?
Everytime I try to fly
I fall without my wings
I feel so small
I guess I need you baby
And everytime I see you in my dreams
I see your face, it's haunting me
I guess I need you baby
I make believe
That you are here
It's the only way
I see clear
What have I done
You seem to move on easy
Everytime I try to fly
I fall without my wings
I feel so small
I guess I need you baby
Everytime I see you in my dreams
I see your face, it's haunting me
I guess I need you baby
I may have made it rain
Please forgive me
My weakness caused you pain
And this song is my sorry
At night I pray
That soon your face
Will fade away
Everytime I try to fly
I fall without my wings
I feel so small
I guess I need you baby
And everytime I see you in my dreams
I see your face, it's haunting me
I guess I need you baby
song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Already Gone
A warm day
Sometime in May
As the sun begins to rise
The heart of a girl suddenly dies
A small ring was found
Right beside her on the ground
The two were around her neck
Were found out on the deck
Her body lays beside the bay
Her baby later in the day
His shadow passes the soul he takes
They rest in the center of the shallow lake
The day is coming to an end
The sun rises on the other side
For a father the search is on
At the end a mother tells the father to search no longer
She says i have some heartbreaking news
She crys and says John they're already gone
poem by Kerrie Maurer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Images
I have an image in my head,
It's of my mother
in an old pinny,
her hard, broad hands
that were soft and plump on the palm,
with cigarette yellow
at the fingertips.
I have this image in my head
It's of her with a washing board,
sighing, tired
and me, small and tubby,
taking mini steps
towards the wringer,
'can I do it mummy, can I do it'
I have this image in my head
of her face, all lit up,
her excitement
at her first ‘twin tub'
and my heart aches for her.
I see her poor, over worked body,
her anguished face and I cry for her.
I have this image in my head
and it never fades.
I wish she'd had a better life,
taken more care of herself.
She had this matter of fact attitude,
resololute, never to give in
and at the end, when all was done
there was nothing left but pain.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Baby's Way
If baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment.
It is not for nothing that he does not leave us.
He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom, and cannot ever
bear to lose sight of her.
Baby know all manner of wise words, though few on earth can
understand their meaning.
It is not for nothing that he never wants to speak.
The one thing he wants is to learn mother's words from
mother's lips. That is why he looks so innocent.
Baby had a heap of gold and pearls, yet he came like a beggar
on to this earth.
It is not for nothing he came in such a disguise.
This dear little naked mendicant pretends to be utterly
helpless, so that he may beg for mother's wealth of love.
Baby was so free from every tie in the land of the tiny
crescent moon.
It was not for nothing he gave up his freedom.
He knows that there is room for endless joy in mother's little
corner of a heart, and it is sweeter far than liberty to be caught
and pressed in her dear arms.
Baby never knew how to cry. He dwelt in the land of perfect
bliss.
It is not for nothing he has chosen to shed tears.
Though with the smile of his dear face he draws mother's
yearning heart to him, yet his little cries over tiny troubles
weave the double bond of pity and love.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Baby Love-Angelina's Story
If time has elasticity
then stretch it across my love's heart
in the dead of night
make it stop as we try
to make our baby.
Now three years of trying.
Make it stop my aging.
Grant me the time;
reverse the ticking clock
inside my womb.
I want this baby.
I cannot be the barren woman.
Take this ticking clock
and silence it.
Translate
my husband's love into
baby bouncing
free.
Let me hear
baby's cry.
He said
'We could always adopt.'
And I said
'I guess we could
but it wouldn't be the same.'
So strong is baby love
so strong this longing
I'll not sleep again this night:
tiny hands
tiny face
in my dreams;
reaching out.
I have this baby love
yearning for my own
tiny hands and arms
reaching out to me.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Baby Baby Baby Mine
Baby, baby small and bright tiny beams of light. A Tiny rose petals so slight unfold you will I'd hope to be a guide; I'd hope to help your steps that they don't slide. Clumsy hands are mine but helped by God as He unfold the rose I hold that each petal will fall in time, baby, baby, baby mine.
I pray that I teach you gentleness, goodness and love for what blossom can survive without the rain that falls from God above, the good deep soil in Him may you root and rapidly climb. As I hold you in my arms I'm filled with hope because of the design I'll trust him to unfold our moments in time baby, baby, baby mine.
In future year's thorns sharpen as they grow, for barbed thorns cut deep I pray that they be pruned away. The Keeper takes care that he remove those that hurt, the rose be bare its lovely fragrance to share. The yellow leaves get nutrients from above for the leaves expose the rose and the fragrance of its soul. You will develop with love in time baby, baby, baby mine.
Shall not the shoot of the root unfold another tiny fragrant rose to behold in time baby, baby, baby mine?
Someday you shall wither and die and bloom again with the Rose of Sharon in the sky since I've trusted God above for guidance and care that forever shall our love intertwine upon His vine, baby, baby, baby mine
poem by Vanita Allgood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Manhood
in the center of my garden
of paradise
i stand alone
naked facing a mirror pool
where i see my
own image
i raise my hands to touch
the moon
it is golden on a sheen of fingers
touching my body
i squirt
too much light
so many seeds of light
some tiny hungry grass forms
have mouths
open
drinking some dews from the leaves
of my body
this is the cycle of my
solo existence
squirts of light
when the moon fades in a universe of dark space
it is so silent
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Yes, you.
If you have a voice
And you choose not to use it
Because it is convenient…
Because your image reflects
A check mark…
A stamp from the small souls
On the surface of your head...
Then please reexamine it
From the inside.
Do not try to further build an image
By visiting a country in the great continent…
The problem is right here, darlings…
As soon as you step on their ground
And play nice…
They can see right through you.
Because you are representing
The small souls that destroyed their mother land.
So stop building a nice image for yourself
Your shiny ego…
And start questioning the root of the pain.
poem by Erica Borges
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Martha' Crucified.
Martha had this thing
about the Crucified.
The image, the cross,
the stretched out arms.
The one in the convent
school along by the chapel
always caught her eye.
Stood there staring.
Get a move on Martha,
the nun said. Don't gape so.
Or the image in the dining
room stuck up on the wall
above the abbess's table.
Painted on she thought.
Not the same. Her mother
had the one her mother
gave her on her deathbed.
Old wood and plaster.
The plaster peeling from
the hands of the Crucified.
Martha gaped at Him,
at His wounds, at the wound
in His side where the spear
went in. Forgive them for
they know not. They did so,
the bastards, she muttered,
putting her fingers on the wound
in the side. She had an ebony
rosary in her skirt pocket. Black
Christ on the small ebony cross.
She fingered in her pocket, said
the prayers, felt the stiff body
on the cross. Sometimes she
took it out and kissed it; the ebony
body, the head, the arms. Once
she had a cross around her neck,
silver, small, given by some old
codger. She felt it warm between
her small breasts. Lost it when she
took it off to wash and it slipped
down the plughole in the convent bog.
She knew her mother had this wooden
crucifix on her chest of drawers.
A dark wood, a fleshy plastered Christ,
nails through and hands and feet.
She kissed the hands when her mother
was out, her lips touching the smooth
plaster, the eyes closed, the feel of
smoothness on flesh. Not the real
Christ of course. Least not yet.
She'd wait her turn. The real thing.
See what death and Heaven bring.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!