Warm Milk At Bedtime
Coy covetous cat
snuggled up in bed
secure
in warmth love.
Darkness
a goose-down quilt
cover
her slender form.
Youngest son
on left
husband
eldest son
on right.
You can almost
hear her purring.
She can drink
this kind
of milk forever.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
A Husband...
A husband should be
Loyal and honest
A husband should be
Strong and protective
A husband should be
Loving and romantic
A husband should be
Patient and understanding
A husband should know
When enough is enough
A husband should know
When to fight and when to cry
A husband should know
all your goals and dreams
A husband should know
your strengths and well as your weaknesses
A husband needs to be a true man
A husband needs to love you unconditionally
A husband needs to know your heart is forever his
poem by Sarah Holmes
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It's as if your breath whispers declarations of love
It's as if your breath whispers declarations of love
and next me you lie naked and stretched out,
while you bring warmth to the cold darkness
and when I listen to your breathing
I notice your back, arm and slender neck.
It's as if your breath whispers declarations of love
and my certainty about us, about you becomes a fact,
when your breathing continually covers me like kisses
while you bring warmth to the cold darkness
and at a time my life was shackled in,
when days moved quickly through the calendar.
It's as if your breath whispers declarations of love
as if at times I listen to the secrets of the night
until the sun licks over the distant hillocks
while you bring warmth to the cold darkness
and although at times in life I loose my way
nothing can violate the love between us.
It's as if your breath whispers declarations of love
while you bring warmth to the cold darkness.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cat with milk
My cat
Not drink milk...
For today...
Yester day
My cat was
Try drink hot
Of milk...
Hot was hit...
For my cat mouth...
Cat was did not cry...
Run away for hot
Milk pot...
So...
Today coll milk also
My cat did not drink...
O...
I am very soory
For hot milk...
Come to drink milk....
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Twa Sisters
There liv'd twa sisters in a bower,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
There liv'd twa sisters in a bower,
Stirling for aye:
The youngest o' them, O, she was a flower!
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
There came a squire frae the west,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
There cam a squire frae the west,
Stirling for aye:
He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,
Stirling for aye:
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
'Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?
Stirling for aye:
Our father's ships sail bonnilie,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.'
The youngest sat down upon a stane,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
The youngest sat down upon a stane,
Stirling for aye:
The eldest shot the youngest in,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
'Oh sister, sister, lend me your hand,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand,
Stirling for aye:
And you shall hae my gouden fan,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
'Oh, sister, sister, save my life,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
Oh sister, sister, save my life,
Stirling for aye:
And ye shall be the squire's wife,
Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.'
First she sank, and then she swam,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
First she sank, and then she swam,
Stirling for aye:
Until she cam to Tweed mill dam,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
The millar's daughter was baking bread,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
The millar's daughter was baking bread,
Stirling for aye:
She went for water, as she had need,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
'Oh father, father, in our mill dam,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch,
Oh father, father, in our mill dam,
Stirling for aye:
There's either a lady, or a milk-white swan,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.'
They could nae see her fingers small,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
They could nae see her fingers small,
Stirling for aye:
Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd all,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
They could nae see her yellow hair,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
They could nae see her yellow hair,
Stirling for aye:
Sae mony knots and platts war there,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
Bye there cam a fiddler fair,
Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
Bye there cam a fiddler fair,
Stirling for aye:
And he's ta'en three tails o' her yellow hair,
Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Praises to the Eldest
Praises to the eldest of siblings!
You know...
The ones parents experiment with?
The ones some plan for...
And rush to grow up,
To get it right with the other 'younger' kids!
Everything is tried on the eldest first.
Whether it is good or bad,
The eldest is going to get it first...
Not the one to get it last!
That comes after the eldest...
Has to grow up fast!
Blamed for something that was not done.
Doing chores while the younger ones have fun.
Being held accountable,
And being told to become more responsible!
Getting sick?
Forget it.
Pretending not to be,
Is what the elder one...
Chooses the younger ones not to see!
He or she has to prove how strong he or she has to be!
And making demands the eldest has to do.
They know when they've been ignored like a pair of old shoes!
And don't be a male in a family of females.
There is nothing right the eldest one can do!
The younger ones will accuse the eldest.
And get away with it too!
Like lieing about what the eldest one does.
Because the eldest one,
Is the one born that everyone likes to pick on...
To abuse and use!
Until the eldest one decides to leave the nest...
To do what he or she chooses to do best.
Growing older alone...
And finding themselves in a home,
The eldest one had said...
Never again they would return,
To hear the bitching, groaning and moans.
And finding themselves with no one there,
To care what the eldest does.
With who...
Or if anyone is there to share!
But...
It is soooo peaceful!
'Thank you,
Father God!
THIS has indeed been earned! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Emmy’s world
Emmey’s... she is kind(working at Ritz Carlton) lady who love deeply to her husband Ariel and Daughter Ela(10 years old) I am dedicating this poems to emmy’s and family...(29-9-2010)
_____________________________________________ _________
Emmy’s world
-----
Days are gone...
How many...?
Hundred days
May be...
Thousand days
May be...
I feel I am alone at far away land
Million years...
One aeon...
I am apart from my husband
I am apart from my loving Daughter
Lovely both of you at matter of distance
Distance that I couldn’t control
Am I unfortunate?
Feel that some time...
Matter of my carrier aspiration
Matter of economy...
Bring me here
At far away land
I am mother...
I need your kisses, love, warmth...
Warmth of my Angel daughter
mmm.....
Why not?
Smile of my husband
And his love and hugs too...
Wonder can I kiss my Daughter?
Can I hug my husband?
Angels are Know...
I am at a far away land...
Matter of distance...
Couldn’t share my love and all...
Sending a kisses...
Sending a kisses and love
Through mountain
Through ocean
And stars...
Dreaming...
I say!
I love both of you...
Sending a kisses, love and roses
Forever and forever
Until I meet you
Again...
Until...We meet at
Home sweet home
I am your mom...
I am your sweetie...
Emmy...
By
O.W.Palitha Ariyarathna
Copyright, O.W. Palitha Ariyarathna.2010
All Rights Reserved By Author: 2010
poem by Palitha Ariyarathna
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The Eldest Born Knows
And like the eldest born knows,
Experiments take place.
And like the eldest born knows,
Expectations have their weight...
Since a quickness to do,
Eliminates time thought wasted.
And like the eldest born knows,
Appreciation isn't stated...
To keep the others safe.
No one protects the eldest.
Only fate awaits.
It becomes taken for granted,
The eldest is used...
To abuse with an escape,
With lies that are told by others...
Who will never know what it is like,
To take what the eldest does.
The eldest has to learn quick,
To do everything and take care of business...
Alone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sleeping on a Night of Autumn Rain
Cold cold 3rd autumn night
Peaceful leisure one old man
Lie late lamp go out after
Sleep beautiful rain sound in
Ash long warm bottle fire
Fragrance increase warm quilt cover
Sawn clear cold not rise
Frost leaf full level red
It's cold this night in autumn's third month,
Peacefully within, a lone old man.
He lies down late, the lamp already gone out,
And beautifully sleeps amid the sound of rain.
The ash inside the vessel still warm from the fire,
Its fragrance increases the warmth of quilt and covers.
When dawn comes, clear and cold, he does not rise,
The red frosted leaves cover the steps.
The Fly
I was sitting up in my bed,
When a little fly flew round my head.
Whenever the fly was in flight,
His buzz sounded just like a Microlight.
He buzzed really close to my left ear,
And I didn't like him being that near.
The fly, I found, really annoying:
With my patience, he was toying.
I was trying to read a poetry book,
But, my attention from it, he soon took,
On the words, I couldn't concentrate;
His constant whining made me really irate.
Very soon, I snuggled back down:
The fly's whining, I was keen to drown.
I put my head back under the cover:
Of flying insects, I am not a big lover.
But I could still hear the fly's whining;
Through my window, the sun was shining.
The whining sound was really high pitched;
The idea of more sleep, I very soon ditched.
Maybe he liked the warmth of my skin;
He seemed to like me, but I didn't like him.
I got out of bed, and I opened the door,
And, thankfully, I didn't see him anymore.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Last Man Standing
My eldest is in China
On the way to the Li Jiang
She’s seen the Terracotta Warriors
In a place that called Xian.
My youngest, she’s in Sydney town
Her love in life is reading books
She has a sense of fantasy
And red curled Irish looks.
Me? I am in Pearl Beach
For others paradise
But I am on my own up here
And lead a damaged life.
I suffer from depression
And that’s very clear to see
For though the sun is shining high
It looks so dark to me.
I have many close that hold me
I am lucky in that way
They love me just for me being me
And don’t seem go away.
But the track of time’s unwinding
Each year, past friends are lost
Sometimes illness, now a suicide
And ‘gainst their names I put a cross.
For I am the last man standing
I’m like those soldiers made of clay
I am the last man standing
I am not going to go away.
I am the last man standing
For I have a hand of cards
That others wish that they did have
But being the last’s becoming hard.
For my eldest is in China
My youngest still in Sydney town
Although they are away from me
My heart is with them now.
Look! My greyness, it is passing
Now I can see the sun!
I know they love me for being me
Not for what I have not done.
For this thing called life is fragile
But it has a strength within
Not brittle like those warriors
But as fine as porcelain.
poem by David Keig
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Sandra
BY BARRY MANILOW AND ENOCH ANDERSON
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She's a great little housewife
Though sometimes she talks like a fool
But she helps at the store in the holiday rush
And she picks up the kids after school
And she puts down the phone when her husband comes home
And she changes from mother to wife
'Til she feels the words hanging between them
And she hangs by her words to her life
She says I swear I love my husband, I love my kids
I wanted to be like my mother
But if I hadn't done it as soon as I did
Oh there might have been time to be me
For myself, for myself
There's so many things that she wishes
She don't even know what she's missin'
And that's how she knows that she missed
She's a sweetheart, except when she's moody
It's hard to get through to her then
Depressed for a while when the youngest was born
Oh but that happens now and again
She might take a drink with the housework
Or when Michael's kept late at the shop
A Martini or two before dinner
But she always knows when to stop
She says I swear I love my husband and I love my kids
You know I wanted to be like my mother
But if I hadn't done it as soon as I did
Oh there might have been time to be me
For myself, for myself
There's so many things that she wishes
She don't even know what she's missin'
And that's how she knows that she missed
Oh they used to hold hands at the movies
Now it's seldom if ever they go
Once you've paid for the sitter and parkin' the car
There's no money left for the show
She was doing the dishes
When a glass fell and broke on the tile
And she cut her wrist (quite by mistake)
It was real touch and go for a while
She says Oh God I love my husband and I love my kids
You know I wanted to be like my, my mother
But if I hadn't done it as soon as I did
Oh there might have been time to be me
For myself, for myself
There's so many things that she wishes
She don't even know what she's missin'
And that's how she knows that she missed
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I travel fifty years back when I hear your melancholy song
'Though he's black very handsome and a strong character,
Really a loving father.'
Mom always says when she's alive.
Oh! Dear Father, you left us almost fifty years ago,
Under an Aircraft Hangar you met a tragic accident.
Yes! Mom is right and you struggled to die for three days
And how sad when you closed eyes forever?
You wanted to make your three sons famous Soccer players,
But the youngest already left and lives in your proximity,
The eldest idles on Motherland and I am here like a football.
They kick me here & there but not into the goal
And I wait till the referee whistles saying that the game is over.
*Who keeps a dollar under my sheet?
I dedicate this poem to Luther.Vandross for his magical song* 'To dance with my father again'.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Silk road
I fly like a bird in stillness
over pools of lemon and blue
and cut through leaves of fire
to find safety with you
your heart an oasis
the milk of human kind
your body the foothills of life
I hollow out a chamber
I drink of honey and love,
There's nothing left to remember-
now, but your beauty
my Venus of love.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Milk drink
Milk
Drink...
Drink
Milk...
Over drink
All ways vomiting...
Low drink
Is nothing...
Drink enough only...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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William House and Family
Come all kind friends, both far and near,
Come listen to me and you shall hear --
It's of a family and their fate,
All about them I will relate.
They once did live at Edgerton,
They once did live at Muskegon,
From there they went to Chicago,
Which proved their fatal overthrow.
It was William House's family,
As fine a family as you see --
His family was eleven in all,
I do not think it was very small.
Two children died some years ago,
Before they went to Chicago,
Five children there he had with him,
When death his home there enters in.
The small-pox then was raging there,
And Oh! it would not their house spare,
For all but one was sick of them,
A dreadful house it must have been.
The eldest girl was married then,
The eldest boy was in Michigan,
The second boy he was at home,
And took care of them all alone.
His father and his mother dear,
And dear sister, too, I hear,
Were very sick and in his care,
And no kind friends to help him there:
Two little brothers, and a baby too,
Made six in all -- what could he do,
He had to take care of them all,
The baby, too, was very small.
As he would go to his father's bed,
And try to soothe his aching head,
"My son, I pray you leave me, do
Go take care of poor mother, too."
"Your mother and sister need your care,
And your little infant brother there;
Oh! Charlie, Charlie, take care of them,
My son, do all for them you can."
It seemed as though he did not know
That his poor soul so soon must go,
And leave his little ones he loved,
To go to that bright world above.
But God he called his soul away,
It had to leave, it could not stay --
He never more on earth will be,
His soul is from sin and sorrow free.
Charles helped the sexton, I am told,
To lay his form in the coffin cold --
How sad, how sad, poor soul was he,
When last his father's form did see.
Minnie May House she had to go,
And leave her friends that loved her so --
She was a girl in her teens,
A lovely flower as e'er was seen.
Minnie and her mother lay on one bed,
And when Charles said, "our Minnie is dead,"
His mother then she did grow wild,
And early after knew her child.
They buried Minnie by her father's side,
And left them there where they had died --
Charles took his mother and brothers then
And brought them back to Michigan.
For the mother and the baby too,
Kind friends did all that they could do,
But those poor souls they could not save,
For now they're sleeping in their grave.
Oh! what a noble son was he,
His age was then only sixteen --
Charles House's name I have told before
God bless his soul forever more.
poem by Julia A Moore
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These Are No Lies
I truly miss you too
These are no lies
You have just got to believe my love for you?
I know you think that I hate you a lot
How, I mean how?
Can I ever hate someone whom I have loved for six long years?
Do you think it is possible for me to do so?
Loved you, cherished you truly and deeply
With the warmth of the feelings, which are left in my heart
As you are aware that I have sunk into such deep sorrow
The end of it is not near and the darkness in my life will forever keep on increasing
I truly miss you too
These are no lies, I do not hate you
Darkness is everywhere and no love is present.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Sandra
(barry manilow / enoch anderson)
Shes a great little housewife
Though sometimes she talks like a fool
But she helps at the store in the holiday rush
And she picks up the kids after school
And she puts down the phone
When her husband comes home
And she changes from mother to wife
til she feels the words hanging between them
And she hangs by her words to her life
She says....
I swear I love my husband
I love my kids
I wanted to be like my mother
But if I hadnt done it as soon as I did
Oh, there might have been time to be me for myself, for myself
So many things that she wishes
She dont even know what shes missing
And thats how she knows that she missed
Shes a sweetheart except when shes moody
Its hard to get through to her then
Depressed for a while when the youngest was born
Ah, but that happens now and again
Ah, she might take a drink with the housework
Or when michaels kept late at the shop
A martini or two before dinner
But she always knows when to stop
She says....
I swear I love my husband
And I love my kids
And, though I wanted to be like my mother
But if I hadnt done it as soon as I did
Oh, there might have been time to be me for myself, for myself
So many things that she wishes
She dont even know what shes missing
And thats how she knows that she missed
Oh, they used to hold hands at the movies
Now its seldom, if ever, they go
Once you pay for the sitter, and parking the car
Theres no money left for the show
She was doing the dishes
When a glass fell and broke on the tile
And she cut her wrist, quite by mistake
It was real touch and go for a while
She says....
Oh god, I love my husband
And I love my kids
Well, I wanted to be like my mother
But if I hadnt done it as soon as I did
Oh, there might have been time to be me for myself, for myself
So many things that she wishes
She dont even know what shes missing
And thats how she knows that she missed
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Binnorie
THERE were twa sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a thing.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
And sair envìed her sister fair.
Upon a morning fair and clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:
'O sister, sister tak my hand,
And let 's go down to the river-strand.'
She 's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river-strand.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest cam and push'd her in.
'O sister, sister reach your hand!
And ye sall be heir o' half my land:
'O sister, reach me but your glove!
And sweet William sall be your love.'
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
Until she cam to the miller's dam.
Out then cam the miller's son,
And saw the fair maid soummin' in.
'O father, father draw your dam!
There 's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.'
The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drown'd women.
You couldna see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.
You couldna see her lily feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.
All amang her yellow hair
A string o' pearls was twisted rare.
You couldna see her fingers sma',
Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd a'.
And by there cam a harper fine,
That harpit to the king at dine.
And when he look'd that lady on,
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan.
He 's made a harp of her breast-bane,
Whose sound wad melt a heart of stane.
He 's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare.
He went into her father's hall,
And there was the court assembled all.
He laid his harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play by lane.
'O yonder sits my father, the King,
And yonder sits my mother, the Queen;
'And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
And by him my William, sweet and true.'
But the last tune that the harp play'd then--
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Was, 'Woe to my sister, false Helen!'
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXXVI: Cover
We cover bitterness with satyr
We cover sadness with smile
We cover happiness with tears
We cover pride with stubbornness
We cover anger with jokes
We cover grudge with loyalty
We cover love with play
We cover lust with generosity
We cover sorrow with toughness
We cover ambition with hard work
We cover hope with pessimism
We cover fear with deniable
We cover dream with horror
We cover shame with sarcasm
We cover lone with rebellion
We cover clueless with boasting
We cover ignorance with invisibility
We cover truth with shadow
We cover trouble with distraction
We cover envy with humiliation
We cover lie with innocence
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Prime of Life
OH, the strength of the toil of those twenty years, with father, and master, and men!
And the clearer brain of the business man, who has held his own for ten:
Oh, the glorious freedom from business fears, and the rest from domestic strife!
The past is dead, and the future assured, and I’m in the prime of life!
She bore me old, and they kept me old, and they worked me early and late;
I carried the loads of my selfish tribe, from seven to thirty eight:
I slaved with dad, in the dust and heat, that my brothers might enjoy—
But I rest to-day in the prime of life, and I’ll live and die a boy!
When the last crop failed, and the stock were gone, did the old man’s head go down?
No! he started business, on what was left, in the produce line in town.
They sent my brothers to boarding schools, when our way to the front we’d won—
They’d borrow, and borrow, but never had aught but contempt for the eldest son.
My brothers they went to the world away, and they left the home in strife.
They sowed wild oats in the pride of youth, and they pawned the prime of life.
They sowed too fast, and they sowed too far; and they came back one by one—
You couldn’t tell which is the eldest son and which is the youngest son.
Oh, I longed for a love that I could not claim, and a breath of the youth denied—
But I stuck to the store when the old man went, and the mater until she died:
With Job’s own sister and Satan’s aunt—good Lord! and the fiend’s own wife—
But I’m free of them now, it is no matter how, and I’m in the prime of life.
My brothers have turned respectable, and are steady as men can be:
The youngest and worst is a leading light—and he aims at reforming me!
But I lend and help, and I’ll fix them up, for I can’t but see with a sigh,
That the youngest, who left us a handsome boy, is an older man than I.
But it’s “Lord make us thankful” three times a day, before they eat their fill—
They can thank the Lord if they like, I say, but I reckon I pay the bill.
They feel independent, I’m glad to know, for if all I hear is true,
My brothers agree that I do no more than I have a right to do.
They’ll work in the store while I see the world, and I’ll let them share the till—
But I sail to-day, for a year away, to go wherever I will:
I sail with the woman who waited for me—old sweetheart; and brand new wife—
She is handsome and true, and she’s thirty-two—and I’m in the prime of life.
For Capetown, and London, and Norraway, for Germany, Holland, and France,
For Switzerland, Italy—anywhere—for Greece, and for Egypt a glance,
For India, China, and “strange Japan”, for the East with mystery rife—
I have made enough, and I have my love—and I’m in the prime of life!
poem by Henry Lawson
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