The Mother Of Babies!
The society has retired and placed me in front of Television,
What I have, is the memory of the working life, glory and pain,
The spouse of mine reminds me of the shrunken apple,
The hazing sight, dreamy eyes that look to the doors knobs,
All of a sudden she has got up at the arrival of the kids',
Drives to the market to pick up the best for their favorite dish,
The giggling and laughing from the kitchen echo,
through otherwise silent and abundant ‘walls and curtains',
The moving of glasses, plates, bowls and happy minds,
The opening and closing of micro wave oven of,
Past year's stories to the updat of the current events,
The baking of sweet fragrant vanilla cakes and pies,
The mother and the children at the kitchen, living room,
Prayer room and even in their bed rooms,
I, as usual mind my business of tending of garden and the home,
The house becomes quiet again, when the working children leave,
When I ask my suddenly bloomed wife of two days,
To bring a glass of water, she turns and looks at me,
Oh! that shrunken apple! She tells she is too tired,
Oh! My children! Please tell me the secrets with no frills,
What do you have to make my wife so happy and thrilled?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Related quotes
Sonnet: You Know What’s Best and When
A Doctor second, lady you are first!
You ought to choose priorities in Life;
‘Can wait! ’ your knowledge and fiscal thirst;
Her husband, children are wealth to a wife.
So, women must become a mother soon!
And sacrifice a lot of things in life;
The mother’s place at home is sure a boon;
The working mother helps to lessen strife.
Your family is more important, oh doc!
The job is second to a woman then;
What use are key and latch without a lock?
Which home can happy be without children?
So, plan whatever things you must first do!
The joy of children will not wait for you.
8-5-2002
poem by John Celes
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We're All God's Children
Album: Peace In The Valley
Here comes a Baptist, here comes a Jew
There goes a Mormon and a Muslim too
I see a Buddist and a Hindu
I see a Catholic and I see you
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
You like the day, and I like the night
He's into country and he's isn't quit
There's folks on the left and the far right
But that doesn't mean that we have to fight
We're all god's children
All god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
White folks, yellow folks, black and tan
On the same planet in the same plan
A feminist woman and a he man
We're all playin' the magic hand
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Oh, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
All god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
All god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all black and white
We're all precious in his sight
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we all be
One big happy family...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As It Was
Ginny loved it
when the time came
For their annual trip
to the seaside
And her father rented
the house with the big garden
that lead onto the sea.
She and her brothers and sister
Looked forward to it
every year and it seemed the sun
shone almost constantly
And the house seemed
as it was the year before
nothing changed nothing new
just the same rooms
and outlook and young Lily the maid
who came each year too
to help their mother
around the house
and watch
the younger children.
Her mother
Was the organiser
the one who seemed most near
to the children who seemed
to know the children’s needs
and wants and tried to keep
her husband happy
and allow him
his space and quiet
which he valued most of all.
Ginny liked it
when the sea was out
and there was plenty of sand
to play on to make a sand castle
with a moat and drawbridge
made from small pieces of driftwood
found on the beach.
But once her mother died
the seaside house
seemed less welcoming
the sea seemed
hardly ever to go out
than it was back again
the sun was less warm
less friendly
and her father
would mope
around the house
moaning and groaning
In his grief and bellowing
at Lily the maid
to do this and do that
making her cry
and only at night
when all were asleep
and Ginny was snuggled
Down in bed did it seem
as it was when her mother
would enter the room
and sit on the bed
and smile and whisper
the words she used to
placing a ghostly hand
on Ginny’s brow
and kiss her cheek.
Ginny remembered the house
By the sea years later
with the yellowy sand
And walking with Lily
the maid
hand in hand.
poem by Terry Collett
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Family Homes
everybody's mother is beautiful and brave
but my mother was little bit different
And was at the top of them
she was the bravest...the most beautiful..and the cleverest
we lived in a house
a very very ancient an and old house
ı ts plaster worn out and falling down
once a big and beautiful of our nomad ancestors
the camels of the long caravans used to rest in its garden
now the rooms of the house is rented to families in poverty
the kitchen...and laundry and washing were common for all
there was a in wall cupboard for bath in every room
in one of this rooms upstairs we lived
my mother..my brother and me
hiring it
they called these rooms faqmiliy homes
in turkish
in our homeland in turkey
in one of these rooms
lived shoe maker...rather a cobbler
with his son..daughter and wife
they were our beloved neighbours
he own the the room from his ancestors
the cobbler loved hunting
and had a peculı ar political opinion of his own
at downstairs
ther was a workman
came from his village
a very poor family indeed
wherever he found he worked
if he could
my mother used to help the family
she was found of this very very
one day ı heard the family went to germany
for food and living
my brother and me
were attending to a boarding school in istanbul
we used to come to our family home
in summer vacations
we were very happy in yhose days
with our room neighbours
my brother me and my mother
but theese poor happy did not last long
we grew up
my brother an archaeology professor
me a district governor
but we have never forgotten
those family houses
and the friendship and solı darı ty in them
we remember
those family houses from time to time
they are demolished now
high buildings are erected in their places
and my mother gone heaven in 14th dec ember 1994
her grave near a cross road waiting
ı always pray for her
ı feel she is always near me..guarding me
she was the bravest...most beauı tiful and the cleverest
ı have ever seen
life is not an easy plaything
poem by Metin Sahin
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My Dream Home
My dream home would be a log home in the city
Downstairs would be the kitchen with the laundryroom in it
And a storage area
Also there would be a family room with a living room
The log home would have 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms
In the hall of the log home would be the linen closset
At the front of the log home there would be the stone driveway
But at the back of the log home there would be the indoor garden so that We could use it all year round
The floor in the log home would be wood
And the walls in the log home would be beige
There would be Ikea furniture inside of the log home
Also the neighbourhood would be a well established neighbourhood
But very quiet indeed
Not too much traffic
The parks nearby would be very sophisticated with colorful
Flowers and beautiful trees
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The drug party
Four drugged kids were naked in the room
and had removed
every piece of clothing from their bodies.
Sweet sour with a smell
that is almost like khaki-weed,
their marijuana zol’s smell went right through the house.
When I stood at the front door
every thing in the house was ungodly and deadly silent,
as if I walked into a place were the spirit of man can die.
I opened the room door slowly
and there was no innocence to be seen
and only children that were naked on their knees
almost praying,
around that bottle point zol sitting staring
and the stench was more repulsive
than that of vomit or liquor.
Pain went right through my soul
to see children
throwing their lives away like this
and past all reason and other desires,
see them chase the drug god
and to see them lying there
somewhat dead to life.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Happy New Year 5766
Happy New Year tsunami
Happy New Year hurricanes
Happy New Year earthquakes
Happy New Year floods
Happy New Year fires
Happy New Year whining tree-saws
Happy New Year broken oven
Happy New Year broken refridgerator
Happy New Year broken promises
Happy New Year working computer
Happy New Year screeching ears
Happy New Year wet windows parched garden
Happy New Year dripping tap
drip
drip
drip
Drip.
poem by Linda Hepner
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Anniversary
Birthdays when you are old reminds you of the grave,
you see it a freshly dug hole waiting just for you.
People bring you wine, what else do an old man needs?
Guests getting high on wine they brought you and it is all
jolly. I try to join in. wife has made an effort candlelight
and so on guests are people I never see unless meeting
them at a pretentious art exhibition; and I think of my
childhood when birthdays were important, I tell stories
of a past of poverty and need; wife disrupts saying
I should forget about the past, how can I it shaped me
for what I´m today? Cakes I think of are those I never had
in my infancy; cakes I baked, with condensed milk, when
the captain had his birthday -if he was an ass hole I spat in
the dough-, on ships made into nails somewhere in hot
Bangladesh. How tired I´m lost in the past. Guests leave
the old man´s party, but my wife is not stunned when calm
falls I have to collect the dirty glasses and do the dishes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Shared Loneliness
A house is empty if you're alone.
Its rooms are too quiet for it's known
loneliness too, just like you.
It echoes with hollowness
and creaks with despair
for the lone figure it houses
has no one to share
its rooms.
It hears the steps of the solitary one.
It hears the sighs that weigh like a ton
on its floors and walls
where the sadness crawls.
It longs to be filled
with conversational tones
filling up its rooms.
The bedroom is lonely
and the living room too.
The kitchen has a setting for one
and only one cup of coffee to brew.
These rooms can house all of the pain
that lonesomeness brings and still remain
loyal to the one who's alone.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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What Can Make You Happy?
Are you happy right now or sad?
Are you bitter about your present condition?
You wonder what is wrong with your life
You wonder why others are happy
And question why some are so sad
Are happy people born that way?
Or happiness is a state of mind
What can make you happy?
Will having more money make you happy?
How much money do you need to make you happy?
If you are single and not happy!
Will having a new lover make you happy?
Will getting married make you happy?
If you are married, and not happy!
Will having more children make you happy?
Will sleeping with other people make you happy?
If you are a professional and not happy!
Will changing your profession make you happy?
What can make you happy?
Will getting drunk everyday make you happy?
Will taking a new drug make you happy?
Will buying a new car make you happy?
What can make you happy?
Will moving to a bigger house make you happy?
Will been promoted at work make you happy?
Will been the head of your organization
Make you happy
What can make you happy?
Always remember that what makes
You happy can make the others sad
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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Safe-house
Residents are ghosts;
sheet-covered
in every room.
Figures in armchairs
television news blazing,
sheets barely moving as they breathe.
In the kitchen,
a woman’s drape
marries her to the oven.
Upstairs, the sleeping forms
of children bedded down
for a long night.
Dust and ash fall inexplicably
not touching a soul.
poem by Helen Ivory
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The children in black
The children in black
Where did their childhoods go
Trailing water behind
How did they become this cynical
They write words of hate
Tears of joy is no longer a term for them
How can they be so small
But hate so much
The children in black
The children in black
What happened to happiness
Are they that controlled
That everything can effect them
Don't they have the right to laugh
Why are their eyes this guarded
Does everything have to be that formal
What happened to innocence
Did it go away with the faith
The children in black
The children in black
I can see the bitterness
Can't you see the ugly truth
Bitter minds already got their minds trained
So why are children so dark
Is there that much pain
The children in black
The children in black
What happened to be open minded
Did it close like a door
Only opening for a few
Is this society that negative
That they can't see the light
What happened to love
Loving parents and friends
It must have went away
The children in black
The children in black
Their hate scares me
Their eyes make me grimace
With thier hate they can stop the world
But how is that possible when they are so young
Are their minds that easy to twist
The children in black
The children in black
I hope they will soon see the light
I don't know if it's normal to be afraid
But that's what I feel
Why do most people find it easier to be sad
Do they realize it's not
The children aren't children anymore
They're miny adults trying to impress
Why don't people realize this
Are they that oblivious
Maybe if people opened their eyes we could do something
But until then...
The children in black
poem by Lillie Ellis
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Pre-valentine Lines For My Love
surely my love, my only one
(believe me, you are my only one)
i enjoyed every moment with you
my love, my lover, my friend, my mother,
my teacher, my playmate, my bedmate,
my goddess, my fortress, my enchantress,
my mattress, my blanket, my pillow,
my bathroom, my kitchen, my living room,
my house, my garden, my veranda,
my plaza, my mall, my market, my port,
my golf partner, my right hand, my manager,
my window, my door, my key, my car,
for indeed, my wife, you are everything to me.
let me just be a mere husband to you.
happy pre-valentines dear. let us make all the love available tonight.
i am tying this yellow ribbon on a tree, and it is you alone who can untie it
this very sensitive twig, covered by a fig leaf, this little bird
that flies only to your belly, your lips, that place between your legs
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Would The Children Think
She wakes up in the morning with the new sunrise
Looks at her husband sleeping still
Inside she cries
She makes the children breakfast
Gets them on their way
Watching them through the window
She prepares to face another day
Then her husband tells her
That he wont be home til late
Theres so much work hell have to stay behind
But she knows it isnt work thats on his mind
But still hell never leave her
Cause what would the children think
Where would the children go
What would the children do
If they knew the way it was
But theyll never learn because
What would the children think
Where would the children think
At the gate she kissed him
And watched him walk
Hoping this small charade
Will stop the neighbors talk
She turns to hide a tear
Inside her gilded cage
She cries for the love she could not hold
And lost to someone half her age
Then her pride and breakin heart
Tell her to run away
But she values what shes got a little more
Two kids, one 9 and nearly 4
And she would never leave them cause
What would the children think
Where would the children go
What would the children do
If they knew the way it was
But theyll never learn because
What would the children think
Where would the children think
What would the children think
Where would the children go
What would the children do.
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lois Spears
Here lies the body of Lois Spears,
Born Lois Fluke, daughter of Willard Fluke,
Wife of Cyrus Spears,
Mother of Myrtle and Virgil Spears,
Children with clear eyes and sound limbs --
(I was born blind)
I was the happiest of women
As wife, mother and housekeeper,
Caring for my loved ones,
And making my home
A place of order and bounteous hospitality:
For I went about the rooms,
And about the garden
With an instinct as sure as sight,
As though there were eyes in my finger tips --
Glory to God in the highest.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Our Hell
It started with pebbles at the window,
when no one was in sight.
For about a week this went on,
at 8pm precise every night.
Then came the opening and closing doors,
by some unseen hand any hour of the day.
Furniture moved around on it their accord,
then the voices came,
arguing from somewhere.
Continual searches of each room,
but nothing was found there.
Suddenly it stopped, and harmony reined.
There was a rest bite for what was yet to come.
Several weeks passed peace and quiet remained.
Then as suddenly as it had stopped, it started up again.
Lights switched themselves on and off,
object flew across the room of their own accord,
small and large.
Pictures flew off the wall
and smashed to the floor.
Then came the knocks on the door,
with no one ever there.
The television gained a mind of its own,
switch on and off and changing channels at will.
Then things began to disappear,
we look for them still,
it was beginning to drive us crazy,
finally, we were at our wits end,
and priest we called in,
but whatever drove him away,
he never came back for a prayer to say.
We seemed to be stranded in this house,
that once we called our home,
and that has now become our hell.
poem by David Harris
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Children On Christmas Morning
Jubilant children on Christmas morning
is a worthy and memorable spectacle to see,
with their faces flushed and eyes widened
staring at the gifts beneath the tinsel tree.
Such active and anxious children they seem
to be awed and breathless in seeing the sight,
speculating about the contents of each gift
beneath the evergreen's glowing lights.
All children are surprisingly amusing
as they go about their merry way,
while the living room rings with laughter
on this mystical glory of Christmas Day.
All ribbons unraveled, no box unopened,
gifts and wrappings scattered everywhere.
Still, the children remain thrilled and happy,
not a single worry nor a worldly care.
Christmas morning is special to all children
and the great joy and pleasure it always brings.
They are the reason for parental pride and love
and all of Christmas morning's adorable things.
There's always a bit of serene music in the air
that brings a pleasant smile on every child's face
as they hurriedly open their revered gifts
in the midst of the room's most storied place.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Daddy Won't Be Home Anymore
(Dolly Parton)
As I look around the little house we were so happy in
I think of all the happy times we'll never see again
Then I break down and start to cry, the children ask what for
I can't find a way to tell them that Daddy won't be home anymore
Each night before they go to sleep they fold their little hands
And say a prayer for Daddy fighting in their far-off land
So tonight I'll help them say their prayers like I've always done before
God give me courage to tell them that Daddy won't be home anymore
But honey as for me there'll never be another man
And I'll bring our children up the best way that I can
You died for what you thought was right that much I know for sure
But the children just can't understand why Daddy won't be home anymore
No the children just don't understand why Daddy won't be home anymore
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weekend Fatherhood
Out of all of life's raw deals
Weekend fatherhood is the rawest
48 hours to undo 5 days of propaganda
'I do love you, no matter what your mother says'
Try to do the impossible, squeeze 7 days of love, caring and fatherhood into 2 measly days
Days that fly by faster than the speed of light
No sooner do you pick them up, it's time to take them home
Weekend fathers, you see them everywhere
They're easy to spot by the attention they pay to their children
Their smiles and laughter, tears they so bravely try to hide
After bringing their children back to their mothers
The malls are full of this special breed of man
Buying their children anything and everything
Especially if they say 'Mom won't let us have this' 'Keep it at my house, and don't tell your mom'
From Monday 9AM to Friday 5PM
You're just a man, one of millions, nothing special
But 6PM Friday you become a father again, picking up your children and taking them for the weekend
And if you're one of the lucky ones
Their Mother, your ex-wife
Won't take your children and move away
Halfway across the country
And your weekends along with them
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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Im So Happy I Cant Stop Crying
Seven weeks have passed now since she left me
She shows her face to ask me how I am
She says the kids are fine and that they miss me
Maybe I could come and baby-sit sometime
She says, are you o.k.? I was worried about you
Can you forgive me? I hope that youll be happy.
Im so happy that I cant stop crying
Im so happy Im laughing through my tears
I saw a friend of mine
He said, i was worried about you
I heard she had another man,
I wondered how you felt about it?
Im so happy that I cant stop crying
Im so happy Im laughing though my tears
Saw my lawyer, mr good news
He got me joint custody and legal separation
Im so happy that I cant stop crying
Im laughing through my tears
Im laughing through my tears
I took a walk alone last night
I looked up at the stars
To try and find an answer in my life
I chose a star for me
I chose a star for him
I chose two stars for my kids and one star for my wife
Something made me smile
Something seemed to ease the pain
Something about the universe and how its all connected
The park is full of sunday fathers and melted ice cream
We try to do the best within the given time
A kid should be with his mother
Everybody knows that
What can a father do but baby-sit sometimes?
I saw that friend of mine, he said,
you look different somehow
I said, everybodys got to leave the darkness sometime
Im so happy that I cant stop crying
Im laughing through my tears
Im laughing through my tears
Im so happy that I cant stop crying
Im laughing through my tears
Im laughing through my tears
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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