En.Citatepedia^®.ro

There Was A Child Went Forth

THERE was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of
the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red
clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the
mare's foal, and the cow's calf,
And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-
side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there--and the
beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads--all became part
of him.

The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of
him; 10
Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the
esculent roots of the garden,
And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms, and the fruit afterward,
and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;
And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the
tavern, whence he had lately risen,
And the school-mistress that pass'd on her way to the school,
And the friendly boys that pass'd--and the quarrelsome boys,
And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls--and the barefoot negro boy and
girl,
And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.

His own parents,
He that had father'd him, and she that had conceiv'd him in her womb,
and birth'd him,
They gave this child more of themselves than that; 20
They gave him afterward every day--they became part of him.

The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;
The mother with mild words--clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor
falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;
The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd, unjust;
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,
The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture--the
yearning and swelling heart,
Affection that will not be gainsay'd--the sense of what is real--the
thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time--the curious
whether and how,
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets--if they are not flashes
and specks, what are they? 30
The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the
windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves--the huge crossing at the
ferries,
The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset--the river
between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of
white or brown, three miles off,
The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide--the little
boat slack-tow'd astern,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away
solitary by itself--the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh
and shore mud;
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now
goes, and will always go forth every day.

poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-1)

At schooltime, my father left me at house gringo!
Yet I Kept my tender heart at home of lingo!
When I quested, for fate “he is right as rain.”
Tender tears exploded like MISSILES yet in vein;
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

While I missed mother’s love and father’s stories
All the night I stood without sleep with many worries
I asked the god, why two legs and hands!
Why not two bodies and two souls for errands!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

Sugarcane Juice, peanuts and berries!
Our green fields, summer holidays and holy tours!
When thousand memories flashes in mind, now,
How much I miss mom's care! How much I miss dad’s love!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

The small buns you bought for me still smell good,
The grapes brought, coming from city is still my favorite food;
The fruits you brought me with roots; are they heaven sent?
Yet I didn’t pay any rent pay as you are my parent!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

Do you know who my MAHATMA is? Oh, my brother!
He is not Mandela, nor Gandhi but my father
Who taught me A to Z rather?
What to do and what not to do, I gather!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

When I think of all the things you gave to me:
Your sacrifices in food; love and affection are some to name,
............................................. ................................................. .....
*A big NOTICE BOARD: Oops! Sorry the poem is NOT completed. This is just break time! Now continue Your reading in part 2 the poem.

Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-2) contin'd in part 2.. Read it.

poem by Harindhar Reddy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Childish Conversation

A child from one part of the world cries
Malnourishment and infectious disease all should not be mine
A child from another part of the world replies
Obesity and psychiatric disorders are things I can’t deny

A child from one part of the world cries
Why am I working when schooling should be mine
A child from another part of the world replies
There is compulsory schooling here which I can’t deny

A child from one part of the world cries
Why am I working when playing should be mine
A child from another part of the world replies
There are too much entertainments here which I can’t deny

A child from one part of the world cries
Why both of my parents are quarrelling all the time
A child from another part of the world replies
I really admire you for having two instead of one my friend.

poem by Henry Chen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Other

I do not have to be mad
For the anger to build up within me
I am a human being
Money and fame come and go
But we long for few things
I being a father of children
Become a child
I have a mother
But find a mother in other
When other does bother
I am the happiest

But when the other ignores
I go wild
Use words
Which are called obscene
Where's obscenity when
Everything is open
Give me a better word angel
I will change my language

Anger builds up from within
I am called mad
But a mad person rushes
For anything and everything
Sane seldom care
May be mad are better
In understanding the needs

Anger builds up from within
But anger is not anger
We are lost as ever for words
Give me a better word angel
I will change my language

Anger here is a hunger
I remain hungry for words
And for affection
Which I shower on the other all the time
Words never come
I see the tears
I cannot wipe
Who am I?
I can only cry

Anger will remain
I express
I am a child
Cannot hide my feelings
Please be my mother
You the other
You are distant
But other part of me

poem by Richie John Pais
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Lilacs

Lilacs,
False blue,
White,
Purple,
Color of lilac,
Your great puffs of flowers
Are everywhere in this my New England.
Among your heart-shaped leaves
Orange orioles hop like music-box birds and sing
Their little weak soft songs;
In the crooks of your branches
The bright eyes of song sparrows sitting on spotted eggs
Peer restlessly through the light and shadow
Of all Springs.
Lilacs in dooryards
Holding quiet conversations with an early moon;
Lilacs watching a deserted house
Settling sideways into the grass of an old road;
Lilacs, wind-beaten, staggering under a lopsided shock of bloom
Above a cellar dug into a hill.
You are everywhere.
You were everywhere.
You tapped the window when the preacher preached his sermon,
And ran along the road beside the boy going to school.
You stood by the pasture-bars to give the cows good milking,
You persuaded the housewife that her dishpan was of silver.
And her husband an image of pure gold.
You flaunted the fragrance of your blossoms
Through the wide doors of Custom Houses—
You, and sandal-wood, and tea,
Charging the noses of quill-driving clerks
When a ship was in from China.
You called to them: “Goose-quill men, goose-quill men,
May is a month for flitting.”
Until they writhed on their high stools
And wrote poetry on their letter-sheets behind the propped-up ledgers.
Paradoxical New England clerks,
Writing inventories in ledgers, reading the “Song of Solomon” at night,
So many verses before bed-time,
Because it was the Bible.
The dead fed you
Amid the slant stones of graveyards.
Pale ghosts who planted you
Came in the nighttime
And let their thin hair blow through your clustered stems.
You are of the green sea,
And of the stone hills which reach a long distance.
You are of elm-shaded streets with little shops where they sell kites and marbles,
You are of great parks where every one walks and nobody is at home.
You cover the blind sides of greenhouses
And lean over the top to say a hurry-word through the glass
To your friends, the grapes, inside.

Lilacs,
False blue,
White,
Purple,
Color of lilac,
You have forgotten your Eastern origin,
The veiled women with eyes like panthers,
The swollen, aggressive turbans of jeweled pashas.
Now you are a very decent flower,
A reticent flower,
A curiously clear-cut, candid flower,
Standing beside clean doorways,
Friendly to a house-cat and a pair of spectacles,
Making poetry out of a bit of moonlight
And a hundred or two sharp blossoms.
Maine knows you,
Has for years and years;
New Hampshire knows you,
And Massachusetts
And Vermont.
Cape Cod starts you along the beaches to Rhode Island;
Connecticut takes you from a river to the sea.
You are brighter than apples,
Sweeter than tulips,
You are the great flood of our souls
Bursting above the leaf-shapes of our hearts,
You are the smell of all Summers,
The love of wives and children,
The recollection of gardens of little children,
You are State Houses and Charters
And the familiar treading of the foot to and fro on a road it knows.
May is lilac here in New England,
May is a thrush singing “Sun up!” on a tip-top ash tree,
May is white clouds behind pine-trees
Puffed out and marching upon a blue sky.
May is a green as no other,
May is much sun through small leaves,
May is soft earth,
And apple-blossoms,
And windows open to a South Wind.
May is full light wind of lilac
From Canada to Narragansett Bay.

Lilacs,
False blue,
White,
Purple,
Color of lilac.
Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England,
Roots of lilac under all the soil of New England,
Lilac in me because I am New England,
Because my roots are in it,
Because my leaves are of it,
Because my flowers are for it,
Because it is my country
And I speak to it of itself
And sing of it with my own voice
Since certainly it is mine.

poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Low

Dusk is dawn is day
Where did it go?
Ive been laughing
Fast and slow
Moving in a still frame
Howling at the moon
Morning found me laughing
Up and down, down
Low low low
Night suits me fine
And morning suits me fine
Ive been so happy
Way up high, high
In between
Down below
Low low low
I skipped the part about love
It seems so silly and low
Low low low
Low low low
I said the morning
It isnt your time
Barefoot naked
I can see your lines
It doesnt bother me
That you are right
Your grass is grassy wet
Your light white is bright
Light white light
I skipped the part about love
It seems so shallow and low
Low low low
Low low low
You and me
We know about time
We know how things go
They come and go
They live and grow
They pass and go
And glow and glow
Up and down
High and low
Low low low
Low low low
I skipped the part about love
It seems so silly and low
I skipped the part about love
It seems so shallow and low
Low low low
Low low low
I like your hands
All full of glory
All full of glory

song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Where Is The Child?

love is blind,
life is wild,
death is wide,
where is the child?
hatred everywhere,
badness fills the air,
life is so unfair,
where is the child?
no one is funny,
bees make no honey,
everyone is running after money,
where is the child?
hearing no good voice,
there is much noise,
by a freaky gang of boys,
where is the child?
no one is having a good dream,
everyone wants to scream,
there is no more white cream,
where is the child?
purity is gone,
children have no fun,
badness is now in everyone,
where is the child?
there is no more respectable art,
no real love in any heart,
sadness in every part,
where is the child?
where is the child?
where is the child?

poem by Sarah Abu Zeid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Unwed Mothers Pain

she was so young and mistook infatuation for love
and to her boyfriend she gave herself freely.
to her shock and gloom -a child was in her womb.
she told her boyfriend of what she discovered.
to hear him say 'it must be from another'
i am too young to marry
this problem you'll have to carry.

her friends turned their backs in dismay
they did'nt know just what to say.
when she told her family-they responded coldly.
' why did you make this mistake-now its far too late.
love is not the opening of your thighs.
now you'll have to hide that baby which you carry inside.'

abandoned by friends and family, when they were needed most.
she kneeled and prayed to the FATHER, SON, AND HOLY GHOST.
she recalled the words which were told to her.
'abort or abandon'
is this what you have to say?
but! my child there is no other way!

in her heart she knew that it 'could not be'
that god wanted her to abandon this baby
so with determination she began to pack
she would go elsewhere-there was no turning back.

she knew that she did not have enough education
to do what she wanted to do.
but she promised this child that
'i'll make a life for me and you'

sitting at a bus stop-bags in her hand.
she met this woman all dressed in blue with soft tender eyes.
she told her -her story, and then began to cry.
this woman put her arm around her and said
'fret not my child-you can stay with me for a while.'
with hope in her heart-she went with this lady.

found a job and continued with school.
and promised herself that no one else would
take her for a fool.

nine months later she did give birth
to a baby girl with beautiful blue eyes, and her skin so white.
and above her head was a shining bright light.
so she named her after this woman who took her in.
i'll name you Mary with the beautiful white skin.

time went by quickly and graduate she did.
she gave this child the love that was always in her heart
and her career became a very big part.
she thanked God for this lady who gave her -her start.
this beautiful lady with a kind tender heart.

the years passed quickly and mary started to grow
more beautiful than you'll ever know'
she came home from work on a cold snowy day
to find that lady mary had passed away.
she honored this lady the best way she could.

by opening her home to unwed mothers and anyone
in despair'
and named this home 'marys lair'.
and now when she tells the story she says
'mother mary always dressed in blue
my doors are open because of you'

so always keep faith in your heart and mind.
God listens! it just takes time.

poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

For My Love In The Open

i love you
that is what you will hear
because i say it
when you ask for it
as a matter of
your daily
need.

i have long accepted
half of what i am
ever since
when light is vague
when truth is nothing
but an opaque
view of the egg yolk
against the
lamp.

part of my nose
is efflorescent
it shines when it is
so dark
like a fish on
a moonless night
on the surface
of the the calm sea

part of me is an
anemone
when you are near
everything in me wants
to close and disappear

part of me is your confusion
like the squid
jetting a spurt of
a black trail

part of me
is your love another part of
me is my hate
for this self that i wish
i have completely known
like the lines of
my palm.

part of me is lost
another part of me says
there is no way to find

i hope that 50 years is enough
to know that part of me
is unknown
like that part of the sea
unfathomable.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-2)

When I think of all the things you GAVE me:
Your sacrifices in food; love and affection are some to name,
The list goes endless and I fail to count what you gave to me;
With your heart, your mind, your energy and your soul of fame!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

You burnt yourself like a CANDLE to give me light....
Your deeds are never dull; your love is never pale;
I count endless things you, an endless tale
All these you spent on me throughout the years.
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

Now I am in foreign land tormented like an alien, I'm hurt!
I am sad yet I remember Rudyard Kipling's poem, 'If' –
There a father suggest 180 things to his son; What if?
I am not with you; yet your advices ring in heart!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

I cherish our relationship forever and a day,
Till earth exists and sun sparkles in every way,
Till Stars twinkle and moon delights I carry your name,
Till death may do us apart yet I carry all the same
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!

We are separated by boundaries narrow.....
Yet in my memories, I'm with as your shadow;
I may carry your fortunes for while.....
Yet I carry your hope for a mile;
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done! ................................................. .......................
A BIG NOTICE BOARD:
*Your attention please: Just take a break! Now READ part 1 to make your reading wholesome. PART 2 of the poem
Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-1)

poem by Harindhar Reddy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Sacred And Profane

give me tears
give me love
let me rest
let up on
send the bored
your restless
the feedback-scarred
devotionless
you're all a part of me now
and if i fall
you're all a part of me now
in the sun
you're all a part of me now
you're all a part of me now
will love ever be enough
just in time to prove
will words ever be enough
just in time to lose
give me signs
that arrest
it could snow
and happiness
give me time
give me peace
and i will prove
my release
you're all a part of me now
and if i fall
you're all a part of me now
in the sun
you're all a part of me now
you're all a part of me now
will love ever be enough
just in time to prove
will time ever be enough
will love ever be enough
you're all a part of me now
and if i fall
you're all a part of me now
in the sun
you're all a part of me now
you're all a part of me now
you're all a part of me now
and if i fall
you're all a part of me now
in the sun
you're all a part of me now
will love ever be enough
will love ever be enough
will love ever be enough
just in time to prove

song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

My Sweet School

School is where one learns,
Kowledge is what one earns,
Teachers, friends are a part of school,
Without them, a school, isnt a school,

A teacher's duty is to teach,
And a student's duty is to breach,
When parents get the complain,
The teacher's trust then, gets hard to retain,

Oh! It's recess,
But to her heart there is no access,
Boy tries to impress girl,
But oh! She's a knurl,

Recess is over and class has resumed,
Next exam, God! I am doomed,
I know I won't pass,
Coz I know Im a bass,

Walking back home in the evening,
It feels like my stress is lessening,
Im happy to be home,
Coz there is every place to roam,

Back to school, early in the morning,
I see it is snowing,
I'm back to a place of learning,
Knowlegde is what Im earning,

School is a source of knowlegde,
The best part in my life is being at this stage,
It includes everything,
And it lacks nothing,

Teachers, friends are a part of a school,
Without which a school isn't a school..............

poem by Sherbanu Molu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

God Gave To Me A Child In Part

GOD gave to me a child in part,
Yet wholly gave the father's heart:
Child of my soul, O whither now,
Unborn, unmothered, goest thou?

You came, you went, and no man wist;
Hapless, my child, no breast you kist;
On no dear knees, a privileged babbler, clomb,
Nor knew the kindly feel of home.

My voice may reach you, O my dear-
A father's voice perhaps the child may hear;
And, pitying, you may turn your view
On that poor father whom you never knew.

Alas! alone he sits, who then,
Immortal among mortal men,
Sat hand in hand with love, and all day through
With your dear mother wondered over you.

poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Never Ending Story (live Acoustic Version)

Armies have conquered
And fallen in the end
Kingdoms have risen
Then buried by sand
The Earth is our mother
She gives and she takes
She puts us to sleep and
In her light we'll awake
We'll all be forgotten
There's no endless fame
But everything we do
Is never in vain
We're part of a story, part of a tale
We're all on this journey
No one is to stay
Where ever it's going
What is the way?
Forests and deserts
Rivers, blue seas
Mountains and valleys
Nothing here stays
While we think we witness
We are part of the scene
This never-ending story
Where will it lead to?
The earth is our mother
She gives and she takes
But she is also a part
A part of the tale
We're part of a story, part of a tale
We're all on this journey
No one is to stay
Where ever it's going
What is the way?
We're part of a story, part of a tale
Sometimes beautiful and sometimes insane
No one remembers how it began

song performed by by Within Temptation
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Do not DELETE this or ABORT

an original from Don Allan Dinio

Every time a child is conceived,
a new life just blooms. It's God's gift!
Every time a baby is born,
another cycle of life just began. Angelic!
The very first time the baby cries,
a miracle just happened. Majestic!
The mystery in this child's life just started.
That is just wonderful!

I know you say that it is your choice but
don't forget it's the baby's ~ right to live!
Please do not DELETE this off your mind.

You got to think hard to do or not to do it.
The pressure is on you. Your life.
It is your pride versus the baby's right.
You got to ponder how in the world can you
afford to raise this child? Will you
sacrifice your future and the rest of your
life for the terrible quick mistake you made?
What kind of life would this child have?
The child is there...let him live!
The child could be a genius, a scientist,
the next president or an astrounaut.
That is just wishful thinking!
But does that really matter?

Remember, this child is your flesh and blood.
It is part of you!
Who knows this child might even save your life and many more.
Please do not ABORT!

Fifteen years from now the child will be a teenager.
Later on will be a young adult and shape his own life.
This child will be part of your joys and happiness,
fears and tears, more worries and some and more.
What child would he be? - so you may ask.
You begin to worry and it can get scary.

Life's influences on this child are so varied and many.
The friends and acquaintances the child may befriend
have tremendous effect of what he will become.
His toys, his hobbies, and his peers,
you, and the family and life as a whole
will be part of this child's personality.
This child will be fine, don't worry!
Let this one live.
Please do not DELETE this off your mind.

Thirty years or so from now this child will be a fully grown person.
This child will have a personality of his own.
This child might or could have accomplished something
really great that you can be proud of.
This child might or could done something terrible too
and you would have said and say to yourself...
'If only I knew! '
But don't take it as your fault. He is what he will become!

No one knows the future.
You should be proud you gave this child...
a choice to live instead ~
You did not ABORT!

Twenty some years ago, there was this young lady
who got pregnant and was left on her own
by someone she thought loves her and
will marry her and will live happily ever after. Huh?
DELETE that!

She thought long and hard what to do
with her pregnancy...the baby!
She was worried to death of her future,
her pride, the baby's future...just like you.
It was a tough decision, a life and death choice
to make and the baby's right to live.
This lady made the right choice -
she gave birth to her baby...a lovely beautiful baby
and turned out to be a fine lady,
a good daughter ~ You!

Please return the favor, do not ABORT!

poem by Don Allan Dinio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Agrarian Unrest....

my father is a landlord.
He sent me to a big university in the city.
I studied philosophy.

The university taught me about equality.
Compassion. We studied existentialism
The poverty of the masses.
The agrarian unrest.
The essence of man
The quality of life
Justifications of living
Explanations of death
After life.

I wrote a class report about a child who ate
only a handful of rice for breakfast
plus brown sugar as viand
and then a glass of water for his thirst
from the nearby river
and then he was left in the house
as his father works in the field
and his mother
sells vegetables in the market.

When i left the child, The
heavy silence of the world fell upon my shoulder.

One day father took me for a vacation in our land.
There are mountains. Lots of trees.
A beautiful place.

There is a house there
Dilapidated. A tenant lives there
There is a hungry child.
Drought. Long hot days.

I pity the poor condition. But i no longer ask for the cause.
Then the tenant asks me if i can give him land.
Or a part of father's land.

I have no answer.
I could have told him, I do not own anything,
I do not live here
and father is still alive...

And wants me to be firm and cruel.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Love Of A Parent

They had married at a very young age
At the time they thought it was a game.
They had been together for a long time
and he thought that everything would be fine.

They had lived together for two years or more
And they thought they knew the score.
At seventeen years of age they felt they knew it all
And life was to have a ball.

With part time jobs they paid their bills
Living together was such a thrill.
Not having to worry about a curfew hour
Now ' they had all the power'.

Going out partying every weekend
Not thinking of the money that they spent.
Coming home late at night, being drunk
They would start to fight.

She started feeling some menstruation pain
And from this point on their lives would change.
She went to her doctor to check it out
Pregnant she was - there was no doubt.

Now their eyes opened to the fact
From this point on there was no turning back.
They now had a child on the way
And they could no longer go out to play.

He got a full time job and straightened up his act
And a better position he would have to attack.
He went back to school To get a better education
And to give his wife and child all that he could give
And with both their incomes they would have to live.

She worked for seven months till she
Could work no longer, and to get their house in order.
When she went to the hospital because her time was due
She found out she was having not one but two.

She gave birth to a beautiful boy and girl
He was a diamond and she a pearl.
The most precious babies you'd ever want to see
And he was the proud father - as proud as can be.

They struggled like most couples do
But he was determined to see it through.
She took her children and held them tight
For in their faces she saw their fathers might.

His love so strong for his family
And this is what they all did see.
And the rest is history.

poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The real master

a part of me
i could name you
all their functions

a part of me
i could not fathom

the master
behind them all

the same master
works the lotus
each morn
petal by petal
little by little
till it dances
like a pretty lass

the water
when it drips its last
from the world
i too would follow suit

when the master
thinks it time for
all the blooms
to call it a day
and say goodbye
i too would follow suit

the plants, water, light
and me are one
as blood is to this physique

me bound to the world
tight as steel
though free to roam

mother and child

when the conscious part,
the physique go

i join the trees, water, and the master
to work his world

late grandma
see she is now a row of seeds

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Eva And Magaldi/Eva Beware Of The City

Eva: To think that a man as famous as you are
Could love a poor little nothing like me
I wanna be a part of B.A. Buenos Aires
Big Apple

Chorus: She wants to be a part of B.A. Buenos Aires
Big Apple

Che: Just listen to that
They're on to you Magaldi
I'd get out while you can

Eva: It's happened at last
I'm starting to get started
I'm moving out with my man

Magaldi: Now Eva don't get carried away

Eva: Monotony past suburbia departed
Who could ever be fond of the back of beyond

Magaldi: Don't hear words that I didn't say

Chorus: What's that
You'd desert the girl you love

Magaldi: The girl I love
What are you talking about

Juan: She really brightened up your out of town engagement

Chorus: She gave you all she had
She wasn't in your contract
You must be quite relieved that no one's told the papers
So far

Eva: I wanna be a part of B.A. Buenos Aires
Big Apple
Would I have done what I did
If I hadn't thought
If I hadn't known we would stay together

Juan: Seems to me there's no point in resisting
She's made up her mind you've no choice
Why don't you be the man who discovered her
You'll never be remembered for your voice

Magaldi: The city can be paradise for those who have the cash
The class and the connections what you need to make a splash
The likes of you get swept up in the morning with the trash
If you were rich or middle class

Eva: Screw the middle classes
I will never accept them
My father's other family were middle class
And we were kept out of sight hidden from view at his funeral

Juan: Do all your one night stands give you this trouble

Magaldi: Eva beware of the city
It's hungry and cold can't be controlled
It is mad
Those who are fools are swallowed up whole
And those who are not become what they should become
Changed
In short they go bad

Eva: Bad is good for me
I'm bored so clean and so ignored
I've only been predictable respectable
Birds fly out of here so why oh why oh why the Hell can't I
I only want variety of society
I wanna be a part of B.A. Buenos Aires
Big Apple

Chorus: She wants to be a part of B.A. Buenos Aires
Big Apple

Magaldi: Five years from now I shall come back
And finally say you have your way come to town
But you'll look at me with a foreigner's eyes
The magical city a younger girl's city a fantasy long since put down

Eva: All you've done to me
Was that a young girl's fantasy
I played your city games alright didn't I
I already know what cooks how the dirty city feels and looks
I tasted it last night didn't I
I'm gonna be a part of B.A. Buenos Aires
Big Apple

Chorus: She's gonna be a part of B.A. Buenos Aires
Big Apple

Magaldi: Eva beware your ambition
It's hungry and cold can't be controlled
Will run wild
This in a man is dangerous enough
But you are a woman not even a woman
Not very much more than a child
And whatever you say I'll not steal you away

song performed by by Madonna from Evita Soundtrack (Part 1)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Mannahatta

I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name!

Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly,
musical, self-sufficient;
I see that the word of my city is that word up there,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with
tall and wonderful spires,
Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and steamships--an
island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets--high growths of iron, slender, strong,
light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies;
Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining
islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the
ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model'd; 10
The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business--the houses of
business of the ship-merchants, and money-brokers--the river-
streets;
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week;
The carts hauling goods--the manly race of drivers of horses--the
brown-faced sailors;
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft;
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells--the broken ice in the river,
passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd, beautiful-faced,
looking you straight in the eyes;
Trottoirs throng'd--vehicles--Broadway--the women--the shops and
shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums
beating;
A million people--manners free and superb--open voices--hospitality--
the most courageous and friendly young men;
The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves! 20
The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the
city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!
The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after
death to be with them!
The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, without I
often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!

poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Forsaken

Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I am very weary. I have come
from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such
far roaming. I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was. Mary Mother, you know the cause!

Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me! Let this fear
be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming. For months I have hoped
it was so, now I am afraid I know. Lady, why should this be shame,
just because I haven't got his name. He loved me, yes, Lady, he did,
and he couldn't keep it hid. We meant to marry. Why did he die?

That day when they told me he had gone down in the avalanche, and could not
be found until the snow melted in Spring, I did nothing. I could not cry.
Why should he die? Why should he die and his child live? His little child
alive in me, for my comfort. No, Good God, for my misery! I cannot face
the shame, to be a mother, and not married, and the poor child to be reviled
for having no father. Merciful Mother, Holy Virgin, take away this sin I did.
Let the baby not be. Only take the stigma off of me!

I have told no one but you, Holy Mary. My mother would call me 'whore',
and spit upon me; the priest would have me repent, and have
the rest of my life spent in a convent. I am no whore, no bad woman,
he loved me, and we were to be married. I carried him always in my heart,
what did it matter if I gave him the least part of me too? You were a virgin,
Holy Mother, but you had a son, you know there are times when a woman
must give all. There is some call to give and hold back nothing.
I swear I obeyed God then, and this child who lives in me is the sign.
What am I saying? He is dead, my beautiful, strong man! I shall never
feel him caress me again. This is the only baby I shall have.
Oh, Holy Virgin, protect my baby! My little, helpless baby!

He will look like his father, and he will be as fast a runner and as good
a shot. Not that he shall be no scholar neither. He shall go to school
in winter, and learn to read and write, and my father will teach him to carve,
so that he can make the little horses, and cows, and chamois,
out of white wood. Oh, No! No! No! How can I think such things,
I am not good. My father will have nothing to do with my boy,
I shall be an outcast thing. Oh, Mother of our Lord God, be merciful,
take away my shame! Let my body be as it was before he came.
No little baby for me to keep underneath my heart for those long months.
To live for and to get comfort from. I cannot go home and tell my mother.
She is so hard and righteous. She never loved my father, and we were born
for duty, not for love. I cannot face it. Holy Mother, take my baby away!
Take away my little baby! I don't want it, I can't bear it!

And I shall have nothing, nothing! Just be known as a good girl.
Have other men want to marry me, whom I could not touch, after having known
my man. Known the length and breadth of his beautiful white body,
and the depth of his love, on the high Summer Alp, with the moon above,
and the pine-needles all shiny in the light of it. He is gone, my man,
I shall never hear him or feel him again, but I could not touch another.
I would rather lie under the snow with my own man in my arms!

So I shall live on and on. Just a good woman. With nothing to warm my heart
where he lay, and where he left his baby for me to care for. I shall not be
quite human, I think. Merely a stone-dead creature. They will respect me.
What do I care for respect! You didn't care for people's tongues
when you were carrying our Lord Jesus. God had my man give me my baby,
when He knew that He was going to take him away. His lips will comfort me,
his hands will soothe me. All day I will work at my lace-making,
and all night I will keep him warm by my side and pray the blessed Angels
to cover him with their wings. Dear Mother, what is it that sings?
I hear voices singing, and lovely silver trumpets through it all. They seem
just on the other side of the wall. Let me keep my baby, Holy Mother.
He is only a poor lace-maker's baby, with a stain upon him,
but give me strength to bring him up to be a man.

poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!