Sunday Father
Hand in his hand though the park
All afternoon
A fine day to fly balloons or tell him a story
Hand in his hand to wonder
Till day is done
Sunday father and son
Sundays are theres to explore
Alone by law
One day to keep the two from turning to strangers
One day to know the answers
Be firm , be fun
Sunday father and son
The father weaves though the weekend streets
Sunday done, monday comin' on
He leaves the child by a modest home
That they share no more
With the woman who waits indoors
Till she knows he's gone
Where are the words or the games
A place to go
Someway to let him know you want to be with him
Somehow it's always ending
Just half begun
Sunday father and son
Sunday father and son
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Bloody Sunday
Well it was sunday bloody sunday
When they shot the people there
The cries of thirteen martyrs
Filled the free derry air
Is there any one amongst you
Dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding
When they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
You claim to be majority
Well you know that its a lie
Youre really a minority
On this sweet emerald isle
When stormont bans our marches
Theyve got a lot to learn
Internment is no answer
Its those mothers turn to burn!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
You anglo pigs and scotties
Sent to colonize the north
You wave your bloody union jack
And you know what its worth!
How dare you hold to ransom
A people proud and free
Keep ireland for the irish
Put the english back to sea!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Well, its always bloody sunday
In the concentration camps
Keep falls road free forever
From the bloody english hands
Repatriate to britain
All of you who call it home
Leave ireland to the irish
Not for london or for rome!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those winter sundays
a single's sunday
bachelor's sunday
lonely as the sun
bright, warm
yet cold as ever
echoes of deserted morn park
reverberated
in lonely hearts
winter's sunday
a bachelor's sunday
the lonely walk
between the skyscrapers
that hid the sun
making the day drowsier
more melancholy
the heart, slayed
bobs up and down
in an ocean of wish
too big for this little frame
the mind tries cheering itself up
with verses shuttled between
different corners of the world
the muse's only Sunday warmth
that cup of coffee in hand
and pen in hand
painting the world
in his own colours, fashion
in his attempt to rise
above the waves of Sunday's blue
mozart, bach, beethoven,
trail the bright Sunday rays
sending a wave of joy
in this self sustaining survival
inspired by:
Those Winter Sundays
Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
Robert Hayden
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Return Of The Farmers Son
Well my father is a farmer
A damn good one at his trade
And hes always loved my mama
Though we laid her in the grave
Ive been down, Ive been down
A hustler and a cheat
Ill always love my father
His kind heart cant be beat
Oh...
Id spit in your face if you laughed at me
Dont you know, dont you know
I might be a dipper, but I aint a thief
Dont you know, dont you know
Oh yeah...
Come on...
Well my father is a farmer
Used to smack me on the ass
Used to dress me up in my sunday best
Get down, get down to sunday mass
And Ive been down, so down
Dont you know, dont you know
Ill always love my father
I love him so
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Papers
Mother doesnt go out any more
Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes
But every weekend through the door
Come words of wisdom from the world outside
If you want to know about the bishop and the actress
If you want to know how to be a star
If you want to know about the stains on the mattress
You can read it in the sunday papers, sunday papers
Mothers wheelchair stays out in the hall
Why should she go out when the tvs on
Whatever moves beyond these walls
Shell know the facts when sunday comes along
If you want to know about the man gone bonkers
If you want to know how to play guitar
If you want to know about the other suckers
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Brothers heading that way now I guess
He just read something made his face turn blue
Well I got nothing against the press
They wouldnt print it if it wasnt true
If you want to know about the gay politician
If you want to know how to drive your car
If you want to know about the new sex position
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Read all about it, sunday papers
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Morning
Sunday morning silence, curtain stay closed late
No one thinks of kitchens mornings in a filthy state
Dishes cups and beer stains, ashtrays on the floor
Sunday morning papers are left outside the front door
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
(sunday, bloody sunday rest)
Glass of fizzy water helps to start the day
Sit and listen to sunday silence, problems fade away
Sunday cars and drivers break the morning air
Uncollected milk outside reveals theres no one there
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Bathrobes hang in waiting, windows steaming up
Somewhere in the sink downstairs lies an unwashed cup
Tea and toast for breakfast clear away the plates
Wash-up prepare for cooking sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Like My Father
Sunday morning
Yesterday’s cigars smelt like him
Bold
Specific in their smell
Just like my father
Always hyper
Sometimes amusing
Never genuine
Just like my father
His drinking
Is no dilemma
What leaves me queasy
Is drunk sincerity
Just like my father
Stumbling in the house
Reeking of cheap brandy
At 5 in the morning
Just like my father
With sayings
Not possibly, farther
From the truth
Just like my father
Leaving me
Alone
Afraid
and only
as innocent
as i hoped
i could have been
Just like my father
A Sunday Prayer For Our Lost Sisters And Brothers
Dear Father God, once again I come to you on a Sunday morning.
Father please know that I love you dearly, I respect your name,
I love your son Jesus. Father know that I give thanks for all that you have given, your wondrous views, your precious animal kingdom, the miracle of childbirth and more.
Father this Sunday I would like to focus on praying for your children who deny you, those who say you don’t exist, those that
refuse to acknowledge you in any way. Yes Lord I pray for them
for they are lost and as your son said a long time ago, “they no not what they do”. Father cleanse their minds, open their eyes and show them the way to the truth. Father speak to them, walk with
them.
Father these people are lost, misguided and need you in their lives,
although they may never ask you Lord, give me the knowledge,
wisdom, patience and strength to know how best to minister to
these non believers. Use me Lord as a vessel to deliver your
word so they may understand there is no other that comes before
you.
Lord we all have our problems, we are all sinners, I have sinned
and still have weaknesses, but Lord I would never deny you, I
get my strength from you, I know when I have fallen you will be
there to pick me up and start me once again on the right track. I
know you will comfort me in my saddest hours. I know I will
here the whispers of your precious voice, I know you love me, I
have faith in you and I trust only in you and not in man. I belive
only in you and not in man, I know I can deal with any situation
with you by my side. Father I want these people to know you as
I do.
I ask this prayer this Sunday morning in the name of your precious
son Jesus. Thank you Father, Amen.
poem by Melvina Germain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gas
my grandmother had a serious gas
problem.
we only saw her on Sunday.
she'd sit down to dinner
and she'd have gas.
she was very heavy,
80 years old.
wore this large glass brooch,
that's what you noticed most
in addition to the gas.
she'd let it go just as food was being served.
she'd let it go in bursts
spaced about a minute apart.
she'd let it go
4 or 5 times
as we reached for the potatoes
poured the gravy
cut into the meat.
nobody ever said anything,
especially me.
I was 6 years old.
only my grandmother spoke.
after 4 or 5 blasts
she would say in an offhand way,
'I'll bury you all!'
I didn't much like that:
first farting
then saying that.
it happened every Sunday.
she was my father's mother.
every Sunday it was death and gas
and mashed potatoes and gravy
and that big glass brooch.
those Sunday dinners would
always end with apple pie and
ice cream
and a big argument
about something or other,
my grandmother finally running out the door
and taking the red train back to
Pasadena
the place stinking for an hour
and my father walking about
fanning a newspaper in the air and
saying, 'it's all that damned sauerkraut
she eats!'
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My brother Jim and I saw our father go into the jails and pray with the inmates Sunday after Sunday. He prayed with both blacks and whites. If we ever repeated any slurs we heard on the playground, he'd tell us very softly, ""I don't want to hear those words.""
quote by Charles Moore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Always Another Sunday
There is always another Sunday,
From where do Sundays come from?
Do they sell them next to strike-anywhere matches,
Can you buy a three-pack and get one free
To make a perfect month, of Sundays?
Sunday afternoon might find you sitting at table
With some people you don't know too well,
Trying to make polite conversation
While slicing up some shoe-leathery beef roast,
That has always been the hallmark of the day.
Is it the first day of the week
Or effectively, the last?
How can the week start without any work?
Because it seems to make a better ending, instead.
Will we ever run out of Sundays?
Not unless we run out of football, baseball
Basketball and soccer first; it seems evident
That Sunday is merely a cog, attached to the sports wheel,
And is born and dies each week, with the big game.
You will not find most people discussing their sins
On Sunday afternoons:
You already know what they will be talking about.
poem by Patti Masterman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just Another Sunday
I know you've been dreaming 'bout the times in our lives
But I've been screaming in my bed late at night
A space a little, little and your stack of pain
Makes it grip that skull, to me child that you'll stay
You've been in my life so long, can I get through to you
I touch you eyes and it shades my life blue
There's something I need to say before it's to late
But I won't hold you back, while I'm begging you to stay
Just another Sunday
Just another Sunday
Oh yaaa, just another Sunday
Just another Sunday, oh yaaa
There's too many games in a day for a simple man to face
That desperate moment in your life where you can't be afraid
Don't think your second chance will break around the bend
'Cos hearts don't always share love, or the person on the other
end
You've been in my life so long, can I get through to you
I touch you eyes and it shades my life blue
There's something I need to say before it's to late
But I won't hold you back, while I'm begging you to stay ya
Just another Sunday yaa
Just another Sunday oh baby
It's only one more Sunday
Just another Sunday, oh yaaa
Those are tickets for the same plane, bring it back to me
'Cos felling the same pain makes half the luxery
Take a walk away won't end the carousel
But if walking away can bring you back, then I wish you well
You've been in my life so long, can I get through to you
I touch you eyes and it shades my life blue
There's something I need to say before it's to late
But I won't hold you back, while I'm begging you to stay
Just another Sunday yaa
Just another Sunday oh baby
It's only one more Sunday
Just another Sunday
It's just another Sunday
It's just another
Just another Sunday
Just another oh yaa
Just another Sunday
song performed by by Guns N' Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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how that Sunday ended
the waves are bigger than my dreams
i sit on the sandy shore waiting
you come like a shadow of an afternoon Sunday
broad and firm and strong as you claim yourself
in a name carved in stone
it is late and i am weak
you run to the sea and plunge yourself
you wave your hand before that
i am looking at the horizon
and then the sunset completes itself
with your silence
in that single splash
i think it is horrible but on the other hand
it is divine
i cannot remember how that Sunday ends
i will again say it ends with the splash and then the edifying silence
let me stop and think awhile, a moment of silence
how can i tell you that there is this deleted version of the story
in trembling i arrive home and then i scream
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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how Sunday ended upon its own trembling
the waves are bigger than my dreams
i sit on the sandy shore waiting
you come like a shadow of an afternoon Sunday
broad and firm and strong as you claim yourself
in a name carved in stone
it is late and i am weak
you run to the sea and plunge yourself
you wave your hand before that
i am looking at the horizon
and then the sunset completes itself
with your silence
in that single splash
i think it is horrible but on the other hand
it is divine
i cannot remember how that Sunday ends
i will again say it ends with the splash and then the edifying silence
let me stop and think awhile, a moment of silence
how can i tell you that there is this deleted version of the story
in trembling i arrive home and then i scream
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Raining On Sunday
It ticks just like a timex
It never lets up on you
Who said life was easy
The job is never through
Itll run us til were ragged
Itll harden our hearts
And love could use a day of rest
Before we both start falling apart
Pray that its raining on sunday
Stormin like crazy
Well hide under the covers all afternoon
Baby whatever comes monday
Can take care of itself
cause we got better things that we could do
When its raining on sunday
Your love is like religion
A cross in mexico
And your kiss is like the innocence
Of a prayer nailed to a door
Oh surrender in much sweeter
When we both let it go
Let the water wash our bodies clean
And love wash our souls
Pray that its raining on sunday
Stormin like crazy
Well hide under the covers all afternoon
Baby whatever comes monday
Can take care of itself
cause we got better things that we could do
When its raining on sunday
Pray that its raining on sunday
Stormin like crazy
Well hide under the covers all afternoon
Baby whatever comes monday
Can take care of itself
cause we got better things that we could do
When its raining on sunday
When its raining on sunday
When its raining on sunday
Let it rain
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lazy Day
Lazy day, sunday afternoon,
Like to get your feet up, watch t.v.
Sunday roast is something good to eat,
Must be beef today cause lamb was last week.
So full up, bursting at the seams,
Soon youll start to nod off, happy dreams.
Wake up, for tea and buttered scones
Such a lot of work for you sunday moms.
Its such a crying shame
Week after week the same.
Todays heaven-sent and youre feeling content,
You worked all week long.
Still, its quite sad tomorrows so bad
And I dont feel so strong.
Lazy day, sunday afternoon,
Like to get your feet up, watch t.v.
Sunday roast is something good to eat,
Now its almost over till week.
Thats how your life goes by
Until the day you die.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lean On Me (Tonight)
Lazy day, Sunday afternoon,
Like to get your feet up, watch TV.
Sunday roast is something good to eat,
Must be lamb today 'cause beef was last week.
So full up, bursting at the seams,
Soon you'll start to nod off, happy dreams.
Wake up, for tea and buttered scones
Such a lot of work for you Sunday moms.
It's such a crying shame
Week after week the same.
Today's heaven-sent and you're feeling content,
You worked all week long.
Still, it's quite sad tomorrow's so bad
And I don't feel too strong.
Lazy day, Sunday afternoon,
LIke to get your feet up, watch TV.
Sunday roast is something good to eat,
Now it's almost over till next week.
That's how your life goes by
Until the day you die.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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‘father”:
'A FATHER IS SOMEONE WHO'S THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOU NEED HIM
A FATHER NEVER LETS YOU DOWN
A FATHER IS SOMEONE THERE TO HUG YOU WHEN SOMETHING GOES WRONG
A FATHER IS THERE TO DRY UP THE TEARS
A FATHER IS THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO LEAVES THE MOTHER WHEN HE FINDS OUT SHE'S PERGANT
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO DENYS THEIR OWN CHILD
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO LEAVES YOU LEFT BEHIND
A FATHER IS'NT SOMEONE WHO SAYS ONE THING TO ONE PERSON THEN SAYS ANOTHER THING TO SOMEONE ELSE
A FATHER IS’NT WHAT I SEE IN YOU”
poem by Yeslin Salazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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