Christmas Themed Card Inserts Written By Me 4
My mother’s in the kitchen,
In a blue haze fog,
My father’s in the smallest room,
Producing a Yule tide log.
poem by A.E.K.G Navrilith
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Christmas Themed Card Inserts Written By Me 3
My mother’s in the kitchen,
Cooking a festive frog,
My father’s in the smallest room,
Producing a Yule tide log.
poem by A.E.K.G Navrilith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Parents
Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
Ilove you i love you
I looking for you
to talk about my heart
which still ill
untill i will see you
Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you
You are the third one
In my small heart
After ALLAH and
And my prophet MOHAMED
Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you
Oh ALLAH is ordering us
Not to make them angry
Never to tell them
the smallest word ouufff
Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you
Oh ALLAH loves who
Makes his parents happy
And forgives those
Who have a lot of mistakes
Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
Ilove you i love you
Oh ALLAH enter me
To the higher Firdaous
With my parents and
every single MUSLIM
Oh my mother Oh my father
Oh my mother Oh my father
Where are you where are you wher are you?
I love you i love you
poem by Abderaouf Laoud
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My Grandmother
When she would talk about her mother,
it was as though there were another person in the room
She could see her mother in her mind;
It was as if my grandmother was dancing across the kitchen floor
It was as if she were talking about an imaginary person
who was not in the room
Her mother was in her mind
My mother was standing on the kitchen floor, cleaning a glass, and thinking of my grandmother
I could see it through the silence
poem by Samuel Stuart Pennell
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Missing Link
A sickly child lie
frail on the sofa in the living room.
A knock on the door,
His mother opened.
The man who entered the child knew it was his father.
Whose child is this?
“It is your youngest son” his mother said.
The children in the street
all had a father; the child had waited for him.
But his father ignored him,
gave chocolate to his sister and brother,
then he drank from a bottle,
his mother threw him out.
Next day asked his mother, ” are you sure he is my father? ”
She slapped her son’s face and cried.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Mother, Father
Mother, father please explain to me
Why a world so full of mystery
A place so bitter and still so sweet
So beautiful and yet so full of sad, sad...
Mother, father please explain to me
Why forests march to desert speed
While snowcapped mountains melt away
What do we tell our babies, when do we say, oh
Mother, father please explain to me
How a man who rocks his child to sleep
Pulls the trigger on his brothers heart
He digs a hole right to the middle of this storm of hatred
Mother, father please explain to me
How it could be so this world has come to be
A precious balance in between
Such cruelty and such kindness please
Mother, father please explain to me
How this world has come to be
Unequaled in her blessings, oh, I see
Unbridled hatred so extreme, please tell me
Mother, father please explain to me
How this world has come to be so
Twisted between time and dreams
Oh, mother, father please explain to me
Oh, whats all this talk about?
All this talk about it
Spinning down, down, down, down, down
All this talk about
Endless words without
Nothings done
Mother, father do you know
Why one mans belly overflows
Another sleeps in hungers bed
Oh, we trade our world for a piece of bread
Oh mother, father please explain to me
How this rare worlds come to be
A place so full of color yet overflowing
Always in black and white
Drowning in the waters of our...
Mother, father please explain to me
How this world has come to be
While still blessed in all the things we see
Such a sad, sad home for you and me
Come out, and hold,
Come on out you
Come on out you
Come and save yourself
Come on out you
Come on were taking the water
Were taken the water
Were taken the water
But you know
We got the freedom
We got the freedom
Theres no God above
And no hell below
Oh, its here with us
Its up to us
To keep afloat
How this sweet world has come to be
Oh to keep afloat
Mother, father please explain to me
How this rare world has come to be
Oh, let the blue planet
Let the blue planet
Mother, father please explain to me
Mother, father please explain
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On His Father's Side
On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Male parental hierarchy.
My parents are two, grandparents four
And great grandparents, eight and so on.
I am known by my father, his father,
And his father and so on by male side.
My mother, her mother and father, their
Mother and father and so on are ignored.
My fathers’ mother and grandfather’s
Mother and so on go to oblivion.
I am known by my father, his father
And his father and so on as a family.
All women from whom I have drawn
Their genes have been shut out.
Parental hierarchy is represented
By male, women dislodged at every stage.
25.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Father's Room
I saw a picture in my father’s room,
tucked away in a worn paper box.
It was of him and my mother,
holding hands.
They were young too.
My mother a beauty in her violet blouse,
and my father in an old T-shirt.
They smiled.
As I sat,
wondering who the photographer was,
my Father came home,
and asked me to mow the grass.
poem by Christopher Parsons
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Your Blue Room
Its time to go again
To your blue room
Got some questions to ask of you
In your blue room
The air is clean
Your skin is clear
Ive had enough fun hanging round here
Its a different kind of conversation
Your blue room
Saw me coming
In outside
Saw me coming
Somewhere I can hide
And time is a string of pearls...your blue room
(Im a swinger)
See the future just hanging there...your blue room
A new frame, a new perspective
Looking down on my objectives
Your instructions whatever their directions
Your blue room
Saw me coming
East by the moon
Saw me coming
Can you feel
(its allright)
Your blue room
One day Ill be back...your blue room
Yeah, I hope I remember where its at...your blue room
We see me slide
Wont you give me a home
So much for change
Zooming in
Zooming out
Nothing I cant do without
A lens to see it all up close
Magnifying what no one knows
Never in company
Never alone
No car alarm
No cellular phone
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The family tree
I am known by my father
Though equally owned by mother.
I trace from my father’s father,
And not from father’s mother
Nor my mother’s mother or father.
Has family tree any sense?
19.08.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To be fanatic
Mother is a Christian, father, an Islam,
Mother’s mother, a Jain,
Mothers father, a Buddhist,
Father’s mother a Saivite,
Father’s father a Vaishnavite,
And their forefathers none,
Which religion must I be fanatic of?
24.10.2009
[saivites = followers of God Siva;
Vaishnavites = followers of God Krishna]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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An event to recall on Mother's Day - That mother is no one other than me
Summer evening
Sun still harsh
Me, then fourteen
My mother's younger sister
Came forward to tell
A story about a mother
Mumbai, then Bombay
Highrise residential quarters
Fourth floor
Big Hall
Two big bed rooms
Two baths
Big kitchen
Grill-less windows
Free flow of air
Lot natural light
A mother in the kitchen
Preparing food
For her husband
And their three sons
The youngest about two years old
Left on the kitchen table
Mother being busy around
The child not seen now
Mother realised just then
Would have slipped
Across the open window
She was right
The child has fallen
But on the sun shade
About four feet below
Her two year old son
On an open sun shade
Not less than forty feet
Above the ground level
No time to lose
No time waiting for help
From outside
Mother too slowly
Slipped about four feet onto the
Just two feet wide sun shade
Picked up the child
Put him onto the kitchen work table
Managed to climb back to her kitchen
I was thrilled
I was to ask a number of questions
One important being
Is the mother is so courageous
My aunt finished telling
That mother is no one other than me
And that son is no one other than
My third son
Both that mother and son
Are safe, living and active
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Blue Room, The
We'll have a blue room
A new room for two room
Where ev'ry day's a holiday
Because you're married to me.
Not like a ballroom
A small room, A hall room
Where I can smoke my pipe away
With your wee head upon my knee.
We will thrive on, keep alive on
Just nothing but kisses
With Mister and Missus
On little blue chairs.
You sew your trousseau
And Robinson Crusoe
Is not so far from worldly cares
As our blue room far away upstairs
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Authorship
You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don't
understand.
He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really
make out what he meant?
What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can't father
write like that, I wonder?
Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and
fairies and princesses?
Has he forgotten them all?
Often when he gets late for his bath you have to and call him
an hundred times.
You wait and keep his dishes warm for him, but he goes on
writing and forgets.
Father always plays at making books.
If ever I go to play in father's room, you come and call me,
"What a naughty child!"
If I make the slightest noise you say, "Don't you see that
father's at his work?"
What's the fun of always writing and writing?
When I take up father's pen or pencil and write upon his book
just as he does,-a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,-why do you get cross with me
then, mother?
You never say a word when father writes.
When my father wastes such heaps of paper, mother, you don't
seem to mind at all.
But if I take only one sheet to take a boat with, you say,
"Child, how troublesome you are!"
What do you think of father's spoiling sheets and sheets of
paper with black marks all over both sides?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Unseen
something's wrong with mother always cleaning the house
and father complains for she does nothing but sweep and scrub
and dust and wipe and rub,
the floors are shiny and father does not like it
he may slide and the children too
and each may hurt the body, but mother cannot be stopped
and we complain like what father does, but mother does not
really mind, for she has become so hardheaded because father
slaps her and we make her deaf with our grumblings
until then when mother died and father cried and we felt we had all our
lives wasted, but there was one in the family who smiled
someone who thought that mother simply did what she liked best
clean the dirt, mop the floors, get all the spider's cobwebs
someone sees the beauty of mother, she's doing her chores still
but now unseen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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First Teacher
First teacher is Mother
Next comes father
Mother gives birth
Mother is the earth
After five years
Father takes care
No substitute of
Father and mother
And they are ours
Life's newspaper.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Love One Another
Everybody needs a little tenderness
Everybody needs a release
From the cell they lock themselves in
Loves the only peace
Everybody needs
Everybody Cries
Everybody Bleeds
Everybody Dies
Everybody Dreams
Everybody Wakes
Everybody makes mistakes
Love one another
Sisters and brothers
Love one another
Love one another
Father and mother
Love one another
Its easier to walk away when youve
Got a wounded pride
When two people stand together
Thats how they heal inside
Try to understand
Open up your heart
A fist is just a hand
It can come apart
Let go of the past, let go of the fight
Forgiving fills the world with light
Love one another
Sisters and brothers
Love one another
Love one another
Father and mother
Love one another
We were given a world so beautiful
A deep ocean, a blue-blue sky
I know we can make it a better place
If only you and I
Love one another
Sisters and brothers
Love one another
Love one another
Father and mother
Love one another
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Random things about my Mother
My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue
My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake
My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane
My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine
My mother who knew
No contentment in living
My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two
My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died
My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury
My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears
My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years
My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets
My mother who was tamed
By my father
My mother who was captured by my father
My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh
My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint
My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin
My mother who love to walk about
My mother who gave a toe
A day away
My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot
My mother who was a great dresser
My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir
My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost
My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men
My mother who tried to settle down with my father
My mother who could never swim
My mother who loved to sing
My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town
My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing
My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family
My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.
My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve
My mother who I helped to live
My mother who I had to let die
My mother who lives in me
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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Single Father
Lately I've been spendin lots of time with my kid
Tellin him stories
About the things that we did
When we were a family
Long time ago
I've answered his questions
Till I'm blue in the face
Wish all that hurt in him
I could erase
But I tell him the truth
Cause he ain't too young to know
Single father
Part time mother
When I'm not one
Then I'm the other
You used to be
My full time lover
Now I'm a single father
And a part time mother
I spend every minute
I can with my boy
There's no doubt about it
He's my pride and joy
Someday he will grow up
And I wont have him no more
Some things I just find
Too hard to explain
So we go to McDonalds
Or I buy him a train
And we go put it together
On the living room floor
Such is the life
Of a single father
He says daddy explain
If its not too much bother
While its just you and me
Living here in this home
I don't understand it
And neither does he
Why there's just two
When there should be three of us
Sharing this moment
Lord I feel so alone
[repeat chorus]
song performed by by Kid Rock
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's haze, hard haze...
It's haze, hard haze,
As a veil as a shroud...
And there, in two steps,
It is war behind the haze.
And the battles go on,
But we can't take part in them,
We're absolutly chained by haze to earth now -
We are the air workers of the war.
It's haze, hard haze
On past events, on life.
And so far, in distant land
There is our house fine.
And in front dugout hut
We are dreaming of the child,
That we were in past, but now we to adults grown -
We are the air workers of the war.
It's haze, grey haze...
It will come and again.
And so far in distant land
There is love behind the haze.
And the brides will wait for long,
When we could from war return,
And, alas, not all will then return to home...
We are the air workers of the war...
song, music by A. Kolker, lyrics by K. Ryzhov, translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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