Some Mother's Young Daughter
In the quiet alleyway in the dim moonlight
Some mother's young daughter she died over-night
From a drug overdose friendless and alone
Found in a disused factory doorway cold and lifeless as a stone.
She was only nineteen so young for one to die
When the cold winds of Winter blew across the darkened sky
With hardly any shelter to shield her from the cold
Some are born to die young some die gray and old.
Some broken hearted mother is in tears today
For her beautiful daughter who died in such a tragic way
The baby she gave birth to who suckled from her breast
'Tis not her fault she died in this way for her she did her best.
Some mother's young daughter in a morgue today
In a disused factory doorway she died where she lay
Life for her may have been different had she not kept bad company
But easily said on hindsight how things might have been for such as she.
Some mother's young daughter is beyond all care
With the gleam of youth still in her golden hair
In a dimly lit alleyway in the cold night air
She did not return from the brink of despair.
poem by Francis Duggan
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So You Feel Life Is Tough On You
So you feel life is tough on you just going by what you say
Yet I know of a woman in her late sixties who sleeps in a disused factory doorway
With one blanket to keep out the chill on the cold concrete she lay
If you had to live as she does you would complain night and day.
In a so called Land of plenty she is not one of a few
There are many ageing people not due to their own fault who
Due to high rents have become Homeless poverty is on the rise
In a World of greed and corruption this should come as no surprise.
You do not have to sleep in a disused factory doorway open to the cold and rain
And you've got a comfortable house to live in yet you find cause to complain
But like they say poverty is a relevant thing and you feel you are poor
Though to a Homeless person of the street you would seem financially secure.
If you feel life is tough on you come for a walk with me
And I will show you what 'tis like for to live in poverty
I will show you an old woman who sleeps in a disused factory doorway
With a single blanket for to cover her on the cold concrete she lay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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Another Young Soldier
Another young soldier has died far away
An army representative will call on his mother today
For to tell her your son on the course of his duty has died
He served and died for his Country with his mates at his side.
Another war mother will grieve for her son
It will not matter to her if the battle was won
And it will not matter to her if her boy died brave
She will weep every time she will visit his grave.
Another young soldier to join the war dead
A bullet from a sniper hit him in the head
On his next birthday in June he would be twenty three
His loss a heavy cross to bear for his parents and members of his family.
Another young soldier may he rest in peace
At least from further suffering he has found release
Just one more to die in another man's war
On a bombed out back street in a city afar.
poem by Francis Duggan
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She Died
She died,
And I saw the loved ones cried
Right on her mother's arms she slept,
And not a word she said when she left,
Or if at all to return.
I missed the way she walked;
How she talked.
And the mother, she's getting no younger,
Can she bring forth another daughter?
A daughter to soothe the pain
This daughter left behind her.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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The Last Farewell
Last night we kissed hands goodbye,
never dreaming that it was forever.
Unsuspecting that you, my dear child,
soon would lie cold and still neath the heather.
The graceless Sun thoughtlessly shines
I would eclipse it forever.
The death I prepared for was mine,
but God twists the knife and is clever.
First your sister, thirteen summers ago
Then, soon after, I lost your dear Mother.
Now you, daughter- taken from me.
There's no chance this old man can recover.
The comet that shone at my birth
Will soon light its way through the heavens
I beg that it bears me away-
lets me stop being Samuel Clemmens.
(This poem is about the death of Mark Twain's daughter, who died on 12/24/1909. The speaker is Mark Twain. (Samuel L. Clemmens) He died four months later as Halley's comet lite the night sky. He was born during one visit of the comet and died upon its return.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Examples
What kind of an example will you be
Spoke mother nature to the tree
As it stood so proudly and ever so tall
As though defying to all that it would fall
Will you place your roots deep into the Earth
Then other trees like you will then give birth
Spoke once again mother nature to the tree
Tell me please what type of example will you be.
What kind of an example will you become
Spoke the mother wolf unto her young
Will you be majestic and run fast and free
Running in packs to provide for your family.
Or will you become a mother like I became
But swearing to all you will never be tamed
While fearing no one in the the moonlight or the sun
So please tell me what type of examples will you become.
What kind of an example will you be
Spoke the mother to her daughter upon her knee
Will you be a loyal and devout and virtuous woman
Never doing the things that a lady shouldn't
Being honest and caring through the days of your life
Then being truthful and trusting when you become a wife
And will you become a mother just like me
Please tell me what type of an example will you be.
What kind of an example will you be
Spoke GOD to mother nature as she planted the tree
And what kind of an example have you become
Spoke GOD to the she wolf as she spoke to her young
What hind of an example will you then be
Spoke GOD to the mother with her daughter on her knee
The young ones will do and become from what they see
As the examples will be you spoke GOD to all three.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Blood relation is a myth
Mother died young; who will bring me up?
Tears flowed..
Mother died old; a great relief so soon.
No tears.
Sister died young; who will bring her kids up?
Pity flowed.
Sister died away, having eloped with a man.
No pity.
Blood relation must be burdensome.
25.12.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Mothers And Their Daughters
they struck him down hard early in life
he slaps me around plenty
i cannot leave
my daughter never cries
to feed my daughter
i will take on the whole lot of you
the young men howl
i am a mother in time of famine
my daughter dying at my breast
my husband wants a son
my first child a love child a daughter
a wedding to make it right
a family joke to keep me honest
they have a one child policy here
he took my first child my daughter
sold her to the americans
as a child they mutilated me
for fear i might become the woman i am
they will never get to my daughter
I am told to hate my burqa
it keeps my secret from him
my daughter will wear the burqa
poem by Paul Bamberger
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Your Daughter Was A Good Person
Your daughter was a good person I believe that to be true
And the fate that was her's surely was not her due
By bullies in the workplace she was driven to suicide
In such a tragic way your beloved young daughter died
For their part in her death a heavy fine they have paid
Though a greater example of them ought to be made
Workplace bullying ought to be looked on as a serious crime
And those found guilty of it serve at least two years of prison time
The bullies by all account have relocated to Interstate
If they feel sorry now it is sorry too late
Their behaviour unmanly and cowardly and bad
Of their beautiful daughter they robbed a mum and dad
For the death of a young woman they must take the blame
And for the rest of their lives they must live with their shame.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Im The Girl
Ive got a memory
A thousand years old
And I know secrets
Ive never been told
And Ive got jewels
I havent found
And theyll return me
To the ground
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
And Im a siren
Ill wreck you on my shores
And Im godiva
Ill call you back for more
And Im medusa
And Im your favourite doll
And Im a georgia okeefe
Hanging on your wall
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter before
And I remember being born just sound and light
And sound and light and light
And I remember the first time, skin on skin in the arms
In the arms of the night
Well how many times have we looked up into the starry skies
And how many times have we felt the passion rise
Every ruby-lipped girl baby, old lady, squaw junkie, girl after girl after girl
Every muse, whore, good witch, princess, back arching, year after year after year
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
Before.
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gray-Eyed King
Glory to you, inescapable pain!
The gray-eyed king died yesterday.
The autumn evening was sultry and red,
My husband returned and quietly said:
'You know, they brought him back from the hunt,
They found his corpse by the old oak tree.
I pity the queen. He was so young!..
In just one night her hair turned white.'
He found his pipe on the mantelpiece
And went out to his nighttime shift.
I'll go and wake my daughter now,
I'll look into her little gray eyes.
While outside the rustling poplars say:
'Your king is no longer upon this earth…'
Another translation.
By Yevgeny Bonver:
The Grey-Eyed King
Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain!
The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain.
This autumnal evening was stuffy and red.
My husband, returning, had quietly said,
'He'd left for his hunting; they carried him home;
They'd found him under the old oak's dome.
I pity the queen. He, so young, past away!...
During one night her black hair turned to grey.'
He found his pipe on a warm fire-place,
And quietly left for his usual race.
Now my daughter will wake up and rise --
Mother will look in her dear grey eyes...
And poplars by windows rustle as sing,
'Never again will you see your young king...'
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Mother And Daughter...
Mother and daughter,
Are very close,
They are best friends,
And can be enemy's sometimes,
They laugh and cry,
Call each other names,
And mess around,
And there still as close as ever,
Nothing will ruin their mother and daughter relationship,
Not even boys,
They may keep secrets,
From one another, but there still there,
to care and help,
their still mother and daughter.
Wrote about a mother and daughter love
poem by StaceyLeigh Olner
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When A Mother Cries
When a mother cries,
Her tears stab at her daughter’s heart
As they plummet to the floor
When a mother cries
Her daughter cries too
She cries because she does not know what is wrong
She cries because she can’t get rid of her mother’s pain
She cries most of all because she loves her mother
When a daughter cries because her mother cries
Her mother cries more
She cries because her pain has hurt her daughter
She cries because she does not want to see her daughter cry because of her
She cries most of all,
Because she loves her daughter
Once the tears have ceased however,
What remains is love
The love forever shared between a mother and a daughter
poem by Portia Lane
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A Daughter Cries
when a mother cries
her tears stab at her daughter's heart
as they plummet to the floor
when a mother cries
he daughter cries too
because her heroine is wounded and she doesn't know how or why
she cries because she cannot rid her mother of the pain
she cries most of all because she loves her mother
when a daughtrr cries because her mother cries,
her mother cries more
because her weakness has hurt her child
she cries because it hurts to know she's the cause of her daughter's tears.
she cries most of all because she loves her daughter
one the tears have ceased however
love remains
the love forever shared between a mother and her daughter
poem by Portia Lane
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Mom And Dad
If my Mom and Dad had not died
When I was young
What would my life have been like?
Would my Mom had showed me
How to use make-up;
And tell me, “not too much,
Or it will cake-up.”
What about the Father and Daughter dance;
Would my Dad had taken me,
If he had the chance.
I wonder if my Mom
Would have talked to me
About my little monthly friend;
And bring me a hot cup of tea
Every month that it began,
And let me lie in bed
With a warm heating pad.
Would my Dad had talked
To me about boys;
The one’s I should date,
The one’s to avoid.
I wonder what it would be like
To have living parents when you’re grown
Would your Mom still hold you;
And hum a happy song.
If you had a day
That didn’t go right;
Would your Dad take you out,
For a Father and Daughter night.
I wonder if I would have
Asked my Dad for money;
Would he just reach in his wallet,
And say “here you go honey.”
I wonder if my Mom and Dad
Would have cried at my first wedding.
What emotion at my divorce?
Cried at my second wedding.
At the birth of my child rejoice.
Would my Mom be in the room
When I had my first baby;
Would she had held my hand,
And said “it’s part of being a lady.”
If my parents had not died
When I was young;
Would they be proud of me?
What I grew-up to be.
Copyright © by Phyllis Strong
poem by Phyllis Strong
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Oh Mother, Mother
she holds her so close
holding onto an image
but with an unintended force
she sends a signal to run
oh mother, mother
so blinded to the truth
caught up in old love and strife
doesn’t understand the young spirit she is hindering
hasn’t got a clue that simple words can kill a young girls dream
The girls heartache was a long time hidden
trying to resist the hurt caving inside
oh mother, mother
how she loves her
how they love each other
so much she does for a daughter
but as much as the girl tried to keep silent
being quiet during times of sinking words
the light in her heart needed to scream
to let it be known that her dreams were everything
it is tough to be a dreamer in the realms of reality
oh mother, mother
had she known
never would she ever speak words so carelessly
recklessly spitting on silent hopes and desires
dimming the spirit that once shone so bright
strong daughter she fights for it still
grabbing onto every edge of imagination
it’s the only way she can see, can breathe
oh mother, mother
don’t cry,
she’s just a simple girl with a broken smile
but brave too in her own little way
so be brave too, hold up that pretty face
cause mother, mother
you gave life to a dreamer
poem by Leah Ayliffe
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Go Limp
Alex comfort, nina simone
Oh daughter, dear daughter,
Take warning from me
And dont you go marching
With the n-a-a-c-p.
For theyll rock you and roll you
And shove you into bed.
And if they steal your nuclear secret
Youll wish you were dead.
(refrain:)
Singin too roo la, too roo la, too roo li ay.
Singin too roo la, too roo la, too roo li ay.
Oh mother, dear mother,
No, Im not afraid.
For Ill go on that march
And Ill return a virgin maid.
With a brick in my handbag
And a smile on my face
And barbed wire in my underwear
To shed off disgrace.
(refrain)
One day they were marching.
A young man came by
With a beard on his cheek
And a gleam in his eye.
And before she had time
To remember her brick...
They were holding a sit-down
On a nearby hay rig.
(refrain)
For meeting is pleasure
And parting is pain.
And if I have a great concert
Maybe I wont have to sing those folk songs again.
Oh mother, dear mother
Im stiff and Im sore
From sleeping three nights
On a hard classroom floor.
(refrain)
One day at the briefing
Shed heard a man say,
Go perfectly limp,
And be carried away.
So when this young man suggested
It was time she was kissed,
She remembered her brief
And did not resist.
(refrain)
Oh mother, dear mother,
No need for distress,
For the young man has left me
His name and address.
And if we win
Tho a baby there be,
He wont have to march
Like his da-da and me.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Daughter Moments
My daughter said something the other day
We were sitting on the front steps, talking
Someone wanted to enter the building, she stood up and said 'we're just having a father daughter moment'
My daughter is still young, only 27
And hearing her say that, my heart swelled with pride
She still wants to have moments with her father
My adult daughter still needed me
So much is said about the mother-daughter bond
But there's an even stronger bond between a father and a daughter
No matter how old she is, she's still daddy's little girl
And he always wants to be there for her
Father daughter moments last a lifetime
From playground accidents to a broken heart
You do your best to help her pain go away
Because when she's in pain, you are too
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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Death of a family
Drinking and fighting.
Fighting and drinking.
When does it ever end?
What ever happened to the word 'Family'?
Does it exist any more?
Mother against daughter.
Daughter against Mother.
How can you hate your own blood?
When the Matriarch of our
family died, the beautiful rug
that was our family unraveled with
her. Now, I feel as if the family
rug has unraveled down to me.
I am now left to mourn the tragic
death of my great grandmother and
my family. Is there anybody out
there who can save me from this
ocean of despair?
poem by Jamal Brown
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