Son's Loss-Father's Own
Son's loss-Father's own
He looks at those eyes,
With eyes equally dry,
As though his son's presence in disguise,
Through the stony skins of the statue rise.
So many times the hopes pendulum hath struck the hour,
Yet the wound hath remained like a laurel's flower,
How long the matoid heart can wait?
And how long could it remain in mantensite state?
The site of his stone built son-to him ike a halidon;
And his grief here for no one to reckon;
How much can he to his son's statue felicitate?
This dreadful vacuum for no one to obliterate.
What more a father can do being a heart lazurus?
To whom the world and his own being seems impious!
poem by Sonnet Mondal
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Related quotes
Mothers Day2007
She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.
poem by Soul Child
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Sorrowful Cries
Clouds of cold, dark depressant
Roll over my loathsome state.
Life has become boring suppressant
To this romantic’s lost love relate.
Agéd air dust, in my lungs, consume
Encompassing sweet aroma
Of passion’s addicting perfume
As this Don Juan lies in coma.
Warm, fast flowing red liquid
Turns frigid blue, sluggish slop
As salty tear drizzle invokes mud;
Dried, hardened crust, from toe to top.
Compassionate, loving heart
Fades to solid, stone elect
As companionships depart
And stone, statue body erect.
Mother Willow solemnly weeps
As sapling statue slowly crumples.
Father time unknowingly sleeps
As rusted heart statue fumbles.
Decayed and falling apart,
This romantic's remains rise;
From ill-beaten ash heart
To ride wind’s sorrowful cries.
poem by Robert L. Bixler III
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Stone Statue
Hear me
Feel me
Why can't you understand me
My heart is beating
My mind is bleeding
Why can't you hear me
I long to feel a touch
I'm fighting to embrace the warmth
The nectar of life
But yet I am only given strife
Why am I that stone statue
Left alone in a forgotten garden
Gravel tears do I shed
Cracks in my heart and body
They are all I feel
My concrete hands are reaching
My stone eyes are searching
Yet I am alone
The statue of stone
Forgotten amongst lifes cold road...
poem by Janelle Morehart
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Gross Communication
Whose tender eyes
Are a sea of blue
My heart
Does not pertain to you
Thy may be the fairest
Thy may be the one
But alas—
My heart
Has made a decision
That’s as good
As done
Your faultless
To all
The irony
being
You know not
How to enthrall
Your flawless
As a statue
made of stone
emotionless and predictable
As a statue
straight as a table
But be not
tomorrow
what you are today
questions you don't know how to anwser
will be raised
Who you
really are
Is a secret
Even to you
Sir Richard's Song
(A. D. 1066)
I followed my Duke ere I was a lover,
To take from England fief and fee;
But now this game is the other way over--
But now England hath taken me!
I had my horse, my shield and banner,
And a boy's heart, so whole and free;
But now I sing in another manner--
But now England hath taken me!
As for my Father in his tower,
Asking news of my ship at sea,
He will remember his own hour--
Tell him England hath taken me!
As for my Mother in her bower,
That rules my Father so cunningly,
She will remember a maiden's power--
Tell her England hath taken me!
As for my Brother in Rouen City,
A nimble and naughty' page is he,
But he will come to suffer and pity--
Tell him England hath taken me!
As for my little Sister waiting
In the pleasant orchards of Normandie,
Tell her youth is the time for mating--
Tell her England hath taken me!
As for my comrades in camp and highway
That lift their eyebrows scornfully,
Tell them their way is not my way--
Tell them England hath taken me!
Kings and Princes and Barons famed,
Knights and Captains in your degree;
Hear me a little before I am blamed--
Seeing England hath taken me!
Howso great man's strength be reckoned,
There are two things he cannot flee.
Love is the first, and Death is the second-
And Love in England hath taken me!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it turned me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human beings company
They pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptors chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
The evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you cant refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
The evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And what theyll find is just a statue
Standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
A monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it threw me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human being's company
they pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptor's chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
the evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you can't refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
the evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
and what they'll find is just a statue
standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Womanhood.
She feels the world, it touches her
Like a weird thing she needs must know,
While all her fears and fancies stir
As in a death-dream long ago.
She has passed from her youth to this —
A woman grown with misty eyes,
Knowing the world no nunnery is
For the heart stripped of its disguise.
Her feet now pace a thorny path
Where mournful hopes like fiends confer,
And e'en the power her beauty hath
Seems one with what would ruin her.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Burns Statue
This Statue, I must confess, is magnificent to see,
And I hope will long be appreciated by the people of Dundee;
It has been beautifully made by Sir John Steell,
And I hope the pangs of hunger he will never feel.
This statue is most elegant in its design,
And I hope will defy all weathers for a very long time;
And I hope strangers from afar with admiration will stare
On this beautiful statue of thee, Immortal Bard of Ayr.
Fellow-citizens, this Statue seems most beautiful to the eye,
Which would cause Kings and Queens for such a one to sigh,
And make them feel envious while passing by
In fear of not getting such a beautiful Statue after they die.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Forever, I am there
I, too was once a human being
Now, mearely a long stand statue
Two large gazing eyes of stone
Who forever waits for you.
I was not what I am to day
Rather I was something else
Your love made me so. A mere
Human being to a stone stained
Now, I live in stone and
You, in my heart. Thus
Call me from anywhere
Forever, I am there.
poem by Vizard Dhawan
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God-Worship
Statues in competitions allover the world!
With one higher than the other from country to country;
But this act is god-worship.
22m High Statue in 'Maratea' (Italy) ,
25m High Statue in 'Cusco' (Peru) ,
27m High Statue in 'Dili' (East Timor) ,
28m High Statue in 'Lissabon' (Portugal) ,
30m High Statue in 'Cochabanba' (Bolivia) ,
And 38m High Statue in 'Swiebodzin' (Poland) ,
All in the name of competition around this world;
But this act is god-worship.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet LX: Lo, Here the Impost
Lo, here the impost of a faith unfeigning
That love hath paid, and her disdain extorted,
Behold the message of my just complaining
That shows the world how much my grief imported.
These tributary plaints fraught with desire,
I send those eyes the cabinets of love;
The Paradise whereto my hopes aspire
From out this hell, which mine afflictions prove.
Wherein I thus do live cast down from mirth,
Pensive alone, none but despair about me;
My joys abortive, perish'd at their birth,
My cares long liv'd and will not die without me.
This is my state, and Delia's heart is such;
I say no more; I fear I said too much.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Dulcis Memoria
Long, long ago I heard a little song,
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,
That far into my heart it found the way:
A melody consoling and endearing;
And still, in silent hours, I'm often hearing
The small, sweet song that does not die away.
Long, long ago I saw a little flower,--
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So fair of face and fragrant for an hour,
That something dear to me it seemed to say:
A thought of joy that blossomed into being
Without a word; and now I'm often seeing
The friendly flower that does not fade away.
Long, long ago we had a little child,--
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
Into his mother's eyes and mine he smiled
Unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay.
An angel called! Dear heart, we could not hold him;
Yet secretly your arms and mine infold him--
Our little child who does not go away.
Long, long ago? Ah, memory, make it clear--
(It was not long ago, but yesterday,)
So little and so helpless and so dear
Let not the song be lost, the flower decay!
His voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping:
The smallest things are safest in thy keeping.
Sweet memory, keep our child with us always.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Tempora Mutantur
'The world is dull,' I cried in my despair:
'Its myths and fables are no longer fair.
'Roll back thy centuries, O Father Time.
To Greece transport me in her golden prime.
'Give back the beautiful old Gods again
The sportive Nymphs, the Dryad's jocund train,
'Pan piping on his reeds, the Naiades,
The Sirens singing by the sleepy seas.
'Nay, show me but a Gorgon and I'll dare
To lift mine eyes to her peculiar hair
'(The fatal horrors of her snaky pate,
That stiffen men into a stony state)
'And die-erecting, as my soul goes hence,
A statue of myself, without expense.'
Straight as I spoke I heard the voice of Fate:
'Look up, my lad, the Gorgon sisters wait.'
Raising my eyes, I saw Medusa stand,
Stheno, Euryale, on either hand.
I gazed unpetrified and unappalled
The girls had aged and were entirely bald!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Mine Father
Shadow of a great rock in a weary land
Rock that is higher than I
Rock that begat me
Mine exceeding great reward
Mine Father that hath bought me
Mine heavenly Father
Hath bound the waters in a garment
Hath gathered the wind in His fists
He that dwellest in the Heavens
The true light
The true vine
The incorruptible
The way, the truth, and the life
The Word of life
Mine very present help
In times of need
Rock of my refuge
Rock of my salvation
Rock of my strength
Refuge from the storm
Refuge in times of trouble
Our Father
Who leadeth us by the way that we shouldest go
Who teacheth us to profit
Who exercise loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness
Our Father which is in heaven
The forever living Father
poem by Mugano S. Paul
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The Night-Blooming Cereus
FLOWER of the moon!
Still white is her brow whom we worshiped on earth long ago;
Yea, purer than pearls in deep seas, and more virgin than snow.
The dull years veil their eyes from her shining, and vanish afraid,
Nor profane her with age—the immortal, nor dim her with shade.
It is we are unworthy, we worldlings, to dwell in her ways;
We have broken her altars and silenced her voices of praise.
She hath hearkened to singing more silvern, seen raptures more bright;
To some planet more pure she hath fled on the wings of the night,—
Flower of the moon!
Yet she loveth the world that forsook her, for, lo! once a year
She, Diana, translucent, pale, scintillant, down from her sphere
Floateth earthward like star-laden music, to bloom in a flower,
And our hearts feel the spell of the goddess once more for an hour.
See! she sitteth in splendor nor knoweth desire nor decay,
And the night is a glory around her more bright than the day,
And her breath hath the sweetness of worlds where no sorrow is known;
And we long as we worship to follow her back to her own,—
Flower of the moon!
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Father, Can you see me?
Can You See Me Father?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me through this night?
Father, are you with me?
I look up at the sky, and wonder why, I feel so alone now...
Father, will you help me?
Im afraid to close my eyes.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, if I sleep now, will you be watching over me this night?
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, the world I see is so much larger, than I remember when you were here with me.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me stand own my own two feet once more?
Father, Im on my knees, looking at the sky, looking for your eyes.
Father, I've lost my way, Lord, I pray for your guidance once more.
Father, what was your will, Lord, it was not mine.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, as I pray for your will, please come and show me the way, dear Lord I pray.
Amen
poem by Rose Rosado
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Statues Crumble
Still and tall as a statue.
I stand straight with perfect posture
At every event.
Be it a birthday party,
Or a funeral.
And, if it is a funeral, I'm the one
Everyone leans on.
'Tis a heavy weight I lift, every time,
And I don't have much stone left now.
Not sure how many more times I can hold them.
I'm losing my stone to rain and other weather.
It's eroding.
How much longer before I
Crumble to the ground,
Just a heap of dust?
I want to stay strong, but I'm weakening.
If I crumble who can put me back
Together again?
If I crumble when I crumble.
Will I ever be a statue again?
Still and strong, I am a statue.
But statues crumble
poem by Raven Lightner
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My Father He Was A Fisherman
MY father he was a fisherman,
That wrought at the break o' day,
And hither and thither the long tides ran
I' the long blue bay.
'The tides go up and the tides go down,
But what do you know of the sea ?'
Her voice, i' the long gray streets o' the town,
Is singing to me.
'What do you know of the sails at dawn,
What of the shell-white foam ?'
Cheerly and sweet, from a world withdrawn,
They are calling me home.
'What is the grief you fain would tell
When your eyes are turned on me ?'
O, well it was taught and I learned it well,–
The grief o' the sea.
'Where do you travel and where do you sleep,
Where shall you take your rest ?'
At the inn that shelters my father, deep
I' the seas o' the west.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Rime 34
Love, do you know why your fair mother gave you
These arrows to your hands, and bound your eyes?
That you may shoot the first wound and break
The heart of this or any faithful lover;
And tied the blindfold, so you cannot see
The dreadful cruelty you have inflicted
So that it will not let you suffer pity,
Or even moderate your impious furor.
For, if you saw one of my dreadful wounds,
You would not be a god, but a wild beast,
Or it might make you tender, or less fierce
I would not wish you to come face to face
With the rays of my sun; my wound would seem,
Next to his greatness, small and even light.
poem by Gaspara Stampa
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