The Box From The Attic
A Father's Medals World War One
The wrist band from a stillborn son
The first picture of the two (now three)
An Old Irish Fiddle, Left to me
My Rugby Jersey old and Blue
My Son’s first Rugby Jersey too
A silver frame, the self same smile
My wife’s Pennant (She ran the mile)
War department Telegram (a death)
My wife’s Mothers Christening dress
my first handcraft (a mat of reeds)
My Father’s Mothers Rosary beads
A picture of our son at play
a memento of my graduation day
My wife’s Pearl backed wedding book
Big Peter's number (what a crook)
The box is almost empty now
Forgotten memories, but how?
The pride, the Lose, the answered Call
The pain, the joy, I knew them all.
poem by Bill Mitton
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Related quotes
Wedding Band
Joey Wedding Band
JoAnn was the birth name of my wife
To me Joey was her name for a lot of our married life
One of the best things anyone could ask for in life
Is to have a good and loving wife
When it comes time for me to pass no matter day or night
I hope and pray that my wife will be my guiding light
I did not complement my wife as much as I could of
But with all my heart I gave her my love
My wife is in heaven watching over our family
Hoping we could be the best we could be
I am now living by myself and on my own
I have my dogs and my family but I feel alone
I never thought I knew how bad pain could ever be
Until my wife died and left me
At times my wife lets me know she is near
She turns off the picture frame to let me know she is here
On a chain around my neck I wear my wife’s wedding band
I also still wear mine on the finger of my left hand
To anyone who reads this poem do not let the time with your family go
Everything is gone before you know
poem by Michael Gelb
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The Welsh Rugby
The Welsh have feelings about rugby
No other Nation can describe
They sing all their rugby songs
To keep the game alive.
We hate to lose at rugby
And cannot stand defeat
Their songs are sang much louder
As they stand out of their seats.
The Millennium Stadium
Is their National rugby ground
You need to see a Welsh rugby match
To enjoy the immense sound.
The Three Feathers as a logo
Sits right above Welsh hearts
They sing their National Anthem
Before the Rugby starts.
So come on the Welsh rugby teams
Play the game like a proper side
Because the Nation is behind you
So play the game with pride.
poem by Katie Evans
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Some Mothers Son
Some mothers son lies in a field
Someone has killed some mothers son today
Head blown up by some soldiers gun
While all the mothers stand and wait
Some mothers son aint coming home today
Some mothers son aint got no grave
Two soldiers fighting in a trench
One soldier glances up to see the sun
And dreams of games he played when he was young
And then his friend calls out his name
It stops his dream and as he turns his head
A second later he is dead
Some mothers son lies in a field
Back home they put his picture in a frame
But all dead soldiers look the same
While all the parents stand and wait
To meet their children coming home from school
Some mothers son is lying dead
Somewhere someone is crying
Someone is trying to be so brave
But still the world keeps turning
Though all the children have gone away
Some mothers son lies in a field
But in his mothers eyes he looks the same
As on the day he went away
They put his picture on the wall
They put flowers in the picture frame
Some mothers memory remains
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Picture Frame
An empty picture frame sits upon my desk
Where once upon a time a picture in it did rest
But now the frame stands lifeless and bare
Now it reminds me of a love that once was there.
As in the past the picture brought me happiness and joy
Gave me the reason to live and to write my story
To glance upon and dream of when no one was near
To speak the words of love when them she couldn't hear.
But when she left me I threw her picture away
But I kept that frame to remind me of that day
In remembrance of what she did in and out of my sight
As she was my candle but she blew out that light
So that picture frame I keep it in my plain view
So every time I see it I know what to say and what to do
As once upon a time her picture was in the frame
But now picture is gone but the memories still remain.
poem by Randy McClave
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New Jersey Is My Home
Im proud new jersey is my home
Yeah said Im proud now new jersey is my home
Well theyre breaking out the tractors to build more interstates
Theyre moving out my neighbors all across the garden state
Im proud new jersey is my home
Yeah said Im proud now new jersey is my home
Theyre closing all the factories making people lose their jobs
While the fat cats get rich living high upon the hog
Im proud new jersey is my home
Yeah said Im proud now new jersey is my home
Yeah theyre grooving down at freehold this birds left in line (? )
? aint what the people had in mind
Im proud new jersey is my home
Yeah said Im proud now new jersey is my home
Im proud new jersey is my home
Yeah so proud that new jersey is my home
Yes were not gonna take it gonna make that final stand
cuz you know we aint ever gonna let them destroy the promised land
Yeah, yeah, yeah
New jersey is my home
New jersey is my home
New jersey is my home and I like it
Yeah Im going down the garden state parkway Im passing my hometowns
Im going here to get my friends gonna mess around this town
Yeah, yeah
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fathers Torment
We hide in the shadows in obscurity
We are the fathers of the children that you see
Women are the life line, that we all know.
Since the beginning of conception and
Throughout our lives, we have to thank them
For becoming our mothers and our wives.
Men plant the seed, but on the woman’s
tube the children do feed.
Without the female there is no life
So as men we have to think twice.
At times though, we feel empty and forgotten
For all that we do in a child’s life.
When we play games with them, teach them
And give them moral support
It is something that is given, not something that is bought.
We will go back into the shadows when our hearts
Are about to burst, and this is what makes the pain so much worse.
They say that a man is not supposed to cry
But you and I know that’s an old fashioned lie.
We bleed, we cry, we feel heartache too
We are human, this is what we do.
Any man can be a father, but every man can not be a dad.
And I look upon that, and it makes me very sad.
This child has our blood and we helped to give it life
But there is no credit given to the husband, ” just the wife“.
We may be just the father, but we share in their lives too.
All we ask is recognition of the things that we do.
I recall at your birth, when I walked into the delivery room
Your eyes called me, like a mystical, magical tune.
Your eyes searched me out like a rooster for the rising sun
And looking in your eyes, I knew you was the one.
This is a fathers torment that I guess we all go through.
But without your love and dependence, what am I going to do.
I love you more than you’ll ever know
Look in my eyes, and there it will show.
And to your mother she must know:
The key number in this world is TWO, without me there is no you.
poem by Louis Rams
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Ghost Ship
The feeling was light in the musty air
A darkened fright as I looked at my hand
Sentenced to linger on this floating lair
Choking my finger; the gold wedding band
My father forced me by the holy book
To go to sea when ‘ere this man would call
A mariners’ wife and the ghost ship cook
My sentenced life, with no freedom at all
The crew played dice, cast lots sure enough
No wedding rice, I’m a prearranged wife
I’m a specters’ whore and ships powder puff
So that is my chore on this ghost ship life
When the crew gad died, we were cast to sea
I was torn inside, not enough of me
Author notes
Sonnet
Internal rhyme: aabb – External rhyme: abab
poem by Amera Andersen
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My Photo Album
The photo album stores the history of my life,
Every page is the mirror of bygone days,
The reflections in the mirror brings memories alive,
The memories which beam me magically in the world of my choice.
A first few pages of my album are blank,
As a little kid I did not want to stand in front of a box with a man in black hood,
I did not want to be seen upside down in his view finder,
I was happier playing soccer somewhere else in the nearby play ground.
The b & w family portrait of me, my siblings and my parents is my prize possession,
It was a rare event when we all could gather and pose for a moment,
Now some are grown up, some have left our midst,
The glimpse of all of us together brings the emotions of close family ties.
As I turn the pages of my album,
I see happiness radiating from every picture,
May it be a smile of a family member or mine,
Or it may be the beauty of the nature smiling at me,
Every picture brings a memory flashback,
of the joys and emotions of important events in my life.
Next my eyes get glued on my personal family picture,
My wife radiating with her beautiful smile,
My kids little scared of the dark studio set,
Me grinning with smile of worth thousand words.
It is picture which remains in my heart and wallet,
It is a picture which brings joy, love and affection to me every minute.
I guess no one ever keeps the pictures of death and agony,
It is hard to see the cremation picture of departed love,
It seems as if my heart is turning into ashes,
The pain and agony of this scene is so much,
The book of album closes by itself.
I leave a rose and a lily near my album,
Rose shows our everlasting love,
The lily puts the aura of comfort and hope,
That one day her love will resurrect and meet my heart.
poem by Jay P Narain
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Father’s Wife
My father worked a day and night with reason,
Telling his wife not to hurt any of his efforts.
Yet the burden of the work was higher every day,
Barely spent in happiness, but only miserable.
And so he pained my mother until he dropped,
With violent sound her head smashed forever.
May living live and I die, forcing the mayor to resign
Over my father’s wife.
The murders are brutal actions,
With so much force and blunder
That murder is a quest of the cruel ones,
Those emptying their callous blood onto others.
The living mothers join hands
Whilst the dying fathers rejoice!
poem by Naveed Akram
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Where woman lacks importance
Delivered and moulded by my mother,
I was identified with my father,
Who, delivered and moulded by mother,
Was identified with his father.
I go with my son; wife is an onlooker.
The son of my daughter I've no claim on.
In each generation, mother is removed
From the memory line of the family.
Let my name carry the name of mother
And of father behind it to the world.
Let me have the names of the grand mothers
And grandfathers on both sides in record.
14.10.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Jersey Bounce
(scat intro)
They call it that jersey bounce
A rhythm that really counts
The temperature always mounts
Wherever they play, the funny rhythm they play
It started on journal square
And somebody heard it there
He put it right on the air
And now you hear it everywhere
Uptown, gave it new licks
Downtown, added some tricks
No town, makes it sound, the same
As where it came from
So if you dont feel so hot
Go out to some jersey spot
And whether youre hep or not
The jersey bouncell make you swing
(scat)
How I love that jersey bounce
(scat)
Oh come on and play that jersey bounce
(scat)
They call it that jersey bounce
A rhythm that really counts
The temperature always mounts
Whenever they play that jersey bounce
It started on journal square
And somebody heard it there
He put it right on the air
That tune called the jersey bounce
Uptown, gave it new licks
Downtown, added some tricks
No town, make it sound the same
As where it came from
So if you dont feel so hot
Go out to some jersey spot
And whether youre hep or not
The jersey bouncell make you swing
Ounce by ounce
The jersey bounce
Puts you right in the swing
That jersey bounce
Itll make you swing
Give me that jersey bounce.
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to my love, my Wife
Renu, my dear wife
My sweet heart, love of my life
I got you how! Wow! My splendid fate
I can’t believe, this fortune so great
Of your father, you were an ardent fan
But finally of your life, I became your man!
It was worth the wait, whatever I had to strive
To impress you and make you my wife!
Renu, my dear wife
My sweet heart, love of my life
‘Of opposites’ we are pair
Me dark and you very fair
You are organized and meticulous
I am disorganized though spontaneous
My poetic instincts you do admire
But my helping hand in the kitchen, is what you aspire!
Renu, my dear wife
My sweet heart, love of my life
As if I am a kid, me with care you look after
You gave me my sweet daughter
Anagha, our purpose of life, our treasure
Filling our life with joy and laughter
As Success, whatever I have achieved,
To Your Presence in my life, they are ascribed
Renu, my dear wife
My sweet heart, love of my life
I don’t know, whether I could become your Hero
But, without you in my life, I am a big Zero!
In all ups and down of life, you’ve supported me!
Sweet heart, on this wedding anniversary
Instead of dress, gold or diamond jewelry
I gift you, filled with all my love, this poetry!
(Wrote this to gift to my wife! Today is our wedding anniversary!)
21.04.2009
Boy to A Man
Father dear father
I must have loved you
But to hear you
Hurt my mother
Made me want
To hate you
I should have been able
To look up to you like all sons do
But all I wanted to do
Was hurt you
I'd lie in bed awake
And hear my mothers cries
All I could do
Was try find a world without you
We feared you
We fled you
But we could
Never escape you
Untill one dark night
I stopped you
And saw the fear
In your eyes
I went from boy to a man
To stop my mothers cries
I still look back with sadness
But I can still see my mothers pride
As I stand by her side
Boy to a man
In loving memory to my mother
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Who is a wife?
Who is a wife?
Who can be a virtuous wife?
Who is a wife?
Who can stand the strife
To be a wife?
There is a woman
And there is a wife
Any one can be a woman
But not any one can be a wife
A wife will stand for her pride
A woman will always want a ride
A wife will say
“we ‘ll have a say”
A woman will say
“I ‘ld have a say”
A wife will say
“WE bought you those”
A woman will say
“Mom bought you those”
A wife would say
“We share the bills”
A woman would say
“I share the bills”
A wife cooks what “we” like
A woman cooks what “I” like.
A wife loves unconditionally
A woman loves conditionally
A wife always stands by…
A woman sometimes stands by…
A wife thinks about “us”
A woman thinks about “me”
A wife supports the plans
A woman plans the supports
A wife keeps the relationship
A woman snubs the relationship
A WIFE IS OPPOSITE OF A WOMAN
Who then is a wife?
Amidst all my strife
I‘ve found a darling wife
You too can, if you also tried.
poem by Jr. J.Lakie Kollie
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Corner Office
Unlike his peers
his office holds
no photo of a wife
no indication that he has
fathered five
and probably
will father more.
There's a silver ashtray, though,
and a tinkling chandelier
and carpeting
his wife would like
soars across the floor.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Little Dog
Little Dog
This last Mothers day
My wife’s little dog passed away
Holly was my wife’s little love
Both now are in the heaven above
Holly did not like the cold
Poor Holly only ten years old
I miss my wife so much
I also miss that little dog’s touch
I just had to adopt a little dog for me
This little dog named Maggie
poem by Michael Gelb
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New Jersey
I live there for 11 years
I miss it so much
I just want let my tears out and sing a song about my hometown
I was mad to moved where I live now
I just want to go home to
New Jersey
I miss the snow, boardwalk, the family, and everything I love about
New Jersey
Is part of my life I can't let go
All the memories whether its good or bad
I love when the seasons change
It's so beautiful and place to be
The places, food, and schools
I just want to go home to
New Jersey
I want be me again
I miss all time and memories
Coming down here was not good idea
I belong there and I hope to visit there again
New Jersey
poem by Christina Phan
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Something I Remember....
edu's father
left her mom
for an old woman
with
strategy.
with means.
it is for
citizenship
he justifies.
edu's mom is
a republic.
she says she
does not give
a damn.
and then there is
this edu's wedding.
i am drinking
wine beside my wife
and savoring
my salad.
edu's father comes
and opens a
topic.
know what? divorce is
painful
it tears hearts.
longer than you
can think of.
and i answered.
there is one thing about
divorce.
it is also
a reality.
in fact if you really
need it
for whatever purpose
it serves,
it becomes
one sweet
reality.
the music is so loud.
some women are dancing
the wobble.
the children want to
get away from the
watchful eyes of their
mama.
when he left,
i wonder
how and why i say
such
an intriguing
theory.
statistics will tell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mothers Pride
Oh she knows
She takes his hand
And prays the child will understand
At the door they watch the men go by
In the clothes that daddy wore
Mothers pride
Baby boy
His fathers eyes
Hes a soldier waiting for war
Time will come
Hell hold a gun
His fathers son
And as he grows
He hears the band
Takes the step from boy to man
And at the shore she waves her son goodbye
Like the man she did before
Mothers pride
Just a boy
His countrys eyes
Hes a soldier waving at the shore
And in her heart the time has come
To lose a son
And all the husbands, all the sons, all the lovers gone
They make no difference
No difference in the end
Still hear the woman say your father died a hero
In the name of God and man
Mothers pride
Crazy boy
His lifeless eyes
Hes a soldier now forevermore
Hell hold a gun till kingdom come
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Am I a Father under alien American skies?
I met her the Manageress of my apartment in the laundry room
And she wished me ' A Happy father's day.'
I said thanks Madam and I am washing my old sins.'
Then only I realised that I am a father.
Though my beloved wife besides me all the time
Where are they now my affectionate daughters?
Elder struggles in Australia and the other in Sri Lanka
With their loved ones.
Oh! I am just a skinny nonchalant actor in the twentieth-century drama
But all the dialogues forgotten and good for nothing as I am old now.
* 'Don't forget there are two ways of being of yourself.............
You can either show the straightforward picture or else what is called the negative? '
'Peer Gynt'- Henrik.Ibsen
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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