The Saints of Your Joy
Your daughter’s body was sick today, and I could not
Help it
With the customers coming in and buying corn fifteen for
A dollar until my parents painted over the sign:
And we watched each other while I carted around the
Green island fichus and sang the sweetness of
The theoretical mountains I keep you in,
Your brown body having its own prominences the size of
Dolls,
And I have desires of buying a bicycle, or taking you on
My shoulders to the island in the center of the
Lake Worth Lagoon,
But I am happy now that you don’t have time to read
The lies I’ve been singing you- Your young daughter is sick
And needs your attention,
But Sunday is her birthday and I am going to be glad to work
Your shift:
I’m going to work hard to find the work you named her after in
Spanish:
Heidi is her name, and she is your daughter, and her world will
Soon heal and fill up with sweet things in the refrigerator
And with the saints of your joy.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Mr. Shoemaker's Daughter
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Don't throw my love away.
I'm coming home today.
Hey, mr. green grocer's daughter,
Hey, mr. green grocer's daughter,
Don't turn your head away.
Don't take the sun away.
Every time i see you i wanna say "hey".
But every time you see me you walking away from me.
I've been gone for such a long, long time,
But i'm coming home, gonna make you mine.
Hey, mr. cake baker's daughter,
Hey, mr. bread baker's daughter,
I'm coming home today.
Don't hide the world[?] away.
Every time i see you i wanna say "hey".
But every time you see me you walking away from me.
I've been gone for such a long, long time,
But i'm coming home, gonna make you mine.
How is that fresh morning feeling?
How is the dawn and the evening?
I will be free today.
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
I'll see you soon today.
Hey, mr. dress maker's daughter,
Hey, mr. green seller's daughter,
Don't throw my love away.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The King's Daughter
WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.
The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.
The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.
The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.
The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.
By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.
“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.
He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.
“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She's My Daughter's Age
My daughter is her age
How am I to follow this girl
into the swords and spears of the enemy
when she is my daughter’s age?
she stands looking up at us and
we looking down
presenting to us the battle plan.
her small, thin, childish voice,
barely heard over the deep, loud voices of full grown men,
is feeble compared to past commanders.
she carries no weapon
only a small dagger
which her petite hands hold in the fashion of amateurs.
she wears the thinnest armor available,
her immature body unable to carry anything heavier.
She’s my daughter’s age
Her unruly hair,
a shade lighter than the coffee color of my daughter’s,
runs past her shoulders to the middle of her back.
an inch shorter than my daughter,
the top of her head does not even reach my shoulders.
She’s my daughter’s age
How am I-
“Amen”, she says as she finishes her prayer
reverently making the sign of the cross and walking back to her tent.
I stand there,
processing that last scene in awe
for she may be similar to my daughter
in age, height, and hair
but she has something my daughter does not
Faith.
poem by Luz Gonzalez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Talk I Am Sick
Yes i am sick because i can not standing on the street call out customer.
Yes i am sick because i can not go to Hotel with any customer after work.
Yes i am sick because i do not from far away come to beg an other men be father for the kid without marriage.
Yes i am sick because i do not going with the man i do never know before go to any where his country to make memories.
Yes i am sick because i do not sell my body.
Yes i am sick because i do not send my nude pictures to any man exchange some things.
Yes i am sick because i am not cheap women
Yes i am sick because i can not sleep with any men.
Yes i am sick because i am have only one Heart.
Yes i am sick because i can not betray without this love.
Yes i am sick because i must to hold on any things insult from the man without reason.
Yes i am sick because i am alway talking the truth.
Yes i am sick because i can not do any things or talk any things when i want to do i want to talk.
Yes i am sick because i am stupid, i am real in Love.
Yes that it is reason i am Sick.
Angel Aki
poem by Ester Worter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shadow-Child
Why do the wheels go whirring round,
Mother, mother?
Oh, mother, are they giants bound,
And will they growl forever?
Yes, fiery giants underground,
Daughter, little daughter,
Forever turn the wheels around,
And rumble-grumble ever.
Why do I pick the threads all day,
Mother, mother,
While sunshine children are at play?
And must I work forever?
Yes, shadow-child; the live-long day,
Daughter, little daughter,
Your hands must pick the threads away,
And feel the sunshine never.
Why do the birds sing in the sun,
Mother, mother,
If all day long I run and run,
Run with the wheels forever?
The birds may sing till day is done,
Daughter, little daughter,
But with the- wheels your feet must run—
Run with the wheels forever.
Why do I feel so tired each night,
Mother, mother?
The wheels are always buzzing bright;
Do they grow sleepy never?
Oh, baby thing, so soft and white,
Daughter, little daughter,
The big wheels grind us in their might,
And they will grind forever.
And is the white thread never spun,
Mother, mother?
And is the white cloth never done,
For you and me done never?
Oh yes, our thread will all be spun,
Daughter, little daughter,
When we lie down out in the sun,
And work no more forever.
And when will come that happy day,
Mother, mother?
Oh, shall we laugh and sing and play
Out in the sun forever?
Nay, shadow-child, we'll rest all day,
Daughter, little daughter,
Where green grass grows and roses gay,
There in the sun forever.
poem by Harriet Monroe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Please feed my daughter
It's been a long time since we've had food and water.
I don't care about myself but please feed my daughter.
I hate to inconvenience you or to intrude.
But my daughter will die if she doesn't gets some food.
She's a sweet girl who is adorable and her heart is pure.
My entire world will collapse if anything happens to her.
I asked others for food but they all said no.
They didn't give a damn and that was pretty low.
I'm willing to do some work around your house if you'll spare a meal.
I'll do anything to feed my daughter except steal.
I lost my home and my job and I'll appreciate any food that you'll give her.
If she dies, I want to die too because life won't be worth living unless I'm with her.
poem by Randy Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daughter of Africa
Daughter of Africa
You are walking now
And tread the path
Away from me
Daughter of Africa
You are touching now
While my body is
Away from you
Daughter of Africa
You are moist now
Not knowing the stranger
Who enters you
Daughter of Africa
You sleep now
While my heart
Yearns for you
Daughter of Africa
You are dieing now
And you finally remember
Me
Who cried for you.
poem by Peter Rhodes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Callin In Sick
Hit my snooze alarm for the 27th time
Just dont feel like goin to work - I think Ill call my boss, then im
Gonna hack and cough and wheeze
Swear Ive got some strange disease
Whats that little twerp gonna say?
Hey
Im callin in sick today
Callin in sick today
I could shine my pennies or clean my lava lamp
I could spend all day in my underwear watching ernest goes to camp
I could sit and count my hair
I could burp my tupperware
Im not busy now anyway
Hey
Im callin in sick today
Callin in sick today
Aint goin to work, no way
Callin in sick today
I can do anything I want to
I am invincible now
Im on fire, baby
Im alive, Im alive, can you hear me, world?
Im alive!
Maybe Ill spend all day staring at the sun
And trying not to squint
Maybe Ill make a huge color tapestry from
My belly button lint
When Im sick of takin abuse
I just make up some lame excuse
Freedoms just seven digits away
Hey
Im callin in sick today
Callin in sick today
Aint goin to work, no way
Callin in sick today
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work That Body Rap Song = 2012
Drive my car wear my jewels
Make me feel like the king of fools.
Work that body
Work that body
Try not to hurt nobody
David loved Bathsheba, Samson loved Delilah
I love you and your name is Twyla.
Work that body
Work that body
Try not to hurt nobody
Life without love is empty and cruel
Without God's grace I remain a fool.
Work that body
Work that body
Try not to hurt nobody
After death I pray to go to Heaven
For I've been saved since I was eleven.
Work that body
Work that body
Try not to hurt nobody
Life can be short, life can be long
God sees all we do right or wrong.
Work that body
Work that body
Try not to hurt nobody
Listen Up Daddy
Listen up daddy I got something to say
I'm tired of pretending that everything is okay
Daddy you look over me like I'm not alive
And to get your attention daddy I have to strive
When I was little you were never there
And some times I don't even know why do I care
I use to paint pictures in my mind of the perfect dad
It consisted of all those things that I wished you would have had
A day wouldn't go by without me thinking of you
Sometimes I would say what would my dad do
And then it hit me I really don't know
Its not like you been apart of my life before
But I know someone who do know about you
The other daughter to you come home too
The daughter that you say hello and see you later at
The daughter that somehow got your hurt fully attached
I'm not mad because in life you have to deall with stuff like this
And if you don't this a big apart of your life that you shouldn't miss
So even though dad you another state away
I just wish that you could tell me happy birthday! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Jeanette Matthews
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace Sells... But Who's Buying? (live)
What do you mean, "I don't believe in God"?
I talk to him every day.
What do you mean, "I don't support your system"?
I go to court when I have to.
What do you mean, "I can't get to work on time"?
I got nothing better to do
And, what do you mean, "I don't pay my bills"?
Why do you think I'm broke? Huh?
If there's a new way,
I'll be the first in line.
But, it better work this time.
What do you mean, "I hurt your feelings"?
I didn't know you had any feelings.
What do you mean, "I ain't kind"?
I'm just not your kind.
What do you mean, "I couldn't be president,
Of the United States of America"?
Tell me something, it's still "We the people", right?
If there's a new way
I'll be the first in line,
But, it better work this time.
Can you put a price on peace?
Peace,
Peace sells...,
Peace,
Peace sells...,
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
No, peace sells
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Job
All I know to do is work
Dress myself in the morning
And go to that place
I am a gardener
I mow the lawn
I plant the plants
I watch your wife sunbathing
I sip your tea
How sweet it is...
All I know to do is work
Put on my uniform
And drive the streets
I am the law
I keep a careful eye
I nip trouble in the bud
I bring your daughter home
I drink your tea
How sweet it is...
All I know to do is work
Wrap my white coat around me
And go to work on you
I am the coroner
I make the cuts
I weigh the organs
I report on what really killed you
I drink your tea
How sweet it is
How sweet life is
From time to time...
(2009)
poem by B. Alexander
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Daughter Brittany
On the special day of October 4,1995
God gave me the perfect daughter,
A mother can dream about
You fill my life with laughter
Our love will never doubt
The moment my eyes first looked at you
I knew my dreams had all came true
As a little girl you were very shy
You're important in my life i'll never deny
The bond we created from my womb,
To the day you were born
Its a mother and daughter bind, that can
never be torn
I could'nt be any prouder, than I am today of you
You are my daughter, and my friend
And a wonderful person too
I know that i am not perfect, Its the best i can do
But every day I thank the lord for giving me
A daughter as special as you.
Please don't hide anything from me
For i am here for you and always will be
Life is not always fair,
So please come to me no matter what
We will work it out together, And know i care
I LOVE YOU HONEY WITH ALL MY HEART
OUR LOVE PROVES WE WILL NEVER BE APART....
TO BRIITTANY FROM YOUR MOM
poem by Wendy Kay Tadday
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Ravi Shankar’s Daughter
Ooh – I am in love with Ravi Shankar’s daughter
And she doesn’t even know
Do you think her mother knows what she brought us
Do you think her father shouts from the hilltops?
Ooh – I am love with Ravi Shankar’s daughter
And she really should know
My sweet love – Alleluia
I really want to see you - My sweet lord
I really want to be with you
So I can always hear you play
Hare Krishna
I am in love with Ravi Shankar’s daughter
The spirit in her fingers makes my body quiver
Ravi Shankar’s daughter
Rave Shankar’s daughter
Conduct your life like an Indian Master
The best is still to come in the ever after
Love and space dust inside each and all of us
The coiled serpent – the all Seeing Eye
poem by Michael WheelerWyatt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Sick......
i am sick of your justice...
sick of dead bodies strewn,
sick of your bursts of gunfire,
and your bombs without conscience.
sick of the napalm fingers of your equality,
trading flesh for nickels and dime.
sick of your powder and your pills,
sick of the rape of the young girl
beneath your flag!
i am sick of your nuclear bibles,
sick of your buying and trading.
i am sick of the pound of your oil rigs,
sick of the stink of your morality.
i am sick of your hanging trees,
your courtrooms stacked.
i am sick of the money you sleep with,
sick of your colorless freedom.
i am sick of your smokestacks gone silent.
sick of your riot squads gassing.
i am sick of the amendments you've twisted,
sick of your hate and your prejudice...
i am sick of your slavery,
your prisons, your human rights violations.
i am sick of your political lies....
revolution, by common bond,
the choice of integrity, or death!
the dignity of the human soul demands,
that we live or we die!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father –in-law’s and mother-in- law’s daughter is a daughter-in-law
Father –in-law’s and mother-in- law’s daughter is a daughter-in-law
In the long and short journey of life one has to read the same law,
Even the daughter-in-law should not treat with them just like a saw,
She must think that her husband’s parents are like her own parents,
Action and reaction we can see soon infront of our eyes and mind,
And every one has his or her law and so let us always live by a law,
A good son-in-law does not deserve for any kind of dowry to find,
He too considers that his wife’s parents are just like his own parents,
A daughter is born in her own family and lives in the another family,
All will weep to see the changes of her life from the starting to an end,
If that new family members are good for her she lives very happily,
Otherwise in every walk of her life she suffers and herself will tend,
All daughters have to face and face to cross the same path of life,
The Nature itself will pity on them to see their difficulty of life’s strife.
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Four Letter 'Work' Song
Work me up, work me out, work me flip side down.
Work me here, work me there, work me with renown.
Work me hot, work me greedy,
work me through and through.
Work me to the very marrow,
work me just like I'd work you.
Work me proud, work me late,
work me do not hesitate.
Won't you let me work for you?
Work me til I'm black and blue.
Work me steady, work me needy, work me to a lather.
Work me til my backbone breaks, and the buzzards gather.
Work me in, work me under, work me til I bleed,
Work me over red hot coals, work me like a boss in need.
Work me nasty, work me silly, work me through the clover.
Up down, 'n' in between, into a slipknot sweet Jehovah.
Work me, work me, go ahead.
Work me, work me, til I'm dead.
Buddy Bee Anthony
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A daughter loves her parents more than a son
A daughter loves her parents more than a son
But parents love their son more than their daughter,
After his marriage a son becomes a wicked person,
Then a son loves his wife more then his parents,
Over heard by his wife he pushes his parents out of home,
None gives them shelter in their old age except GOD,
Daughter will pity on them and she will welcome,
As they sow so shall they reap the crops,
Every one should be careful for action- re-action of life,
Today we disobey our parents tomorrow our sons re-act so,
Hence we face the same journey of our life's strife,
If we take care of our parents the same God will do,
We surely get what we do in the kingdom of God,
Carefully with guilt and virtue God has made a bod.
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Wanted To Know....
the starving child you saw on your tv screen,
the one that made you turn the channel.
the old homeless man who tried to bum a dollar
when you were pumping gas...
whose hands were shaking,
who smelled like trash,
who you made fun of when you left...
the one you gave 50 cents to,
just to get away from...
the young painted up girl you called a whore,
the guy strung out on pills
buying groceries with food stamps...
the veteran who came home
to find his family gone....
no job, no home, he blew his brains out!
the gay boy who slit his wrists,
tired of being bullied.
the old couple evicted broke and sick....
the bodies of women and children killed by the drones,
the young man in prison who just got gang raped.
the disabled woman you cursed when she made your change,
the old man buying dog food who doesnt have a dog...
well, you wanted to know what god looks like!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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