To Paula
My daughter Paula is so dear;
I do love her no words can tell.
To roses born she comes so near,
And I say this for modest I am
My daughter Paula likes to play
When the sun comes under tall trees.
At times she plays till dark the sky.
Oh, she does bless my days with youth!
poem by Luis Estable
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
To My Special Paula
My daughter Paula is so dear,
I do love her beyond my words.
To roses red she better comes,
And I say this for modest I am.
My daughter Paula likes to play
With energy under tall trees.
At times she plays till dark the day.
Oh, she does bless my days with youth.
poem by Luis Estable
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Disappointing Daughter
Meet their disappointing daughter,
with her disappointing ways.
They would oh-so-love to humour her,
but it really never pays.
What's wrong with that girl, anyway?
She's always in a daze.
Why won't she join in with their games?
Her brother always plays.
It's not that they're ashamed of her -
but some of her displays -
and, let's face it, in public, too...
Such a disappointing daughter:
imperfect;
human;
got drunk when younger;
went out with a few dodgy blokes,
when younger -
such a disappointing daughter,
with her disappointing - unforgivably
disappointing - ways.
poem by Paula Puddephatt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The King of Erin's Daughter
THE King of Erin's Daughter had wind-blown hair and bright,
The King of Erin's Daughter, her eyes were like the sea;
(O Rose of all the roses, have you forgotten quite
The story of the days of old that once you told to me?)
The King of Erin's Daughter went up the mountain side
And who but she was singing as she went upon her way,
'O somewhere waits a King's Son and I shall be his bride,
And tall he is and fair he is and none shall say him nay.'
The King of Erin's Daughter–O fair was she and sweet–
Went laughing up the mountain without a look behind
Till on the lofty summit that lay beneath her feet
She found a King's Son waiting there, his brows with poppies twined.
O tall was he and fair was he. He looked into her face
And whispered in her ear a word un-named of mortal breath
And very still she rested, clasped close in his embrace,
The King of Erin's Daughter, for the bridegroom's name was Death.
poem by Norah M. Holland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Maybe Baby Pink
I think in
pastel pink
for my baby maybe
for my maybe baby
for my nearly daughter
for every little thing
that I almost
nearly
taught her
I feel my pain in
pastel pink
waves of
subtle
anguish
for my baby girl
for my spirit daughter
poem by Paula Puddephatt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Unborn Son And Daughter
Love not the son less
But he loved the son
Not to be born and burned
In the turbulence
And pathos and chaos
Of the barren earthly bond.
He loved to sleep
With his unborn son
He loved to talk and play
With the yet not born son
As none could enslave
As none could persecute
As none could chain
His yet to be born son!
She loved her daughter
To be in the womb
And not to advance
From embryo to fetus
As she never longed
Her daughter to fly
Like a butterfly
Loitering the flowery garden!
She talked to her daughter
Whose tickling heart
In the womb stuttered
And yearned for a lullaby
To sleep in dreams!
Her humming of lullaby
Was like a wailing
That made her daughter
Lose the sleep and the balm!
She faced the vultures
With shocking flutter of wings
That hook her daughter
In its sharp nails!
She talked to her
Not born daughter
Not to take birth
As birth is burden
And an unending ordeal!
He and she decided
To perish the love flowering
And to part to embrace
The pain of love broken
For not to father a son!
For not to mother a daughter!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
June
Paula is digging and shaping the loam of a salvia,
Scarlet Chinese talker of summer.
Two petals of crabapple blossom blow fallen in Paula's
hair,
And fluff of white from a cottonwood.
poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
So Called Story
Harsh words,
spillling over,
warning the loving daughter.
Hurtful words,
telling the daughter
a one-sided story,
of a tale of deception.
Mother did wrong,
by blaming the father.
By pinning it all on
the new victim of his love.
Choosing to leave the daughter,
Choosing to leave the mother,
Choosing to leave the dear family behind him.
Moving on with a new life
to start again.
Forgetting all that was
Such a sad story to tell the daughter
who never wanted to know.
The secrets behind the new loving family.
Never knowing the truth.
This so called story
is all she now knows.
of the ending of times
between mother and father.
poem by Nicole Gehrman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Time Tells Time' 2 of 2 of the original
Your mirror is telling you that you’re a beautiful…
Listen to it, not like me, who tried not to hear
It reflects a face as fresh as a recently cut rose
Do not look for wrinkles
Admire the shining stars
Do ponder past moons, then
Anticipate all moons ahead
My dear, distance before is not far back…
So near you can smell sweet- cut summer grass,
Laugh at your children ringing around roses,
and help fill their pockets with poses
Fall trees in back yard stand barren
Just you stand tall to bear all
Just keep in mind the golden rule
Your golden years will happen
Dear daughter, waste not time on bygones
Just make right that you think went wrong
(Dedicated to my daughter Heather L. Knight:
A juxtaposition of the original: Times Tells Time)
Almedia S Knight (ASK)
September 22,2009
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love, Daughter, Forever
A DAUGHTER IS SPECIAL
A DAUGHTER IS DEAR
A PRECIOUS GIFT FROM ABOVE
A DAUGHTER IS A TREASURE
TO FOREVER HOLD NEAR AND LOVE
poem by Irene Santiago
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sleep-Walkers
In the town where I was born lived a woman and her daughter, who
walked in their sleep.
One night, while silence enfolded the world, the woman and her
daughter, walking, yet asleep, met in their mist-veiled garden.
And the mother spoke, and she said: 'At last, at last, my enemy!
You by whom my youth was destroyed--who have built up your life
upon the ruins of mine! Would I could kill you!'
And the daughter spoke, and she said: 'O hateful woman, selfish
and old! Who stand between my freer self and me! Who would have
my life an echo of your own faded life! Would you were dead!'
At that moment a cock crew, and both women awoke. The mother said
gently, 'Is that you, darling?' And the daughter answered gently,
'Yes, dear.'
poem by Khalil Gibran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Janice
Janice my dear, daughter of mine,
So sweet and loving and pure of thought.
Given to me from the Lord above
To teach us here all about love.
She’s quiet and thoughtful and oh so true, what more could a mother ask for than a daughter like you.
I’ll love you dear daughter forever more, and will wait for you as you cross through the door.
So until then, to yourself be true, your reward is in heaven with the angels too.
poem by Barbara Stahly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A child's perspective....
There's an angel in the curtains
mummy, mummy come and see.
Daughter, daughter I can see her
she's as pretty as can be!
Why is she in the curtains?
Mummy, mummy tell me do.
She is your guardian angel
and she watches over you.
Will she come and play with me?
I've great games we could play.
No dear, you must find some friends
and they will play those games.
So if she's my guardian angel
who watches over her?
Daughter darling daughter
God watches over her.
And mummy, mummy tell me
who watches over God?
No one, darling daughter
but we can give God love.
Then mummy I will love him
by morning and by night.
I don't want him to be lonely
when he's in bed at night.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Knock Knock Knock, A new Poet was born
To the left
To the right
Her inner thoughts
must abide by the rules
that govern us
Knock Knock Knock
and a new poet was born
It was daughter not a son
She delivered her message in a bottle
As the soldier ants passed on in a throttle
It's obnoxious to think
that there is only
a beginning, a middle and an end
To the oblivious
The prosperity of infinity
does have a role in life to play my dear friends
Knock Knock Knock
and a new poet was born
It was daughter not a son
She spoke out loud
There are unanswered questions
due to our limited restrictions
of comprehending matters
that surpass religion
We seek, we search and crave
for the unknown
Now it will be totally absurd
to think that the soul
is just another empty dark hole
And behold she said
I must insist
That force that we all fear
Is right here in our mist
in all the places where we drink and feast
Knock Knock Knock
and a new poet was born
It was daughter not a son
An escaped convict is on the run
She stood up and sang beautifully to the sun
My consience is loose and heavy
It weighs far too many tonnes
How can we measure a feeling
of love or hatred
of sadness or of joy
How can we measure a feeling
that is so right
or a feeling that is very wrong
so that in matters all day long
true justice prevails itself
Knock Knock Knock
and a new poet was born
It was daughter not a son
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Judy
To my wife Judy
I really love you truly
remember the good old days,
and the bad, when we almost went our ways
your such a good mother and wife
even though, we together, have a lot of strife
I love your sweet smile dear
the thought of losing you, brings a tear
Remember when we walked down grand
for us together, hand in hand
when we went to watch them play ball
days when the team was riding tall
Remember our first kiss
it brought my heart much bliss
Judy dear the years, have gone fast
I love you so much, like in the past
Judy together we've seen good times and bad
we've seen our son, grow into a fine lad
our daughter I know acts like me,
I do wish she was more like you, don't you see
Judy you have so much love,
in you, your sweet as a dove
you put up with so much
right now your face I want to touch
I told you I would write a poem about you
it may not be good, but it'll do
Judy this is how I feel with out you
when away from you, I feel very blue
I miss you very much
love you more, when were not in touch
time has not passed us by
of the past I need to let it die
Judy I'm happy with you my dear
the thought of losing you brings fear
without you, I'm nothing at all,
with you, in time, I will stand very tall.
Daughter of Death
I was born
Born to the blood of angels
Born through the veil of a storm
Born without love inside of me
Born with a need to perform
Born out of vengence
Born out of scorn
Born out of hatred
out of love torn
Born with a mission
Born with a drive
Born with a need
with a need to sruvive.
Now it's time to show you what i'm really about
no more pretentions;
No more frothing at the mouth
there's no use of hiding
all my sins deep inside
I'll wear them on my shoulder like a badge of pride
Cuz i'm the daughter of death
from my very first breath
i'm the daughter of death
blood red as macbeth
living a filthy mess
i'm a daughter of death
just a daughter of death
I was
Raised from buring ashes
Raised with tragic crime
Raised from cries of chaos
Raised on borrowed time
Raised by the darkness
Rasied by the night
Raised by the claws of fright
Raised to be hated
Riased to be loved
Riased to be doomed
By the powers above
poem by Brittany Cook
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
There is love there. And then there's times when I can't even stomach Simon. You don't have to sit next to him. That's all I have to say.
quote by Paula Abdul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My son is my son till he have got him a wife, but my daughter's my daughter all the days of her life.
Thomas Fuller in Gnomologica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet # 313
Mary the little girl of my human dream
Is daughter mine by way of tearful wishing.
I play with her and playing makes her beam
In the places of my mind when musing.
She`s pretty, bright, polite, and quick in helping;
Dark skin, gree eyes, black hair, and teeth so white.
She plays the piano, the guitar, loves reading.
She`s sweetness in her voice that does excite.
She gladly sings and writes good poetry,
Almost fogot, she very well can dance.
And she`s just young the age of six plus three;
Not quite that time when pretties do advance.
So this`s my daughter, pretty daughter Mary.
That ne`er the world did know a sweeter honey.
poem by Luis Estable
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!