En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Mrs. Blaileen

Mrs. blaileen - she was a sixth grade teacher
And she controlled the children
By using humiliation.
The target always seemed to be donny.
He was a bit slower than the others.
When he was quite young
His mother died at the kitchen table
While choking on some food.
The fashion of the day
Was bleach and tied levi's.
Donny decided to make some,
But he didn't know to rinse them.
So he came to school a reekin'.
Bleach stenched filled the classroom.
Mrs. blaileen began to chastise.
She made him feel like an asshole
Two feet small.
Oh what a lonely boy.
Don and ronald
They always stuck together
For they were a bit different than the others
And they were as tight as brothers
Then ronald moved away.
Now steven
He was year or two younger
And he really thought he was something.
He liked to harass other children
Or anyone he found outnumbered.
Alone don walks from fishing.
Steven and his friend they stop him.
They took his hat and they taunt him,
Pimp-slap him with a newspaper.
Don lunged forward with his fish knife
Then ran all the way home weeping.
He gave his knife to his father and
Said "i think i hurt steve."
Oh what a lonely boy.

song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broremann The Fisherman

Broremann the Angler

On the pier where fishing vessels were tied up my brother
sat fishing all the while seagulls kept swooping and shrieking,
he blissfully ignored them. He had no hook at the end of his
line and when asked why he said, I don´t like to hurt the fish.
But crafty little Broremann was not as innocent as you may
think, he didn´t like fish, all those horrible tiny bones,
his mother had sent him down to the pier to try catch some
fish for lunch. He liked sausages with mashed potatoes and
stewed peas, now he could go home tell his mother fish didn´t
bite today, but made sure to put the hook on the line so his
mother could see he was really trying. An old fisherman gave
him two sardines wrapped in a newspaper, but wouldn´t you
know it the pair of sardines somehow slipped out of the paper
and made their way back to the sea.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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the boy at Laoy

the boy is selling
charcoal

the teacher marks
him absent
from school

another boy cannot
make it this year
for graduation in his
sixth grade

his mother is in
the house resting
as she just delivered
a new baby girl

the boy has to buy
her food
a chicken soup
to warm her guts

his father died
two months ago
lost in the sea

the typhoon came
without notice

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lonely Children

You go where the wind blows, leading the life you chose
Your destination remains unknown
No one to help you, nobody cares about you
Youre looking for someplace you can call home
Lonely children on the run
Lonely children need someone
Too many questions, you need to answer to them
Your information is so incomplete
You seek directions, you would be lost without them
Dont let them find you lying in the street
Lonely children on the run
Lonely children, lonely, need someone
Someone to talk to
Someone who cares
Someone who listens
Is anyone there?
They may detest you, someday they may arrest you
They stop at nothing to hold you down
You need to be free, but will they ever let you?
They wont be happy till you leave town
Lonely children on the run, run on the run
Lonely children need someone, need someone
Lonely children in the night, cant see the light
Lonely children need a guiding light, dont forget
Lonely children all alone
Lonely children have no home
Lonely children on the run
Hope someday therell be someone
Lonely, lonely children

song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As It Was

Ginny loved it
when the time came
For their annual trip
to the seaside

And her father rented
the house with the big garden
that lead onto the sea.
She and her brothers and sister

Looked forward to it
every year and it seemed the sun
shone almost constantly
And the house seemed

as it was the year before
nothing changed nothing new
just the same rooms
and outlook and young Lily the maid

who came each year too
to help their mother
around the house
and watch

the younger children.
Her mother
Was the organiser
the one who seemed most near

to the children who seemed
to know the children’s needs
and wants and tried to keep
her husband happy

and allow him
his space and quiet
which he valued most of all.
Ginny liked it

when the sea was out
and there was plenty of sand
to play on to make a sand castle
with a moat and drawbridge

made from small pieces of driftwood
found on the beach.

But once her mother died
the seaside house

seemed less welcoming
the sea seemed

hardly ever to go out
than it was back again

the sun was less warm
less friendly

and her father
would mope

around the house
moaning and groaning

In his grief and bellowing
at Lily the maid

to do this and do that
making her cry

and only at night
when all were asleep

and Ginny was snuggled
Down in bed did it seem

as it was when her mother
would enter the room

and sit on the bed
and smile and whisper

the words she used to
placing a ghostly hand

on Ginny’s brow
and kiss her cheek.

Ginny remembered the house
By the sea years later

with the yellowy sand
And walking with Lily

the maid
hand in hand.

poem by Terry Collett
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Case 795 (The Family)

Tony Jones stabbed Alice Jones
On their first anniversary
Down in Dallas, Texas
In a small apartment
With nobody present.
He pulled out a knife
And he stuck it to her.
He left her bleeding
On the floor in the kitchen
With cake on her fingers
And her wedding ring holding.
In her hand was a note
That said the wicked must suffer
And he drove off quickly
To his girlfriend's apartment.
But who really suffers in the end?
It's easy enough for us to pretend that
Everything's all right with the family.
Everything is safe here at home.
Everything's all right with the family.
The beds are made but there's no sheets on.
From the courtroom stand
Tony said he was sorry.
That he was sad and mixed up,
And he didn't know what he was doing,
That he'd always loved Alice
And he begged for forgiveness.
So he threw himself
On the mercy of the jury
And he told how his father
Had beat and abused him
Back in grade school
In the basement den,
And that maybe prison
Was the best thing for him.
And he said, "Oh God, can you forgive me?" yeah
But who really suffers in the end?
It's easy enough for us all to pretend that
Everything's all right with the family.
Everything is safe here at home.
Everything's all right with the family.
The beds are made but there's no sheets on.
How many days does it take to make us weak?
And how many hours do people spend lonely?
In the heart of the heart the family lay dying
The ruin of a nation lies at our feet, yeah.
Everything's all right with the family.
Everything is safe here at home.
Everything's all right with the family.
The beds are made but there's no sheets on.
(Repeat chorus.)

song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Case 795

Tony jones stabbed alice jones
On their first anniversary
Down in dallas, texas
In a small apartment
With nobody present
He pulled out a knife
And he stuck it to her
He left her bleeding
On the floor in the kitchen
With cake on her fingers
And her wedding ring holding
In her hand was a note
That said the wicked must suffer
And he drove off quickly
To his girlfriend's apartment
But who really suffers in the end?
It's easy enough for us to pretend that
Chorus:
Everything's all right with the family
Everything is safe here at home
Everything's all right with the family
The beds are made but there's no sheets on
From the courtroom stand
Tony said he was sorry
That he was sad and mixed up
And he didn't know what he was doing
That he'd always loved alice
And he begged for forgiveness
So he threw himself
On the mercy of the jury
And he told how his father
Had beat and abused him
Back in grade school
In the basement den
And that maybe prison
Was the best thing for him
And he said, "oh god, can you forgive me?" yeah
But who really suffers in the end?
It's easy enough for us all to pretend that
Chorus:
Everything's all right with the family
Everything is safe here at home
Everything's all right with the family
The beds are made but there's no sheets on
How many days does it take to make us weak?
And how many hours do people spend lonely?
In the heart of the heart the family lay dying
The ruin of a nation lies at our feet, yeah
Chorus:
Everything's all right with the family
Everything is safe here at home
Everything's all right with the family
The beds are made but there's no sheets on
Everything's all right with the family
Everything is safe here at home
Everything's all right with the family
The beds are made but there's no sheets on

song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mrs. Martin

My favorite teacher,
Of all times,
Is my old sixth grade teacher.

She's known me,
Since I was small.
She's helped me,
With womework and love.

Sweet and nice,
Beautiful and friendly,
My old sixth grade teacher,
Will be my friend,
Til the end.

poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Paddling bully

In the seventh grade I had a bully for a teacher.
He was ugly and he was indeed a horrible creature.
He gave paddlings and that really got us kids annoyed.
He'd smile when he paddled because it was something he enjoyed.

He gave over twenty paddlings a day.
Even if we did no wrong, he'd paddle us anyway.
One afternoon all I did was speak to a friend.
My teacher hit me seven times on the rearend.

It really hurt when he hit me with his paddle.
A lot of kids don't squeal but I decided to tattle.
I told my uncle who stands 7'3' and weighs 250 pounds.
He said he was going to visit my school and that my teacher was going down.

My uncle told my teacher that he had no right to paddle me just because I talked.
Then he broke all of my teacher's limbs and he couldn't even walk.
I got a new teacher and I said Hooray!
My former teacher decided to stop teaching on that very day.

poem by Randy Johnson
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Children I Am Calling You

Children, children
children I am calling you
don't be scared don't be sad
all the fears won't hurt you

You've come so far
so you've got some scars
but you have grown into your own
don't look back just press your attack
all the dreams will come true

Once they said you would never walk
once they said you would never talk
once they said life would pass you by
but they didn't know how you would try

And you showed them all
you'd just get up when you'd fall
you tasted life and you gave it your all

You made me proud
I wanted to shout out loud
Look at my kids look at what they did

But you said no
you said let it go
‘cause time moves on and you move so slow

Children, children
children I am calling you…

poem by Steven Sabathie
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An event to recall on Mother's Day - That mother is no one other than me

Summer evening
Sun still harsh

Me, then fourteen
My mother's younger sister
Came forward to tell
A story about a mother

Mumbai, then Bombay
Highrise residential quarters
Fourth floor
Big Hall
Two big bed rooms
Two baths
Big kitchen

Grill-less windows
Free flow of air
Lot natural light

A mother in the kitchen
Preparing food
For her husband
And their three sons

The youngest about two years old
Left on the kitchen table
Mother being busy around

The child not seen now
Mother realised just then
Would have slipped
Across the open window

She was right
The child has fallen
But on the sun shade
About four feet below

Her two year old son
On an open sun shade
Not less than forty feet
Above the ground level

No time to lose
No time waiting for help
From outside

Mother too slowly
Slipped about four feet onto the
Just two feet wide sun shade
Picked up the child
Put him onto the kitchen work table
Managed to climb back to her kitchen

I was thrilled
I was to ask a number of questions
One important being
Is the mother is so courageous

My aunt finished telling
That mother is no one other than me
And that son is no one other than
My third son

Both that mother and son
Are safe, living and active

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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The Reckoning

My mother was carried to heaven
On the day that I turned six,
She died of tuberculosis
Spitting blood in a coughing fit,
She'd been so ill for a long long time
That I couldn't recall her smile,
My father, he just grumbled, said:
'Your Ma will be gone for a while.'

'She's gone to sing in a choir up there,
Who knows how long she will be? '
But I saw the coffin that carried her out,
The hearse and the burial tree,
I watched as it sank down into the ground
And my father just left it there,
Went off to visit my 'aunt', he said,
A woman with long, blond hair.

I stayed at home, such a lonely child,
And went to a place in my head,
Where mother was fit and without a care
She laughed at the things I said,
My father left me alone a lot
So mother would tell me, 'Shush! '
We'd laugh and giggle when he went out
But talk in a sort of hush.

I played outside at other times
Where the grass grew long and wild,
I'd catch the skinks as they darted past,
I was always a curious child,
I'd bring the Sleepy Lizards home,
My father didn't mind,
He said I could keep the pets I caught,
I thought he was being kind.

But then one day he came on home
With this 'aunt', who moved right in,
He said they were married now, so I
Should call her 'Mum', not Jen.
I scowled, and went to my room to cry,
My mother was looking sad,
She said, 'just do what your father says,
I'm your Mother, but he's your Dad.'

This Jenny, she was all right at first
She tried to make me smile,
But I was feeling rebellious then,
And turned my back for a while,
I kept my rabbits and guinea pigs
And fed them out in their hutch,
But Jenny came out to look at them,
And she didn't like them much.

I knew, she wrinkled her powdered nose
And said, 'Oh pew! They stink!
We'll have to find you a hobby, one
That's pure and clean, I think.'
I heard her talking to father, say
That she thought I was rather slow,
She wanted the garden tidied up
So my animals had to go.

It was just about that time, I think
That my mother said goodbye,
She couldn't stay in that house, she said,
It was time for her to fly,
She left me alone in a great big world
So I brought a Lizard inside,
And put it under my bedclothes
Thought it a perfect place to hide.

When Jenny made the bed, she screamed
And shook me like a rag,
She went and got a kitchen knife
And a plastic shopping bag,
She made me put the Lizard in
Then she took the bag outside,
And stabbed and stabbed 'til the Lizard bled,
'Til my Lizard friend had died.

'Now bury it! ' she said to me,
'And don't you ever dare
Bring filthy animals into this house,
For if you do, I swear...'
At this she put the knife to my throat
And stood and watched me scream,
I saw the hate in her powdered face
It was like an awful dream!

Whenever my father left the house
She'd always scream and shout,
Knock me around for the slightest thing
Then drag me, throw me out,
Lock the door so I couldn't get in
And give me nothing to eat,
She said if I told my Dad on her
It would only get me beat.

She killed my rabbits, cooked them up
And served them from a pot,
She gave me a crooked, evil grin:
'You'd better eat the lot! '
I found myself in a black, black rage
Inside, at the things she'd done,
And hoped that my father would go on out
And buy himself a gun.

He never knew what she did to me,
I never would dare to say,
I knew that she'd get me on my own
And then there'd be hell to pay,
So I stayed outside in the barren fields
And found me a hessian sack,
Then went for a hunt with a long, forked stick,
It was time to get her back!

I waited until he'd gone away,
Was gone two days or more,
Then bit my tongue as she raved at me,
Spat hate from the kitchen door,
The morning came, and there wasn't a sound
To come from that angry head,
And I will never regret the day
I put a snake in her bed.

10 March 2009

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Parents Are Not Payable

Listen, dear brothers, sisters,
Look back in nostalgia;
Think about dear mother,
dear father,
The ones who gave life to you
And thaught you how to be
a man, a woman too;
Your mother who suckled you
Nine months she bore you
in her womb;
From his own sweat your
father paid for your school
And made sure your belly is
never emptied with food.
Think about them in
everything you do.
For some day you wil be
a father, a mother too
And your children will think
about you in everything
they do
They will think of the
troubles you went through
To help them pull through.
PARENTS can never be repaid
No matter the wealth you
may have attained.
Parents are not payable,
You just have to make them
feel comfortable,
And that would be enough
for their troubles.

poem by Efe Benjamin
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Bleeding

Stop bleeding said the knife
I would if I could said the cut.
Stop bleeding you make me messy with the blood.
I'm sorry said the cut.
Stop or I will sink in farther said the knife.
Don't said the cut.
The knife did not say it couldn't help it but
it sank in farther.
If only you didn't bleed said the knife I wouldn't
have to do this.
I know said the cut I bleed too easily I hate
that I can't help it I wish I were a knife like
you and didn't have to bleed.
Well meanwhile stop bleeding will you said the knife.
Yes you are a mess and sinking in deeper said the cut I
will have to stop.
Have you stopped by now said the knife.
I've almost stopped I think.
Why must you bleed in the first place said the knife.
For the same reason maybe that you must do what you
must do said the cut.
I can't stand bleeding said the knife and sank in farther.
I hate it too said the cut I know it isn't you it's
me you're lucky to be a knife you ought to be glad about that.
Too many cuts around said the knife they're
messy I don't know how they stand themselves.
They don't said the cut.
You're bleeding again.
No I've stopped said the cut see you are coming out now the
blood is drying it will rub off you'll be shiny again and clean.
If only cuts wouldn't bleed so much said the knife coming
out a little.
But then knives might become dull said the cut.
Aren't you still bleeding a little said the knife.
I hope not said the cut.
I feel you are just a little.
Maybe just a little but I can stop now.
I feel a little wetness still said the knife sinking in a
little but then coming out a little.
Just a little maybe just enough said the cut.
That's enough now stop now do you feel better now said the knife.
I feel I have to bleed to feel I think said the cut.
I don't I don't have to feel said the knife drying now
becoming shiny.

poem by May Swenson
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She

We had been going steady for over a year
and she assumed a wedding was near.
But I was too young and enjoyed my life,
and wasn’t ready just yet to take a wife.

Though two years younger at seventeen
she was the most sensitive girl I’d ever seen.
If we argued she would openly weep,
she worked me well, even in my sleep.

She filled my mind when I wasn’t with her,
she was my Cleopatra, my Mona Lisa.
I shared her insatiable appetite for sex
and never knew when it would happen next.

She spoke of children and wedding rings,
detached houses, and domestic things.
I didn’t actually say that I didn’t disagree,
which really was ambiguous of me.

My job required me to spend two weeks away,
so she went to her aunts for a holiday.
By phone we kept in touch whilst we were apart,
separation hurt, but it was good for the heart.

On our reunion she was sheepish and coy,
her conscience was going to end my joy.
She had met an old friend whilst she was away
and was sorry for three nights on her holiday.

She said she was lonely and missed my touch,
and would I forgive her, she loved me so much.
At that moment I realised how much I loved her,
but I was suffering the curse of a betrayer.

She apologised and said it wouldn’t happen again,
but my heart was broken and I felt sick with pain.
Why did she do it, we were only two weeks apart?
She wept and pleaded, we could make a new start.

It was impossible, she had betrayed my trust,
our relationship was over because of her lust.
'Go back to the one you had slept with, ' I said,
'you were both eager enough to share a bed.'

She found herself pregnant as a result of her fling
and persuaded the father to do the right thing.
I didn’t get to know him and he didn’t know me,
but for a while we worked for the same company.

A friend of us both told me the child was mine,
but did she say that to play with my mind?
When I did get the chance to speak with her,
she wouldn't say who was the father.

A few years later I heard her husband had died,
but I was married then and my hands were tied.
Even now I’m divorced, my curiosity’s still there,
did that child have auburn wavy hair?

poem by Orlando Belo
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Who's In

Some of us lost before
the game was even over
like my buddy who took a spill
on his motorcycle in August
and snapped his neck
on a curb off Halsted Street
or my close high school friend
that grew apart with years
before the night when the
Cubs won the division and
his wife decided to
plunged a kitchen knife
into his heart for dramatic effect
then there was Billie
who lived in a tree house
one hot Chicago summer
before he had enough and walked over
to the Ike expressway and leaped
into the path of a speeding semi-truck
didn’t have a chance to survive
a bad decision like the neighborhood whore
who at the age of 26 felt it was easier
to place a.357 magnum
in her mouth and pull the trigger
or my grade school acquaintance
who choked on his food because he yelled
at his mother why she served him some more
some of us lost before the game was over
Now let me ask you, are you still in?

poem by Charles Lara
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Our Children

A baby sitter who can’t stand kids
A drunken father slaps his children around
A drug addict mother who sleeps and does nothing but get high
A sister who never comes home in time to protect the small ones

Our children are here on this earth to be loved
Not to be abused and used as slaves
Our children are not punching bags or our slaves
Stop the abuse against the innocent children

These children will grow up to be just like you
Our children need us to love them
The older siblings stand between the you and the younger ones
So stop all the abuse

The children need to be taken care of
All you parents out there listen to me
Heed my warning because your children will grow up to hate you
Stop all the abuse against the future of this world

poem by Jessica Roberts
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Age Of Dallas

What did it mean
To be young
In the Age of Dallas?

To come home
To the farmhouse?

Ironing strewn
Across the living room
Mother crying
In front of the T.V.

Re-runs of Dealey Plaza.

I remember someone
Mentioning Camelot
Third-grade in Corvallis
My teacher came from Austin

But the School Secretary
Came from the
Principal’s office

Met our teacher
At the classroom door.

Tears
Flushed cheeks

We were filed
Onto the school bus
Solemnly driven home.

(Portland, Oregon 1978)

poem by Justice Putnam
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Father

Father oh father
Hear me if you can
Is it true what they say
That life is a dream
I dont understand
The things that make rain in my eyes
Are they real or are they lies
You know I hear so much about you now
Id give anything
To go on a little boat with you
Talk about the scheme of things
On a little boat with you
Father oh father
Guide me if you can
Or give me the chance to follow you home
I am your son but I wish I knew you
When you were young
Were you lonely as a boy
You know Id give so much to see you now
Id go anywhere
Pick a little stick and walk with you
Talk about the scheme of things
On a short walk with you
Father oh father
You give me just a little hope
I feel something out there reaching for me
Well here I am
Wont you take me with you
Out of this maze
And away from this place
Because it gets so cold and lonely here
Ill do anything
To sit on a little rock with you
Talk about the scheme of things
On a small rock with you
Show me show me show me the way
Before they grind me down
And bleach me grey
Send me power not to be afraid
And when I close my eyes
Let me see you once in the light
Father oh father
Heal me if you can
Is it true what they say
That life is a dream

song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Non Swimming Man Of The Sea

He had his own fishing boat for many years though he never ventured far out to sea
And from fishing he made a good living enough to upkeep his family
He was born and he still lives near the ocean and the ocean holds no fears for him
But to many it may seem a bit strange that he's never learned how to swim.

Though he left school young for to fish with his father he's a bright man and nobody's fool
And his son and daughter live in the big city their children in Primary school
Two years ago his wife she died suddenly they had been married for thirty five years
And though for her his grieving is over thoughts of her still move him to tears.

A year younger than him she felt quite well till a massive heart attack struck her down
And one day he too will go to join her in the grave yard in the sea side Town
He had a wish to be cremated and his ashes spread on the sea shore
But to his wife he must remain true and with her he will lay forever more.

He sold his fishing boat when his wife died his great zest for life with her died
He now lives on the old age pension and from his cottage he can hear the tide
Rage against the rocks on the fore shore the huge waves they rumble and roll
The immortal voice of the ocean is ever soothing to his soul.

Last February he turned seventy and the years have left him gray and slow
Still he finds comfort in his good memories of his better days decades ago
Of his beautiful wife and their children but life part of mortality
And the Reaper is now quietly waiting for the non swimming man of the sea.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Are They Children Of A Lesser GOD?

the children of this country should be happy as can be
for they do not have to live in such poverty.
most at least have clothes on their backs
a bed in which to sleep, and food
even if it's only once a day.
and they're taught how to pray.

we are much better off than other countries
around the world.
but try to tell that to the hungry boy or girl.

we are a nation from all walks of life
and have fought so that freedom can ring
and to our national anthem sing.

our children dream of things that they could be
because in this land, dreams can come true.
so let us now see what we can do
to help our brothers' me and you'.

the other child dreams of a warm bed
and a roof over their head.
a bath to wash off the dirt of the day away
a family member with whom they could stay.

clean clothes, clean socks, something which
they have not got.
food set on a table, and someone to help
them if their not able.
to be able to go to school, and learn the golden rule.
to be able to play in the streets
instead of digging in cans for something to eat.

to be able to see a doctor when they're not well
instead of being 'sent to hell'.
to be able to see love in an adults face
and not have to hide in fear and disgrace.

because they were abused by someone who did
not care, whether they lived or died.
and always told the same old lies.

are they children of a lessr GOD?

no! ! for GOD gave us all those rights
and we as adults have to stand up and fight.

stop the abuse in third world nations
let them see GODS creations.
stop the wars, stop the abuse
put the drugs we've got, to good use.
help the elderly, the young, the lame
for we are all the same.

we must practise what we preach it is
the only way that we could reach
all the children who were given to us from above
if they're shown kindness and love.

we won't be here to help them grow
so let's help them today
that much i know.

they are our future, can't you see
for tomorrow we'll be history.

poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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