We are having a poem contest at school. I think its the same as the speaking contest, whoever is best at speeching is chosen and those people challenge off to see who wins. Anyway i have a short one, or a very long one. I already know the Short one off by heart and its Wednesday that we go back to school, but i got my mums opinion and she likes the long one better. I geuss i do to, because it keeps people thinking. Here is the short one:
Ladies and Jellyspoons, hobos and tramps
crosseyed mosquitos and bow legged ants
I come before you
to stand behind you
and tell you something i no nothing about
Next thursday which is good friday
their will be a mothers meeting
for fathers only
wear your best clothes
if you havent any
come if you cant
if you can, stay at home
admission is free so
pay at the door
pull up a seat
and sit on the floor
it makes no difference where you sit,
the man in the gallery's sure to spit.
And heres the long one:
Many, many years ago
when I was twenty-three,
I got married to a widow
who was a pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter
who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
and soon the two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law
and change my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
for she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
a brother-in-law to dad.
And so became by uncle,
though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown up daughter who,
of course, was my step-mother
Father's wife then had a son,
who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother
and it makes me blue,
Because, although she is my wife,
she's my grandma too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
then I am her grandchild
And every time I think of it,
it simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
the strangest case you ever saw,
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa!
Bonus points (thumbs up) if you tell my who the author of the long one was?
And if you are wondering, we don't malke up the poems, they have to be written by real poets.
THANKYOU!!
The poem "His Story" by Sandra Cisneros is a poem with great detail. To me, it's about Sandra's own life. Growing up with six other brothers, her being the only daughter. In her fathers and families eyes it was a " An ancient fate. A family trait we trace back to a great aunt no one mentions" to be a girl her father even goes as far as putting it as being born under a crooked star. Her aunt's sin was her beauty she lived being a "whore" and died a single lady. Her cousin a gold digger, only in it for her colonel husbands "payroll" she made quite a profession of that. Or her grandmothers mother for instance, a lady brought to death by her own voodoo doing. The trend so far with this family is that the women in it are all sinners and witchdoctors, living life for all the wrong reasons. So in her father's eyes, his only daughter shall most likely follow the other women in his families footsteps and be bad mischievous women. Sandra's dad even compares his daughter to this lady in the newspaper who has her same name , Sandra Cisneros. A lady arrested for audacious crimes that began by disobeying her father. He also says the Cubano who sells him his shoes , says he too knew a Sandra Cisneros who was three times cursed a widow. To me this all seems like it makes Sandra looks like she too, will be as bad as all these other women but as I thought about it more, Sandra is her own women who can make her own decisions and just because these women have her name or the women in her family are women like her doesn't mean she too will be like these women. At the end the author, Sandra Cisneros, says this " An unlucky fate is mine to be born woman in a family of men. Six sons, my father groans, all home.
And one female, gone." To me this says that she is not liked as much as her other brothers are and to her she feels the got the short end of the stick and was born unlucky because she is..... a women.
at a campgroud where my husband son daughter and i met them. in my past i MIGHT have THOUGHT of doing this but wouldnt think of it now. in my younger years i had a very minliputiave past but have changed. They met some new friends while at the campgroud who seemed so nice even to me ...now a week or so later after they were very hurtful and told the whole family and loads of friends... and hurt my feelings so bad with the nasty words by her and my step dad ... checks have been cahsed and i was here in town and the check cashed near camp over 2 hours from home where we all live ..now they are ( they have to be sure ) it WASNT me because i have been home and in this area ... they wont say sorry or even reassure me it was a mistake . I know i didnt do it and i am pretty sure they do to . Then tonight my daughter who adores my mom wanted to go home with her after we all crossed paths at my grandmothers (where i live in the same duplex) just next door ... i said no my daughter could not go until i was aplogized to , i am really hurt . they have the right to have felt the way at first that they did ...but now they should admiit the worng and atleast say something like i am sorry . iw ould like a pem to my mom telling her i understand their point in the begining. but i wouldnt do something to hurt them or steal from them and now they knwo it couldnt have been me ( she wants to aplogize AFTER it is PROVEN by the police who it is and they are tried in court and covicted ) i am HURT upset and angry ... i love her and wouldnt want my hard feelings but .... beings they cant admit they jumped the gun ... anyway i want a poem to say i love her wouldnt hurt her and her not saying sorry hurts and i understand y she accused me at frist , and i am hurt hurt hurt ...please help jsut something short and sweet ...i broken down and agreed to allow my baby girl (3years old) to go stay with her tomorrow night should my mother want her to , everyone was crying when she left my daughter my mom and me cause i wouldnt allow her to go until this was resolved and i was told sorry . my gram says my momcant say sorry cause she feels like to big of an ass ...HELP
at a campgroud where my husband son daughter and i met them. in my past i MIGHT have THOUGHT of doing this but wouldnt think of it now. in my younger years i had a very minliputiave past but have changed. They met some new friends while at the campgroud who seemed so nice even to me ...now a week or so later after they were very hurtful and told the whole family and loads of friends... and hurt my feelings so bad with the nasty words by her and my step dad ... checks have been cahsed and i was here in town and the check cashed near camp over 2 hours from home where we all live ..now they are ( they have to be sure ) it WASNT me because i have been home and in this area ... they wont say sorry or even reassure me it was a mistake . I know i didnt do it and i am pretty sure they do to . Then tonight my daughter who adores my mom wanted to go home with her after we all crossed paths at my grandmothers (where i live in the same duplex) just next door ... i said no my daughter could not go until i was aplogized to , i am really hurt . they have the right to have felt the way at first that they did ...but now they should admiit the worng and atleast say something like i am sorry . iw ould like a pem to my mom telling her i understand their point in the begining. but i wouldnt do something to hurt them or steal from them and now they knwo it couldnt have been me ( she wants to aplogize AFTER it is PROVEN by the police who it is and they are tried in court and covicted ) i am HURT upset and angry ... i love her and wouldnt want my hard feelings but .... beings they cant admit they jumped the gun ... anyway i want a poem to say i love her wouldnt hurt her and her not saying sorry hurts and i understand y she accused me at frist , and i am hurt hurt hurt ...please help jsut something short and sweet ...i broken down and agreed to allow my baby girl (3years old) to go stay with her tomorrow night should my mother want her to , everyone was crying when she left my daughter my mom and me cause i wouldnt allow her to go until this was resolved and i was told sorry . my gram says my momcant say sorry cause she feels like to big of an ass ...HELP
A CHANGED HEART.
Together you and I always,
laughing and dining
thinkingand talking.
We stay up all hours of the day
we make cakes and tea.
Dance around the house
and making jokes.
I hope it stays like this forever
I love being with you all the time
A vioce answers back
''of course it will stay like this
you are my daughter and 'i love you'
nothing will ever change.
'Am i seeing you tonight' I ask
we can do the things we used to,
and hang out.
No replie, then i hear a shout.
''Are you ready sweetheart''
we are going out.
Who is this I wonder once again.
Mother, where are you going?
Just out again love.
You have been with your lover all week
I want time with you.
No, she says.
I go to my room and weep.
END OF PART 1
please comment i am now 26 and me and my mother used to be close as sisters wen i was younger. Her lover changed all that.If its OK I will be writing part 2 soon. thanks
ive always liked writing, and sometimes i come up with short stories and poems, but i don't know if there any good.. what do you think about this one? its called trading places..
Last night I had a horrible dream. I know it was a dream but it felt more like a flash back. At first it didn’t make any since, I felt my self-thinking hard trying to figure it out, and once I did it was horrifying. I can’t remember everything that happened, since then almost twelve hours have past.
I can’t remember how the dream started, but I do remember I was lying in a bed with my current boyfriend, strictly pg13. There was a few long passionate kisses, and hugs while we rolled around a bed, in a slightly dark room. Then all the sudden it was pitch black and he was gone. That when I heard her, a little girl screaming at the top of her lungs. Her scream was so loud, it echoed. It was long and filled with terror.
When I finally saw her she was sitting on a bed, staring down a long familiar hallway, one that I knew I seen before. Some where during my life along time ago. She was a light skin little girl with thick black hair. Her large brown eyes were filled with tears and her face was with overwhelming fear. She screamed and screamed over and over. Every time she screamed her voice would make the room shake and my heart stop. She was just starring down that hallway, screaming, afraid of every dark corner around her. Her fear was evident and terrifying.
I noticed there was a woman laying to her right, a familiar women. Her presence felt even more familiar to me. I had know this women and I was sure of it, but that the time I could not make out her face. The way she moved, the way she spoke, I knew this women but her face was just a blur. She reached out to the child and patted her leg trying to calm her down. Trying to help her see that was nothing there.
This happened over and over. The image just kept repeating it self over and over. And there was a voice calling out to me. This voice kept repeating the date 1983. But Ididn’t care. All I cared about was this little girl, why was she still screaming, what could have possibly been in those dark corners that scared her so much. Over and over I heard 1983. When I yell I didn’t care as loud as I could. I just wanted her to stop screaming, I wanted to be able to see what was scaring this child so much. I searched the room as fast as I could. My eyes went over ever corner but there was nothing there. Yet, still she screamed.
And that when she vanished and another little girl, walked up behind the women that had been lying on the bed. She had the same frighten look in her eyes. They were filled with tears and sadness. As she got closer my heart being to sink. When I saw her face, I knew her instantly.
She was a smaller child with an olive complexion, her long curly black hair laid softly against her face. She looked up at me with her huge green eyes and I gasp. It was my daughter. I hadn’t known where she came from or what was bothering her, but I knew it was her. When I looked down at the women trying to figure out what was happening I realized the other child never left. She was lying silently still crying directly in front of this woman; in a small ball just weeping.
My daughter walked over to this woman, and laid being her. She held on to her trying to get comfortable but she never said a word. She tried and tried to get a strong grip around the women but never could. She was so frightened, but I still didn’t know why.
At that moment my daughter stood up and started to walk away still crying. I tried reaching to her, but she pasted me right by and headed toward a dark room. Horrified, I looked back at the women and I knew who they were. The little girl that had been there crying was me, and the women holding her trying to console her was my mother.
I didn’t understand what I was trying to be told, until that moment there. The number I kept hearing 1983, was five years before my birthday in 1988. Someone was trying to tell me this was me when I was five years old, the same age as my daughter was now.
Someone or something rather was trying to tell me the reason why my daughter had being to walk back towards that room crying because she was alone and scared. I wasn’t able to help her because I was still scared myself. Because I was still so afraid of the things that may have went bump in the night. I was to afraid, I couldn’t be there to realize that my daughter needs me now, to be the strong and consoling one.
At that very moment that little girl that had been me, almost twenty years ago looked up at me and smiled. She was no longer crying, and the fear in her was gone.
I understood, and it all became so clearly to me. My mother set up off the bed and smiled. She wrapped her arm around me and I did the same. Then we both held out our open hands and called to my daughter to come back. We told her that she didn’t have to be afraid anymo
thanks for being honest. it was my first try. and 2 be honest it was really suppose to make since..
Betty Sue put her pitcher and the left over lemons in a big brown box beside her metal folding chair. Her blonde pigtails shone like golden oats during the summer spilled onto dark soil and her eyes were a deep sky blue, twinkling like stars. Her nickel bag was still sitting on her lemonade stand table.
“So,” I said eyes flickering back and forth between her bag and my porch. “How are you going to spend the money that you got today from selling your lemonade?”
“I am going to donate all of the money to my youth group this Sunday,” she said revealing white gleaming teeth. “I sing in the choir and we need new robes and shoes for everybody so I thought this lemonade stand might help.”
My face turned beet red and the lemonade suddenly went from sweet to sour as I glanced at her dress with all of the rags and stitches sewn within. I suddenly felt a pang of guilt resurface amongst the outer lining of my heart. The blazing sun only made things worse, now I was feeling guilty and still extremely hot although my thirst was quenched.
“Betty Sue,” I said staring at her as she bent down to pick up some stray lemons underneath her lemonade stand.
“Yes, Johnny?” She said suddenly emerging, smile brighter than ever.
“How,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Where did you get your dress from?”
She blushed with embarrassment and looked the other way. My stomach flip- flopped and I was scared that I had accidentally hurt her feelings and I did not want to do that.
“Well, my grandmother made it for me,” she said, still smiling. “She used old rags from clothing worn by members of our family from past generations. Her grandmother’s old rags from some of her clothing and her mother’s grandmother and so on.”
My eyes widened in surprise. I did not think that this dress could have possibly been made with rags from her family. The thought inspired me to wonder how long that must have taken to gather all of those rags and make such a dress. I was in utter awe.
“Finished?” she asked reaching for my cup.
“Yes, I am finished,” I said as she took the cup from my hand, hers brushing mine.
I blushed and my face turned red and I looked away. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds then she smiled and said, “Well, Johnny, I am glad that you were considerate enough to buy some of my lemonade.”
I stared at her confused and said, “What do you mean, I did not buy any of your lemonade.”
I never gave her a penny. What could she have been possibly talking about? Maybe the heat was starting to get to her, I thought to myself.
“Are you happy?” She asked, folding up the brown box, stacking it upon the desk with a thud.
“Yes, I am happy,” I said slowly. “But I did not pay for your lemonade!”
“You didn’t have to, so as long as you are happy then you have paid me.”
And with that she picked up her belongings and trotted off down the road towards the mobile homes on the other side of town. It was a one mile walk and her shoes had holes on the bottom but she just trotted along the dusty road with her head held high.
The very next day, Saturday, I went down to the store and picked out a new outfit for church. Then, I rode the bus all the way to Betty Sue’s house and left the outfit on her front porch. I rang the doorbell and hid behind some brush near the bend in the street.
The door opened wide and I saw her face appear. She opened the box and her face glowed like a thousand hot suns, her smile gleamed white as snow, and tears streamed down her face matted with dirt, as she held up the white dress with yellow sunflowers.
Her mother came to the door and her eyes widened in amazement.
She staggered a bit as her daughter ran into her arms in a warm embrace.
“Now, I’m happy,” I whispered.
The tears streaming down my face were real. They ran down my face and to the corners of my mouth and you know something; they tasted a lot better than any lemonade.
I hope you like it. Hopefully, you read the poem first before you read this. Thanks for your critique. Also, title ideas idk short story anyway.
Ok. It’s a long story, but I need serious guidance on this issue. I need to include as many details as I can because they all contribute to this issue. Ok. This past valentines day I asked an old friend of mine on a date. We had know each other for over four years, all through out high school, but it had take me that long to build up the nerve to finally ask her out. Part of it was her ex-boyfriend. They were together for almost a year and were obviously in love. I didn’t want to interfere with that. She had gotten pregnant during this time, and I was in military school so we weren’t talking much. They broke up several month after the baby was born, because she found out she was cheating on him. Ok, so she had a 5 month old child when we went on this date and we ended up getting really close that night. We had sex, and I don’t know how because we had just started talking again. We just kind of connected and it happened. We started dating and we became really close to each other. She says its crazy but she feel more in love with me and cared for me more than she ever did here ex in such a short period of time. I started getting close to, and then I got scared. I didn’t know if I was ready to be a father or handle any of this, so I turned away. I started talking to another girl, and I thought to myself, “It would just be easier to go with her.” I wasn’t dating her, and I told her I didn’t know if I wanted to give up this girl I really cared for her, but then I accidentally sent a text meant for her to the girl I was dating, and I admit I had told my girlfriend I had stop talking to this other girl. So, we broke up, enviably, and I started dating this other girl. My ex also started dating someone else. It just didn’t feel right, it was like I was trying to fill a gap with the wrong person, and I became jealous of this other guy my ex was seeing, something that had never happened before. Over time my ex and I started talking again, after I had said some really ugly things to her, we became close again, and I tried to win her back. Over time I did and we started dating again. And she tried to leave me several times but I wrote her dozens of poems and several songs and brought her flowers and feel in love with her and her daughter and even her family. I became attached to all of them. We became close again, and a few weeks ago, I propose. It’s seemed things were headed in the right direction and she was beginning to show me love and affection again. Then our problems started mounting. She didn’t want to have sex again; I did because I thought it would make her feel close to me again, and make her love me again. Instead, after having it several times, she told me that she was only giving it to me to shut me up, and that she hated having sex now, and regretted ever giving it to me in the first place because we weren’t ready. That’s true, we weren’t, and we won’t be for awhile. Then, more recently, she stopped texting me, telling me that she loves me, or saying sweet things to me. She was starting to again, but just suddenly stopped this past week. I asked her why, and she told me it would take her time to let me in again. Her ex had hurt her, I had hurt her, her family and especially her father had hurt he since she had her daughter. I asked to many questions I guess, and she told me she just wasn’t affectionate anymore and when she was her ex and I walked all over her. She said it may take a year it may take twelve years, to start showing the affection that I wanted and she didn’t even know if she could ever love me like she did. After we talked for awhile I told I felt like I tried so hard but it was all for nothing because she just turned away from me again. Then she told me she just didn’t want to do this anymore. She said being in a relationship was too hard being a teenage mother, being a full time college student, working a job on weekends, and being hurt as much as she had. She pointed out I was going off to college and I would meet new girls there, and “she knew how I was.” She broke up with me, after it all, and I’ve never been hurt like this before. I’m insanely in love with her, and I would give anything just to be with her again and feel loved like I was. I screwed it up by leaving the first time and not a SINGLE day goes by that I don’t regret what I’ve done. She says she still loves me more than anything but her daughter, if not as much as she id before, but she can’t deal with me right know and wants to be alone. She says she doesn’t have the energy to work at a relationship. I want to be with her again and her to love me like she did. Is there anything I can do or do I just have to leave it all to time and fate to decide?
I didn't actually mean to alliterate. I just did a mock at home but I really don't get the mark scheme, literature exam soon and panicking!!
I don't think I answered the second question as well.
Compare how memories are presented in homecoming and before you were mine
Compare how attitudes to loved ones are presented in two poems from pre 1914
Both’ homecoming’ and ‘before you were mine’ are similar in the fact that they are primarily presenting another persons memories rather than those of the narrators. In ‘Homecoming’ ‘it’s sixteen years or so’ before the narrator and the character being portrayed meet and in ‘before you were mine’ it’s the daughter describing her mum’s life before she was born.
Making the rest shorter
Homecoming > argument in second stanza presented through childish mind > colours ‘red’, ‘yellow’ and ‘blue’ are used to show how vivid memories can be when experienced through child etc . shows also how simple children see world
Memory in homecoming used as microcosm of all family disputes. Used to show how lucky we are to have a relationship that’s too strong to break with anything. Armitage used another layer, ‘excersize in trust’ to show this. Connecting the memories ending with trust.
Before you were mine > describing mums youth after photo . positive shiny language
Structure = neat and ordered = like a photo album
Not shorter
Memories in both these poems are presented to portray the poets opinions on the subject. In homecoming Armitage uses a childs memory of an argument to show the loving nature of a family household and tried to persuade the reader to appreciate that gift. The canary yellow jacket ‘still fits’ after the argument over it. This is a metaphor of how the child and parents still trusted each other after the argument because of their strong, emotional connection. In before you were mine the memories her daughter imagined her mum to have are used to show the extent of sacrifices mothers everywhere make after having children
The poems on my first sonne and sonnet 130 are completely devoid of passion. This is expected in Ben Jonsons poem as it’s about the death of his son and how his love for him is causing him an immense amount of pain. This is suprising in shakespeares love sonnet, though, as typical love sonnets try and strengthen the existence of passion in the relationhip they are trying to describe
Shorter
Sonnet 130 > unflattering quote > shocking as contradicticts love poetry rules etc > reader assumes not love poem > rhyming coupet at end show Shakespeare actually does love mistress ‘quote’ he’s saying he loves as much as any couple who shower each other with false praises > believe he’s emphasizing how perfection or belief in perfection is not important in love , he believes love does not depend on fantasy and passion > ‘the goddess quote’ > he appreciates mistress and his love for they exist
One my first sonne > contrary to sonnet 130’s hidden positive tone > describes grief over love one > ‘sinne was too…’ > his positive emotions towards boy make him gloomy now
‘lose all father’ > lose faith in god > big deal for people back then > love changed his mindset
‘will man lament…’ > debates existence of grief > logical > did not comfort him though because of
‘rhyming couplet at end’ > strengthens presentation of emotions > shows he doesn’t want to love again etc
Not short
Whilst Sonnet 130 has an underlying message to it, one my first sonne is just a poem that expresses the poets emotions. Shakespeare in sonnet 130 is bashing superficiality and reliance of fantasy in loving relationships using his love for his mistress as an example. Ben Jonson uses words such as ‘lament’ and ‘misery’ to depict how strong his grief for his son is. By doing this he is showing how much he loved his son.
THANK YOU!!!!!!!
10 Words and a Note
By Kagura
Body tenses to an unimaginable number
Brain burns a fearsome headache
Hot tears spill over
The anger fills her heart
Anger at family, anger at friends
Anger...anger...anger boils into rage
Rage agianst life, all life
Her ife, thier life, everyones life
Her head runs through everything
Over, and over, and over
Her heart squezes with pain
From painful memories and forgetting to breath
Why so much pain, so much pain
Everywhere, Everywhere, pain everywhere
She couldn't help anybody, no one
All she did was hurt, she tried
She tried to be fun, happy, to help
Tried, tried, tried again to be there
To be the friend everyone wanted
To be the daughter, the perfect daughter,
...it never happened
She couldn't say anything right,
Do anything right, she never
Never could be the right thing
So in the midst of the night,
She left a note so short
It had only ten words, on her desk
She grabbed her sharpest blade,
and four vicodin, she swallowed harshly
She sat there waiting for it to kick in
Her body tense, eyes red,
Body soaked from salty tears, from pain
Pain not let go
She takes the blade,
and presses it against her wrists,
Breathing heavily, in, out, in, out
soon it would be over, gone forever
...she slits her wrists open
She looks at the blood
Now she is wet from tears and blood
Her head spins in circles
She stares around her room
She doesn't want to die
She doesn't want to die
She doesn't want to die
- not today
She tries to scream...
But before she can,
She passes out, blood bleeding faster
Soon her body is cold, lost of life
Her tears run dry,
Her blood no longer running through her veins
Her mother gasps as she sees,
Her daughter, the daughter she loved
Her youngest of three loved kids
She runs to her daughter, hugging her closely
Both wet of tears spilling over
She pushed her blond wispy hair out of
Her daughter's face, now white and
Ghostly, eyes and mouth gaped open
Her mother gets up to call for help
She looks upon a spotty note,
Stained from tears, with phone in hand
Already ringing
"Hello 911, what is your emergency?"
The mother drops the phone and walks
Slowly to the note labled "everyone"
It said ten words that made
Her mother calapse, breathing choppily
Tears burned as her eyes got drier
Ten words, ten words left in memory
Coroners soon came, taking the girl
Away, away, away to where?
The mother still lay there
Hands grasped the desk
Her back against it
Her throat dry, body wet from
Tears, tears, tears
She stared into space
She repeated the words, those words
Though choppy, she felt as if she was
Talking to her daughter
Those words, ten words to connect the dead to the living
"I am so sorry. I love you ALL. Good-bye."
Okay so here is the 411.
My dad has never been a major role in my life, I only see him once a year on christmas eve.
Now that my mother passed away, I want him to know that I do care no matte what, but his 3 daughters, mother of his children, and grandon were the best thisngs that ever happened to him, but I love him for giving me this wonderful life. Help? I would like a poem also a short one if possible?
Thanks to Neon, I feel it is quite improved, and now says what I wanted it to say.
My Father Danced
In nineteen and thirteen
my Father met my Mother
at a dance hall called
"Happy Jack's"
My Father danced me
in his arms when I was a babe,
I learned to walk
he danced me on top his feet,
just as he did my sisters,three
before he danced with me,
When I grew tall he danced me 'round
many ball room floors,
Once I over heard a woman say,
"look at that short sugar daddy,
with that tall young pretty girl!"
we laughed and spun around.
My Father danced me as a bride
to "I'll See You In My Dreams"
My Father danced my daughter
in his arms and on top his feet.
And then at eighty two,
his head upon death's pillow,
I whispered, "Do you know that I love you"
he answered, "Yes I know,
you told me on the dance floor
a long, long time ago"
The shoes were red the heels were tall
Her legs were long her feet quite small
Her skirt was black and cut real short
It hugged her hips a sexy sort...
A tiny waist some skin exposed
Her navel sports a ruby red
A knitted cap, perched on her head
Below its brim some hair sticks out
Her lips are shaped into a pout
Freckles across her ski slope nose
As sun now sets, she strikes a pose
Her eyes of green belie her years
If you look close, observe her tears
She far from home a new life owns
She works the street in the red zone
She’s someone’s daughter, gone astray
From home and family runaway
The neon signs the streetlights glow
A fancy limo passes slow
And in her throat a lump takes form
As taillights brightly beckon her
Indecision in her does stir
Car rolls backward door opens wide
A man steps out, takes her inside
Somewhere, tonight, a mother prays
It is not a rigid rhyme scheme, I created the odd lines to diversify it.
I perhaps did not keep them uniform but the 5th line in each verse was not meant to rhyme
I was sleepy and this wrote itself. Too Long?
My sister Sasha
In nascent night time,
My mother Dreamed.
A little girl named Sasha,
And so within her beams.
The dimples on the cheeks,
Of a brand new baby daughter.
And so she named her after,
The little girl she dreamed.
It does sound a bit like she was a gift from god, as a newborn baby maybe but that poem is a reflection of nine years ago although written very recently and she’s turned into what most 8 year olds (going on 18) are like an annoying little sprog(dont ya just love em at that age!), and as for being a gift from god my mother is an atheist so hmm as far as I know she was conceived naturally although I sincerely hope she was a test tube baby lol
The story is nice though, my mum had a dream of little girl and named her daughter after her, can I get an ‘aaawww!’
She Left
by Victoria Tarrani
copyright ((c) 090218)
I took her hand
rubbed it gently
for warmth.
I gazed at the
machines...
then I whispered
Mom, I don't want
you to go
I love you so much
I shook my head
and sadly said
so much pain
try to stay
I let you go
two minutes later
code blue
respiratory failure
cardiac failure
lights flashed
the room filled
with doctors
and nurses
everyone trying
to keep her with me
Papers had been signed
Do Not Resuscitate
the hardest job
was signing
those cold pages
I couldn't
wouldn't
my brother
had the job
and he cried
but he did what
she had requested
she still breathed
her heart beat
I called so many
people to come
and the room
filled once again
she was beloved
my daughter cried
inconsolable
it came time to
take off the
oxygen mask
it was so big
bulky, uncomfortable
finally I helped
take it off
the clinical discussion
how long 'till death
hours, minutes
no normal person
could listen
I blocked their
cold, crisp, chatter
I held my daughter
and my mother
the depth of emptiness
cannot be measured,
the joy of seeing her
young, no pain, happy
laughing with others
I have lost.
Peace filled my soul
then she commanded me
to do three tasks
two of three are done
last one is hard to do
how do you write a letter
to her lifelong dearest friend
what are the words?
I never would have thought of sending her this poem, but I will. You all have given so much back to me.
Yes, it is exactly what happened. It was miraculous in so many ways that I was there alone to let her go; I was stunned by how swiftly things failed. I told her that I didn't mean right now.
Thank you so much -- your words are very comforting to me; they bring tears to my eyes.
I find this amazing. It was the first cut; written into the little box for asking your question. I had no idea it was complete...
I've made minor changes, but it is done.
The one most beautiful thing about this poem is the wonderful sharing of your personal pain and joy ... I hold it dear.
Tori
Bonds that shackle us together
Mother to daughter, to son
Fidelity already in our blood
Individuals who lavish upon lives
Between us love is forever
Its short and simple but what do you think?
Step daughter just had a baby girl and there were a ton of pics taken before and after she was born. I want to take the pics and create a dvd slideshow for her. Not the actual birth just diffrent pics of her at the hospital, after her birth etc.....
I want to add a short poem in the begining. problem is I can't think one up on my own and all the ones I find on internet are either too long or I don't like it.
I want the poem pertaining to maother giving birth her to her daughter.
anyone help???
Her hair was up in a ponytail
Her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
And she couldn't wait to go.
But her mommy tried to tell her,
That she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
If she went to school alone.
But she was not afraid;
She knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
Of why he wasn't there today.
But still her mother worried,
For her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
She tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school,
Eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees
A dad who never calls.
There were daddies along the wall in back,
For everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
Anxious in their seats.
One by one the teacher called,
A student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
As seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name,
Every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
For a man who wasn't there.
"Where's her daddy at?"
She heard a boy call out.
"She probably doesn't have one,"
Another student dared to shout.
And from somewhere near the back,
She heard a daddy say,
"Looks like another deadbeat dad,
Too busy to waste his day."
The words did not offend her,
As she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
Who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back,
Slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
Came words incredibly unique.
"My Daddy couldn't be here,
Because he lives so far away."
But I know he wishes he could be,
Since this is such a special day.
And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
And how much he loves me so.
He loved to tell me stories
He taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
And taught me to fly a kite.
We used to share fudge sundaes,
And ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him,
I'm not standing here alone.
"Cause my daddy's always with me,
Even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
He'll forever be in my heart"
With that, her little hand reached up,
And lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
Beneath her favorite dress.
And from somewhere in the crowd of dads,
Her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
Who was wise beyond her years.
For she stood up for the love
Of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
Doing what was right.
And when she dropped her hand back down,
Staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
But its message clear and loud.
"I love my daddy very much,
He's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
But heaven's just too far."
You see he was a fireman
And died just this past year
When airplanes hit the towers
And taught Americans to fear.
But sometimes when I close my eyes,
"It's like he never went away."
And then she closed her eyes,
And saw him there that day.
And to her mother's amazement,
She witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
All starting to close their eyes.
Who knows what they saw before them,
Who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
They saw him at her side.
"I know you're with me Daddy,"
To the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
Of those once filled with doubt.
Not one in that room could explain it,
For each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
Was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.
And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
By the love of her shining bright star.
And given the gift of believing,
That heaven is never too far
They say it takes a minute to find a
special person, an hour to
appreciate them, a day to love them, but
then an entire life to forget them.
Send this to the people you'll never
forget and remember to send
it also to the person that sent it to you.
It's short message to let them know that
you'll never forget them.
If you don't send it to anyone, it means
you're in a hurry and that
you've forgot your friends.
Take the time...to live and love.
A short 8 stanza poem written by me. Where a less than 200 word poem can shorten that entire philosophical book about family and human needs that's on sale at Wal-Mart for only 29.99.
-The Ideal Family-
I am the child,
son or daughter.
but please forgive me,
because I am young and wild.
I am the parent,
father or mother.
but please forgive me as well,
because we work hard to pay the rent.
I am the daughter,
please hold me,
for I get scared easily,
please protect me father.
I am the son,
look at me! look at me!
let me show you
something that weighs a ton.
I am the mother,
listen to me
I will teach you morals and such,
now be nice to your sister or brother!
I am your father,
respect me,
for I gave you my life,
I work only for your pleasure.
hold me, look at me,
listen to me, respect me,
son or daughter
mother or father.
After all my wrongs,
hate me if you plan,
but forgive me,
and love me if you can.
-The Ideal Family-
anyone willing to edit this for grammar? thanks if you do (=
I decided I was going to be an author when I was three years old. Not even school age and I knew nearly as much about life as I do now. Granted, my exact words were “When I get big I’m gonna make books.”, which I’ve been told countless times as my mother’s eyes well up with tears for the sweet little baby I’ll never be again. In consolation for growing up, the ambitions of that sweet little baby live on in the still relatively sweet, but far from little sixteen year old I am today. I am a writer through in through, replete with the stereotypical neuroses and hang ups and the insatiable love of words. I read, I write, I think about what I’ve read, I think about what I’ve written, I think about what I will write, and I do little else.
My parents worry that I’ll never amount to anything because all I’m concerned with are words. I could write a biography on F. Scott Fitzgerald based entirely on previous knowledge but my math homework makes me queasy. I conceive dramatic back stories for all the families that visit my current place of work, The Holyoke Merry Go Round, but I can only rarely be bothered to get down to the sundry duties officially associated with the job. All of this concerns them hugely.
They think that wanting to write professionally is a nice idea, but that I should develop some kind of a back up. Their concerns are understandable. Nobody wants to put their child through college only to have them move home educated but unemployed after four years because they went after what they wanted, as opposed to what was practical. But practical has never been my style. I can’t live within the constraints of practicality. I won’t delve into the clichés of “marching to the beat of my own drum”, or “thinking outside the box”, but they do apply. I believe if everyone lived their lives exactly the way they wanted to, and chased the dreams that mattered to them, this world would be a lot better off. I love to write. I will never be able to make a living any other way happily, and if I can’t do something happily, I’d rather not do it at all.
I adore writing. I've been writing poems, short stories and even bits and pieces of potential novels for as long as I can remember. It’s the only career I’ve ever seriously considered. As the years passed and my youthful interests varied, passionate but fleeting, there have been a few other side projects, like marine biologist or first female president, but I’ve always come back to writing. Words are what make sense to me, what comfort me. Creative Writing is my best outlet for an overactive imagination, and I use it to the fullest. I admire good writing, and I endeavor to read as much of it as possible, not only for my enjoyment but for the improvement and development of my own writing. I want to use a gift, one which I humbly but truly believe I possess, to bring enjoyment and new thought to this world. It is when I am writing that I feel most alive, and most like my true self, and there is nothing else I can see myself doing with my life, or studying in college.
In life I am introverted and unassuming. In writing I can be anything. Boastful and bold or daring and courageous! The deepest caverns of my mind are explored through the words I put onto paper and I am endlessly surprised by the ideas that stem from the mind of a teenage girl to whom nothing particularly interesting has ever happened. My mind is on constant creative overload and the relentless flow of writing is its result. Descartes declared, “I think therefore I am”, but for me it is, always has been and always will be “I write, therefore I am.” Expressing myself through words has been such an integral part of my life that it has become a defining characteristic of my personality. I will always be a writer. I am daughter, sister, friend, and writer. Someday mother and wife may add themselves to that list but writer will never leave it.
My future is not tightly defined within carefully drawn constraints, but I rather like it this way. Without a goal set in stone there is plenty of room to grow and change. There are certain things which I know. I know that I wish to study Creative Writing. I know that I wish to improve my natural writing abilities. I know that I writing is the only career I want. Outside of that, much of my future profession is very vague, but that is of little trouble, however, because I truly believe that I will be a successful writer, in whichever medium. I truly believe that I will be able to achieve my dream. I truly believe that I won’t realize my parents’ fears. And I truly believe that with the passion I possess I will be an undoubted success in the life I chose those nearly fourteen years ago when I proudly announced, “When I get big I’m gonna make books”.
It's The Secret Garden. We just need a short, under one minute reading (poem, monologue, whatever) and I chose this one.
When I was a little girl, I used to say to my mother, I love you to the moon and down again, and around the world and back again; and she used to say to me, I love you to the sun and down again, and around the stars and back again. You see, I know she loves me, and I know I love her, and you ask what happened? Well, she's over there, and I'm over here, and she hates me because of things I've done to her, and vice versa. You stand up there asking, do you love your daughter, and they say "yes", and you think you've asked something real, and they think they've said something real. But what they don’t know is something happens to some people. They love you so much, they don’t know what to do with you, and you end up ignored. And I know the one thing you learn when you grow up is that love is not enough. It's too much, and it's not enough.
Do you think it's a good choice? What can I change about it to make it better?
It's The Secret Garden. We just need a short, under one minute reading (poem, monologue, whatever) and I chose this one.
When I was a little girl, I used to say to my mother, I love you to the moon and down again, and around the world and back again; and she used to say to me, I love you to the sun and down again, and around the stars and back again. You see, I know she loves me, and I know I love her, and you ask what happened? Well, she's over there, and I'm over here, and she hates me because of things I've done to her, and vice versa. You stand up there asking, do you love your daughter, and they say "yes", and you think you've asked something real, and they think they've said something real. But what they don’t know is something happens to some people. They love you so much, they don’t know what to do with you, and you end up ignored. And I know the one thing you learn when you grow up is that love is not enough. It's too much, and it's not enough.
Do you think it's a good choice? What can I change about it to make it better?
I am making a wedding album / scrapbook for myself & parents. I am in need of some Quotes or short poems about
1) Mothers & sons
2) Fathers & daughters
3)husbands & wifes
4)wedding day in general
to go nest to pictures & on pages for itself. Im having a very ahrd time finding some. Any one have any goods they used or have heard along the way! please send them to me...I have None right now...anything could help me...thanks so much
Jackie
More specifically, a girl who has a relationship with an older woman (a "mother figure"). I have to write something about how a girl will always find a mother figure (despite the death, abandonment, or abuse of the biological mother), and I need books, short stories, poems, songs and art to use as evidence. Thanks!
My name is Cocaine
Beware my friend, my name is Cocaine,coke for short
I entered this country without a passport
Every since then I've Been hunted and sought
By junkies and pushers and plain clothes Dick's
Mostly by users who need a quick fix.
I'm more valuable than diamonds,more treasured than gold
Use me once and you to will be sold
I'll make a school boy forget his books
I'll make a beauty queen neglect her looks
I'll take a renown speaker and make him a bore
I'll take your mama and make her a whore
I'll make a school teacher forget how to teach
I'll make a preacher not want to preach
All kind of people have fallen under my wing
Just look around,you can see the results of my sting
I've got daughters turning on their mothers
I've got sisters robbing their brothers
I've got burglars robbing the lord's house
I've got husbands pimping their spouse
Ok heres more didn't know where to put this at so I thought this place be best.
I'm the king of crime and the prince of destruction
I'll cause the organs of your body to malfunction
I'll cause your babies to be born hooked
I'll make you steal and kill
When your're under my power you have no will
Remember my friend my name is Big "C"
Some call me the white lady
I've destroyed actors,Policticans, and Sports heros
I've decreased band accounts from millions to zero
I'm a bad habit, too tuff for man
I've caused the law to inrest in the battering ram
Yeah Im raising hell all over the earth
Don't believe me just check out Brynhurst
I've got them standing on the corner yelling "Rock"
I've made it where shooting and stabbing are common on the block
Well, now you know, what will you do?
Remember, my friend, It'll all up to you
If you decide to jump in my saddle you better ride me well
For on the White Horse of Cocaine, I'll ride you straight to HELL !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Life is short and one never know when they will pass, my daughter is a newborn and I wrote this poem and posted it here, hopefully it will forever be in her memories.
Watching From Above
“Glad to hear your well, I’ve been thinking about you. I hope your smiling because I’m smiling too. I miss you, can’t wait hold you tight but take your time to grow and kiss your mother tonight. Tell her I said goodbye, be sure to wipe the tears and tell her not to fear, you can count on me being there, even if I not here. So many things I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to do but I never left, I’m standing right next to you. Your my sunshinethis you can bet, I hope you don’t forget, I’ll be on your side in times of need; I’ll heal your wounds when you bleed. I be that shoulder for you to cry on, I’ll be that man that won’t pass you by on. I wanted you to live happy and have nothing but love so look to the sky with a smile because I’ll be watching you from above.
Love your Daddy
JP / BN
my mum is going into hospital to have quite a serious opperation and i have taken a long time to create a painting of the two of us.
i would like to write a thoughtful, sentimental (but not too corny etc) quote/short poem on the back with my get well soon message.
any ideas would be great. thanks :) xo
Here is a poem I wrote for her,, in honor of her beautiful Mom....
"Mother in the Wind"
Yes I am your mother, and live within the wind,
my love for you my darling, this I won't rescind.
Listen to the Oak trees as they bend softly and sincere,
Late at night I come to you, when no one else is there.
I am in the spirit darling, that bends you to your knees,
Life is short my daughter, you have so much more to see.
Don't give so much to others, they will drain you this I know,
spread your wings and fly, all my love I iwll bestow.
I've been gone from you awhile, but in your heart I stay,
for every second that you live, you'll learn more and more each day.
I am the wind beneath your wings as you make a brand new start,
me in heaven, you right there, as you bloom a healthy heart.
Thank you darling for loving me, all the laughter and the tears,
Look around my daughter I'm the wind that takes all your fears.
Love Mom,,,
And before you jump down my throat, this is in support of women if you read it correctly. XY is man, XX woman.
irony of misogyny
(special thanks to e.e. cummings)
create then hush baby’s screams
cook clean primp preen
only as good as her last meal
boots stand above heels
all opportunities rest
within her tail mouth breasts
bottom open but top SHUT
empty his love but fill his gut
he heckles her deaf giggles her dumb
keeping her under thumb
create then hush baby’s screams
cook clean primp preen
and as her breasts sag so
so does her value go
but Y’s eyes should shine to see
mother woman daughter lady
who’s just as good maybe more
if he thinks her roof is on the floor
and claims her is isn’t as good
and never will nor ever should
how is Y the better sex
when Y is who whereby X
2 X’s all life
mother daughter sister wife
in chopping her he downs his tree
self-invalidating philosophy
irony of misogyny
mother sister woman lady
—Janndon Evans
Assalamu alaykom-peace be on u all :) .... i wish to open a civilized discussion with those who are anti hijab-head scarf,i welcome any civilized tolerant discussions even if they are against my point of view coz in Islam,one should respect other people's point of view,and i am sorry i reject any violation or offense towards my religion or my point of view...my brothers and sisters in humanity rememeber,the person's choice of words and his/her way reveals his real character...thank u all,bless u
Kindly,take a look at this poem :)
When you look at me
All you can see
Is the scarf that covers my hair
Because you're too full of fear
Mouth gaping, all you do is stare
You think it's not my choice
In your own ''liberation'' rejoice
You think I'm uneducated and subjugated
You're so thankful that you're free
But non-Muslim women you got it wrong
You're the weak and I'm the strong
For I've rejected the trap of man
Fancy clothes, low neck, short skirt
Those of the devices for pain and hurt
I'm not falling for that little plan
I'm a person with ideas and thought
I'm not for sale, I can't be bought
I'm me not a fancy toy
I will not decorate anyone's arm
Nor be promoted for my charm
here is more to be than playing coy
Living life as a balancing game- mother,
Daughter, wife, nurse, cook, lover
And still bring home a wage
Who thought up this modern ''freedom''?
When man can love'em and leave'em
Always jumping to a male agenda
Competing on his terms
Non-Muslim women you have your life
Mine - it has less strive
I cover and got respected
Surely that's to be expected
For I wont leave male criterion
I dance to my own tune
And I hope you see this very soon
For your own sake, wake up and use your sight
ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE RIGHT???
p.s : I dont mean any offense to any non-muslim woman...i am just pointing out that if u believe that u r free to wear whatever u like therefore i am free too...If u think its a kind of submission and humility then u r wrong..btw for the sister who asked me to use a hijabi avater,believe me i tried 2 find the most modest avater in yahoo...i want to point out again that i am not saying that hijabi women are better than anyone,i just said that we do cover coz we feel our bodies are precious and ppl should for example hire us at work for our skills,education and efficiency and not for our beauty :) feel free 2 email me at any time,i welcome any other opposing point of view...
Please Dead Grandmother Poem Help?
My grandmother died before I was even born. Please help me create a short and sweet "Last Words" poem. Info on my grandma's death: died at age 44 and her last words were "my loving daughter" (to my mom). And she died on easter sunday. please create a nice short poem like the one below. (but make it rhyme)
Something like this would be great!
Example: As She was lying in bed she said,
Take my glasses, plates, and and bowls
and share them with your mother.
Tell your family I ove them as much as you.
By Tasha Mitchell (not by me)
My grandmother died before I was even born. Please help me create a short and sweet "Last Words" poem. Info on my grandma's death: died at age 44 and her last words were "my loving daughter" (to my mom). And she died on easter sunday.
Something like this would be great!
Example: As She was lying in bed she said,
Take my glasses, plates, and and bowls
and share them with your mother.
Tell your family I ove them as much as you.
-Tasha Mitchell
Her hair was up in a pony tail,
her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
and she couldn't wait to go.
But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone.
But she was not afraid;
she knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
of why he wasn't there today.
But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school
eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees
a dad who never calls.
There were daddies along the wall in back,
for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats
One by one the teacher called
a student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
as seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
a man who wasn't there.
"Where's her daddy at?"
She heard a boy call out.
"She probably doesn't have one,"
another student dared to shout.
And from somewhere near the back,
she heard a daddy say,
"Looks like another deadbeat dad,
too busy to waste his day."
The words did not offend her,
as she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back,
slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
came words incredibly unique.
"My Daddy couldn't be here,
because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
since this is such a special day.
And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
and how much he loves me so.
He loved to tell me stories
he taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
and taught me to fly a kite.
We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him.
I'm not standing here alone.
"Cause my daddy's always with me,
even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
he'll forever be in my heart"
With that, her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
beneath her favorite dress.
And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads,
her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
who was wise beyond her years.
For she stood up for the love
of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
doing what was right.
And when she dropped her hand back down,
staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
but its message clear and loud.
"I love my daddy very much,
he's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
but heaven's just too far.
You see he is a Marine
and died just this past year
When a roadside bomb hit his convoy
and taught Americans to fear.
But sometimes when I close my eyes,
it's like he never went away."
And then she closed her eyes,
and saw him there that day.
And to her mothers amazement,
she witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
all starting to close their eyes.
Who knows what they saw before them,
who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
they saw him at her side.
"I know you're with me Daddy,"
to the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
of those once filled with doubt.
Not one in that room could explain it,
for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.
And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
by the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing,
that heaven is never too far.
They say it takes a minute to find a special
person, an hour to appreciate them,
a day to love them, but then an entire
life to forget them.
Send this to the people you'll never forget and
remember to send it also to the person that sent
it to you. It's a short message to let them know
that you'll never forget them.
If you don't send it to anyone, it means you're
in a hurry and that you've forgotten your
friends.
Take the time...to live and love!
Until eternity. God bless!
For Nerdbot 5000
I spent 10 years in the service.
My sons on his way to Iraq.
In fact, all male members of my family
have served their country. Can you say the same?
for aofalain:
Jesus was not a liberal.
He did not believe in abortion, pre marital sex or homosexuality.
All three which are the democrats platform,
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