A Certain Kind Of Death
She was in love
Their expression of it
Was the perfection of it
The way they shared
What they had
Was beyond compare
Today is the culmination
Of their dedication
Today she is pregnant
Her heart sings
Then the phone rings
At the hospital
Next to her dead husband
How is this possible
Why did this happen
But not heartbroken
She still had a piece of him
She had to be strong
For their child
Even though he was gone
She had to find a way
To march on
Pain and spot bleeding
At the hospital again
Getting ready for birthing
No rhyme or reason
She took care of her body
Took care of her baby
Its two months too soon
For the child to leave the womb
Lacking strength and power
It only lived an hour
She could only scream
She could only scream
No strength to go through the motions
She hasn’t seen family or friends
Trying to find something within
nothing left to give
No reason to live
Her mind is out of reasons
she is dead inside
Her memories fading away
She’s doesn’t want to lose them
Tries to hold on to them
She racks her brain all day
Trying to find a way
To keep them fresh and vibrant
It came to her at a convenience store
A fisherman was buying some worms
She saw them wiggling
Saw them moving
She bought all they had
And took them home
She knew she had gone mad
But she didn’t want to be alone
Lying in her bed
Longing for the dead
She put the worms in her womb
And pretended her baby was alive
Her days were filled with joy
They were going to have a boy
Her husband would stay home
He could finally feel him kick and move
His happiness was there only wish
They would love and cherish
Every moment of everyday
The perfect family
For everyone to envy
She wasn’t alone anymore
She didn’t have to cry
She was no longer ripped and torn
Her evenings were horrifying
She wasn’t taking worms out
She was reliving her baby dying
She never once heard it crying
Never got to hold it in her arms
Failed to keep it from harm
She was useless
She was helpless
She was hopeless
She should have died too
She should have kept him inside her
Even if it had killed her
She decided one day
To keep her baby
Decided not to let the doctors take it away
She started to feel some pain
She decided on a name
She can barely move now
She would keep David safe somehow
She’s constantly bleeding and convulsing
She can feel his life pulsating
She gave birth before she died
With the worms pouring out
and of one thing there is no doubt
There is a certain kind of death
Waiting, for some of us
Copyright © Nathan D. | Year Posted 2013
My Son Moon and Star ~
Approaching the celebration of his Birth
cherishing the gift I received
within weeks of conception I knew
something amazing was in Creation ~
the Stars held a party
sending me with one of their own
Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky
It was magic It was destiny taking its flight.
In love with an October full moon
drawing and painting I liked
thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
caught in a loss of time
Hours going by as choosing my color
a wittness to three falling stars
A clear night sky sparkle's
A once Famous Star was sent
inspiring the tiny child inside ~
Never a doubt in my mind at all
child bearing was worth any pain received
yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
one to cherish and hold
My Son was born the following August ~
working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year
as the set of Leverage for 3 years .
Has done a Indie movie here
In Paris it was seen and honored
coming soon filmed in Portland ~
"The House of Last Things "
awaiting the credits , you will see
1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant
My Young Lion Mans dream ~
A proud mom I watch every show and the credits
as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
My Son & Moon and Star
A name you will all know ~
Happy Birthday to my creative Son
you will exist in my heart forever~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Slow was the logo he had been wearing since he was born.
Born into a world of poverty and scorn. They look at you funny when your mom is
destroying her fetus and it's not even born yet.
9 months of pain in a bubble of insanity. Slowly fading. She didn't know how much you
were going to be.
So when the day came and she lied down on the table screaming and breathing. Cussing and
fussing. Wondering why she didn't keep her silly legs closed.
But then you come around and your eyes were enough to tame her. No more stripping to make
a dollar, no more crack pipes she wanted to be the perfect mother. She raised you right,
though she made some mistakes she was really trying.
Your first day of school she held your hand and cried because you were becoming such a
She didn't yet know the hardships that were to come. The boat was solid now but the waves
were sure to crash it.
The little boy strutted to school he wanted to make his mother proud but he didn't yet
know he was going to be made a fool.
First day of class and he could barely read. Teacher's crucified him because he didn't
know his ABC's.
From then on he was labeled slow. Got left back in the 3rd grade for him their seemed no
He went from being so determined to blaming his mother, the stress so enormous she
started the pipe again.
The boy couldn't imagine how much he had hurt her. But he knew hurt as well and for now
he felt he deserved to be selfish.
Kids teased him every day, stole his lunch money, called him " slow" and a dummy. He had
no friends and one day he turned to his mother.
He said mom why is that every day I go to school and they tease me and I come home and I
tease you. But you’re silent, you don't ever belittle me. Why is that mommy? He stared at
her with intelligence in his eyes. The mother was silent for a second and then she looked
into her baby's eyes and said " Because to me you are golden and even though they might
not see it I surely know it".The boy looked at his mother and said but how can I be
golden that's not what anyone says they all say that I’m slow.
The mother looked at her son and reached out for his hand and slapped it. Didn’t I tell
you never to listen to what other people say it only matters what you think? What do you
The boy gazed into his mother's eyes and said " I think I’m really bright, if you can see
it and I can see it than that's all I need to know. The mother smiled as he left her that
day the future seemed bright.
Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Growing up is hard even harder as a teen
Only you are right and everyone else is being mean
Problems are epic and situations turn so bad,
And instead of trying - you act out pretty mad.
In my story handed there's only one to blame,
Names are for later here's the truth of fame.
My mother tried to teach me to wait on being a mom,
That I was too young and so much could go wrong.
Instead of listening I persisted on it more and more,
Until that moment that lose finally took score.
I never lost something and it felt like my own life was gone,
If only I had listened then I wouldn't be so wrong.
My mother tried to tell me stay in school you need too,
For living isn't cheep please baby I'm begging you.
Instead of listening I moved out into another state of course,
I knew what I was doing and no more stupid chores.
Lived in and out of houses had many jobs indeed,
Hell has a pretty color but only bad wounds bleed.
If only I had listened when she tried to teach me...
My mother whom i called for with every problem I'd see,
Would open up her arm's even so share the tears with me.
Copyright © Crystal Kuhl | Year Posted 2010
Why still choose to be on the attack
An blame me for this vicious act
I will not cower
In good vs dark
My choice is light
Bring on this fight
There is no surrender
With a subject so tender
The truth will stand tall
There is no fear at all
With God by my side let it be known
I will offer him my life to honor his throne......
Copyright © Ninette Carey | Year Posted 2014
Molested the first fifteen years of my life. My mother remained silent the whole time. As the molesting continued all those years. Forced to live a pretend life all my childhood. Beaten and punished every other day. For no reason other than being a child. After all this I figured I was a unwanted child. My mother couldn't love me abusing me. She brought me fancy expensive clothes every year. To cover up all her verbal, mental, and physical abuse. She tried to hide me from people, family and friends. So that they wouldn't see the embarrassing scars and bruises. Sometimes so bad I couldn't even go to school the next day. Or I would get into fights or act rude to get a suspension notice. That would have allowed my body to heal. One time I even tried to get ex-spelled. However, it didn't work. I only came home to more beatings. Her boyfriend watched and help hold me down on the floor as she would beat, and beat, and beat. Maybe this gave him a idea that it was ok to abuse me. Being that my mother was already doing it. Yeah! From the outside looking in my childhood was perfect. Every child wanted my seat. Name-brand clothes, shoes, computers, and almost every toy in the Jc Penny catalog. From the inside looking out I was screaming to get out. Scared, alone, abused, and still a child. So there was nothing I could do. I had no brothers or sisters at the time. All my family wouldn't believe me.No! Not him they would say, and did say at age fifteen I started getting older, and more developed. I had to put a stop to this. So after talking to some school friends. I decided to talk to my mother about what was going on. So later on that night I called my mother in to talk to her. I had told her what had been going on. while she was a work, and out late shopping. She in return asked me to draw a picture of his *****. As if she didn't believe me on the spot. What! I thought to myself. How could she ask me a thing like that? After one hour she finally called the police. I was brung in also for video questioning. I told them what had been going on in the house while my mother was away. The police in return asked me "what took so long for me to tell" I replied" I was scared, alone, and threatened. I had no one in the house to protect me. From my mothers abusive ways. I thought people would tease me." The next question was to my mother. The police asked "How could you live in the same house, and not know that your child was being raped?" My mother sat quietly and had no answer. So she got charged with neglect. My mother's boyfriend got charged with child molestation, and a few other things. I can't remember them all. After all that I was still scared, but finally free. Free to be a kid again.
Awh, hell the relationship between my mother and I went down the drain. After trial she hated me even more. Every day she was threatening to kick me out of the house. I was only sixteen so she couldn't just kick me out. Yet! She even got so angry at times. She went as far as not letting me communicate with my newborn brother. She even told people to keep him away from me. That hurt me so bad everyday. I prayed to God everyday to soften my mother's heart, but it never happened. When I turned eighteen she finally kicked me out the house for real. With no place to go, no money , and no food to eat. I ended up living with family and friends until she let me back in. I don't know why, but I thought things had changed. About a week after moving she called the police and told them that I was prostituting. Which was a lie. Thank God I didn't spend time in jail. Due to her lies and deceit. I never thought I would have to leave my own mother alone. However, after that incident that was my final decision. Sporadically I call her to hear her voice, and check on my brother. Unfortunately she never answers the phone. Her guilt for abusing me won't let her answer the phone.
I moved to Albany, NY for a fresh start. A new beginning! There I met more friends, moved into a brand new apartment, and fell in love. I wasn't expecting to fall in love, but I did. With a adorable, hot, and sexy Italian guy. For the first time my life was great, and I was happy. I even tried some plus size modeling, nursing, and I started self-publishing my writings. I was accomplishing things that my mother never encouraged me to do.
After about four years I started feeling homesick . So I came back to Virginia. Wow! What destruction was happening. My whole family fell apart. Nothing or nobody were the same. They all became police property. That was a sign to continue to stay away from them. Continue my happy life. Continue self-publishing my stories. Praying to God everyday. that I remain successful. This is a true story. Unfortunately it happened to me. From a mother who brung me in this world. Only to use and abuse me my whole entire childhood. Then pretend that nothings even going on.
Copyright © Dorine R Spruill | Year Posted 2013
A birthday cake sits before me, laughing at me. The candles whisper mean things, they know my thoughts. The ocean of red frosting simmering in the lights above, the little black flowers that everyone has dibs on. So elegantly outlined in more black lace, this cake is not for a funeral, no of course not. It's for me and the year that passed, for the one coming my way at full speed, the year of tears and stress. The year of chores and closed doors. Birthdays were never my strong point, they always make me sweep. Makes me want to just draw the curtains and sleep the day away, but no that would be letting me off the hook. Much too easy, everyone must talk big and do nothing. The sickening smell of plastic and mold radiate from the cake, must of been on clearance from the bakery down the street. They show up at my door bearing a balloon and small bag and this atrocious cake. Mother always said it's not how good the gft is it's the fact they got one. I must smile and hold it all in till they leave but in the meantime blow out these taunting candles and force down the oily sponge. Open the gift, a bag inside a bag, a old plaid, partly fake shiny leather purse that only a five year old diva would love. The leathery fur lining the mouth of this little monster is coming off with every touch, wonder where they got this thing, but you must be nice and give them the meanness only middle school girls can pull of, the meanness with a smile and a dis but thanks all in one. I rather think of anything right now, terrible “gifts” or the fact they showed up without even picking up a phone, anything than standing here with this thing burning on my kitchen counter waiting for the howled song to be over to blow this thing out and get alone again. Go back upstairs to my little nirvana and sleep the rest of this nightmare away. All their four faces glare at me, they know exactly what I’m thinking. One stands with my balloon in her giant hands and bounces it off my head, how I wish I could take the string and strangle her with it but I do a half assed giggle and ignore it, she keeps doing it, finally her mother has the brainpower to yell at her to stop. Even she knows I will attack, don't you think I’m on edge enough as is? I feel like the candle, starting to sweat like hot wax, hands grip the knife mom handed me and can't wait to cut this thing. Big breath, be sure to get them all in one try, pretend to knock ‘em all dead.
Copyright © Cat Way | Year Posted 2012
I wish I could be a fly on the wall,
When my poor old mother gets the phone call,
“He’s here at the bar
Quick bring us your car,
Your husband just got in a brawl”
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011
Come hither my daughter nay,
Rest your weary brow.
Let thou' est tears flow freely,
Between hearts companions.
Strong shoulders balance shifting,
Beliefs trust in one anther,
Equalizing the scale.
Emotions roller coaster,
Youths growing pains pass
Rest at ease, within homes
Outside forces that seem
To crowed you in are repelled.
Safe harbor lies ahead follow,
Instincts guiding light.
Be not worried a calming,
Maturities age lends worthy,
To open ears learning wisdom's,
Solutions gratitude heals,
Building strong future,
Graceful dancer step lightly,
Across Life's stage,
Let destinies winds turn,
But always remember mother,
Remains constantly near,
To challenge, protect that,
Which s most dear.
BY: CHERYL ANN DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2012
Years my father nostalgic for my mother.
She'd set the Shabbat table
Guess the white cloth the flu vegetable land
Let the fine flour, put the meat
Put the tomatoes and garlic
She could cook.
It tasted feed came from us
And so would put us as cookies Yu Yu Tonisaiot
Sweet biscuits dipped in liquid dam
Rosewater would add my grandmother if she had been allowed to
But here in my mother would make the salads very thinly
To unite us at the Shabbat table.
I did not learn a foreign language parents
My parents speak their language changes
Request a sweet Polish father
Tunisian mature mother
And I did not learn of them a foreign language
Only Hebrew sucked mother that it was not her mother tongue
She spoke with her sisters in French
Jewish and jargon that far.
In the kitchen I did not learn a foreign language
Copyright © shoshana vegh | Year Posted 2011
She (nature) is ever young
She (nature) gave' without a price
Upon her arms
Lies the secret of life
The earth has a daughter
She (nature) is the life of life
Yet she starve for her due
As our destruction now
Curse her bleed in places
As more evil we do
Make her restless
The love she gave
We don't adore
The life she bear
We don't care
Civilised we say we are
Wars yet we can't stop
Educated we call ourselves
Yet love we lack among us
Our Religion not close
Yet to draw us closer to humanity
Once it was a peaceful planet
Not now any more
we let her (nature) aside
our ignorance curse us blind
Not to see our Mother Nature
So we are here
Yet on her arms
Lies the life we share
For this desire of ours
Is not inline with her (nature)
Not now so I wonder if it may
Miles connect to miles makes
A journey and destination
The miles we are now
Is far ahead to connect us to
The choice of our journey
Is off track
The destination cures the earth
To shake while we let
Her (nature) empty
With our ignorance to our desire
The world is rule with a force
That forbid nature
Here it curse a mysteries
For we don't care
So our ignorance curse a
Copyright © richard nnoli | Year Posted 2014
My heart is saddened, you left to soon…
Please come back to us, he started talking to the moon…
His heart can’t take the pain, he is suffering, he needs you…
He loves you so much & I love you to…
Mom, why did this happen to you…
Why did you have to pass away, everyone else who took you for granted are fools…
We cherished & loved you so much & we still do…
He is an empty soul & all happiness is gone, because you are too…
Too early for your time & age…
Our hearts are trapped in a small cage…
Ready to burst & blow up with grief…
All hope faith & joy gone with our belief…
This world is nothing without your love…
Scattered pieces of your memory remains, all to aside it was shoved…
People are cruel & mean to have taken every single thing that reminded us of you…
If it was us that could decide we would have been able to keep all till even the last shoe…
We are torn; broken & only time can heal they say…
Biggest load of bull*****they said on that day…
Forever your memory & soul will be within our hearts & mind…
Even in the dark, you were the one who always shined…
Mom, we love you…
We hope that you are safe wherever you are…
Even though we still sit with scars…
Just never forget us, not like all the others have forgotten you & moved on…
It’s only been two weeks but your soul will remain…
In our hearts you will always stay…
*Inspired by my mother in law who passed away two weeks ago*
Copyright © Roxanne Swanevelder | Year Posted 2013
My parents taught me the Christian ways.
I was taught to obey what the Bible says.
I was proud of my parents! I really was!
And loved them so much… Just because!
They meant everything to me! I was proud!
Until one day... There appeared “a dark cloud.”
It was like a “darkness” hovered above.
Leaving their marriage empty of needed love!
Though they were together many years.
There were many cracks that soon appeared.
I say a once happy home soon destroyed.
Being with one another…. They no longer enjoyed!
How could this happen! I had wondered…
To see a happy marriage “totally plundered
As sin crept in... And allowed to prevail.
Very soon this marriage simply failed.
May this be a warning for me and you…
That our commitment remains faithful and true!
If your marriage is heading toward separation…
Please seek God for a healing and restoration!
If your planning to have a divorce..
Jesus’ love can put it on the right course!
He can replace the brokenness and hurt within..
And can put your lives back together AGAIN!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012
NOTE: This poem is a humoruos stab at PMS from a mans point of view
I can see your blood boiling
through the blades I once called eyes,
they were once beautiful like jewels
now they hurt my deep insides.
cutting at my guts
and like a noose on my lungs;
your words seek like bullets
your mouth like sniper guns.
I’m hit with each inaccuracy…
Being killed by words untrue;
and you even got the nerve
to tell me what you think I do.
But let me get mad
and try to plead my case;
then suddenly the world
is a f--ked up place.
You got tears running down…
What the Hell did I do?
We were just sitting and laughing
I could swear that we were cool.
I should have seen it…
It’s Aunt Floe…,
This battle can’t be won or reasoned
I think its best I go.
Cause I hate Aunt Floe
and she hate me too;
she sit and talk sh-t
about the gum I chew.
The color of my shirt…,
She say my look is a stair;
She say my best has no worth
And she doesn’t stop there.
I didn’t change
I’ve been the same
these 28 days,
but now I’m f_ckin A__hole
Aunt Floe gave me that name.
She said get out my face
This aint your home no more,
But I’m more puzzled by
What was said before.
I love you
With her glossy eyes
I knew it was true,
But horribly sly
You see these words
make me the fool.
The one that’s cruel
That a__hole dude,
That sparked the fuel
To this f__kin feud.
But I swear to God
I didn’t start this sh_t,
Why would I give up my love
To live my life like in a pit.
This is horrible sh_t
Wasted days spent,
On nothing but the worst
I could be bathed in your sent.
You could be laughing
While I’m smiling
But Aunt Floe Won’t let this be,
And the only way to make this right
Is hold my tongue a week.
And that ain’t gone happen
I’m a person too,
But I got feelins
and don’t know what to do.
Now its been six days
She locked herself
In the room
I call it her cage.
I smell a sent in the air
It wasn’t there before,
Now lookin down the hall
I see an open door.
Is this a trap
I’ll guess I’ll see,
If I fall for another
You know that’s dumb ass me.
Curled in the bed
I think I know that girl,
But where’s the hells Aunt Floe
The one that f__ked my world.
She packed up and gone
Didn’t even say good bye,
Just came wit gang of bullsh_t
And vanished in the sky.
Is that you my dear
Can you please come here,
Listen close and crystal clear…
I hate Aunt Floe
Next time she here
Make sure I’m stocked
with weed and beer.
I love you punk. ?
Copyright © Anthony Thomas | Year Posted 2011
white on blue
tears wave to
pain on cue"
~JSLambert © 2012 Poet TreeZ Publishing
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012
As sin and perversion often
So many lives and families
are being “disintegrated.”
Many are being driven by sin’s temptation force…
It’s no wonder much of this country
is way “off course.”
The morality and values that once made a great nation.
Are evaporating…. Leading to a
Love, honor, and respect of God…
Is often a “thing of the past.”
Anything of God seems to be
God is our only hope! And him alone!
Only he can bring healing to our broken homes!
He’s the answer to this wounded nation, that bleeds!
It’s only God that can meet all of our needs!
He’s our provider… The great: “I am!”
Won’t you reach out to him?
And give him your hand?
Why not give him a chance? And allow him in?
A brand new life for you…
Is waiting to begin!
May we allow God’s holiness and love to reach
down into our hearts…
Asking; “Lord please forgive our sins!”
Is a good place to start!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
I can't hear the words as they come from my mouth
I can't hear the screams as they work their way out
As I write all is seen is a blur and blank moment and
Once recovered sensed the words were written,not
Even a look to see what was written only to know it
Was there.Sleepless night,taunt filled faces horde my
Dreams.Have this made me fall so low no longer am I
Am I able to stand on my own to feet.How many times
Will you make me cry before claiming only to being a
Witness in a crime,your crime. Putting on that face
Working the crowds with amazing easily,how I hate you
Yes all the thing I think about revolve around you.
How many times have I witness myself wound my self
With your blade? As though under a spell doing as order
Without a cry to the world what made me so diligent ?
But no longer can you be a witness,No longer can I be
A witness to these crimes that been committed.Be us both
Sinners be us both lovers be that we both be cursed
We shall witness our sins become whole and the love in
Which we share spread further and further like the flames
Of hades. May there be peace for sinners in the next world.
We are both witnesses and at the same time
We are both sinners one day to become consumed by our
Own darkness how far will we fall until that moment comes?
May we be good may we be bad may we fall may we live may
May we die or carry on we are the Witnesses We are the Sinners
To this world and the next.
Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012
Patradoot or the Messenger 35/Many……….
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
Originally written in Hindi by my
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
The moment she would notice during her plays,
She would shout ‘ltter’ ‘ltter’* in her broken voice,
Showing the expressions of amazing happiness, dear letter,
Because you would be arriving, from her father’s place, dear.
Her innocence would come out from her expressions,
And from the melody of her broken words, dear,
When, she in her lisping sweet and broken voice,
Would express her affection for her father, dear letter.
While adoring and loving you in her sweet little mind,
She would take you towards east, dear letter,
To tell her mother that you have come, she would,
Convey that in her broken sweet words to her mother.
Filled with the happiness given by the girl child,
In the garden, you keep moving towards the door,
Till you reach and see my beloved sitting there,
Singing a lullaby for her darling child, dear letter.
Keeping her eyes on the front door with hopes,
She was praying for me from police atrocities,
With wishes and hopes in her mind, dear letter,
She would be waiting with love in her eyes for me.
Kanpur India Sept 2010 continues in 35.
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can
Send me an email on email@example.com
Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around 1932, who was a freedom fighter.
He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994.
Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010
Whole night you were in my musing
Everything forgets except your face
Today I'm late at bed
No one to wake me early
When i saw you in far
Corner of dry, dark sky
My heart gets torn,
Eyes can't stop flowing
We are missing you "Mom"...
He left the world you leave
Rough movement and even
His smiles erased.
Still waiting for you every eve at the gate
The old breezed love
Can't take the pain.
My small brother asks me
When you will come?
Your daughter loss
All her faith and joy.
I can't see their faces
It's remind me you,
Chattering before bed to rig up mosquito-curtain
Run after me while going to work!
My heart seems to burst
And blow up with grief...
I miss you at my every step,"Mom"
He was empty before you
Again fall into nothingness
They lost their playmate
I lost my best friend !
Nobody forbids me,
No one says don't do this
The call from back to return soon is vanished
Sometimes i feel so lonely,
My soul intends to cries out
Like a simple child
And pray to you,"Please come back Mom"
If not possible to punish me
Make me cry once !
This poem is based on death of one of my friend's Mom and i feel more love to my parents when i read this.
Copyright © Litan Dey | Year Posted 2013
Everybody knows that it's against the law for grown men and grown women to date all of the underage boys and girls,. let alone a 14-year-old boy or a 15-year-old girl. The law also states that any adult who tries to have this so-called "intimate sexual relationship" with any of the underage boys and/or girls would likely go to jail for a period of time and upon release, they'll have to be register sex offenders for the rest of their lives. It seems that those teen girls would rather date men in their 20's or 30s than guys their age and those teen boys would rather date women twice their age than girls their age, as well. but luckily, their parents (the mothers and the fathers) are here to prevent these so-called "May-December" relationships from ever happening, especially when they're protecting their teenage offspring from dirt-bags like these would-be pedophiles. But no matter what the parents do, no matter how hard they try, their teen sons and/or daughters, they secretly continuing dating older men/older women, even at night (midnight, 2 am, or 3 in the morning, e.g.). And the next thing everybody knows, their parents, they will have found out about it; thereby finding them in bed with the adults; their parents should make multiple police reports and pud the cradle robbers behind bars for good. Boy this is starting to look like an episode of "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" (Season 6-Episode 19-Intoxicated featuring Danielle Panabaker) and an episode of "Snapped," especially when Sarah Johnson killed her own parents in cold blood because she was afraid that the late Mr. and Mrs. Alan and Diane Johnson would send this guy name Bruno Santos to prison or have him deported back to Mexico for statutory rape (by way of dating a then-16-year-old girl). There's no way that those teen boys and teen girls are ever going to get into a bunch of serious, intimate relationships with a bunch of would-be cradle-robbing adults. They need to concentrate on their education and they need to be with guys and girls their age. I mean, one teen boy dating a n adult female? One teen girl dating an older man? My God, their parents will be seriously upset about this. Who on Earth would be dumb enough to fall for an older woman or an older man? And if these would-be pedophiles in the form of grown men and women even attempt to rob these teen boys and girls of their innocence and whatnot, the parents are going to have a problem up in here.
Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011
The smell of coffee: hot and bitter in the cold winter night
With the rhythm in the left hand and the rhyme in the right,
He wrote a poem in his secret pocket,
A wistful star like a speedy rocket
Ready to leave this planet intense blue
In search of other traces of life anew.
He remembered after mother had died,
In the cold touch ,stalagmites and stalactites cried.
Father and son felt a strong taste for sweets.
As in the sunset, the blind boatman meets
With an awkward touch the water`s ring
But generally they needn`t to eat anything
For a while they rested an extraordinary team:
Father insistently (sometimes boring) told him
All his recollections:childhood,war and the rest…
All muscles and teeth pressed hot, like ice on the crest.
The son learnt them by heart, and later
He would retell them to father, even better…
One was on duty to wash the dishes;
The other tried to follow his wishes…
Their only joy was to read and read and read…
One had to cook at home ,and to bake the bread
In a bread factory:He was happy even when he was sad.
He could recognize each bread: All his loafs were bad.
He was like Chaplin in “New Times”.
He was speaking in figures and rhymes.
He wore a monk beard and father was much more younger.
Looking through the window: grey hunger and anger …
At the weekend, he used to ask his father
About the favourite meal, but rather
He would find a surprise the next day.
Each day was windy winter and grey…
Father had the same touching answer:”Something good”.
In the strange interference ,water and fire ,one was rude.
Solitude was their common friend stealing in like a lizard,
But, in the afternoon they played sweeping their courtyard.
They had leaves in autumn and snow in the winter.
The sky was grey without sun, the clouds were bitter.
Father was counting the leaves, in the old horizon
The son was painting the days ,in the cold horizon.
The war with the falling down leaves fighting hard
With red faces like an inveterate drunkard .
And years after his father met his final hope,
The son would stop in front of the sweets shop ,
Ready to buy recollections as Christmas tree sweets.
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2012
YOUNG CRONUS (5.7.09)
My father decided he wanted his children
buried, and left for dead.
But my mother, Gaea, both fair and true,
spared her children instead.
So I met with my selfish father,
where, by Gaea, we both were led,
and, holding the sickle she gave me,
this is what I said:
"Hello, dearest father.
I'm glad that you came. After years without you,
I know how you feel about us.
I just hope you know: We feel the same about you."
"But we are not here to argue.
I came here to say good bye."
He knew farewells were in order,
but he did not yet, know why.
I explained our situation,
as my siblings stood idly by,
saying, "If you don't want to have children,
you cannot be swayed, so I won't even try.
But its too late to go back now.
You cannot erase my family and I.
So that leaves us only one option,
and that's why I'm saying goodbye."
"Goodbye, worthless father.
I'm glad that you came. Now pay what is due.
We know how you feel about us,
and now you know how we feel about you."
He regretted the seeds he had sewn,
so, in charity, I reaped his remorse.
I swung my sickle pure and precise,
with such fervent and furious force;
His blood was late to react to the wound,
and that which was lost by means of divorce,
found it's new home in the deep, dark, blue ocean-
unable to ever return to it's source.
Together with most of my brothers and sisters,
there seemed to be no better fit
than to send him away, as he would have sent us;
to the bottomless Tartarus pit.
"Goodbye, worthless father.
I'm glad that you came, and you paid what was due.
We knew how you felt about all of us,
so we showed you just how we all feel about you."
"Farewell forever, father.
I'm glad that you're gone, and I'll never atone.
Know that your fear was what you created,
as I take my seat in what once was your throne."
Copyright © John Taylor | Year Posted 2010
To My Mother
On Mothers Day
I thought and thought
What gift I can give, to my late mother
On this auspicious Mother’s Day,
A gift for my Mother,
Who passed away from this world,
Many many years back, on Mother’s day.
She must be living in peace,
While living on earth,
She was my inspiration and my precious teacher.
She charmed everyone, who got a chance
To meet her,
By her simplicity and love and selfless devotion.
Her melodious singing and playing of Violin,
Defused the gifts of poetry and writing in me,
Because of you perhaps, O Mother dear.
She taught me the lessons of Music and Poetry,
Of life and its duties, not by taking my classes ever,
But by teaching me and others, what actually was our real duty,
She silently taught, the lessons of kindness and love,
Of facing the ups and down of life,
Without being sad and disturbed.
She taught me to be firm and sturdy in life,
And to never feel forfeited and disturbed,
Even if, success was no where visible.
How great was your greatness, we could not know it earlier,
You gave your precious years to my motherland, O Mother
Sometimes directly fighting for our freedom,
While in your remaining life, you cared and inspired,
Even my father, to not only sacrifice his entire young age,
For the cause of India’s freedom,
But also to write books and create, poetry likes Patradoot,
Which father wrote in Faizabad jail*,
And dedicated it to you, O Mother dear.
Many decades have passed, when this great book,
In Hindi was written by my father,
Depicting the India, as it was around 1932.
O Mother, to day, on this great Mothers Day,
I am dedicating English version of that great epic to you,
So that the world may come to know,
The real life beauty of this great story*,
And the beauty of this gem of a writing of my father,
Which shines once in a blue moon only,
On the horizon of poetry.
Kanpur India 9th May 10
* Story. Hindi name Patradoot and in English ‘The Messenger’
* Faizabad jail. My father( 1899-1994) late Dr Amarnath Kapoor devoted almost his entire young life 1920-47 for the cause of India’s freedom struggle, as a follower of Gandhi. During his long imprisonment in Faizabad jail, he wrote ‘the Messenger’ as a unique story in poetry in Hindi & secretly sent it to my mother, The Messenger was published and circulated
in Hindi around 1933-34 with the result, the British rulers confiscated my father’s printing
press for ever and its publications and again put him to jail.
Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010
How you’ve completely lost your sanity.
Did you forget how to grow?
Every one of you was planted row by row.
Did your heavenly Father not nurture you with love?
Did He not make the rains fall from up above?
Oh where is your heart?
Who gave you your first start?
Daylight hours just wash ashore,
With simple lives from once before!
Have you forgotten your heavenly Mother?
And what about your heavenly Brother?
Where is your Godforsaken mind?
What happened to being loving and kind?
How you’ve provoked such a calamity!
® Registered: Ann Rich 2006
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2009
Woman impregnated a man
Is normal to see pregnant women
If men go about with big tummies
They must be filled with foods/drinks
Else it's a malady/sickness
A mystery ever seen in life
Woman impregnated a man
I've covered my pregnancy all the while
But my EDD is at hand
My months are over
I'm in 'labour' and it pains much
Which hospital do I visit?
Where is the 'labour' room?
For my save delivery
Where are the doctors?
Oh! The midwives and the nurses
If I'm delayed Mother,
I stand the risk of still birth and complication
I thought here could be my delivery room
But it's just too small
Even the whole world is too small
To witness the delivery of your babies
I gaze to the heavens
My life time so minute to push forth
In 'labor' and deliver
Christ bore all my pains on the cross
And you identified with it at my birth
Christ sacrificed His life a ransom for me
Yet you gave your womb for me
You made your womb my first house
There you kept me and took no rent
In there you made a bed for me
Where I laid and slept quietly
There I dictated all you eat
And all you ate and drank
You shared with me
While I grew in secret
The maternity-a place of four chambers/rooms
Mother, just a room and
I'll deliver to you
Because the babies are yours
You impregnated me with touches of care and good morals
And it's formed babies of love, faith and hope
It's your HEART-there I know is save
Sweet mother my sweet Heart
The Heart of my Heart
Who hatched the egg of my life
The greatest gift I can ever give to you
Is to give my heart to CHRIST
(EDD- Expected Date of Delivery)
Copyright © Fisayo Aderounmu | Year Posted 2012
Stately stood Princess Amber in all her finery,
Emerald tunic over a crimson gown,
With gems inlaid in her rustling gown,
Her arms bangled in intricate gold slowly rose,
Her slender fingers rested on her heaving bosom,
Listening to unstopping drum-beats of her heart.
Her breath clung to the heavy nose ring,
Beads of perspiration made damp
The adorned golden wreath on her tense filled brow.
Her curtained eyes rose to show the fires ablaze,
A voice so tumultuous never heard before
Anguished the gems in Jalal-ud-din's court
To hear their silent queen speak so.
Born am I of noble Rajput parents,
My father named me Heer Kunwari- a pearl,
Was married into a Mughal family without much disdain.
Served I in nature true,
Does a Mughal king know not
Of virtues imbibed by a Rajput princess?
Brought up was I in Amber palace,
My mother bred me with values
Both spiritual and bold,
Jump we into the pyre before being disgraced,
Honour be the seal of a Rajput maid,
This thou shoulds't have known before thou wedded me, My Sire!
And accuse you my Lord of my infidelity?
Never come close to a Rajput maiden
And hence remain from my shadow afar
Thoughts of a Mughal King are tarred and defiled,
I return to my kingdom for the dishonour bestowed.
Yet the truth be unraveled of your wet mother dear,
The milk you drank was of not of human kindness for sure,
Flowing in your veins is your wet-mothers venom,
Your wisdom poisoned was not of your mother's,
There be a difference between a mother and a wet mother.
My brother was it that visited me in fear,
My forged letter to him was sent
That his sister in distress had pleaded him near.
In hiding is he from enemies around
Under the shroud of darkness
Came he to rescue his sister hence.
The treachery hatched by your mother foster
In envy is she of your wife now ignobled.
Banished have you me from my wedded abode
Nor asked me of my crime in courtroom fenced
Why question not your soul of justice denied?
Out of my heart you walk thence,
Enter I into the shelter of my father loyal
My heart pierced with arrows immense,
Sail I to home for being slandered thus.
Free am I of being concubined in your Mughal walls
The knight I was bethroded to was never mine
Belonged he to the faith of his venomous milk.
Proved thou once again the woman be at fault and not the I.
Queen Salima the Innocent was suspected so
For being with a man she never had ever seen before
Pined she for you in your Palace of Love.
I no Salima to take my life
In the eyes of my father will I remain a lustrous pearl.
Suspicion above truth be your manly tribe
Honour above dishonour be a woman's pride.
I a Rajput princess forever be
Live I in pride for I were true
Live thou in guilt for justice denied.
The kingdom of God not await for thee
Time will come for a woman to rise.
Princess Amber followed by her Rajput entourage
Seated she in her bridal palanquin
Burning cheeks and eyes so cold
Ruddier drops had never been shown.
Coloured veils rising with the deserty billows
Of her ladies in waiting with tear filled eyes.
Silence entombed her Amber chambers
No question asked by father dear,
Trusted he the virtues of his daughter beloved
In her mother's warmth she remained embraced
To happier familial joys for the seasons to see.
Jalal-ud-din's ears roared again and again
His weakened ears were his enemy true,
Won he a battle to all was known,
Losing the home ground to all was shown,
Turned he to ashes by his queen so new.
Strode he in anger to his foster mother's abode
Followed was he by marching soldiers
Spears in hand and daggered girdles,
Barging into the chamber of his mother wet
Huddled in fear of Jalal-ud-din's anger
Knelt down she as Yamuna doubly flooded
Pleading mercy with joined palms cracked
Thundered Jalal-ud-din with anger renewed
Take the woman to her empty world
Fettered in chains her dungeon be,
No man no woman her companion be
Till her last breaths no mercy receive.
Heralded aloud in Jalal-ud-din's kingdom
The banished queen to her throne doth return.
The soldiers ready in their array full
The stallion royal neighed at his dazzling adornments
Saddled in jade and dotted gold,
Coloured festoons and brassy jingles
Galloped he in hooving a sandy cloud
Scalloped eyes stood still only at Amber court.
Snowy doves on arches watched
The lungs so full as trumpeters blew,
The castle bedecked at glorified romance
The gypsy dancers in flaring skirts
Dancing in chorus to their emperor new,
Smearing his brow with vermilion holy
Marigolds perfumed under the feet of their trodden king.
Touched he the feet of his Amber parents
Blessed was he of his auspicious return
Escorted regally to the princess' chamber
Silence pervaded after chamberlains departed.
Knelt he before the royal princess
With folded hands and drooping head
The belittled princess with a heart so torn
Bent she down to her humbled king
Moistened eyes and ruby lips
She clutched his feverish hands
And bespoke, rise Great Mughal King
Hence reign in your kingdom great,
With knowledge fully acknowledged.
Suspicion soon aroused is wilfully pertained
Close proximity to peace be unblinded justice.
Jalal-ud-din Akbar with glistening brow
Rose tall to the stature of his pearly queen
Heer Kunwari were you born, your father's pearl
Crown I you Mariam-uz-Zamani, Mother Of the Age.
Rule you my world in equal voice
Justice be enthroned in the voices of kings.
Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015
—Statue of Ebony Black—
A woman who cried for freedom,
not for herself but on behalf of her children
whose lives are compelled to lie and rise in the cradle
placed under evil stars, was the woman who was put into
compulsory labor under scorching sun throws sweltering heat from above.
The woman who was tossing herself on the bed at night
oppressed by night after night’s hideous dream
was the woman who lost her husband
under the strokes of merciless lashes.
When her son was sold to a slave trader for filthy lucre,
he was shackled and headed to unknown destinations with heavy dragging feet.
When he turned his frightened face back to have his last look at his beloved mother, the gunstock struck him and a whip cracked in the air.
The mother’s soul wailed without a sound. In her eyes, not of the anger
nor of the relinquishment but too cruel to say that it is her destiny, bitter
tears welled up and fell onto spell filled wilderness.
The woman who never had enjoyed
praise on her cute trickery at her childhood,
never given an opportunity to bloom as a beautiful flower
that bashfully stands in the corner of a fence in her susceptible adolescent age,
taken her passion of tender caring motherly love for the children away,
not even allowed to possess a least dignity as to exist as a human being,
goes after the trail that the son had left in her barefoot, holding an everlasting rancor in her heart, the ill sentiment that will never be lapsed.
At the end, her spirit, such a sorrowful woman’s spirit,
broke the chain of bondage that bits into the flesh
like canine-teeth and locked like a jaw of the fierce beast
for long and tiring years.
She cries out with a painful heart-rending cry,
by the shore where the water surges high,
where the sun rises every morning to tell us
that there is always a new day if we believe in it.
“Send my lost husband back to his beloved wife!
return my taken-away son to his lonely mother!
let’s approve a little space
that enables us to live as a one happy family.”
The statue of Ebony Black,
the woman who was forced to live her entire life in misery,
now stretches her arms with broken chains hanging from her wrists,
looking in air half knelt and crying
“Let me free from this misery,”
in past, though unpleasant,
and therefore, no one ever wants to look back
or recall, yet lives in thoughtful ones’ heart with remorse.
Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2016
Teen boys are always getting teen girls pregnant, but older men, impregnating underage girls? When will teen pregnancy stop? It seems that these underage girls have been seeing these men in their 20s or 30s behind the backs of their moms and/or dads. And the next thing everybody knows, one day later, those teen girls, they will have wounded up getting pregnant in an instant. No matter what the parents do to prevent their teen daughters from ever becoming mothers at an early age, let alone 15, no matter how hard they try, they just won't listen. And no matter what the moms and/or the dads will have done by showing their teen daughters the dangers of teen parenting, they still won't listen. These older men have always been messing around with the underage girls (ages 14, 15, 16, and/or 17) and are always getting getting them pregnant. What's so cold about it is that their parents will have been seriously upset about the fact that these grown men have robbed those teen girls of their innocence and their futures. And instead of teen girls going to college to become, teachers, lawyers, and/or doctors, because of these grown men, those teen girls will have been forced to have dropped out of high school to take care of their kids. See, there's a problem with those underage girls: they just can't concentrate on their education, thereby getting their high school diplomas and/or college degrees. The girls really should've waited until after they'd gotten married to guys their age and then have kids. And if these men in their 20s, 30s, or 40s weren't going to take care of their kids that the young mothers have given birth to because those sexist, womanizing Neanderthals who've gotten them pregnant to begin with, they should've used condoms and/or left those teen girls alone. As a matter fact, these grown men should've gotten arrested for impregnating teen girls by way of statutory rape. What's with these young teen girls, always falling for guys twice or three times their age, knowing they should date guys their age. Why must these grown men always wanting to get those underage girls pregnant at an early age, let along 15? I mean, who does that. It's just way, way, way too much for their parents (the moms and/or the dads) to handle. And if this type of teen pregnancy continues to expand by the year 2016 and these adult men continue to rob those teen girls of their futures, their so-called "childhood," and their innocence, their parents, they're doomed. This ends now!
Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011
Once great always great I say to you.
Upside down or right side up you be.
Once upon a time and a time once was she.
Gathering the universe and shining a Star or two.
Then one day She shot down to Earth out of the blue.
She gathered Her crops and made circles wide and free.
She made them so big the whole of the world could see.
She took the Stars the Sun and Moon making them new.
She shined talents never quite seen.
Amazing and sparkling from up above,
She is the smartest thing ever so keen.
She is abundant in spreading Her love.
She is our Celestial Mother in Heaven,
Separated by the empty shells of leaven!
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2007
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2010