"mam" poems
upon the elephant rode a boy prince,
his royal command, he was there to evince.
dark with grace and dripping with youth.
bringing his men, his crown and his couth.
town after town he strode fierce through the gates.
and any detractors were left to cruel fates.
and on one windy day, as they strode into town.
the faces where tenfold and a hush passed around
the grey of the creature with knowing black eyes
swayed left towards the crowd as if to capsize.
and the mass gasped in horror; bairns seized by their mam.
men flung at young ladies, babes pulled from the pram.
the bewildered and flustered
tired elephant sat.
in the center of all on the bald pastors hat.
the old pastor looked stunned to see such a disgrace.
until he remembered, and composed his face.
'your highness' he bowed. his manners restored.
but the poor prince was toppled his mighty seat floored.
they gasped for the prince, just really a child
dressed in fine silks on this elephant wild.
pastor said, 'here now' extending an arm
hand wrinkled and gnarled from the land that he farmed.
then the guards sprung to life as if sudden awake
guns point to the man of whose life they would take.
and just as they squinted their eye for the aim
a boy sang out sweetly, 'sire he's not to blame!'
and the prince from street where he lay in pool
held up his hand and recovered his rule.
he looked at the crowd and he said 'boy now speak'
the boy said, 'prince it is the prayers that you seek.
the prayers that you'd visit. the prayers that you'd stay.
lord must of heard them and granted this way.'
his eyes wide with truth and the love of his church
the prince laughed a beautiful belly filled lurch.
the carriage was called as the prince shared a feast.
and even some water was splashed on the beast.
such a good time as he danced and he spun
till the horses arrived in the dust of a run.
to thank the town and the lovely haired boy
the young prince gave up his own precious toy.
the beast stays quite put in the center of town...
but prayers said no more...so the prince won't fall down.
sahn
04/10/2014
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
Kapatid mo ba si Nathaniel?
Para ka kasing isang Anghel
Pag kasama kita parang wala na ang Hell
Kaya lang naglaho kang bigla parang bula ng Ariel
Ako'y isang pakete ng sigarilyo
Full of HOPEs na magkikita pa ulit tayo
Kakausapin ko si mam Charo Santos mamaya
Maitanong kung maalala mo kaya?
Para akong isang sanggol na basa ang baru baruan
Hindi mapatahan simula ng iyong iniwan
Kasalanan ko ba na ako'y umiiyak
Kasi naman yung sibuyas ko ay walang awa **** biniyak
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
The taste of my teeth is repulsive
All my fingers are jammed.
Blood should not be leaking in his head.
That red headed, freckled face kid was only doing the work of his god.
That broken nosed saint laying in his hospital bed.
I wonder if he wonders where his god went.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
“Does this mean we can be friends-with-benefits again?”
Well, we are friends, and we were ******* like before.
It seemed like a reasonable question to ask.
“I don’t know, I have to figure some things out.”
You had always been so sure of yourself,
‘til now - there was a sadness in your voice
I had never heard before.
All I could do was turn over, breathe your smell
and hope you were
okay because
I didn’t have the right to ask you what was wrong.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
Bang! Bang!
The sounds of gun shots mid-day on Thursday,
Sirens getting closer to the crime scene,
Just two weeks ago a man's life was terminated for a cellphone,
More thugs and more gun fires,
the tragedy so bad it even appeared in the news.
But today i can feel fear creeping in my vains,
Another man shot dead today,
why do i have to live in this community?
For i am afraid.
Few months ago
it was just like an action movie,
people running and rolling
while the loud sounds from the police guns aiming over my
roof top kept on going
Bang! Bang!
I see the police patroling the streets by day,
having picnics in the park
while they watch their horses eroid away the soil.
They feast to some take away outlets
filling their sagging bellies by night.
While they letting the just go unpunished all year long,
Oh! It hurts.
I feel a bullet on my chest,
Oh! It hurts
for i cannot look through the dark
night anymore.
I sit on the side of this wide classroom window,
And i wonder,
What if one bullet comes straight to me. (God forbid)
Oh this township that i loved,
you are not safe anymore.
Where can i run to for i called you home?
There is no distance further gone without any loud sounds;
Bang! Bang!
Oh mam' ngiyalil'
ngililel' labo abangasek'
ikakhulukaz' imphil' yam'
umphefumul' ongenacal'
kungab' sewabayin' wena dolobh' lami.
I called your name,
with so much pride and bragging,
but now i cannot even say your name
for you have groomed thugs,
gangsters,
vindals,
drug addicts and drug dealers,
harlots... And what else that we do not know?
Could it be blood sacrificies,
are these the 'EndTimes' proclaimed in the book of Revelations,
Why should i bother trying to think when all i hear in my head are ecoing sounds
Bang! Bang!
All i need to do is to find a way out,
Nyawozam' ngibeleth' !
Ngob' inhliziy' ayisahlalisekang'
qobo
when will that day be,
when crime will be stopped for good,
and police do justice to the community?
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
A seventies child
Born in Wales, one of the four
Countries of The UK.
I remember brown as the colour
of the day.
Fabric embossed wallpaper
all the neighbours names, who married who,
who was carrying on, the alcoholic, the beaten wives,
Even, get this the peadophiles (or kiddy fiddlers as was known)
Dai the milk, Mair the bread, the shop of infinite items.
Rugby practice for dad, baking for mam
(Cake and babies) gossip over the garden hedge
Fish on a Friday a Sunday roast, hot sweet tea.
Bubble and squeak, post delivered before you
left for school. Mist on the mountain, dew on the grass.
Welsh valley life, sounds idyllic
but scratch the surface and a darker colour
than brown emerges. Petty squablings leading to
familial feuds, the Williamses don't get on with
the Joneses, and as for the Pritchards, less said the better.
School, local, no not for me. I was sent to a Welsh
School, taught and learnt the language denied to my
Parents by English politics. Cat amongst the pigeons there.
Did I think I was special? Ideas above her station. That's what
the neighbours say.
Well, you all had the option.
Dr Forbes FRCS
Delivered babies buried men and women
Loved by all, especially his lollipop sweets.
I wasn't a child to get ***** or rip wrapping paper
off of gifts, I liked to go under the stairs (like Harry Potter)
and read. I left the dirt for my sister born 4 years later.
Then in 1982 came my brother, tidy my mother describes it.
'74,'78,'82 poor dad to have to wait I say!
More pubs than chapels, more walking than driving
more rain than sun, more music than ever was sung.
The '80's came, and we had strikes, no electric, candles
toast made with a toasting fork over the fire.
No mines, no steel, no jobs.
Picket lines, dole queues, women in work
latchkey kids, Thatcherism, ******* times.
Falklands war, IRA bombs, Royal weddings
Tory rule
But, the fire in the dragon never went out
and Tom Jones still sings his heart out.
Cymru cysglyd gwlad y gân, deffrwch
nawr, dyma'ch tro.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Excuse me Mam!
Can I intrest U in a mutural gift?
A possible win-win senario.
Please pause a moment from U'r very busy day.
Pause to listen and let down your guard.
I am very sincere!
Though i admit, a bit of an introvert.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.
I am dillagent and goal oriented.
Though i admit, a bit obsesive.
But underneathn it all, I am a good person.
I follow the Rules!
I try to please my peers and superiors.
Though i admit, not always accomplished.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.
My accomplishments are noteworthy
Though i admit, I am not of riches.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.
In some uncertain way,
My love of life is bonded by these chains.
Your inocent interest could set me free,
if only for a moment.
For the moment that U share,
I would be a transformed person.
Though i admit, not a person of the world.
But underneath it all, I can make U happy to.
Regards,
Jerry
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
Marahil di n’yo po tanto
Halaga ng leksyon ninyo
Bawa’t tula, gintong puro
Pag-ibig sa wikang Pino
Bawat talatang piniho
Nagbukas ng mata’t ulo,
Florante’y bayaning nobyo
Laura’y bayang Pilipino
Gurong minahal, idolo
Parang anak kami, oo
Kahit iba’y magugulo
Di malilimot, Mam Lojo . . .
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
We have a dad his name is Dave,
He's driving Mum to an early grave.
Every Sunday at ten we stand waiting again.
'I've no where to bring them and nothing to do'
'Ah hah' says mam I have the book for you.
Where did you get this book.. what a list!!
It's all with thanks to our local Nationalist :)
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
I called to give you a rearrangement of irony and a bucket full of Jews, I tailor made a rebreather because the past connections were used . Indeed, just like a crossview that encouraged stars to collapse, then did a fix up for the X's and O's so every oxymoron followed with a laugh. A pail of shrubs, an ounce of yore, yesterday you were following your very own bated breath. Up until you challenged yourself to a duel, you didn't look so bad for a disastrous mess. Harms' Way could be the place in town where odds go to get even, or it could be the street where Blow-Pops aren't just made, but also handed out to toothless citizens. We the captured, please and thank you, sir and mam until our captors go, like if you imagine The Godfather in The Graduate, describing how the Komodo dragon roasts. We haven't made it thru a single day since they've come in packs of seven, but today we'll have the chance to share some face time with the hours that we are being given.
Misty-eyed, mournful, and very sorry walked in separately from the yard. They drank cold-filtered PBR and joked about all the kids they may have fathered. Has it been four weeks or just four days, since the Ferguson, Missouri Captain resigned his post? I was always taught that for a captain to go out, he or she must go down with their boat.
In time where boredom lays around with dynamite by the loads, tomorrow remind me of the basorexia I've had since we met not long ago.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:39 AM UTC
Wilted flower, ageless in
A time of frailty, never wishing
For her glow to fade, but
Every flower wilts over time.
She was weak in sympathy
Seeing everyone though her
Outer shell was, of ill taste,
Souring there eyes.
So those of younger skin she
Spat upon in hated gestures,
Until she could not see beauty,
Only those having what had
Faded upon her over time.
She was a seamstress of cloth,
Fashion was in her eyes, beauty
For beauty now all was bland
As her image tainted, She was
Upon a plan.
She would take beauty from those
Unworthy souls, who abused the
Gift for it should be collected,
Harvested, so began her crime.
The first was a nose, cut off still
Breathing jagged edges ruined.
She slashed upon beauty as stillness
Settled in there eyes. Like a canvass
Now ruined, ugly in her sight,
Discarded in to the river the fishes
Feasting upon her crime.
She harvested, parts each dead
for moments but stillness brought
precision, each flawless gem, with
Precise loops each part fell in to place.
She only needed one more ,the lips
So delicate, so fragile. She carved
So many kisses from the bodies,
But never the correct, impatient
She became, enraged with failures.
Her moments of rage, became news.
"The patch work doll"
"The seamstress of beauty"
She liked this name for beauty
Was a puzzle that she stitched
Together to hide the ugly inside.
Then upon those fated moments,
"Excuse me do you know the"
Her mind forgot to listen, transfixed
Upon those ruby gems, Yes ill
Show you the way.
"Thank you mam"
Ill fated beauty, single breathes to
Take. These where her jewels of
Her crown as each most delicately
Removed, stored so not to break.
The patchwork was finished, **hideous
Monstrosity** of flesh dead, but she
Revelled upon her creation. Missing
The point that she was only faded inside.
She wore this mask, **the seamstress of
Beauty** now wore the blood of others
Upon her face, each was a life taken
For this moment in the mirror, she
Looked upon in happiness, in joy
Of others pain, but the moment faded.
All she saw was others, her beauty hidden
Upon the stiches of others face, she
Couldn't see herself only the faces of
Each life she did take. The lips moved
Spoken words upon this face, you want
This beauty take it cut it with the knife.
She cut upon this mask, deep cuts
Upon her own self, the mask fell
To the floor, spare parts of meat.
She cut around, bleeding down
Kissing the floor as it fell. Till she
Stood there, her skin, meat upon
The floor.
Those final moments the seamstress
Saw she was beautiful, that it was
Underneath that was what she had
Missed, so much beauty spilled for
What, as she ran screaming towards
The window.
Like a mirror shattering shards
Showing her a reflection of the beauty
She had become, she was the seamstress
Of many faces but know only one
Face hits upon the unforgiving ground.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
*Geoura geoura
Jebal jom malhaejuryeomuna
Jeoura neodo malhaejuryeomuna
Amugeotdo bakkul piryo eopsi yeppeudago
Jigeum geu moseup geudaero wanbyeokhadago
Manyang haengbokhamyeon dwae geokjeong eopsi
Bujokhan jeomi mwonji chajgi eopgi
Geoul daesin geunyang nae nun bicceul barabwa
Jeoul daesin nae deung wie ollatabwa bwa
Amuri neol tteudeobwado
Bogo tto bogo tto bwado
Niga malhaneun an yeppeun bubuni eodinji
Geuge eodinji chajeul suga eopseo nan
Jigeumcheoreom manmanmanmanman man
Isseojumyeon nannannannannan
Baralge eopseuni neon amugeotdo
Bakkuji mamamamama
Amu geokjeongmamamamamama
Neoui modeunge dadadada da joheunikka
Neoneun amugeotdo bakkuji mamamamama
Idaero (jigeum idaero) oh (geunyang idaero)
Oh (jigeum idaero) oh oh oh isseumyeon dwae
Ttak joha neoui modeun ge geureoni ne mam
Noha amu geokjeonghaji ma I mal
Baek peosenteu da geudaero mideodo dwae
Modeun geokjeong baek peosenteu da jiwodo dwae
Amuri neol tteudeobwado
Bogo tto bogo tto bwado
Niga malhaneun an yeppeun bubuni eodinji
Geuge eodinji chajeul suga eopseo nan
Oge tido tiga naya chajneun geoji won
Nunbusige biccna binteumi eopsji neon
Nae nune eolmana yeppeunji I want you
Jigeum idaero you’re the only one*
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
the rain used to be my favorite
the sky was crying with us
until I got swallowed up by it
my bones crushing with each trick
no seatbelt
thought I wasn’t going to live
I was ready to say goodbye to this world
but when the car finally stopped I was still alive
I started screaming why
I could smell blood and soil
I thought it was finally by time to say goodbye
police, ambulance, and a helicopter arrive
“mam have you been drinking or are you on any drugs”
glass in my hair
I felt like there was no air
it was getting hard to breathe
my whole body was broken
mostly my heart
they should’ve left me to die
- sorry about the car
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
Mam, from the September following Child’s 5th birthday I no longer consider you fit to raise him.
For six hours a day, five-days-a-week-term-time-only Teacher can help.
Unfortunately Teacher takes time off. She needs a break from your little monster-
so during the holiday she gives Child back. Try not to undo the good work that’s been done.
(…Won’t you?…)
If you want to bother Teacher with (daft) questions go ahead.
She’ll rearrange her face into a listening position- And respond with jargon designed to make you feel thick.
Concerns?
Child often exaggerates.
O, I see. 2 adults, 30 children and a bundle of paperwork?
She’s qualified. You’re not.
(…are you? Thought not. And you don’t live in Big House or sound T’s and H’s… So where were we?…)
Nightmares? Bruises? Cuts, scrapes, a black-eye? Low self esteem?
(…so you’re a psychologist now?…)
Child cries? Is unhappy in class?
His fault.
Or yours! Don’t worry. Teacher keeps her eyes open for signs of trouble at home.
Child skips school? Down to you.
(…There will be various consequences, of course. And implications……c-o-n…s-e-qu-e…nce-s…,….i-m-p…l-i-c…a-t…i-on-s… It’s been made clear already: You’re not fit to raise him…)
Pressured? Bored? Judged and ignored? Humiliated? Belittled? Frustrated?
It will lead to what, exactly?
O, when he leaves School! For just a moment there
I was worried.
No, no. Not a problem. Not a problem at all.
Maybe he’ll run with a bad crowd, break a few laws, end up in the gutter?
Yes. Maybe.
But it’s out of my hands.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 4:34 PM UTC
Please handle with care the man sat in the chair
he's not a millionaire, but priceless to me.
He's not a Saint, he's made mistakes,
he's as stubborn as they come, cantankerous and moody,
but while he's there in your care, please bear in mind,
though, grouchy, argumentative and he's driving you to despair,
he's mine and my siblings dad, he's a husband, a grandfather, brother,
uncle, nephew and once himself a son.
Yes, he's been bad.
Yes, we've made him sad.
Yes, he's a flirt (that's for Mam).
Yes, we're aware of his faults, that makes him human, but, he's ours, and we'd like to be selfish and keep the moody, grouchy,
cantankerous old man a little longer.
So, please just handle him with care.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
I was drinking from the skull
Of a long dead bird, I had eaten
It a while back, it tasted like
Chicken!!
But not much to the bone.
I wondered if I was like
Hannah,
Henry,
Hello
Brain remember it, any way
Mind did wonder past my
Teeth, tongue it slid like
That jelly mother did make.
I gagged a moment, but then
All settled not a zombie,
But not a bad tasting brain.
"Hannibal"
"Lecture"
"Lector"
Snuck down stairs, DVD on
I remember the noise and
"Clarice"
Remember pinkie raised
When drinking from a cup
Haha...
Its the little things that make me
Smile. How you doing there friend
He doesn't talk much now, smells
Funny too, but even the dead are
Company when you only have you.
Apocalyptic
Apocalypse
Stopped
Everything, screaming, crying, chill
Its not that bad no tax, no big
Brother looking down on you.
"Ok running for your life"
"Keeps you healthy"
Plus
"Eating leftovers mouldy in a bin"
*"What doesn't **** you makes you stronger"*
"Negative"
As I regurgitate it back to the bin,
It has its pros and cons
But I miss the chatter
The one on one,
"How was your day"
"You look tasty"
"Why you looking at me that way"
Knife to the side of the head.
"BOOOM"
"O'no you didn't"
Skinny little freak trying biting moves,
This isn't PAC MANtm fool.
You meet interesting people on the road,
All I want to do is have some
"Apocalyptic Chatter"
"Howdy Mam"
That's a big knife I say!!
As I pull out old faithful,
She screams I cant take that
And runs off screaming the other way
**Run ***** Run,**
The Apocalypse isn't boring
But I do miss the day to day chatter waking each day.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
its so hard
to watch you suffer
you gave me life
my sweet mother
to see the pain
in your face
feeling so hopeless
cos i can,t take your place
what will i do
when your gone
i,ll remember the times
you made me strong
i,ll remember all the love
over all the years
a loving mum
who always cares
i,ll cry you a river
it will break my heart
for i hoped and prayed
we,d never part
through all my tears
and all my pain
i know in my heart
we will meet again
so keep your loving arms open
smile a smile only a mother can give
till the day we meet in heaven
i,ll remember as long as i live
the sweetest mum
that walked the land
you earned the right
to hold gods hand
look out for me mum
like you always used to do
cos when my time on earth is done
i,ll surely look for you
i love you mam xxxxxxxxxx
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
doctor i'm in troubledon't know what to dosix o'clock on the doti always have a poolisten dai, thats normalyour bowels regulate.but our mam is going bonkers....i don't get up till eight
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 1:22 AM UTC
Mi fatha
Mi fatha wer a miner,
a big owd man wer ee,
wi an eart so bold it wer solid gold
en that wer plain te see,
al si thee yung un he wud sey
as off te pit eed trot,
mi mam ed never know if eed be
cumin bak or not.
**** denaby pit e wud gu
a dank en dusky hole,
twer not much gud fer a man like im
ee wer’nt a ****** mole!,
bak brekin werk wer hewin coyel
en freekinin dark en all,
en colliers werst neetmare
wer wen th roof ed fall,
trapt **** pits n’ha way tu dee
en that ah’m tellin thee,
tis gud advice tu stop up top
ah’l tell thee that fer free,
ah’l allus remember copper
e cem a knocking
mi mam she fear’d werst
wen ah’la sudden
a flooda tears did berst,
n’ha th pit ed got mi fatha
ee wer’nt cumin om at all
twer th coliers werst neetmare
th roof.. ed ad.. a fall.
Alan nettleton.
translation for non yorkie's
My father was a miner
a great big man was he,
with a heart so bold
it was solid gold
and that was plain to see,
I’ll see you young one he would say
as off to the pit he’d trot,
my mother never knew
if he was coming back or not,
down denaby pit he would go
a dank and dusky hole,
it wasn’t much good for a man like him
he wasn’t a ****** mole,
back breaking work was hewing coal
and frightening dark and all,
the colliers worst nightmare
was when the roof would fall,
trapped down the pit is no way to die
and that I’m telling thee,
it’s good advice to stop up top
I’ll tell you that for free,
I’ll always remember the policeman
came a knocking,
my mother she feared the worst ,
when all of a sudden
a flood of tears did burst,
now the pit had got my father
he wasn’t coming home at all,
it was the colliers worst nightmare
the roof it had .....a fall.
Alan nettleton
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 9:44 PM UTC
She spat, she swore she fumed on me,
This little old lady of seventy three,
She called me bad and ugly as sin,
She said all this with a comfortable grin,
Her contempt for me was clear as day,
I asked her why she felt this way,
She tore my top and scratched my cheek,
Pulled my hair and cried “you freak”,
I took all this with no attitude,
Her language so vile and manner so rude,
I could do nothing but offer love,
That was rebuked with a cold shove,
Her eyes they burned into my face,
As I enveloped her with a warm embrace,
She yelled she kicked and punched my chest,
I tried to calm her, I did my best,
I had to call for the nurse at the end,
But a broken heart she could not mend,
She helped my mam back into bed,
And gave her pills to sooth her head,
After a while I recognised again,
The mother I love, in no more pain,
My father arrived with the moon,
They danced together across the room,
They didn’t notice me in the chair,
But to tell you the truth I didn’t care,
I was at ease with their meeting again,
I sighed and whispered no more pain,
Alzheimer’s is a wicked disease,
It’s brought our family to its knees,
We watched our mam slipping away,
Forgetting her life’s worth every day,
It’s only the love that keeps you strong,
And the memories of where we belong,
Heartbroken now but I feel at rest,
Coz I love you mam you are the best.
Christina Ford
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
I first met her in november 2014
and she listened to what was getting me down
and i told her everything about me
and my past including my **** illnesses
and how my Dad left when i was 8,
and that even though my family didn’t know,
I was struggling beyond belief.
I would go and see her for the regular reassurance.
June 2016 came and she said
“Go and be wonderful”
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
My body aches, shakes with cold
I await the return of my parents.
Head pounds like a kick drum
stomach acid burns, burns, burns.
I love you Mam,
I love you Dad.
But I'm bad. Evil and mad.
Depression comes in two forms;
Extremes. I loved but could not have
and now. Nothingness.
An Arctic sea envelops me.
I love you Mam,
I love you Dad.
But I am bad. Evil and mad.
Alcohol could never save me.
They all love me, then they leave me
take my body and abuse me.
Use me, use me, use me.
Help me Mam.
Help me Dad.
I'm sick. I'm mad, mad, mad.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC