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Narrative Child Poems | Narrative Poems About Child

These Narrative Child poems are examples of Narrative poems about Child. These are the best examples of Narrative Child poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

The Clouds

"THERE HE WAS HOLDING HIS HAND OUT"

My voice=
God, can I hold your hand and go with you?

"Gods voice"
My sweet child, it is I who will walk with you now! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across the earth... Your love and devotion are what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You always ran up to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles of tribulations. We could not speak, but it was my light that would not allow you to get weak.

My voice=
Is this that dream of beauty? The one in the book my preacher spoke of. 
Yes! I remember it now it is called paradise. I felt this company once before, Lord.
Many times, I have forsaken this light, and still it never left my door.
I felt it the day I was born, and the day I became baptized in your holy name.
I felt this light before, can you explain it some more? 
Lord pleases clarify that day I fell down to my knees and accepted Jesus as my savior? 
Every day since, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my own failures’.  Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"

"Gods voice" 
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road.  This light never left you. 
My sweet child did you not listen, Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible. My child you were not searching for the right answers.

My voice= 
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray right?

"Gods voice"
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself, which left questions for someone else.  
At times how could I answer when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your souls disguises.

My voice= 
Lord, I have other questions to ask. 
What should I expect out of my personal sins? My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since my adolescence days. 
How is it that I am in your promise land?

"Gods voice"
Getting right with me has brought you here!

My voice= 
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see them? My Daughter, Mothers, and Sisters~

by;PD


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Shaken to the Core

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me. 
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif. 

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped 
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body. 
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life. 
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
 
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears, 
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK". 
I lied, knowing it wouldn't.  Besides what could I do with so little to give. 
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me. 


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Evacuation and Loss

The night shone for the full moon,
Sky brewing a coarse monsoon,
Bolted were windows, locked were doors,
The frequency of death frighteningly soared.
But who was this infant high upon the hill?
He denied the storm and just stood stone still,
Eyes shut like blinds and fingers dug into ground,
Felt he could move no muscle, for was sadly street bound.
Shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tight round
His skinny body, battered and browned
Praying for the sake of friends, family and all
However imaginary, he imagined them call
 “Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry, remember our love”
Joining their gaze in the beyond above,
He softly mumbled a song to forget,
The once daily song that was always a duet,
Alone on that hill without any feel,
Of an afterlife he finally accepted, wasn’t real
Tears met the floor, now bathed in yellow light,
As lightning struck him too quick to fright,
Child lay on the floor, dismembered and black,
Though his mouth was smiling and his happiness had come back,
As re-joined with family, head held high, 
He waved his tortured existence goodbye.
Hugging his mum and his dad the same,
Somehow put an end to the incessant rain,
The natives emerged from their homes, safe and sound,
The boy crying for happiness at the new life he had found.
Soul peering at his body, dead at age eleven,
Holding family’s hands they could finally pass on and join heaven. 
The touch of their skin brought old emotion,
 Parents who were torn betwixt war and devotion,
A child whom they gave their best shot,
By train to board and bomb to not.
The grave of the boy with the electric crown,
Who carried a burden he couldn’t live down,
Stood proud in the yard of cobbles and stones,
For everyone knew those were a heroes bones,
When you look into the sky on a stormy night,
Remind yourself of the boy’s plight.
As he is the clouds that damper weather,
Out to protect his town, children altogether,
He wanted a life for them around,
That didn’t consist of being mentally wound,
A life that he could never possess,
But he did not bathe in spiralling depress.
Life is sacred, upon that hill,
Those cobbles and stones bring great goodwill,
For the sun only shines on that grassy land,
Still holding marks of the boy’s humble hand,
Some say that the yearly rain,
Is him up above, the tears of a chain.
The chain of the tears shed on that night,
Of the fear and happiness’ conventional recite,
Up above, being tucked under the covers,
Is a little boy with an injury he recovers,
Mother kisses his head and says her goodnight,
Father over bed, comforting a nightmare fright.
Drifting off, the boy could hear,
A little rhyme to calm his fear,
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry remember our love-“
The young man rose slowly in his bed,
Opened his eyes and smiled as he said
“I’m here”


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Night Angel

They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
The man.
The child.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
The terror
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Agonizing
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A passer-by.
A doer of good deeds.
He stops.
He sees.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
Bravely
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
He runs.
He hides.
The passer-by,
Believing he saved
A child
From a long, cold walk,
In reality
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.


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You're a Super Hero - Poetry Contest

It was time to sit little Timmy down
It was time to have "The Talk"
"Timmy" I said "Timmy your daddy is the super hero known as"
it is here I took a dramatic pause and finally said
"Cabbage Head"

At this point i waited patiently,
patiently for Timmy to stop laughing. 
I tried to continue but Tim wouldn't have it
"no dad please, please don't speak I'm trying to catch my breath"

I remained silent. Just then Timmy said 
"so whose your sidekick cauliflower ears"
he was now gasping for air through his hysterical laughter

Timmy I said "calm down we have to talk"
Timmy stopped laughing but then he added
"so where do you keep your Super Hero costume?
In the vegetable crisper" back to Tim laughing
which led me to believe Tim was being sarcastic

" What's your superpower? The ability to
control itty biddy Bunnies to do your bidding,
(again with the sarcasm)
turning meat eaters into Vegetarians.
(my child hits the nail on the head)
So who is your arch nemesis Vegetable Chopper, he slices he dices."
(this kid knows a lot about me)
"No no I know Salad Dressing he drenches you in his juices
until you wilt." That's ridiculous I think
I would never fight a bad guy named Salad dressing
...again.

I decided I would give Timmy some time
to absorb our serious talk while I made a call.
In fact I decided to wait until the next day
I had to call my sidekick. The phone rang. He answered
I said "Cauliflower Ear is that you"




Maurice Yvonne
August 30 2014
You're a Super Hero
Poetry Contest-Carol Eastman


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Daniel the Conqueror

In a land far away was a family with two boys
The oldest loved sports the youngest only toys.
You should be like your big brother the father would always say
It’s time for you to toughen up and leave this childish play.
Yes Quinton was a fighter, loved games of every sort,
But nothing did he want to do more than play a sport.
Daniel he was meek and mild a softie like his mother
He hated when his dad would say, “Be more like your brother.”
Hurt and down he took a walk up on a rocky hill
Throwing stones hard at the water, he let his anger spill.
Why doesn’t my dad love me? Into the air he cried,
Kicking rocks with fists curled, tight against his side.

Meanwhile on an island far across the sea
A leader spoke to the animals, almost like a plea.
Legends say a leader from mainland shall appear 
A strong and faithful warrior, a boy that has no fear.
How shall we find this man child? Asked the animals out loud,
We’ve never seen a human said a yearling really proud.
The Albatross said strong and brave, I will bring him here
I know he isn’t very far, I feel his presence near.
The bird flew out across the sea searching high and low
Wondering where he’d find him, the boy they needed so.
There; high up on a hill side a warrior stood so tall,
He knew it was the chosen one, for he could hear him call.

Now in a flash he swooped down, grabbed Daniel real fast
The albatross was thinking, I’ve found the boy at last.
Daniel he was screaming as he dangled by one leg
Flying over water yelling let me go I beg.
As they neared the island, the animals all gathered round
Watching as the big white bird, let their hero down.
Welcome said a racoon, we’ve waited here so long
Today we’ll have a party, let’s fill the woods with song.
They sat all night telling horrible tales of an enemy they feared
And all felt a little safer now that Daniel had appeared.
I’m not the hero you think I am, there’s been a bad mistake
And a little bunny looked at him, you must be for my sake.

Daniel fell in love that night with all his new friends here
None of them made him feel bad, they made him feel so dear.
For their sakes I must beat this foe, an enemy, a disgrace 
Making sure he never comes back to this peaceful place.
For days they planned together, what everyone would do
And when the varmint showed up they stood up to him too.
Instead of running and hiding, they stood together tight 
The badger lost the battle and ran home fast that night.
The wise old owl thanked Daniel for ridding the beast at last
Conquering their worst enemy, who now is in the past.
On wings of love the hero left his friends on the islands strand
When Daniel went back home that day, he had become a man.

The moral of my story? With a little love and trust,
Everyone can be a hero, we are more than clay and dust.
 
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.18.2014
Carol Eastman’s Contest: 
Fable to the Rescue 
1st


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A Mothers Last Goodbye

“Good-bye my daughter dear,” she said As tears welled up in her eyes “It’s time for me to go to sleep This must be no surprise The good Lord knows my battles And my health is ailing still He’s given me so many blessings I’ve passed them to you in my will I’m sad to say good-bye For we have shared much joy Remember me to Sarah My grandchild I love and enjoy I love you my daughter These years together have been sweet I’m so glad you love the Lord And again we will meet I’m not afraid of dying ‘Cause I know that in a while Christ will call me from my grave I feel my life has been worthwhile For I taught you to seek your Father To help you through every trial He’ll always be there to guide you With never a denial I leave you in His hands”, she said As she gently kissed her daughter’s hand Her eyes closed very slowly Against cancer she’d lost her stand She’d been a wonderful mother Teacher and true friend Faithful to her Lord And gracious to the end. Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2007-2012


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What Colour

What Colour?

What colour are the oceans?
On warm summer days the oceans are crystalline blue, with bright streaks
Of ivory flouting on the crest of each wave just before it crashes down
Into total oblivion!

And what colour are the mountains that enkindle a dying sun?
The mountains are bright red, like a burning ember in the flame
Of fire off our multimillion mile star, as it slowly dips to rest
Till the morning!

Oh what colour is a new born child?
A child holds the beauty of youth in colours that span the years of its parents 
Age, until the greying colour of passing seasons takes away the child in us all.

And what colour is the moon above us?
In late fall the moon flickers in shades like lucent charcoal as it slowly cools,
Then turns to black!

What colour are our hopes, what colour are our dreams?
Nevermore are our hopes mixed in the colour of our dreams, for in wake our 
Soul equates the mind for a second then is gone.

And what colour stands for the worth of our lives?
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colors more radiant than our past
But still more mysterious than our future

                  By M. Norton
















The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colours more radiant then our past
But still more mysterious then our future


                      By M. Norton


Details | Narrative | |

she dying to survive

deprived of a father to tell her that her skirts to small
she wore it to hug her hips and rise with every sway in her walk
her mother, another statistic of having babies to young,
was to whipped in her dip trying to be hip so she cheered her poor child on

she's dying to survive in a broken home
daddy not around to watch her spend a penny and mamas hardly home
she's dying to survive and she's put her school on hold
she's another undereducated black child with no priorities or goals

she careers soliciting her body, making it hobby to walk up and down blocks
waiting for the right brotha she can sweet talk and pick pocket
at the honk of his horn, she stops hot trotting
hopped in his car and found a quiet spot for lip locking

her hand rises up his leg, she feels for his man
he nods giving her consent
she prices her body for those new Jordan and dolce & gabbani
she'd rather rock the latest fashions then to feed her starving body

she's hopelessly devoted to being the hottest at the parties
she's dying to survive wanting attention to feel the space neglected by another 
who makes alcohol a hobby
she's dying to survive rich living is her poverty

she's deaf to her inner voice that yells to her it's wrong
she confides in bad associates who cheer her on
she doesn't know this is how she's dying
she's dying to survive


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The Best day of My Life

I always thought that I knew love
How intense that feeling could be
But, you were my gift from above
Just exactly what I'd need

I never thought I'd be a mother
I thought that time had past
It was a shock to believe another
For I was pregnant at last

I was 39 at the time 
I felt kind of tired and old 
My doctor said that I was fine
And a child is precious like gold

It wasnt always very easy 
Being pregnant, working each day
Some times I'd get kind of queasy
But, eventually it went away

Tests, ultrasounds, bloodwork , all were fine 
An amnio to see if you were okay
Monthly appointments, filled much of my time
Everything was progressing each day

I worked until the day before
Your grandparents flew out to see
I was very ready, couldn't take no more
Wanted my child for just for me

Finally the day had come,when I was to see my son
I got up early, got everything ready, even checked your room.
Slowly I drove to the hospital ,awaiting for the fun
For this was it what I had waited for, i'd see you before noon. 

At the hospital they readied me
A Doctor put a catheter in my back
My Mom and Dad rushed up to see
Their grandchild in a wrap

I told them of my nervousness 
How I forgot the words to say
So together we as a family
We were able to pray

I had to wait for a long time 
Emergency twins were on the way
They said I was next in line 
In the holding room was where I stay

So at 930 they brought me in to the room
They draped a sheet in front of my face
I hoped my head wouldn't  zoom 
I wanted to start this race
 
At 9:54 you came into my life
Your Dad ran to the end to see
The child that was bore by his wife
We became a family of three

My eyes filled with tears and I felt joy
It was all so new, I never had felt it before
Here's your child, perfect, handsome, and its a boy
For on that day my love for you grew even more

The bond between a mother and son
Is a story that can't be told
To look into your little eyes, I was overcome
My memories of that first time will never get old

So on this day when you had came 
Was the best day I could have ever thought
Never mind fortune and fame
To have a child is a lesson in life that can never ever be taught. 


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Baseball in Heaven

My grandfather and I had a special relationship.

When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore.  But, my family moved away from 
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my 
grandfather.  Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to 
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles.  I was the one grandchild who 
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.

Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when 
he was young.  In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make 
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or 
get married and raise a family.  As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by 
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that 
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove, 
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.

But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the 
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the 
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles.  As crummy as the Baltimore bums are 
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than 
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.

I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing.  Had he 
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a 
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much 
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.

When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once 
again strap on his spikes and don the leather.  Without a doubt, they must play baseball in 
heaven.  And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young 
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.

(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)


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Wild Flower

Wild Flower
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 In Death Of A Rose by Nate Spears
 
Rescue this sunflower
It's capable of being a ray of light
Nurture it, value it, and love it
Its petals are more delicate than they appear in sight
 
 A wild flower it is; but it displays beauty
The facts of its species remain unknown
Its fight to reach its true potential is admired
It’ birth to existence is undetermined
 It’s roots shows trauma
Its presentation brings hesitates to potential caregivers
No one's prepared to take a chance
This flower is destined to win
 
All earthly roots sprout from above
At some point in a life’s span; we could use a kiss or hug
 He who refuses to display any element of the wild
Is merely real
An artificial representation of life
Stuck in Styrofoam surrounded by fake moss and dust
No breath, no soul, non-existence
A human being choked from an outer dimension.
Rescue this wild flower with love.


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A Christmas Tale

As evenings dark began to close in
a little girl wipes her nose on her sleeve.
Listless and hungry she walks in the snow
a poor and lost soul, one cold New Year’s Eve.

Her dead mothers slippers were much to large,
they were flip flopping while crossing the street,
two wild carriages coming full speed
made her lose them, now she walks in bare feet.

She glances in windows as she walks by,
families eating and making good cheer,
her pains from hunger she tries to ignore,
she’s starving and freezing, poor little dear.

The north winds cold breeze keeps blowing her face
catches her breath as it blows back her hair.
She spots a dark alley where she can lay,
Tired and windblown she can no longer care.

She curls in a ball tucking frozen feet
carefully under her old blanket cloak,
she leans on the building, closing her eyes
now given up and her spirits are broke.

A shaggy old dog, nudges her gently
she hugs him and draws him close to her heart,
smiling she whispers, we’ll go together 
when Jesus finds us, we’ll never more part

Then both of their eyes close, she bathes in dreams,
sitting at a fire, with food on the hearth.
When she awakes, a lady stands smiling,
pats the old dog saying, good boy old Barth.



The Little Match Girl by H.C. Anderson
Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.


Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
12.03.2014
Contest: A Christmas Tale
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi


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Boy at the Fair - Well, I Declare

I watched, fascinated, as the tall lone boy
in line to ride the Scrambler
stuffed handfuls of peanuts in his mouth.
This was the same boy I had spied just an hour ago
further down the way
where thirteen seemingly ravenous, foolish people 
bent their heads to plates, and with hands behind their backs,
plunged their faces into myriads of pies.
He hadn't won the contest but had come rather close;
the nuts he was eating now replaced the pies he'd fed his face.
But telling stains of blueberry and meringue remained
upon the long sleeved shirt.

The line for our ride proceeded at a turtle's pace
till finally we got into our seats.
Secured inside, we waited to begin.
Close by, I saw the boy unbutton
the top of his already loose baggy jeans,
a timely gesture I would say!
Then folks around us howled 
as round and round we went.
Perhaps some screams held terror.
Mine held only delight.
And when the ride was finished,
we exited as quickly as we could
though giddy from that sweet rush of adrenaline.

I glanced a final time at that strange lad.
He stooped and sputtered something to the ground:
a few whole peanuts and a couple of blue tinged chunks.
Disgust was worn on the faces of the onlookers around us,
but only I was well aware of all the food 
he’d still managed to hold down!
He wiped his mouth on one long sleeve
and stared right back at them;
well, I declare, 
he headed straightway toward a fragrant hot dog stand. 



 
.




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Crazy

My friends and I had midnight hide and seek
One had to stand by a tree and not peek
In my state of hiding great I was hard to find
My friends decided to just be unkind
They all got together and decided to hunt me down
I first hid in the river near my house and almost drown
When they walk close by me I silently move through the grass
It was very hard to see, but I crawled a long time and almost ran out of gas
Then I heard one say that they were going up and wait by the tree
I had an idea that made a way to make them see
A shadow that ran in the distance thinking that would be
I had my horse pull a little manikin to make them think it was me
My friends took their flashlight and shined it toward it
I thought I had them but one thing was clear they did not fall for it not a bit
They all laugh and started to call out my name
They all asked how the heck did you have time to pull that trick that was so lame
I did not answer so they kept on looking for me, but I was so quick 
Some of my friends started to get really mad and tick
I was a master of doing weird things they all knew what I can do
The night was still young and the grass was collecting dew
I decided to make a distraction once again
To think of it, it would probably make the night end
My friends finally surrounded my tree house
I was quiet, so quiet, more than a mouse
I had some rope in the tree house to make my escape
To distract them I made a loud noise like an ape
The tree that my tree house was in was at least forty feet up
I had some stash in my tree house a drink or two in a cup
My final hour is about to end I did not want my friends to catch me till I got to the tree
I took the rope and tide it on a branch and pushed off and that was the key
I landed on the garage roof and sneaked my way to the tree
My friends knew me to well that they plan things before I could see
They had a fish net ready for me to step into
I thought that was kinda wise and some what like pew
The few feet by the tree there was two of my friends that was ready
Up in the tree they both jumped down and pulled me up in the net fast and steady
They thought they had won, the person had to tag me before I touch tree
She ended up having to get something to stand on to reach me
I swung my weight back and forth till I ended up touching and the game ended
My friends and I were so full of surprises and that is what the game handed


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TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS

TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS Daddy's little girl is going. Daddy's little girl is slowly leaving... Silent night... it's what the angels are singing Outside there are ringing laughter, however-- on a hospital bed which was cold white as the snow lies the body of a little girl, dead. Her little soul just had to go. She just had to go ahead than the others. Her once sun kissed face when she smiles now the palest cream. Her once twinkling eyes now shut so tight. The glow of light and love she always bring was lost on Christmas night, as Santa stood in red and white holding a present on his hands staring at the child his eyes wet with falling tears for his little girl had died. ©O. E. Guillermo 12:02 am, November 27, 2014


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A Woman's Worth

A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears


Her purpose in this world is hurting
She’s never been a designed of perfect
But she is a mom, so she’s super
She works
She cleans
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
The house 
Making it a home
For a beautiful family to roam
Building wonderful memories
Becoming a woman of worth
Keeping her faith through Christ
Keeping her pace through health
Keeping her sanity through managing
This is a woman’s worth 
I’m giving you


Despite of all the stress 
She receives her family with open arms
Through all the mess
She’s a fantastic mom
A wonderful woman 
Deserving a round of applause
Plus a standing ovation
For always being an American sensation
That held this continent down since day one
Since the Plymouth Rock landed on us
Thank you for her giving
Thank you for her living
Thank you for her children
This is ,
A woman’s worth.


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Beautiful Bloody Angel

Bloody fetus in a jar 
I buried her, at sixteen years old.
My heart crumbled for the very first time. 
I want to know her skin,
Every smile line, every dimple, 
Every scar that has yet to fade like and incision too deep on my lung
I can’t breathe.
I want to know her scent
And I dream of it like it is the breeze of the coast
I can feel the vibrations of the ocean smacking against my skin
Weeping, rapping, weeping, rapping,
Weeping
As I fall to my knees. 
I want to know. 
what you meant
when you said to me “Baby I’m gone”
gone home
running home
gone home
ill go
wherever you are 
I want to know.
I want to see the crop farmers clapping to the weight of wind 
Let me in
To you
I want to know,
Your love.
Every opportunity that arises that meteor showers this millennium
And the way the clouds hide it all
Underneath their power to protect us from what,
From what.
Like the weight of the world fell on my shoulders
And the clichés clapped at the poet’s last line
And the heavens smoke glazed my eyes
As I stepped outside 
Put my thumb up for a ride
Because I want to know
The smell of dissatisfaction 
And the tingle of effective poison
And the embrace of a lost loved one
Up there, covered in clouds
That protect me
From seeing her
My sweet, sweet baby.
My beautiful bloody angel.
I want to know what it is like to forgive,
have my mind freed of all resentment 
and neglect of the happiness that went hidden into the frozen corners of my brain.
I want to know love,
to know contentment and stability and the light that rains on so many men,
so many women.
I want to grasp that.
I want to hold peace and press it against my chest.
I want to take God and cup him in my hands and scream
“Where Were You!”
Where have you been!
Where will you be when I am falling… or floating
Where will you be.
I want to know
Where is she.
Not just about that old mason jar buried in my garden
But God, did she fall or did she float?
Because I want to know
Because wherever she went I will go. 




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REMEMBER ME

When you don't know how many tomorrows you'll have, 
You tend to focus in the immediacy of today;
A homeless child just trying to survive.
Rummaging through dump rubbish every day.

Another afternoon in this hellish forsaken place, 
Ankle deep in garbage scavenging a dinner plan;
Feeling particularly weak and sick on my stomach, 
When a large group pulled up in two white vans.

The slide doors of these vans opened fast, 
And well dressed people jumped out in a hurry;
Honestly, I was glad that I wasn't too close, 
They were strangely awkward, I was worried.

The group spoke a different language, 
I think they were from The United States;
Most of them were snapping pictures, 
Which is something I do not appreciate.

They were drinking cold bottles of water, 
What I'd give just to have a taste;
I'd be happy with a half empty hot bottle, 
In this sewage minefield of trash and waste.

One of the strangers seemed different, 
There was something about his eyes;
He seemed to look right into my soul, 
As I stood there swatting away flies.

It's hard to describe what I was feeling, 
Although little time had actually passed;
There on that filthy hill I felt a bonding, 
I remember wanting this moment to last.

On his face I saw sadness and passion, 
He could tell I was a boy totally broken;
Existing day to day on this stench heap,
We were talking but no words were spoken.

Then someone in the group said something, 
And the group quickly boarded up to go;
Except for the one locked in on me, 
From the vans they shouted "Come on, Joe!"

He ran to the van.. and grabbed something, 
Then with sensed urgency he rushed over to me;
The kind stranger delivered two ice cold waters, 
His contagious smile was large and friendly.

As he turned to go I tapped him on his shoulder, 
He swung around I was shocked to see tears;
I felt a simple pure love from this angel,
Who from out of nowhere suddenly appears.

Walking back to the van he turned and waved, 
I took a long drink to salute.. no longer thirsty;
The rest of my life this moment sealed in time, 
For him as well, I think Joe will always remember me!

For Sheri's "Out Of Water" Contest
*He gave more than a Drink.. He gave Dignity! 

Narrative Poem 
From the city dump in Puarta Plata, Dominican Republic

Poet: Lyric Man


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Hugs

There is no hint, or clue
This sweet child of two
Could ever comprehend
this hug, and how it heals
all the wrongs the world has known
how it takes me to moon, gives me hope when I am blue.

With his unknowing, smiling face,
A cowlick in his hair, freckles here and there 
Who takes the air from my lungs with a glance
Skin glistening, pink and rosy from the sun,
As he comes bounding through the door,
Mud on his small shoes and face
Without an inkling or a trace..
No idea of how the pace 
of my heart bursts, in the wake 
of emotions I feel

The way that my arms would wrap around 
His small body so tightly, that he would gasp.
This well of love that I can't express....

    But of course, I don't squeeze so tightly.
      I must hold my love for him
        With more restraint,
          Keep my arms encircled in a more gentle embrace,
             For he wouldn't understand how much love
                His sweet presence stirs up the air I breathe
                   This child, this precious son of my daughter
                      Will never know....the joy...
                        how this one little boy
                          has made my life complete




....
for Skat's contest: Hugs


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My Fantasy, My Husband

My Fantasy, My Husband July 25, 2011
As a child I had a dream, was’ such a fantasy only a princess in a fairytale surely 
dreamt such things! In my heart he dwelled; this prince my dream, my fantasy I 
knew so well. My mind filled with thoughts of him day and night for our souls 
touched in the night as I lay dreaming.
Life happens and everything in it for a reason. Having lost so much my baby in 
heaven, my boys gone with their father, my heart’s broken! I lost all that I ever held 
close now memories for this princess who once had a dream.
He exits the elevator and comes my way. I hope he stops to talk even if my boss 
said to stay away from him. Once more, I have begun to dream and my fantasies 
have come back to life. He dwelled in my heart as a child when I lay dreaming. This 
is my prince, my fantasy the one whose soul touched mine. My prince and I shall be 
his princess!
People say we are too different; he would not ever marry you. Life and 
circumstances are all against us. He is a wealthy, smart doctor. You are poor and 
have no degree. What could he see in you or could you have in common? 
Soul mates now together as one in my dream, my fantasy my fairytale alive and 
true. My husband, My Prince surrounds me with love not caring what others might 
say or think. Together as one, I continue to dream and share all life’s fantasies one 
by one.
				                    Debbie Knapp /Princess


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Teaching an Old Dog

All I remember is going into the garage to get the snow shovel.
 
I am not even sure how much of the driveway I managed to shovel.  Apparently, I was lying in the snow for several hours before one of the neighbors noticed me.

The next thing I remember is waking up from a deep sleep to the sounds of beeping machines with tubes and wires stuck into and on my body.

As I slowly regained consciousness and my eyes were able to focus, I was aware of a young, bald child looking down on me.

“Hi,” said the smiling, angelic face.  Given the child’s age and complete baldness, I could not tell whether they were a boy or a girl.  And, with the tube inserted in my throat and taped to my mouth, I was in no position to return their salutation.

I tried to remember who this child might be and why they were here with me.  I guess my eyes displayed my confusion as the child said, “I'm Elizabeth.  They let me walk around the hospital a little.  Sometimes I sneak out of the oncology wing and look for people who have no visitors.  I like to make sure someone is there when they wake up.  I know I always like to see someone when I wake up from my operations.”

She just stood above me smiling.  I then noticed she was holding my hand.

“Sometimes it is hard for family members or friends to come visit.  Some people just really don’t like hospitals.  And, I guess”, she said, “not everybody has someone that close to them.  So, I like to become their visitor for them.  I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t mind.  Although it did make me embarrassed to realize that I fit in the latter category; I didn’t have anybody that close to me.

She just smiled at me and petted my hand as the medications worked their magic on me and I started to drift back off to sleep.  I heard a nurse come into the room and say, “There you are, Honey.  You need to get back to your room now and leave this nice man be.”

The next time I regained consciousness, I noticed a hand drawn picture of a house with a Christmas tree out front with a note that said, “I hope you get home before Christmas” and was signed by Elizabeth.

Each new day, I was welcomed by another drawing of Christmas scenes; smiling faces; reindeer; and, starry skies.  All containing a happy note and all signed, ”Love, Elizabeth”.

After ten days of recovery and following the insertion of two stents into my heart, I was well enough to return to my empty home.  On my way out of the hospital, I stopped by the Oncology Wing to say good-bye and thank you to Elizabeth.  When I asked the nurse at the floor station where I could find Elizabeth, she replied, “Oh I'm sorry, Elizabeth is no longer with us.”

I then said, “Well can you tell me her home address or phone number, I would really like to thank her for visiting me in my hospital room this past week.”

The look on the nurse’s face indicated that I misunderstood what she had meant.  Elizabeth was no longer with us.

Sadly, I started walking towards the exit.

Just before I got to the elevator, I noticed an open door with a man lying on his bed, with tubes in his nose and throat and nobody else in the room with him.  I went into his room and sat in the empty chair.

When he opened his eyes two hours later, I said, “Hi, I'm Joe.  I noticed there was nobody here when you were brought back from your operation and I know how nice it is to see a smiling face when you wake up, so I thought I would sit here with you for a while.  I hope you don’t mind.”

He squeezed my hand; gave a slight smile; and, slowly drifted off back to sleep.


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Malala Yousafzai

Malala Yousafzai,
a Pakistani school girl,
was shot in the head
because she wanted an education.
A cowardly brain dead camel humping
moronic rat bastard raghead nazi shot her
for that reason and that reason alone,
she is a female and she wanted
to obtain a decent education
and have a bright future in this
turbulent world in which we live.
Malala lived and is well on her way
to becoming a brilliant young spokeswoman
for the equality of opportunity for
girls and women all over the world.
I pray for her safety and continued success.
And may every warped brainless raghead nazi’s
sorry worthless soul burn in Hell for all eternity.


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Cotton Field


                               Each summer my parents would take us to
                               my grandfather’s ranch in Southern Texas
                                 to help with different  jobs. It might be
                             branding cattle,  digging fence post holes, or
                                picking cotton! My parents had told us
                                   stories about the cotton fields as I
                                  grew up. I wasn't old enough yet to
                                      partake in this miserable job.

                              One fine morning my brothers and I were
                            awakened before daylight dressed, fed, and
                               taken a mile down to the cotton fields!

                               We were handed heavy cotton ducking
                               sacks, they were over twice as long as I
                                       was. We all started diligently
                                        filling our sacks with cotton.
                            Under the hot summer day sun, which was
                                beating down. The field was elegantly
                 plowed with neat rows, lined with brown dried plants, with
                                beautiful fluffy white soft cotton and
                               seeds in bolls. A protective vessel that
                         does its job with sharp burrs that make picking
                              cotton by hand quite painful, and bloody.

                               I walked up and down the cotton rows
                              dragging my heavy sack. With blistering
                                   sun overheating my body, I had
                              began to ache, getting weaker, the sack
                                 got heavier every minute My hands
                            had swollen up with cuts that were bleeding
                                 from removing the cotton out of the
                                  bolls. After a while I started feeling
                                faint,running a fever, heaving, then I
                            collapsing to the soft plowed black soil. My
                                   family  run over wondering what
                          had gone wrong. I had developed Heat Stroke!

                               Never again was I brought back to the
                             cotton fields to perform that dreaded and
                                                   hated job!

                                  I just can’t imagine anyone  that
                               would want to put up with the misery
                            and suffering of doing that for a life time

©By: Eve Roper 12/8/2014


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Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears
	

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.


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My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess


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Teach the little ones

I stood at the gate and heard their screaming as I walked up the drive
children left to yell the proverbial hell, adult torment and live's
yet how do you make life better how do you make life fun
the dreams lie within you it's games you need to play

Timmy walked around the house with a hammer hitting the fridge
I asked "why why do you give him the hammer" "because he likes it"
With dispair can't you see the danger other children's heads 
just because the child like's it dosen't mean it's right

I would play with my son threaten to put him into the bath
threaten to put him into the wardrob laughter became the game
I would not give him a hammer just because he liked it
I gave him a cricket bat and taught him to hit the ball

I gave him lessons and taught him to catch the ball
I read to him and taught him to read 
I allowed him to to try different clubs like wrestling and scouts
and with it all I joked and played teaching him to enjoy

It's not so hard to enjoy bringing up kid's 
all you need to learn is be an adult set the rules
and teach then to find the joy of life.


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My Story Telling Who is this Princes

The night air made her feel tired
As she looked out side all the fences were wired
In the distance she hears crowds yelling
As she was to young to know they were rebelling
Father she asked where are we going?
Mother said to keep quiet and keep walking

Mother yelled in the night air
Father gave out a blank stare
They yelled run my princess run as far as you can
As that moment past her little feet pushed off and she ran
She ran to the nearest bushes and crawled into it to hide
She never smelled the air before as if someone just had died

As she lay on the ground under a bush she heard 
A loud yell in the distance almost to absurd
My name is Angelica, I am just a young girl who does not know 
Angelica just wants to live her life with help to grow
Angelica did not know what just happened she notice a figure in the distance
A little person just like her, a strong but gentle presence

Angelica saw the people who were shouting run off toward the voice
She was scared and she knew that she had to make a choice
Angelica fragile state was so confused and lost
She knew it will take burden on her at a cost
But in that moment of quietness a young but strong voice called out
Can you trust me just because? will you come with me with no doubt

My Story Telling  Together In A Strange World


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Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay



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The Woods

I met a rabbit in the woods,
With no whisker but two boots,

I asked him, ‘Sir, where are your whiskers?’
He replied, ‘I traded them for a pair of boots and some biscuits’,

It did make no sense to me, to why a rabbit would do such,
As, a pair of boots and some biscuits could do him not much,

The rabbit muttered softly, ‘It is unwise of you to look down on us creatures,
Only because we haven’t any human features,’

I was taken aback by the rabbit’s statement,
Only to grin in ailment,

As for me, it is peculiar for a rabbit, whose gift is to hop,
To mask such a gift like what weed has done to fertile soil,

In great humility I questioned him once more, ‘How are you to escape a fox,
When it is done with a man’s lox?

You can jump not, with those boots on,
Making you an easy con,’

The rabbit then replied in displeasure, ‘I have brains of my own,
You make me frown,

I can take them off whenever I want,
And put them back on when I’m done,’

Notwithstanding, it made me still wonder,
‘What were the biscuits for, besides easing his hunger?’ 

Written by Sunil Rao.