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Ode Baby Poems | Ode Poems About Baby

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Details | Ode | |

Christmas Past

In midst of forest stands an ancient tree
decorated by nature with white cotton snow puffs,
icicles glisten and gleam sparkling in the sunlight.

Around its base are gathered all the forest's creatures
with pregnant pause they wait as the star shines out
a beacon to all calling out, hush now do you hear?

The sleigh bells ringing out as down swoops Santa
wait, he is not alone with him the blessed babe 
in distance approach the three wise men bears gifts.

All the creatures now on bended knees him they salute
the ancient tree smiles knowingly and the heavens
celebrate with comet tails and shooting stars the precious babe.

written 12/02/2014

contest Hush of Christmas Past


Details | Ode | |

Ode to Humphrey

The"tail" I have to tell, starts off really sad.
My sweet doggie Murphy died and my heart, it hurt so bad.
Until one day in early spring, I got a call that made my heart sing!
There were some puppies born in Waco, the daddy -Jasper, and mommy- Juneau.
Four little boys, three little girls. But the picture of one boy, made my heart twirl!
So I waited for a week or two, to meet my little puppy-oh so new!
I named him Humphrey, such a handsome boy! He has brought  laughter back and oh what a joy! He's super cute, and very smart. Many would say, he's a work of art!
He's learning new tricks, and how to potty outside. So many rules to learn and abide!
Humphrey is growing so quickly, the puppy breath will soon disappear. He will be an adult in less than a year! Every stage of his life is a blessing from above. I guess that's the true meaning of what we call "puppy love".



Details | Ode | |

Baby Making Machine

In times past they 
have suffered 
humiliation;
In centuries ago, 
dehumanization;
Their gods 
subjected them to 
suffering;
Turned them to 
objects of 
punching;

Deprived of the 
normal life;
Their windows cut 
with a knife;
At ten sold out to 
slavery;
To satisfy the lust 
of the gods of 
savagery;

They were lesser 
bodies;
Punched by the 
great bodies;
Limited to the
chimney and 
kitchen;
Seen by the gods 
as minute chickens;

Bought with some 
silly price;
Bought as a baby-
making machine;
Lesser bodies 
given out for a 
price of sacrifice;
To continue the 
cycle of the 
previous machine; 

Franchise denied;
Freewill 
confiscated;
Provision seized;
High life snatched;

They drink the 
liquid cancer of 
their god's 
corpse;
Their pride is 
shaved from their 
head;
And sleep for 
centuries with the 
dead;
And their purse 
coveted by force;

In the name of 
tradition;
Denied the 
treasure of 
education;
In the name of the 
ancestor's culture;
A drastic ruin in 
the future;

Yet these same 
lesser bodies;
Have suddenly 
stretched out 
hands to the 
Deities;
No longer limited 
to the kitchen;
Neither are they 
baby-making 
machines;

Queen Idia fought 
the Idah;
Queen Amina, a 
Zarian elder;
Queen Nzinga, one 
in a million;
Queen Neferiti, a 
woman lion;

Ms Sarah 
Akpojotor, 
knowing no end;
Dora Akunyili, a 
living legend;
Mother Theresa, a 
canonization;
Oprah Winfrey, a 
beatification;

Mary Slessor, a 
flowing river;
Whitney Houston, 
a diva;
Mrs Success, a 
romantic berry;
Bless you Dorothy 
Dandridge, Halle 
Berry;

They are not 
deformed men but 
equal sex;
They are not 
weaker sex;
They are not baby-
making machines;
They are life-giving 
sapien, not 
machines.


Details | Ode | |

THEY BELIEVED IN THE SAVIOR

The were the three Magi with mantels and beards, traveling
on strong camels as far as Bethlehem and having 
seen a wondrous star, they began their long journey 
by bringing precious gifts, but they warned Joseph and Mary 
of Herod's malicious intent...so they fled to Egypt
on a donkey that never complain of a sore hip! 


They believed in the Savior as Herod himself full of pride,
and being very wise, they never returned
to tell him what kind of child they had found! 
They brought their gifts and knelt at a child
whose fate as foretold was to die for us all,
and he gladly accepted them hearing His Father's call!


Not having heard from the Wise Men who had lied to Him, 
Herod sent his soldiers to kill all children under three: screams terrorized Bethlehem;
no, they weren't moved by their mother's painful cry
and shedding their innocent blood they revenged that lie!
O mothers of Bethlehem, Jesus knew that they were slaughtered because of Him!
O mothers of Bethlehem, you wept and moaned as they bled as a sacrificial lamb!


They believed in the Savior from what they had read,
and wanted to see for themselves the glorious event that Daniel spoken of:
the brightest star shining over Bethlehem as angels sang, 
announcing Christ's birth in a small town groping on a hill of citrus and clove!



Written on December 16, 2012


Details | Ode | |

hush my baby

hush my baby listen very close,to 
everything you've ever heard.
so you can remember,
every sound and word.

being strong against your deepest fear,
that one day you may not hear.

though thiers no real gaurentee,
thats sounds will take priority
you'll remember each sound
and hear by what your eyes are able to see.

i know it won't be the same,
as when you could hear,
but you have to be strong
against your deepest fear.

so hush my little one,
listen close to all you've ever heard.
so you'll remember every sound and word.

just remember we will always be here,
when you need a hug,
to make the anger disapear.

caused by the stillness ,
that haunts your ears.


Details | Ode | |

THE BABY LARK

THE BABY LARK!!!!!!


Oh my god I'm about
to be born
Brought into this world
and it isn't the norm?
Thanks to this man - 
and woman too,
They got together and
now they're through?

They call themselves
adults, that's a laugh - 
For they say silly things - 
they do sound naff!
But their drunken antics
have now got me born,
Oh, my goodness - is
this the norm?

Out my head comes - 
and oh, what a sight,
Can I go back in - and
say; goodnight?
I did not ask to come 
into this life,
Now I'll have to face 
the trouble and strife?

Can these adults not
ask us babies?
Before their actions 
give us babies - the
heebie-jeebies?
All that sucking I will
have to do - 
Followed by hours on
that darn potty - having
a poo!

Having my back tapped - 
and slapped by my mother,
Oh now for my nappy - her
nose she will cover?!
Why do they do it - I ask
this now,
Next time, just ask me - you
silly old cow?!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

Run, my baby run

When mother nature, 
bears evil,
Run my baby run,
When her pregnance 
swells a little,
Oh run, my baby run.

Her claws close life's 
chord, of umbilical,
Her voice R&Bs and POPs 
notes, so unearthical, 
Oh Rihanna, my meek 
kind of love,
I now sing mama, ram-
pam-pam-pam, ram.

Note when life seems not 
worth,
Tha living,
Simply run my baby run,
Run towards a place to 
hide.
A sweet sanctuary in my 
heart,
Please feel comfortable 
and reside.

And if ever predators 
persue your precious life,
Oh again my heart sings 
for love,
Run, my baby, run. 


Details | Free verse | |

Ode To Baby Boy

Precious Little Baby,
Not Yet Born.
Passes Before He's
Given
A Chance To See
The World.
Mother's Heart
Torn Open,
The Many Tears
She Cries.
Yet She Has
Come To Terms
With The Loss Of
Baby Boy.
I'm Sure That Our
Lord Jesus
Has Taken This
Baby Boy,
For He Has Got
Good Reason
For Him To Not Be
Born.
I Hope That Baby
Boy
Knows He Will Be
Missed.
He'll Look Down From
Heaven
And See The Tears
His Family's Shed.
This Baby Boy, You
See, Will Never Have
The "Firsts".
The Many Firsts That
Come
With Each Year Of
His Life:
No First Baby Tears.
No First Baby Years.
No First Baby Steps.
No First Baby Words.
Goodbye My Precious
Nephew,
I Will Not Forget,
The Anticipation That
I Felt,
While Waiting For Your
Birth.
You're In A Better Place
Now.
And You'll See What
Heaven's Worth.
The Beauty Which
Surrounds You.
And The Overwhelming
Love.
The Good Lord Who
Created You,
Will Hold You In His Arms.
He'll Embrace You And
Protect You.
And Make Sure You're
Not Forgotten.


Details | Ode | |

The hunter has been hunted

The nation is thrown into grief.
Our national flag is flying at half mast.
Everyone is wearing a sack cloth.
The dangling axe fell on us.
And the mighty has fallen.
Our hearts are filled with dread,
And our eyes as heavy as lead.
Nigeria, Africa’s number one soccer nation, 
Has been given a run for their money by the Ghanaians.
Culminating our early exit from the African nations cup.
The green and white jersey that we adore,
Have been dragged in the mud.
These are not the Eagles we have been celebrating.
Or are these Eagles suffering from bird flu,
That they cannot glide.
Their spirit  was willing but their  flesh were weak.
When we were young, we were strong,
Now we’ve grown but we are weak.
The reputation that took us  years to build,
Have been destroyed over night.
Because we went to fetch water with a basket.
The baby has been thrown away with the baby water.
The Midas touch we used to have have been used on us,
Because we could not strike while the iron was hot.
The hunter has been hunted.
And we have fallen from  frying pan to fire.
Football has kept us together as a nation for many years.
The Ghanaians has put a knife on what kept us together.
And we have fallen apart.
Once beaten, twice shy.
We hide our faces in shame.
No one is to be blamed.
What is sauce for the goose is also sauce for the gander.
Every dog has its own day and it was not our day.
A soldier lives to fight another day.
And never says never because quitters are losers.
The big question is,
Shall our bones rise again?
Or have we withered like the cursed fig tree.
Only the bowel of time will Tell.


Details | Chant Royal | |

Ode to the Baby Mama


Within the wolves’ den, the women menstruate together as one. Bleeding and screaming. Hatred from nothing. The succubus has dreams too. Consuming all, hunger never ceases. The tentacles from inside their wombs reach out grabbing at your pocket book. You are now a part of the hive little drones, work till you die. Don't speak, for you can never out scream the mother beast. That all knowing oracle of man's despair. The wolves den breeds filth, Filth breeds filth. Your skulls’ added onto the collection above the fire place mantle.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Story Of My Life: An Ode To John Rhinem

As approaching his fifty-fifth birthday this July thirteenth
We sit down for some extended sharing of thoughts and life
Borne within a place called Angels Camp his Father an inventor
Slash author actually and mother became one's own creation ? Time
Apart from beginning or matter their world, without end:


Details | Ode | |

I Am Missing My Baby Girl

Everyday I awake to the softness of the sun rays, shining brightly through my window 
panes, I wonder to myself as I wipe the sleep away, from my eyes, before I get on my 
knees to pray. I bow my head and close my eyes, to speak the words that comes from my 
hearts, forming into sentences that goes up toward the skies,
Lord hear me now for I am about to cry,
I am missing my baby girl,Lord I am so tired,
I am missing my baby girl, Lord help me I am feeling a little wired,
I am missing my baby girl, Lord my soul feels like it's on fire.

I feel her soul passing through these rooms, giving life to every flower as I watch them
bloom, I smell her scent past through these walls, like a fire leaving behind it's 
fumes,I see her smiling as if she were in front of me, listening to me, clapping for me, 
as I sing the blues.

I am missing my baby girl Lord, and I don't know what to do,

I am missing my baby girl, Lord I am so confused,

Heavenly father help me, clear my mind so I can just get through,

these terrible times as I lie hear listening to this priest read from the obituary at my

ten year old's funeral.

Lord I am missing my baby girl, oh Lord I need you 

so please, please, hear my prays to help me make it through.

By N. McCoy

(To Maria, In Loving Memory of Markita Weaver)

RIP Baby Girl We Miss You

4/26/1993-1/23/2004