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Child Ode Poems | Ode Poems About Child

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

Details | Ode |

Poem for a sleeping child

Poem for a sleeping child   


There’s a wish to wander in your cool innocence
and cruise the thoughttides of no
responsibility—so easily you wipe your
shoeless feet on the ever waiting door
mat of socialization. How can I help you keep your 
tender "souls" intact—your tread from
wearing thin out of align so as not to
fall flat. Your easy grace put to an 
unfair test of ill-will winds blowing
carelessly at your soft back. I long for your sweet
calm at rest so deep so empty filled with
solid happiness—you know you are loved 
beyond any measure that’s human or infinite. If
I could walk with you for a moment and peek
quietly at your conscience-----but no-it's yours  
and no Dooleys allowed. Forgive me to 
want to intrude on your ever pleasant play-would you
share with me like the kernel of rice or
squashed raisin-I might, but only if we all
can go. Keep it hold it for as long as you
can-as it suddenly disappears without a trace
never to be found again lest you become your 
own sondaughter and learn to bask on 
the outside looking in—---and be content. I 
will live to never intrude on your soulspace,
but will always knock first. I am sorry ahead 
of time for any pain I cause—for my mat 
was torn treaded , muddy and ragged—my
sleep had no wanting witness. But I promise
to watch over you      all ways.

Dave Collins collincd. Song, Poem for a sleeping child, by stanley jordon
Spring 1991


Details | Ode |

One Day

One day, with these small hands I will forge the future. 
One day, with my small feet I will walk for miles and miles just like you taught me.
One day, with this small mouth I will say things, oh so sweet and try not to say the bad.
One day, I will stray from you and from all you have taught me. 
One day, I will realize I make mistakes and will apologize for my ignorance. 
One day, this small child you see will grow and make you proud. 
One day, I will find love and start a life of my own. 
One day, I will have children and teach them all you have taught me. 
One day, I will hold your hand like you held mine through all of the heartache. 
One day, I will carry you as you did me when I was but a child.
One day, but through it all never forget, I am forever your loving child. 


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 |

Wishing For A Rainy Afternoon



I viewed the dawn through mist of fading dreams,   
Aware of silver feet upon the roof.
Eaves shivered wet, while raindrops welcomed spring
With murmured sounds, and giving me excuse
To burrow down and doze, with warming trace 
Of childhood mornings, which have blown away.
I stretch my arms and rise with no regrets,
And see a rainbow’s face
That arches over hills so far away,
From crayons of time, that I will not forget

I love the rain that falls upon the grass 
And look beyond the margins framed inside. 
I sense renewal come with mute caress,
Will find new places where my soul resides.
The child in me will dance among the dew,
In soggy dress and mud between my toes,
Not to be dampened by a state of care…
Although the day is blue…
My inner child ignores the dark and low, 
And thinks of rain the gift of something new. 

Contentment comes from little things I do
Old storybooks will dazzle wishes, fed…
to make believe that wishes could come true
I drink some tea, with snack of jam and bread,
And once again, with growing up to do
Old scrapbooks found, to leap right through my age
Just one more moment as the child relents 
My childhood bids adeiu
Recalling now, how fondness comes with sage
But knowing now, how well those days were spent~
 




.........................................................................................
In Honor of Cyndi's Contest: Comforts of a Rainy Afternoon
 


Details | Ode |

Ode To GrandFather

And have you drifted into the midst of time?
Do I have to move heaven and earth to find you; if so then I'll try.
Am I the only remnants of you, this reflection lost in a maze; this body, soul and spirit in which I 
often gaze. 
The form you left behind, this small girl wrapped in sin;
you've spoke to me in visions...this life shall never end. 
Not until I've found you and my soul can rest!
Your suffering continues from heavens great abyss, as you watch
your youngest Grandchild self-destruct in the way you did.
Can any of us escape it? The ties of blood which bind; 
I only know your memory shall haunt me until I die? 
  Have all forgotten you existed, when I'm judged or
shoved aside...they ne'er see you in all I do, they refuse
to look upon my "other side." 
And yet it seems the strongest, for blood cannot be fooled,
wishful thinking can lie and cheat you away but in truth I'm part of
you. 
Never will I stop, or cease this fruitless chase, I have to find
you somewhere; I have to see your face...for there's a rebel
in me, a burning fire inside and it never came from all these
people that I've come to know as mine.
I'll never hate ye Grandfather...wherever you have been; 
I've heard the worst about you but still I'm your kith and kin
and whatever horrid acts you've done I've already forgiven.
And I promise you I'll find you and I will not sink as deep and
I will not die young and hopeless in the sea of Isla drink.
You, yourself has kept me from knowing who you were...
why did you have to perish so long before I was born?
  All those myths and legends which surround your name,
you could have cleared what has been said, if you had lived
to explain! Why did you leave this world without so much as 
a word, a letter of some kind, telling of your hurt?
And out of three Grandchildren...why did you chose me? 
To be a rebel, the fighter, the one who'll set you free? 
Do I remind you of you in your youthful hours...was it my 
mind or feeble frame that drew your ghost beside me? 
  I know your here;I see you in myself, my mind, 
my longings. And I never sleep for in dreams I greet your
spirit which guides me. 

You are not dead and ne'er forgotten, not for as long as I live...
your spirit, your sorrow, your flaming desires dwell still within
this skin.


Details | Ode |

A SOMALIAN CHILD

Behold there, a Somalian child is standing upon dry hard rocks.
Its two eyes glitter like a rough diamond, parched, bleak and dark.
Its belly exhibits the fragile bony ribs and silently mocks
The phony Art that seeks phony beauty even in wounded scar-mark.

The orphan boy was trying to scream but no voice came out
From its barren vocal cord, empty stomach and shrinking lung.
Its salty tears have dried out too like parched petals of a dead sprout.
Its face looked blue and pale as if it were serpent-stung.

This child, like all newborns here, was born with a constant Curse
Of utmost struggling life until it moves, stares, breathes no more.
Even showers upon the drought-infested land cannot reimburse
The untold tales of such millions of children, the Pain-store.

Two immobile figures of dead parents laid on dusty ground
And blurred cries of the child melted in heat of wind there.
No humans were there to hear except vultures that hovered around
The dead bodies and waited until death of the tiny figure.