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 Kevin Ubanks
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.
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
You are extreme in beauty
perfected by builders who constructed all
your planking with pine trees from Ivory coast
and made a mast for you out of the combined crafts
from brown ebony and snake wood.
Out of the oaks from Bashan your Oars are made
and from the cypress wood of Cyprus
your decks crafted and inlaid with ivory.
Your awning of blue and purple fabric are from Egypt
and the inhabitants of America would be your rowers.
These rowers will bring you unto the high seas
you’ll become full and heavily loaded in its heart
the countryside shakes at the sound of your sailor’s cries
and all those who handle an oar will disembark from their ships
The whole of Europe is your trading partner in choice garments,
Cloaks of blue and embroidered materials and multicolored carperts
which are bound and secured with cords in your market place.
Your deals encompasses constant exchanges of turquoise,
Corals, rubies, wheat from minnith, white whool, wrought Iron,
Cassia and aromatic cane.
Costal lines are your trading gardens
and Roman ships will be the carriers of your goods.
Your captains are your wise men and your wise men
are the elders of Spain and Portugal
who take charge in repairing your leaks.
Your skyline will shade the sun and your islands, enrich the oceans
you’ll be the wealthiest in culture and diversity
because of your traders and visitors trooping from all corners of the Earth.
Come forth now and prosper
for greatness and fortune await your enrichment.
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
As the life and voice of Dr. Maya Angelou were profoundly deep and moving, I hope you will find this grateful tribute to her to be fitting. As it is too long to be posted here, you can find it at
Or, Read it in parts I and II:
The name woke me up - sat me up in my bed...
"Maya", the name my voice called out...
As I sat there in the dark, listening...
As I had so many times before...
Wondering at the "whys" and "how - tos" of my impossible dreams.
And as the dark, so was the divide -
That place in me, between what I was,
And the Why and Who I wanted to be...
But always, her voice, that voice named "Maya",
Had called across the divide as a still and steady light.
That unbreakable, unshakable, steady light...
I wondered where it was now, with blinking, thinking eyes.
Had it vanished? Was it vanquished? Could I once again rise -
In the dark staring dead at me... daring me to rise...
I felt hopeless, lost back in the divide… now growing ever and ever wide.
What happens now - my question? A miracle now, an answer - indeed...
For through the dark, that voice named "Maya" whispered...
Whispered into me... sounding a new song's drumbeat creed...
"You", the whispering voice whispered..."You, child - Now, You"...
And my feet were suddenly planted, planted bravely on the ground.
And I stood tall and strong, stepping peacefully forward, twirling round,
For the dark no longer stared at me, but I stared into it...
It no longer owned me... but instead, I commanded it,
By a path so still and steady - and now, so brightly lit:
The light I had strained to see was now the miracle shining from inside of me.
My divide... was now, somehow... unified.
And again the whispering voice came: "Yes child - Yes - I speak your name…
I have come and gone so very far, borne witness to it -
Have delivered a gift to you all - and you were born to use it.
Share it... wear it... and to the dark - dare it - with that unbreakable, unshakable light.”
“Be a voice for all seasons - make some noise for all the reasons,
The downtrodden have to hope for, that the world would grasp and grope for…
Be my voice Now… as I have been yours… a brilliant spirit, not a wandering ghost…
Make your choice, Now - Decide - to be Identified…
To see and live your unbreakable, unshakable, unstoppable dreams.”
Continued i Part II
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.