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On Writing And Words Child Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Child

These On Writing And Words Child poems are examples of On Writing And Words poems about Child. These are the best examples of On Writing And Words Child poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Senryu | |

Spoiled Child

unruly spoiled child
remained up past eight tonight...
giving parents hugs

Copyright © 2008 By Caryl S. Muzzey

Copyright © Caryl Muzzey

Details | Free verse | |

Child's Dawn

As the darkness yields to the dawn to deliver the heart from any storm Of the blackness of the night so long Where my fears and sorrows do belong The new morn is a sigh of a brilliant song The child awakens with the light Ready to believe in the day’s warming sight To live and love with open arms And have no fear of any harms There is hope and charity in the new day Dreams and innocence are here to stay Sun sweet sun Come on, have some fun Chase the night away so the child can learn to play!

Copyright © Karen Dominick

Details | Free verse | |

Child poet

The raw delight and 
wonder of an eager 
child-poet lay scattered 
across the floor.  

A baby's coo squeals from 
the aging pages babbling
forth childish nonsense while
tired cliches wind lazily through
trite rhymes lacking lyrical luster.

Still, each precious verse endears 
me to the memory of a precocious
youth when poetry was simple 
and an unspoiled world
lay bare age old secrets
calling out to be discovered.

Author's commentary:  

I don't remember what inspired me to write my first poems, but there was always something about
language.  Something profound, something powerful, something pure.  

I had no natural talent, and thankfully I didn't know it for I might have given up.

But eventually, and by sheer accident, I pieced together something that worked proving
poetry is not reserved solely for those with the predisposition but is also born of
passion, study, and discipline.

It was 15 years of frustration and tears as poem after bad poem was ripped to shreds by
seasoned writers with invaluable, albeit sometimes harsh, advice before I created anything
worthy of being read.  But I am in love with poetic art so have persevered with humility
and gratitude in the face of rejection until finding a rhythm of my own.  And though a bit
of time may sometimes pass before I am moved to write again, the words eventually spill
forth, and with a bit of luck and ingenuity, I will write a profound piece of insightful
prose stirring pride in the hearts of my mentors whose opinions I hold so dear.

For me, it has never come easy but with a deep-rooted love for the art and an obsession
for one day authoring a single, perfect verse, I hope to be unified in spirit with the
ghosts of poets past inspiring and encouraging others to keep the craft alive.

Copyright © Thvia Shetley

Details | Quatrain | |

A Child Jabbers Spondees

Its feet are tiny dimeter,
Body, spirit, soul, trimeter,
Would you look at those ears and eyes
Whose tetrameter rhyme defies

Its foot with pentameter toes,
Smelled by monometer nose!
Don’t fret when its iamb voice speaks 
Cheerful quatrains for days and weeks.

Stand still while it jabbers spondee,
In stanzas of metered trochee.
Well, my friend, please do not pretend,
Or you’ll cause more stress at the end.

Each verse it speaks is oh, so sweet
For it’s growing Longfellow feet!
Sit back, relax, put on a smile,
You’ve been zapped by a poet’s grandchild!

Copyright © James Tate

Details | Alliteration | |

The Unseen Miles

Yeah I can get so hyped up with life so high I'm so freaking verbally drunk like a psycho,
 Mind so wrong nothing in my vocabulary at that time in my mind can get right though,
 A piece of this hate cake in this corrupt dictionary I'm going to have to take a bite though,
 Whether the answer is written in hell yeah or heck no, 
Im going to shoot through your deer less body like a scoped out rifle, 
You just another liar if you say my words aint make your mind shake and awake with a stifle,
 Im shooting sideways, up, down, so much I get high low, 
I could be telling true lies when you see my fake gun ridden smiles, 
I might just shoot self in head because Im getting a little too suicidal, 
Im in need of God because I keep skipping planned revivals, 
Im reading the rhyme master Shakespeare I aint reading the Bible, 
Im playing with word bullets shiny as a burning star struggling for simple survival,
 I want people to tell the truth but cant help but keep telling themselves lies though,
 Hiidden demons in the book of lifes closet dont tell me how it is because I know,
 I too onced played with life like a toy plastic as Tyco, 
Im going to stand out in this world like the tower of Eifel, 
Im going to bring out all my freaking hidden poetic files, 
Im putting word ryhme puzzles together like floor tiles 
Im going to do it now not later gator or after while crocodile, 
I got little time in life left on the sun dial, 
I got but few years or even months left before I face my ultimate trial, 
But first Im going to have some fun into the night sun until I get riled, 
But family comes first I must start to think of my own seed, my very own child, 
I got to stop the ways of living stupid like Im out of hand so wild, 
I must drink from the fountain of life like the Egyptians do from the Nile, 
Pull my own way out this ****ing trash, this bull *****pile, 
I got to stay strong in the mean time because everything in life takes a little while,
 Sometimes I dont give a **** about nobody because it feels as if I have nothing to live for, but now I got a child I would die for
 So now I must keep living because if I die I know I would leave behind a child behind that I would cry for,
 I must walk that road less traveled like a car breaking down on the open road still trying to idle,
 Walking amongst greats is going to be my own personal hypo, 
I will walk strong in the days that I die in my last UNSEEN MILES......

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill

Details | I do not know? | |

Child's Last Light - Holocaust Child

Salt soaked eyelids sagging
Unceasing streams of liquid
Tears stained the silk face
Painting the terrors of the day

Hush my child, I'll sing you a lullaby
Caressing you with the heavenly chorus
The ground does not desire anymore sorrow
But the stars crave your twinkle

Steadily, curtains of skin descend
Masking the pain etched into the eyes
Lips tremble, uneasy slumber
No more teddies, no more light

Hush, I'll bathe your dreams in white
Let the skin slide from your shoulders
Ease the suffering of physical wounds
I'll mend your broken winged heart to fly.

Tranquility overtakes the mind
Scattered breaths steady to an even beat
A rare peacefulness discovered
Yet the burning sun shall overtake the night

Hush, I'll cradle your bare heart
And fly you to the heaven of stars
Laugh as though you've never uttered a breath
For this shall not last

The morning blaze arises chasing the night
Ashes of humans piled up into mounds
The remains of dreams and lives broken
And one little child

Hush, my child Hush.

Copyright © Senait Mohammed

Details | I do not know? | |

Thank You For Your Son

It came as a surprise when she found
she was with child, carrying with in her
was the boy child who would save us all.

Wonder what she thought back then when
she found out that she was going to give
birth to the boy child who would be the
Savior of the world and then be taken
away on a wooden cross on a hill side?

Never once did she complain but embraced
the life growing inside her all the time knowing
that the day would come when she would be
taught all about her son who came to us on Christmas.

Was he a good baby I wonder some times?
Did he ever have his days and nights mixed up?
Was he ever fussy and cranky as normal kids?
When he was older did he play marbles, or at
least games with the other kids his age, did he
know he was different the night he came to us?

When he grew to teen age hood I am sure he had
a sense of understanding of what his purpose was,
and why he had been given to this woman and man.

Was he ever discouraged, having second thoughts on
things, laying awake worrying where would the next
days food come from? Of course I am sure there
were many days he lost faith, felt let down by his
Father above asking the questions Why?

Thank you Mary and Joseph for sharing your beloved
baby boy with us because with out him we would be 
nothing. Thank you God for loving us enough to give
us your only son. I am sure it was painful to watch him
DIE on that cross but I am so glad he did.

Copyright © Author Rhonda Kay Hero - Wilson

Details | I do not know? | |

Light child

A child is born
all loving, forgiving, honest,
a special child of the light,
eyes wide open, awake,
the wolves are happy,
to feast at the table of its suffering.
Feed it just enough love to survive,
milk it of its light, little by little
suckling its love, its forgiveness,
a sweet delicacy for a vampiric world.

The child becomes a young adult...
control, conformity, submission,
overwhelming expectations,
no freedom, no love, no peace,
a barrage of others suffering,
cant get it off me, out of my head!
out of my heart, it hurts!
Its all too much! 
Why do they all hurt me?
Why are they not honest like me?
How can they be so mean to me?
What is wrong with me?
I just want a taste of love, 
to remind me why I am alive!!

Copyright © Michael Harman

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

They are ALL my Children Part I

Each poem I birth
Is a child of my heart
Flesh of my flesh
Bone of my bone
Word of my soul
Conveyor of my emotions

Each one is unique
One is always happy
And sees the bright side of life
The eternal optimist
With not a care in the world
With a song on her lips
She traipses about and everywhere she goes
Flowers bloom
And the sun peeks out
To welcome her

The other is intimately acquainted 
With her mother’s world
Of suffocating despair
She sees the tear behind the smile
The insecurity behind the laugh
Her loneliness
This child of my is consumed by worry
That Mama may go through with it this time
And no longer be there to love her
She quietly watches 
Her daily fight for survival
For escape
From the demons that haunt her life
And so…she bears her sorrow
Trying to be strong for MAMA
Her tears she hides as she cries in the closet
Knowing its Mama’s tears in her eyes
And Mama’s pain in her heart
I love this child of mine, for she sees what no one else sees

One of my children was conceived in frenzied passion
And she is its embodiment 
She devours life
Her passion relishes 
She is intense to the point of insanity
Those who know her are electrified by her presence 
For she is….
Always endearing
Always charming
Always in love
Always flirting...teasing...pleasing
Always passionate….to the point of losing herself
In the moment

My little one….ah, my little one is a romantic dreamer
Her eyes never focus on the here and now
She perches on the windowsill
Seeing her castle in the distance
Waiting for her knight in shining army
To sweep her away on his gallant steed
With flowing mane
And thundering hoofs
Matching the thundering beat of her heart
She waits to be whisked to 
A forever land of dreams
Of flowers and sunshine
Of birds chirping by streams
And love better than in the world she’s seen

Oh, but my eldest
How my heart bleeds
For my child of wrath
Born of my affair with Zeus
Sending out thunderbolts
Livid by injustice
Seething with anger
At all that is inhumane
Welding his sword
Eager for revenge
For retribution
I fear for this my child
Who often is about to draw blood
In mortal combat with the enemy
Ever at the point of death...

(End of Part I)

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Free verse | |



There is a saddened kind of shame
a name that’s cruel and thus demeans, 
elementary obscene
a child can not reach deep enough.

It started when I read above 
my third grade level reading group
and followed to my brownie troop
then fearful fighting, flight to home.

And in defense I’d use my gift
to make up names and write mean songs-
I’d teach the boys to sing along
and charge their chocolate milk money.

With my moustache a poor disguise, 
with puffy, rubbing, teary eyes
I made myself apologize
though only choking squeaks were heard. 

Nicoleslaw Dickhead was my name
a name that’s cruel and thus demeans,
slimy side-dish dung for brains-
a child can not reach deep enough.

Copyright © Nykki Houtkooper

Details | Free verse | |

As a child

Oh man, yourself,
Why do you spoil?
You treated badly, 
When someone you call,
No one identify you at home,
Who will identify you in paradise?
When you are not known on earth,
As a human or human beings
That can praise or contribute to nature,
As a child.
Everyone feels shame when they open your foil.
You ignored honesty and hard toil,
You never examined your own role. 
Are you not so educated?
Are you not so trained?
Are you not so wise?
That someone can trust you.
Someone can believe,’ you are a good partner’,
You are a good parent or guardian,
A best fellow or a friend.
What’s wrong, our faith or kindness,
That is mercyless and forgivenessless?

Copyright © Daljit Khankhana

Details | Bio | |

Black Child

When you look at me what do you see
a black man or a black child 
in a world thats wild and at least 90% of the people
wanna be with in crowd, naw not me
I just look and watch don't say a word 
like I ain't gotta mouth I'm always in the streets
like I'm homeless and I ain't gotta house
some say I talk so proper and I look so innocent
you'll never know I been locked up before 
but the last thing society is to a felon is forgiving
if we living to die whats the point of living 
what I'm doing with these lyrics I was born into
poetry & obviously thats a gift giving,
Giving the spirit that if the people don't wanna hear 
the pastor to you they might listen, but who am I kidding
me I'm on a mission most of the time 
I took my mind off love and put money on my mind
I come from where the city where crime is all we know
and naw I don't flow for the show but to tell
stories, proclaimimg that despite all of the hating
yeah the devil wanna nigga, but this black man,
this black child, Gods child is already taken

Copyright © Tahir Hashim Zulu

Details | Burlesque | |

Rotten Apple

Two broken windows
in just two weeks time 
to that I say this child of nine
shall work in the mine
a broken vase and food covering his face
etiquette school for he is a disgrace
the frog in soup
turning dinner into moup
I will enroll him into behavioral group 
for in my home he shall not roam
to his room he shall retreat
with walls covered with foam
I do but regret to this child of mine
shall be punish till he no longer nine

(This is Burleque style it is suppose to sound this way I am not like this)

Copyright © Malcolm Dyer

Details | Rhyme | |


I had the traits of a gorgeous child,
different in looks and behavior,
only mother understood his tremor...
when night fell and he ran inside.

An adorable child expressing curiosity,
touching everything in his path,
and those hands seemed full of creativity...
when visions lured his interest.

I hold this photograph to reminisce the grace
of that tiny toddler beginning his first, memorable race... 
while his mom stretched her protective and loving arms, 
ready to hug him and reward him with tons of smiles. 

I had the traits of a gorgeous child,
obsorbing the vivid images and colors of the seasonal scenes...
I'd describe in my writings, to feel the essence of unreal dreams;
Oh, was I aware of my final stride?

Copyright © Andrew Crisci

Details | Couplet | |

Dancers on the Mezzanine

Splash fast colors across the sun
red horizon,day is done
swirl a drip of azure blue,
with indigo for me and you

  drip down on my ice cream cone
berry tasty, windy blown
cotton candy wrapped around
cardboard rolled up
by a clown

  Dancing ponies in the dark
tiny bells that catch a spark
from the midnight candles lit
by a child who wouldn't quit

  dancing on the mezzanine
with his older teenage queen
wearing beaded pantaloons
that she wore on afternoons

  in museums cold and still
when she had some time to kill
'ere  she traversed all alone
down that darksome way back home

  so regretful by the sea,
staring out but could not free
any fragment of her soul
ageless,timeless, growing old

  Falling open like a womb
giving birth to wrath and gloom
turning back to condescend
to think about what might have been

  underneath the midnight sun
red hot  rhythms on her tongue
she speaks a string of colored lights
to light her way back home tonight.

  on dancing ponies in the dark
tiny bells that catch a spark
from the midnight candles lit
by a child who wouldn't quit.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren