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Death Child Poems | Death Poems About Child

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

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Details | Narrative | |

The Clouds

"THERE HE WAS HOLDING HIS HAND OUT"

=voice=
God, can I hold your hand and follow you?

"Gods voice"
My child, it is I who will walk with you! 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 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 ran 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 and tribulations. We could not speak, it was my light that kept you from going weak.

=voice=
God, are you a dream of beauty? The holy book.
My preacher spoke of the afterlife, calling it paradise. 
I remember now, I felt this company once before, this light.
Many times, I forsake the light and still you never left my door.
I felt it on the day I was born, 
the day I became baptized in your holy name. 
I felt this light before, can you explain it once more? 
Lord pleases clarify the day I fell down to my knees, accepted Jesus as my savior? 
On that day, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my  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.

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

"Gods voice"
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself,  
I always answered even when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your soul's disguises.

=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-- 
How is it that I am in your promise land?

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

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

<3

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

STILL WINTER

Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer

Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around. 
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…     
~BY: PD~

Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey 

There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~

(for Catie's: Re-write contest..) 

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

My Little Soldier Boy

Gary, you are my little soldier boy,
who died on Veteran's Day. ('83)
My sunny, golden-haired soldier boy,
that I still miss in every way.

You had just turned 13,
getting interested in girls.
When CF took you from me,
my heart, like a flag, unfurled.

You fought CF with every breath.
For 13 years you tried.
And four lung collapses later,
after each one, I said, 
"Son, you will survive."
Oh, how I lied!

Now, no more hugs and kisses,
No more birthday wishes,
I watched you go
and please God know,
Heaven, receive my treasure.


Author Note:  This poem was written in memory of my son, Gary,
who died of Cystic Fibrosis at 13, in 1983.  I honor my soldier who so valiantly
fought his fight on the battlefield of a life threatening lung disease, which fills the lungs with sticky mucus and makes it difficult to breathe. With all CF children, 
they struggle with every breath they take just to breathe! My son eventually 
started to have lung collapses. He had four before the last one took his young life  on Veteran's Day weekend in 1983..(Read my poem "A rainbow Glitters") 

I wouldn't be a poet today, if not for my son. He was diagnoses at age three.
As I sat by his hospital bed crying, I reached into my purse for a tissue, but 
instead, I pulled out a pen. I thought to myself, "Ok, God, I get the message.
You want me to write and not cry." So I wrote my first poem that night, "Not 
MY Son!"  Which eventually got published in Elizabeth Kubler Ross' Book "On Children and Death." Later, I wrote humorous poems to entertain my son, who
was often to sick to go to school.  And I'm still writing my poems today. 
 



 

Copyright © Darlene Gifford | Year Posted 2014

Details | Monorhyme | |

Fight Against The Passing Rain



Fight Against The Passing Rain Darkness falls in the middle of the day Tears from heaven rage this way. The storm comes fast, the wind blows gray She’s come to take your love away. The sun was blinding not moments ago Smiles galore and hearts aglow. You’d quickly stretched your Babygro Now all is still, as time moves slow. Time becomes a barricade, Soon enough the rains will fade. We’re with you, son, don’t be afraid To rest if you cannot evade. Our pools of love will not refrain, My love for you, always remain. Whilst apparatuses sustain, Please fight against the passing rain. 20th August 2016

Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haibun | |

HEARTBROKEN CHILD CRIES

FICTIONAL EMOTIVE WRITE
Since I was a tiny baby I was brought up by my grandparents and had a very happy childhood. I knew that they were not my real parents but they gave me such love that I didn’t ask any questions for fear of upsetting them. Grandma’s eyes would mist over any time anyone mentioned my parents so I knew something bad had happened to them Whispers in the hall The child is too young to know They passed so quickly I left home at 20, married and moved to a small town about 50 miles from where I grew up. I was always in touch with my grandparents, but over time old age crept upon them and I recently cleared the family home when grandma passed away. I discovered yellowing newspaper cuttings, which told of how my parents had been killed in a horrific car crash, it also detailed their final resting place in the local cemetery. Family secrets Scrapbook of old photographs My parents smiling Dawn is breaking and dappled sunlight streams through the trees. A veil of grey swirling mist shrouds the cemetery. I pull my shawl closely around my shoulders and begin my search. Strands of ivy hang down from the towering yew trees, its dark green tendrils wrapped around the grey granite graves clinging so tightly as if it was trying to hold up the graves like a puppet on a string. The fallen gravestones remind me of decaying teeth with many gaps where stones had crumbled with age and neglect. I walk slowly, reading the names of those who now had eternal rest. Eventually I found their grave at plot 142, where a marble angel watches over them sleeping. I scrape off the thick lichen, which obscures their names. Tears fall and I hug the gravestone wishing I could embrace my parents for real. I greet my parents Stone cold grave gives me closure Heartbroken child cries 09~26~16 Contest Overgrown With Vines Sponsored by Broken Wings

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

Details | Marsiya | |

I'm my Daddy Made Over

Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013


I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over

Taught me to fight back 
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over

He gave me my stubbornness 
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over

How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over

Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on 
I may stumble I may fall 
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over


Sabrina Niday Hansel

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad | |

Disturbed Child

That disturbed child
The teen girl with no friends, 
and is rejected by her loved ones
She feels broken inside,
like theres no other choice
She takes the iron razor, 
she puts it to her arm and hopes the pain will fade,
but in the end it only makes her feel worse
She does this to herself not because she is sad, 
but because she doesn't think any one cares
She thinks 
What if I put this razor to my throat,
and ended my life
Would they care then?
She feels like no one cares 
What she doesn't realize is, 
if she died a river of tears would come,
even faster then the blood would run from her
If she only knew life can be brighter 
If she would only see, 
that she is loved
That disturbed child, 
We miss her
and theres no getting her back
What could we have done
Was there any changing her mind
Only God knows

Copyright © Trevor Bain | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

A soldier cries

He's used to war, he fights real hard,
He's a soldier, he's battle scarred.
The enemy is weak, there is nothing to fear,
His compassion is gone, he has no tears.

He was taught well, was taught how to kill,
He's done it so much, it's lost it's thrill.
He no longer feels bad, when the enemy dies,
Tears don't come any more to his tired eyes.

In the beginning it was against his will,
But he soon broke down, and got used to kill.
Never thinking that his foe, was also just a man,
Like him with a family, doing the best he can.

He cannot have feelings, for anyone,
But then, for a moment, he thinks of his son.
He wants to go home, but it's not time yet,
So he goes back to a war, that he wants to forget.

Next day on the beach, on his tour of duty,
Lies a child's body, on the coast of Turkey.
He cannot believe what he sees with his own eyes,
A cute little boy, with no signs of life.

Lying face down, right there on the sand,
He picks him up, with his big strong hands.
And when he saw that there was no hope,
The soldier realized he could not cope.

He shuddered deeply...letting out a sigh,
And that's when...the soldier cried.

Now the whole world mourns that little boy,
Many children elsewhere, receive another toy.
Yes, people stand by, while these refugees die,
Some see the news and say, please...pass the pie.

John Derek Hamilton   September 04,2015

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku | |

The Lost


                                                Innocent lifeless
                                       Pretty children rest in peace
                                             Let us pray for them

                                            The kids were victims
                                       The shooter was victim too
                                             Let's not put a blame

                                                 Exclamation sign
                                          Love family, love it right
                                        Don't loose, hug them tight

                                                  Dear educators
                                           Part of the victims as well
                                               The lifetime tribute

                                           Mourn traveled the world
                                         Burn by cause last on effect
                                               Careful in our steps

Author's Note:
Deep condolance for the victims of Sandy Hook School in Newtown, Connecticut,
Inspired by Zamalea George Poetry "Sweet Children, Sleep"
*****************************************************************
4th place
poetry soup VIGIL" Free Poetry Contest 
Sponsor	SKAT- AB SIN THE-

Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Deer Crossing

I'm sitting cross legged on the side of the road
while Dad holds my shoulders, in trying to console me,
but tears, uncontrolled, keep tumbling down.
Most stunning, right now, is the fear, I've not known
Never before, .....had I felt so alone.

Reality has settled, like darkness around me
A first-time encounter with death and it's toll
Though, how many times, I have played out the role? 

It was always the same.....
Just a game to be played
The drama?  Just kid's-stuff.....who knew what it meant?

Bang, Bang you're dead!...
Point a finger .... he's dead
A stab, rubber swords, ... at my eight year old heart ?
While slowly, with drama, we played out the parts
Our death scenes, .....pretending to take a last breath
Then, back on our knees, and up in a flash
ready again, to reverse all the rules......
Death wasn't real........and never this cruel

Tonight,  driving home 
a deer out of nowhere, 
A thump, and a jar, a flash in the light
And in the dash of a moment, ....a crumpling crash
Make-believe shatters, in the path of our car

Dad reaching his hand, to check I'm alright
Then  opens the door out into the night
Reluctantly I follow his somber silhouette
And met by a moment I'll never forget

The air bitter cold, has taken our breaths
I turn eyes away, but now it's too late
Glass lifeless eyes stare back in the lights
I'm strangled by silence, and the shattering sight
as still and cold, as real as if stones,  
The deer's lifeless eyes, stare into the night
I feel such a change in the stars and the sky
I felt something die, in a child's heart tonight


_____________________________________________

9/1/15 
Carrie Richards
For Trashed #2 Contest: Sponsor: Broken Wings

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet | |

Defying Sensibility

Years have passed since I buried you
beneath green grasses drenched with dew;

I placed the blossoms, one by one,
a blanket for my only son,

you, my heart's flower, blooming fair,
a mother's rose, uniquely rare.

The bitter grief bubbles inside,
rolling hot waves, a searing tide,

dark desperate, wrenching prayers,
sharp, shattered facets of despair.

Anguish climbs this long hill with me,
the crest of which I never see.

How can one stand beside the mound
where love's sweet baby flesh lays bound?

Faith defies sensibility
and blossoms in eternity.

March 28, 2015

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

The tree of life

A lonely tree stands in a field
Branches entwined in one
And as those branches come to life
They reach up to the sun

This tree with all it's energy
just like a woman so it be
It's branches swaying in the breeze
just like a mother's offspring, these

And so the lonely tree does age
The human kind out living
But we all end up just the same
Our flesh to earth be giving

And thus our lives all end the same
No matter what we be
Some have long lives, some much less
In life's sweet mystery

Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

An Angel In Disguise -

I glimpsed her there alone,
where her aura caught my eye.
She had long shimmering hair,
of a girl that's barely grown.
And seemed to float in the air
as light as a gentle sigh.


She’s the ghost of my daughter,
an Angel that haunts my dreams.
She quenches my thirsty heart,
like a cool drink of water.
And it's tearing me apart,
to stifle my silent screams.


After what seemed a short while,
I headed to where she'd been.
She looked beautiful that day,
wearing an angelic smile.
Yet she simply slipped away,
never again to be seen.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet | |

The Outside Door Visitor

The door was stiff with rusted bolts but I did my best the pool of sweat and the rain of tears can all attest. There were whispers and taunting from fear but great determination and anticipation covered my ear. In the heat, your loud, sharp cry gave me the feel of snow so healthy in appearance and weight- new life in a show. My new found love exponentially grows which I’m about to promote thinking differently, my blessed child sees the world as remote. Sensitive to every touch, already proving social yet gone and missing was existence’s marshal. Making me wonder if that was its exact command praying and wishing it faces nature’s reprimand. My heart anticipates whether it’s a prince or princess but life in union with death is a deadly incest. You touched down on planet earth with your face looking up the sky you just landed but to acquire your wings and fly. The inevitable crossing to the other side wasn’t your intention I was ready to pull the heavens down for an intervention. Ten minutes after the miracle, joy bathes a soul already faded but at the same time life is mocked for the blessing to be shaded.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain | |

A Letter to My Son

Your going has left a hole in my heart that time,
The Great Healer, cannot repair.
Your going has left a hole in my existence
That forever and beyond will not heal,
A hole ever expanding from its own nothingness,
A hole through which all the goodness,
All the kindness of you is slipping through.
You were my sounding board.
Trite ideas offered, came back
Enhanced, brilliant and sparkling.
Borrowing intelligence from you, I grew wiser.
Doors opened before me as I strove to be worthy
Of you, my beloved son.
I go on now as you would have me do,
Searching in Nature for the joy 
You found in its wonders.
Hearing bird songs with your ears,
Relating to others with your empathetic instincts.
Striving, ever striving to be the person
And mother that you believed me to be
And never letting your memory grow dim
For those you loved and for whom you sacrificed.

You came into this world with a wisdom
That did not come from me.
I thank God each day for His lending you to me
For the time that I had you near
And I cling to His promise
That I will see you again.

I could not tell from whence you came,
Born with a wisdom that did not come from me,
And I do not know where you have gone,
Part of myself, the better part--into Eternity.

Originally entered as verse

Rewritten:

A Letter to my Son

Your going has left a hole in my heart
That Time, that great healer cannot repair.
Your going  left  space in my existence
That forever and more will still be there.

Ever expanding from it nothingness
A hole from which your goodness has slipped through.
The kindnesses you wore as a halo
Have disappeared as well since I lost you.

I used you as a sounding boad to measure
The wisdom and the beauty of the world.
Your ideas were so clear and brilliant,
Through you my own best aptitudes unfurled.

I'm trying to live up to your standards.
I want to be more worthy of you, Son.
You told me once I was the perfect mother,
And with you life was such a lot of fun.

I thank God every day for loan of you.
The time we had was more than worth the pain.
And now I'm clinging tight to his promise
That some day I will see you once again. 

I do not know from whence you came,
Blessed with wisdom  that did not come from me.
Each day I pray I know where you have gone;
Taking my heart into Eternity.




Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme | |

After Losing A Child

     
     Do you seek me?
     I'm still here!
Look for me in nature,
for my love is growing there.
My messages are written,
in earth and sea and air.

     Do you hear me?
Listen to the song birds,
as each new day is born.
Can't you hear me singing to you,
in the early morn?

     Do you feel me?
When the wind is gently blowing,
or a mist is in the air,
can't you feel me touching you,
and messing up your hair?

     Do you see me?
Glimpse my face in any flower.
Breathe deep the beauty that you see.
And green the grass you walk upon,
I walk along with thee.

     Do you sense me?
Even at times when you cry,
know that I am near.
I'm the finger on your cheek,
tasting every tear.

     Do you search for me?
When you turn to God in prayer,
know in your heart that I am there.




Copyright © Darlene Gifford | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegaic Lyric | |

Death - Not My Child

A kaleidoscope’s blossoms
Are not as awesome
As my child at every turn;
Watching his silences – I burn,
Watching his movements – I yearn.
I learn love’s wonderment
Watching him discern.
Gentle, imaginative boy
Loves me content
With joy and innocence.

I shout for time to slow
Its capture of my boy.
Give me endless days
And countless ways
To watch my miracle grow.
Sunshine, moonglow,
Build him a perfect rainbow
So that he may know
The wonder of the love
I try so hard to show.

Loyal, gentle pets
Lived unconditional need
And when they died,
I did grieve.

Friends are the prose
Inspiring my rhymes.
Each would be missed
By this heart of mine.

When parents and siblings
Expel their final breath
I will mourn them
Until my own day of death.

If my husband
Should before me die,
My soul would cry
Float adrift and dry.

But should my babe at any age
Pass first in death’s grasp,
Defeat would set a fatal stage
For my hearts final crash.




Finding New Faves - II  /  Sponsor - Andrea Dietrich
6th Place

Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2015

Details | ekphrasis | |

Tod Und Frau 1910 (Death and the Woman)

As death creeps out of the darkness,
  A mother becomes the rope in a (Tug of war.)
A child reaches to help its’ mother in her weakness,
  And stares death in the eye with abhor.

The rope falls limp in sure defeat,
  Yet the child pulls on the strength of heart.
Against the evilness and deceit,
  Fighting with the will to not be apart.

The hooks of death on weary knees,
  Shackling the arms, exposing vulnerability.
Screaming and crying the words of “please”
  The mother rests with peace and tranquility.

A child left to battle life’s groans,
  Preparing for the encounter and all its’ lour.
For one day she will meet Mr. Bones,
  And she’ll be the rope in her child’s (Tug of war.) 






__________________________________________________________
Inspired by Brian’s Picture Poem’s Contest

Käthe Kollwitz, Death and the Woman (Tod und Frau), lithograph, 1910.

http://www.mmoca.org/mmocacollects/artwork_page.php?id=31

Copyright © Abe Lopez | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Still Called Mother

My body is a graveyard.
I buried you inside this defective womb.
I am less than a woman.
My flesh a fertile tomb.
Tiny ghost.
I will never hold you.

My baby is crying.
My baby is crying and no one can hear their haunting wail but me.
Night after night.
Hush now.
Shhh, 
Momma loves you.
Inviting this emotional decay,
I am damaged.

My heart is in the ground with you, dear one. 
This body betrayed me.
The space between these hips, 
Now an empty cradle.
That gentle heartbeat,
Faltered,
Ceased.

I am always with you.
Child,
Deceased.
My soul gently rocks you,
As you sleep.
When the fragile heart stops beating,
Are you still called mother?

Copyright © Nadia Steel | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Graveyard Girl

There's a girl in the graveyard that never seems to leave.
She hangs like dust in the autumn air.
She has beautiful flowers and tangles in her hair.
When it seems she's right there, she's nowhere.

Copyright © Aurora Erickson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

Child Of The Crypt


Sweet Rosalia was here with me
but for a year and a day
when we strolled the cliff beside the sea
to see the oceans spray

Sweet bairn of mine did laugh and clap
to see a butterfly
she reached her hand when broke the strap
fell from the cliff to die

Poor child of mine made not a peep
when fell unto the rocks
I pulled her from the watery deep
my bairn with sable locks

Such deep lament pooled off my face
she cradled in my arms
the tumble left none of a trace
the blow that did her harm

I could not bare to cover her
in mother natures brown
nor place on her the white death fleur
in cold and darkened ground

So Rosalia I did place
inside a glass top bed
forever more you'll see her face
whilst sadly she lay dead

I could not bear such deep repine
my heart could not erase
when saw the child did break my mind
wrapped in inky Seas embrace

My Deep lament would not erase
visions of my darling drowned
So I stepped unto the cold cliff face
And flung my body down

Copyright © shaunda lindsay | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sand Castles

Upon a beach I came to stand
And watched a child at play. 
He did while playing in the sand
A point of life convey. 

With scoops and buckets he did build 
A structure tall and grand. 
And to the child the beach did yield 
A castle made of sand. 

But as he left, I do recall, 
Away I did not turn. 
And with the coming night would fall
A lesson to be learned. 

The tide came in, with force did strike, 
The castle could not stand. 
And I was shown how life is like
A castle made of sand. 

And man is but a child at play, 
His works they will not last. 
For all he builds within days
Shall be by time surpassed. 

Each thing we do, Each thing we say, 
Each notion we conceive,
They all to soon shall pass away, 
Yes, this I do believe. 

We leave no mark, we leave no trace
That shall forever stand 
Be sure my friend time will erase
Our days however grand.

Copyright © Stan Bradford | Year Posted 2007

Details | Couplet | |

Birth Of A Child

A woman shattered the night, with her agonizing scream
Sacrificing her might has dawned realization of a dream.

She has given me a wonderful heir, to bear my name
And left her sweet memories, for the spirits not wane.

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

Suicide Child

I can't remember if the sun was shining
Or if the clouds looked down on me as I stood 
A child of ten standing on a window sill 
Whispering to himself he should

It started shortly after I woke
Distant where the trigger was
I'm guessing just the overflow
of everything they did and said

Finally ground down by all around
And though I'd fought for years 
Death becomes a friend
When she's the only one there for you

Knowing I would soon be in the playground 
Where no nurse could make better the names they cruelled 
Knowing my mothers boyfriend was down stairs 
Waiting for his latest vile whim to unfold

My mind consumed by every name called
I was not the same they proved 
Alone in my crowded thoughts
T o death I looked for belonging

As I dressed my imagination dreamt
What could happen today? 
Exploding into the unknown 
My strength rapidly dissolved
I could see no directions 
that didn't lead to another painful day

As my journey to the end begun
All they told me loading the gun
All that made me different from
Pushing me closer and closer to the edge of no return

In front of the mirror I stood
Cut off my curly hair
No longer the golliwog
That their taunts would compare

I covered my skin in talcum powder
As I didn't want to be
That horrible thick coon
he always called me.

My hair a mess
My colour unmasked
Tired, Frightened, alone,
I decided enough, enough

Standing on the window sill
The last bastion for survival colliding inside 
As the exhausted wishes to hang on
Were overcome by the desperation to escape this hollow excuse for life

No single tear a cry for help
As id learnt they choose not to hear
I urge myself towards an end to the hurt
where the crying would clear

As I engulf my mind in my final moments
And call for death to take my hand 
From across the road a woman called 
To this day she probably doesn't know she saved my life

Tears unintentionally
Created rivers down talcum powdered cheeks
But my mother didn't laugh 
when she found me

I guess that's where you'd expect everything to be made right 
I guess that's where I learnt to no longer believe
Through every promising word in the wake of what could 
They didn't do what they should

Copyright © Christopher Wellbelove | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme | |

OLIVIA

Dear child I know we never met
I’ve never seen your smile.
But God asked me to pray for you
for just a little while.

I got the news just late today
last night was when you left.
One week was all I had to give
before your final breath.

The Comforter I sent to you
several times a day.
I urged He go with healing hand
each time that I would pray.

His Spirit pressed into my soul
a child I never knew.
From pools beneath my folded hands
my tears He brought to you.

He said with faith, His pleasure found
my faith not strong enough.
But from my prayers for you, dear child
I found a strength of love.

Olivia, I fear I failed
dear child of only eight.
And now you walk on streets of gold
beyond a pearly gate.

I have a void I cannot fill.
Love found on bended knee.
I ask while walking there with God
if you could pray for me.

I love a child I never met
Nor have I seen her smile.
But God asked me to wait for her
for just a little while.

Copyright © Teresa Altman | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme | |

Hunger in the Cradle

Written May '85 when I was 14

It's truly a shame in our day and time
that a child goes hungry: it should be a crime.
We say look ahead to a bright new dawn,
but tell that to a mother when her child is gone.

The baby died in her arms - she fell fast asleep.
They're used to it now and don't even weep.
The sickness, the death, it's not in a dream.
It's so close to home, but it's not even seen.

The cities, the slums, the famine, the drought -
we've got to do something. It won't work itself out.
There's food in the world, let's show that we care.
The children are dying - it's so hard to bare.

Many are dying and many more dead.
No food, no clothes, cold ground for a bed.
It's a serious thing, and oh it's so fatal.
LISTEN TO ME WORLD!
There's hunger in the cradle.

Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015

Details | Epic | |

Victim or Predator

He had watched her for two years
patiently waiting for her to grow up.
He knew all her movements, what
made her laugh, all of her moods.

Soon now it would be time, their time
together. She would be fifteen tomorrow.
He talked to her in his mind and heard her
answering him, telling him soon, very soon.

He had everything ready, matching clothes
to those she wore, the same shoes, even
her old doll that she had long forgotten.
Her room decorated exactly the same.

He knew she would be happy in there.
That she would soon adapt, how could
she not? They were meant to be together.
The voices had told him she was his, born
to be with him. He could not wait much longer.

The next day he waited for her in the park
as he walked his dog that looked like hers.
He saw her bouncing along towards him
and with a cry of delight she stroked the dog.

He told her it was time and saw the start of panic in her eyes. 
Stuttering she asked what he meant? It is time for you to come to me, he answered, for our life together to begin. She turned to run but he was too fast. Grabbing her he quickly subdued her. Thumb on a pressure point he forced her into his van and shackled her to the floor, and gagged her.

As he drove off he could hear her kicking and fighting to get loose and 
he thought it was not meant to be like this, why was she so afraid, he had 
told her often enough about his plans. How they would be together always.
He knew she loved him it showed in her eyes that lit up when she was happy. Many times she had smiled at him as she passed, encouraging him to build it up in his mind that she was his.

He carried her into the remote house locking the door and bolting it. 
He took her into her room and laid her on the bed. As she struggled he handcuffed her arms and legs to the bed posts so she was spread eagle 
and forced himself on her in spite of her screams and tears.

Each day when ever he visited, she would try to move away, to avoid his touch and his kisses. Why was she like this? Had she been brainwashed against him? By now she should remember him and their earlier life together.
Then like a light being lit, he realised he had been fooled, it was not her. He had ended up with yet another imposter. Why did he keep being fooled by these lookalikes? He knew there was only one thing left to do now. 
Sadly he entered her room, she smiled in welcome far too late. She
now disgusted him with her girlish wiles.

Taking the pillow he held it over her face
until her shudders stopped, and she  lay
still and silent on the bed. When it was 
dark he would carry her out and feed her
remains to the pigs who would devour every scrap.

They had done it many times before as 
each imposter tried to fool him into
believing that they were her. The wife who 
had died in childbirth twenty two years ago.

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

Details | Imagism | |

Kids Were Playing

Kids were playing outside, in the playground.
Swing, slide, sandbox and Mary-go-round.

One was sitting inside, with bottle in one hand.
Thought of things that will never be comprehended.
Paper notes on the table, sketches of ideas.
Scrambled, messy, illogical, the Arcadia.
Revolver in the other hand, with bullets that wisely shine.
Shot was fired, point blank range, never miss.

Kids were still playing outside, in the playground.
Played, played, played, as death never be found.

Copyright © James Hou | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Mystery Of A Dead Child

Pardoned through the postmortem black
The green air like gas driving through
The dense flakes laid on my head.

My body lay heavy with the sunken Red Sea.
My clearness clear all eyes, I feel nothing now,
Not the vivacious flashes of a Summer Lady

Nor the rowdy screams of children at funerals.
My body lay cold, cold as a ferret’s nose,
I could hear it scream through pale October.

And all I remember in the weary twilight:
The seat belt clamped against my silent heart
My body threw itself from the vigor of metals,

Your hell widens to the flush of my form
And I felt my psyche evaporate in the clear air
Flashes of red and blue tango perfumery against the senseless black.

And all I remember in the weary twilight
Was a slim light calling my concealed name… I answered.
The red and blue steadily vanished in the blackness.

I watch my numb body lay flat on silver
Piecing together the weary twilight of red and blue
And shutting doors, though dead stiff, it was nothing new.

Copyright © Marcus Bailey | Year Posted 2016