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Age Dad Poems | Age Poems About Dad

These Age Dad poems are examples of Age poems about Dad. These are the best examples of Age Dad poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Phantoms You Have Carried

The clearest blue became mottled with age,
and I only recently began to notice.
Time-soaked eyes, foggy mirror to my own,
reflecting a frail wire, just out of reach.
Leading to a skull-shaped cellar,
therein lay the contents, shadows,
wavering in small glimmers of truth.
Reserved but yearning, they call to me.

Whispers carress my lobes; 
they are phantoms you have carried.
They ride on waves of joy and anguish,
snapshots of my tiny feet trodding down halls,
chasing cats with remote-control race cars.
Then I tumbled over a carpeted ledge
and bent your office-drawer key.
Maybe you'd suspected those young paws
were much stronger than they looked.

As time sped all around me, your atmosphere grew thin,
and labored breathing stole the spark from your limbs.
When cells began to replicate like narcissists in the West,
your hovel became a war zone, and I, a refugee.
You never caught your breath in the wreckage,
and when a second bout of war came, your lungs gave out.
I watched it happen, at a loss.
I remember your mouth agape, eyes glazed, wide,
as, in your final breath, you ran towards something I could not see.

Now, the battleground you once crawled through
has been cleared of every trace, every tuft of dog hair,
and all the shining documentation to prove you were an artist.
And how you were an artist, having sculpted so much of my
lanky willow limbs, my dense, ferocious heart.
I have a case of survivor's guilt.
I am writing every day a mystery, wading through
my own metaphysical mess, only faintly aware of yours,
the stuff that lingers like shadow people,
darting in and out of my peripheral vision.

I only wish they'd speak to me and
divulge what last you saw, or that I could
re-activate your smart phone and read
the very last text message you sent.

Copyright © Kathleen Shay | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Year of the Acorn

Year of the Acorn
(For my Father who
has Parkinsons &
22/12/12  21:21

Out on a winter walk
one day
you solemnly put an
acorn into my hand.
Something in my head
"Keep it safe
and he'll be safe".
I kept it to this

Year one.
One candle on my
burned into my
mind's eye forever.
You took a
to keep me in the

Year four.
My sister arrived in
the world. 
You took me to feed
the swans.
Back home
she greeted us with
I fled, covering my

Year thirteen.
Mother told me the
facts of life.
You kept well out of

Year nineteen,
A disco at the end
of a long, quiet
You always drove me
safely there and
You were judge and
of all boyfriends.

Year twenty three.
You gave me away
to the best
boyfriend of all.

A montage of eras
replay in the bright
lens of memory
till the year of the
and the acorn.

And I kept it safe
so you'd be safe,
only now it looks
cracked and old;
not quite like an

and you are not
quite like you.

Copyright © Sara Louise Russell | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

The Box

A box under the bed holds my whole life 
Letters from my first love who later became my wife
The shoes from my daughter’s first steps 
To the flower she held as I walked her down the aisle 
I’ll always be your baby she said with a smile
The watch my dad wore as he slipped away 
I stood by his side the watch stop ticking that day
The promise ring I gave my darling before we wed 
I’ll never forget the tears or the words she said 
A photo of my mother in her younger years
Looking at that photo brings me to tears
Cancer took her smile grace and hair
I lost it when I lost her it just wasn’t fair
So a box under the bed means a lot to me 
Containing my whole life and what use to be 

Copyright © Alberta Richardson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet | |

Come hold his hand

Come hold his hand 
Just because they're gnarled and old 
Doesn't mean hes lost his soul  
To have a moment that he knows
Someone sees him not as he shows

Has anyone got any insight 
Peoples words are left and right 
they hold no heed infact they bite 
What could possibly make him smile 
When's the last time, think a while 

Perhaps his face is frozen stiff 
Ever thought to unlock it 
Another Man dies the world rolls on 
Do you understand who he was? 

Those hands once young his face once bright 
The weight of life has left him a sight 
He's still that young man inside 
The gnarled old skin a place to hide 

A story to be told for each scar worn 
A lifetime of pain to be reborn 
In his eyes you can still see 
Just who he used to be 

Don't mistake the outer exterior 
He's inside not inferior
The hardest Men will get old 
Remember that when being bold 
His hands may be gnarled and scared  
A sign of his love for his family tarred 

Copyright © Heath Mason | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

This is me

My knees were the things that 
kept me up and my skin is my 
cutting board my eyes are the 
rain clouds to the fire running 
down my arms and my heart is 
the fire place that keeps me 
burning so calm

Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue | |


I live where angels fear to walk
Don’t ask questions, no one’s gonna talk
Another kid’s innocence is being take
Their thirst for blood will never slacken
Love is something only found in a fairytale
But those don’t comfort, when home is spelled H E L L
Left alone for days on end
Nothing else to do but play pretend
Trying to get lost in a dream
But when that doesn’t help, all you can do is scream
I’ve called the devil by his first name
His eyes are cold, mine are the same
I live where angels fear to tread
By the time you find me, I’ll probably be dead

Copyright © Grace Faolian | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio | |

I Was Born at a Very Early Age - Part 1

"I was born at a very early age",

this, along with many other immortal sayings, from dear ole dad, will always have a way of sneaking into my everyday life. He'd come into the room, unannounced, and lay this idiom on me, "I was born at a very early age". He would give a deep pause afterwards, letting the words truly sink in, as if it were some grand piece of wisdom that should be savored and mulled over. Then of course the laughter would swallow us whole, stealing thirty minutes (at least) of our day, and replacing it with utter nonsense. "How could you NOT be born at a very early age?". Rhetorical, mind you. Lest you want an overtly inflated banter of words let's leave it at that... rhetorical. Some have a dry sense of humor, yes, but this seemed to be the extreme. If it were any drier it might just rival with a Dominoes pizza. And this is about the time when 99% of the population leave the room... leaving dad and I to talk "philosophical". If you're laughing, great, you can stop by anytime. If you're not well... there's the door.

But more than just a terrific sense of humor (in my opinion), he has other qualities worthy of note as well. A love to learn... not just learn in the kindergarten sense (or even the college sense). To THRIVE off of knowledge... to be encompassed into it, to have it be your bread. This sorta never-ending craving for facts and figures is what drives him to hours of perilous typing, in his tucked away office desk. He'd come home, sweaty after hours of working with cabinets, or working on some guy's tub, give an efficient nod to the rest of the fam... and zoom! Off to Information Center (AKA Internet). There wasn't a subject too obscure or to trivial for his ready fingers not to plow away the rest of the night: Geo-engineering, worldwide politics, long and tedious Bible discussions, truth behind Monsanto... you name it. I remember one time, when the Mormon duo came a'knocking on our doorstep. If it was me, my mom, (or really anyone beside pops) we'd give a polite, "No thanks, we're not interested today." But one fateful day it WAS my dad who answered the door... and one thing led to another. I'd come home after work and see a set of three people sitting in the front lawn, two bicycles laid askew as well as two helmets. I'd think to myself he's at it again. And for the next three days dear ole dad would be chatting up a storm with these Mormon folk. One of the pair left still feeling strong in his belief (if not a bit blindly). The other well... it looked as it his world was turned upside down.

To be continued on in part 2 (even with becoming a Member this piece was still a hundred characters over the limit... darn).

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | List | |

Vaccine Recommendation

The following immunizations
Recommended for kids
10 to 12 years old
Help protect from dangerous diseases

Parents check
Immunization records
If missing 
These important shots

Tdap (tetanus diphtheria, pertussis)
Protects against 3 dangerous diseases
Required before 7th grade
Kids need 1 shot between ages 10-12 years

HPV (Human papilloma virus)
Requires 3 shots for full protection
First shot required between ages 9 or 12
A booster at age 16

Protects against infections
Can cause brain and kidney damage
Preteens need 1 shot at age 11 or 12

Much serious than the common cold
Everyone needs to get the flu vaccine every year
Even young healthy kids

More than just an itchy rash
Can cause Pneumonia or serious infections
Kids needs 2 shots

Talk to your doctor
About getting these vaccines
Be healthy
Protect yourself against these serious diseases


Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Life's Monsters

being born started it awakening amidst fire heat, I prefer cold homeless, what we had, is gone broken family moves on parental split cries leaves divided broken souls our goals, torn, unfold illness kicks in, worrying two boys, so young amidst such sprightly playing I tall grass lies hidden dangers out stretched hands protect such pain, excruciating crimson flow fountains now thrive monsters, leave us now two boys, so young amidst such Monday's we so loved until we ran, uniforms yea! I'm small, he runs much faster boom boom, please slow down corner turned, I'll catch up I view him, slam, gone road reached, I'm scared to turn now seeing, bloodied trail, tears Paraplegic, he we move on, carry on, strong sadly, Billy's gone three become two, are we through our tomorrows we await Quietness abounds two reft, illness takes, one left State spared, no one cared his last abused, now confused life's thrall thrown, never grown, blown!

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Pantoum | |

A picture of a sub-division-w

My sub-division is called the place of old people                     
There’re no young people in their formative age                 
With no kids but only single mom or dad in ample              
Known as the place of aged people of suffrage.                     

There’re no young people in their formative age           
To regenerate returning to their homes in picture                        
Known as the place of aged people of suffrage                                 
With no ambitions of the present or the future.                    

To regenerate returning to their homes in picture                        
No grown-ups with fervent hope and ambition                 
With no ambitions of the present or the future                    
But it’s place the with self-obsessed bohemian.                    

No grown-ups with fervent hope and ambition                   
Bothering no more for diapers no happy mother                        
But it is the place with self-obsessed bohemian.                   
To take children around to play no happy father.                      

Bothering no more for diapers no happy mother                        
With no kids but only single mom or dad ample                  
To take children around to play no happy father.                      
My sub-division is called a place of old people.  

Seventh place winner
Dr. Ram Mehta

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

For My Dad

More than two years it be since me old dad had to fly. I miss him you know, he was 
my best friend. I miss the twinkle in his Scottish,Irish,American eyes, a kind and 
caring Gent was he. Times there are when I sit on the porch and talk to him, like he 
was there next to me. If anyone was to hear they'd think a loony man I be, guess I 
wouldn't disagree. At the the age of three orphaned was he, placed in the 
orphanage with two of his four brothers. Cruel treatment he did receive, still had the 
scars to witness the abuse they dealt him, undeserved though it be. Never did 
break him, stubborn he was, passed down by his anstery, can say the same for me. 
Great depression was on, none could afford another mouth to feed. At the age of 
fourteen put out on the street , all because he refused to stay with a farmer who 
wouldn't let him finish school. All the man wanted was for dad to be his tool. A little 
help from a friend and some kindly Gents, a sleeping room he did get. Worked three 
jobs finished high school, I told you stubborn he be. Old Uncle Sam drafted him then, 
a soldier they needed him to be. Only five nine one hundred thirty five he was 
soakin wet. Balck hair, hazel eyes, a fine looking lad was he. Thirty cal. machine 
gunner he was assigned, to everyone's surprise. Little man was he, but the heart of 
a lion he did have. From the shores of France to Berlin he did fight. Bronze star for 
valor, Holocaust memorial award, battle for Atlantic,European theater,Seinne river 
crossing, Rhine river crossing, battle of the buldge, army of occupation, all these 
medals he did receive. I know if they'd asked him do you want to fight a war? No 
thanks he would have said, for a peaceful man I be. The day they placed him in the 
ground, amist his World War II brothers, the sky was crying, and so was I. Taps for 
him they did blow, gun salute. Folded the flag and gave it to my mom, in her eyes I 
could see that her world had come to an end. Such pain in my heart, I just wanted to and flee. Instead I stubbornly stood there, to honor the memory of my dad.

In Loving memory of my dad: W. Jack Ross :  1924-2009: I still miss him.

Copyright © Jack Ross jr. | Year Posted 2011

Details | Bio | |

I Was Born at a Very Early Age - Part 2

That's my dad for you... getting his hands deep into the knitty-gritty, when most others would just back off a safe distance away saying, "No thanks! Maybe when Armageddon comes a'knocking we can talk religion, but right now I'm in the middle of favorite show so.... bye!". I have much respect for him in that sense... a hard working man as well as a man who never stops thinking... even when on the coattails of turning 60. Still in the fields of repairing roofs, fixing leaky pipes, (even building tree-houses for the overly eccentric clients that don't even have kids that would enjoy it). My siblings and I would unanimously agree that he's been in construction since the dawn of time. And in some ways that statement isn't so far off from the truth - depending of course on who's "time" you are referring too. In my heart and soul he will always be high in my book of Highly Admired People. But of course there will always be those personality traits I wish were apart of him. I can say this, in complete honesty, that I don't believe he ever once remembered my birthday. I don't hold it against him by any means. Truth be told he doesn't remember ANY holidays whatsoever (Fourth of July, Christmas, not even his own birthday, bless his soul). He's just not wired that way. To him a holiday is nothing more than a glorified day where telemarketers and business men take full advantage of. "Feel like your mother doesn't appreciate you enough? Well here's something that will change her mind, this coming mother's day. A brand new 24 carat diamond encrusted necklace that's guaranteed to dazzle those eyes. You can beam with pride when you hand it to her... I went to Jared, yes, indeed!". But in some ways I mourn his inability to become engrossed in a monotonous no-nothing conversation. We can't discuss movies, musicians or any upcoming local events. Sometimes I feel as though if the topic isn't of dire importance, he won't give it a second look. Sports won't hold his attention... doesn't everybody know the Superbowl is just a distraction from all the wars going on around us? Doesn't at times, we resemble Hitler hiding his bunker, drinking wine and eating gourmet delicacies of pate and caviar, while the rest of the world is battling it out? Perhaps he's a victim of too much truth and it consumes him... perhaps I just have a truth deficiency and just smile away, in ignorance, at some comedian on the TV, "I have no idea why I'm laughing, but I guess I'll sit awhile, and wait for this steeple of ours to come crashing down upon us." This proves just how much I take after my dad... might as well have a Walmart worthy button pinned to my shirt at all times, "HI! MY NAME IS TIM AND I'M A HOPELESS MELODRAMATIC... FREE SAMPLE?". Truth be told, I guess we both have elements of wisdom and elements of pessimism deeply ingrained into our thick skulls. It's one of the most difficult things in the world to explain the complexities (or in some cases, lack there of) of Garold Hicks. When my friends inquired, I'd cut it short saying, "Well he's different... not all that social I suppose." But I feel that is a great injustice to his personality, to sum it all up in pocket-sized sentence that takes barely more than a short exhale of breath, to let out. It's hard to end this ode of him, and still leave the reader with a clear sense of purpose, or any real sense of conclusion. I guess it's only fitting to end this piece, once and for all, with yet another my dad's witty zingers,

"I used to think I was in indecisive...

... but now I'm not so sure."

NOTE: I wanted to write a piece about my dad for ages, but couldn't find the words. He really is a strange person (and I don't mean to be insulting for I'm very much like him).

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Father's Day

                         Father's Day

Every day is Father's Day
Dad grew old and frail in natural order we fear
War and age created gaps in time, holes in reason
Added to detraction's on his decline
Generations formed coalitions without permission
Things come into existence for a time 
We are the children by him and by his side
Who grew, arms and legs, solid foundations 
Creation, with other supports, sometimes failed
We grew our own gaps, holes in reason, ways to end
By digging in the wrong direction
Then, hung with vigilance, understanding, change
Clinging to hope like virgins in May
Waiting for what may come our way
Dad survives purely on love in poor health
Between you and me, he feels the power  
We are his children, his pillars of support
No matter what the pain or cost
Old, collapsed, an ancient structure
Falling our way one last time
We catch and hold him up in honor
As pillars on either side to do just that

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Dad's rose

Alluring rose,
Lost some petals,
Little withered,
But still whiffing her odor

All he said to her,
That one day she will bloom,
For thorns are all she needs,
For it’s in her stars,
To be a lover’s delight
To be a wedding’s wreath,
To be last gift of a living to dead

Alluring rose,
Lost some petals,
And he stayed there,
She needed him but water and sun

For gems of purest rays serene,
She is born to blush unseen,
She will 
She will be a delight
And all then a father will do,
Is seeing her off from aisle with smile….

Copyright © Shiraz Iqbal | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain | |

What I Swore I'd Never See

Whenever I look in a mirror,
I see what I swore I'd never see.
For there's an image of my father,
shamelessly staring right back at me. 

There is his fat belly I hated,
hanging profusely over my belt.
And the droopy bags under his eyes,
now sag under mine as the years melt.

I see the scars time etched on his face,
with every wart and worry wrinkle.
And I see his empty, hollow eyes,
that over time had lost their twinkle.

I see his face, and his balding head,
for age has stolen most of my hair.
And with his crinkled cheeks and false teeth,
I swear it's him, not me standing there.

Yet I've grown fond of this timeworn look,
for I know how each blemish was earned.
And finding my father looked like me,
is the most humbling lesson learned.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016

Details | Villanelle | |

Old Age at Home

You are one issue, born  out of my  tissue
be blessed with all the Glories and beauties of life
peace, happiness and  success I wish you

Remember still I was thirty and just born you
Parted  love and left  our only love sign, my wife  
You are one issue, born  out of my  tissue 

To render my duties, you sacrifice young  beauties too
As I ignored my youth for you childhood should not strife
peace happiness and  success I wish you

Old  old man’s burden on shoulders of old man new
Medicines , health drinks, bills and dippers  in rife
You are one issue, born  out of my  tissue

an overdose of medicine can be  fatal I knew
my nerves tender and lying there a knife
peace happiness and  success I wish you

Thought , experience, joys and tasks just like a dew
Just being and breathing feeling the bliss is true life
You are one issue, born  out of my  tissue
peace happiness and  success I wish you

Copyright © Neelam Sangwai | Year Posted 2014

Details | Imagism | |

going through my fathers attic

The torn Rawlings symbol,

old worn leather

faded light brown,

fingers coming apart.

In its web pocket, 

sits a ball, which is

almost as abused,

as the leather. 

Back then,

it was to big for me,

and looked 


But now it fits

just right,

and is already

broken in

Copyright © christopher oneill | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Never So Gracious

A full moon night to my delight what is so wrong with doing what's right nothing is right after so long no use in complaining time to move on The Dream Water one day might take me away farther from the comfort of familiarity I float on my back then shut my eyes my body now sinking into ocean arms open wide Now swallow your son back to his nature when he is no longer needed to stay here the next generation are dooming themselves they need my experience to guide them through hell Why should I bother on my own, I strive through I turn my back on the thought of bothering to save you alone in this world my, is it spacious I'm finally smiling, never so gracious.

Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |


The baby is reciting memory sequences to itself
Mama,  Dada    
divine consciousness
talking to itself
adults minds are fixed 
so they made it about themselves
I’m mama,  I’m dada
birthing alzheimer's to the baby’s health
he giggles,  slowly forgetting about himself
lost of consciousness    
he forgets about himself
baby begins to grow      
personality begins to show 
an adoration for lilac and pink
dada said no,  you're a boy
boy's favorite color is blue ----not pink
birthing alzheimer's to the young boys health
slowly forgetting about himself
grows up to play  little,  boy  blue
no pink boy    
sad  but it's true
playing the role of someone new
he forgets about himself
birthing Alzheimer’s to his feeble health
he grows into a macho man
anti pink, real, blue macho man 
marries a submissive girl  
yes sir,  yes mam 
plants four sons in her
yes sir,  yes mam
his tribe is completely blue
all boys,  no girls  
no room for the color blue
still playing the role of someone new
birthing Alzheimer's to himself
lies deteriorates our mental health  
one day,  had to face himself 
too old to run,  had to face the self
travels back in time  
loosened the control he kept on mind 
his heart can finally speak    
a 'lil weary  but she's not so weak 
he remembers    
he starts to think
my favorite color’s not blue  
it 's actually pink  
family believes he's losing his mind
he's not,  he's back in time
going mad removing all the blue 
wife calls the doctor    
doesn’t know what to do
"this is not my husband  
this is someone new."
she believes he’s forgetting himself    
he’s not forgetting      
he’s remembering    
forgetting Alzheimer's  
remembering himself

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Confused Beliefs at a Tender Age Part 1

It's safe to assume I had a pretty unorthodox childhood. The blunt of the trauma and confusion being from an innocently named building known as the Stonehouse. Though after the assembly broke up, I believe they changed it to Foundations. Doesn't really matter. My beliefs were muddied back then, when I was a tyke just making it through the day with as much happiness that I could muster. My siblings, however, had it much worse than I. My sister Michelle, thirteen years my senior, grew up without a television set. It's not because we were poor or anything. I wish I could say we were, however; I would even like to say it was because mom and dad were strict and didn't want TV rotting our brains, but unfortunately that's not the case. Watching TV is the work of the devil... didn't you know that? Well I used to believe that anyway. I remember sitting in the living room watching it in secret while dad was away. I remember him saying, in a stern voice "So it seems we're watching TV now, is that it?" It wasn't a question though. He stormed out of the room and we didn't watch anymore TV. He was an Elder of the Stonehouse Christian Church. And that meant business. The great sins according to that house of God were as follows: no guys shall wear sleeveless shirts, nor shall they take off their shirts while swimming (it was always so fun getting that soppy mess of fabric off my chest, after a day at the pool), no one is permitted to listen to any other music besides gospel (the funny thing is that we weren't supposed to be discriminating towards anyone, you know Love Thy Neighbor and all that jazz. No one told me why we couldn't listen to Southern Gospel, though), no fighting back, Turn the Other Cheek, gals should wear dresses, not jeans, their hair must be long and luxurious, and so on and so forth. Even sports were frowned upon if seen from Satan's Telly.

To be continued on in Part 2...

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Daddy Dear

Laying upon St. Jospeh’s lawn,
Tenderness distraught,
A mere glimpse of your life now gone, 
Regardless that you’d fought,
Curling shivers through my spine,
One glimpse of me and thine
Tenderness started the beat - 
Epic journey of those troubled feet.
One shimmering tear
To me did say:
“My life, my love, my every fear,
I’ll power through, and for now I’ll stay.
But please don’t look at me this way.”
I turned away 
So unto others you’d say:
“I’m still her mighty Daddy Dear.”

But know, to me, regardless of brawn
There has never been another so strong.

Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |


I'm still wearing the
red lusted lipstick he hates
as I try to explain that
it's impossible to
wash this disease away.
My father says I'm
a picture of teenage cliches,
mourning puppy love
as if it is something tangible, 
him, always one to rip
the band aid from the wound, 
quick and with only the 
slightest sting of nostalgia.
He wonders why he was cursed
with the mass of emotions
bleeding before him.
"It's later than midnight..." he says,
but they are everywhere,
dampening my hair,
flailing into my mouth
already creasing into 
the laugh lines and 
fleeting moments of yesterday.
My father wanted the boy,
five years younger and 
dead before born
but all he got
was this:
frayed heart and torn jeans,
sheet stains from two kinds of
melted foundations,
the moist aftermath that I will
swallow in sleep, as the
constant question marks
adorn his face.

Copyright © Feli Elizab | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? | |

teens life in Oakland

*A assignment was due in class. *

Every time a gun shoots
A tree looses its roots
Every time there is bloodshed
Along with it millions of tears are shed
Every time a heart is stabbed
Someone else’s life gets barren
As violence grows
Many more mothers moan
The sounds of destruction
Overpowers the voice of those
Who are innocent
Who suffer with no reason
Who beg for life
Who have heart full of innocence

Why do so much violence?
That the child’s cry cannot be heard
When his father is killed
Why do so much violence?
That a mother moans
Over her child’s dead remains
Why do so much violence
For winning any stupid battle
Which is taking lives
Of people who have wives
And mothers and children

When you can keep calm
Talk things out
Do whatever you can
To keep violence out
Because there is no sin as big as

Copyright © donna lu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Time will never age my love for you

I remember vividly when your strong hands
picked me up as you were playing with me
as a child.

Now they tremble as, I sadly watch you bring 
the food up with your fork.

I remembered when your mind was so sharp,
now your slow to remember our names.

How you sacrificed working in a foreign land,
struggling with a new language supporting
your family.

Now You struggle with your seizures that 
overcome you from time to time.

You were a sculpturer, a painter, a writer, a
champion for human rights.

Now you take your medications and take
things at a much slower pace, not participating
in who you were.

Your hair was black, your smile radiated,
and your energy flourished.

Now your hair has turned gray, your 
experiences are shown on the lines on your

I can remember your presentations of your
artwork at major universities, and the
stories from your homeland, that you shared
with impressed college students.

How they loved your treasured works.
The sculptures you presented to president
Reagan, and other famous people you loved. 

The news articles on you and your prized 
works. The admiration felt toward you
by countless friends and many admirers.

Dad one thing  time will never age, and that's
the love my heart will always have for you...

Michael Tor 9/14/2015

Copyright © michael tor | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse | |



I remember as a little girl how you would come by in your antique car and take me for a ride.  My remembrance is when you buck your eyes to say you something else but you still my child.  Daddy was I obedient when I did what you said with a smile.

I recollect you telling me about our family.  You stated that we are tribal in our identity; that our Negroid blood came from slavery.  You said we are just as much as anyone else is even when this nation may think differently.  Daddy didn't you give me insight into a life enlighten.

I recall your statement about your education.
You said you went to school but was not treated right.
Therefore, you dropout and started your life.
You became mastered skilled and did well.
Daddy didn't you provide me guidance in a world of racial disparity.

I will never forget the new bike you bought me.
You bought it without it being a holiday.
I was so amazed that you would that I road down Milam in pure enjoyment.
Daddy you showed them who you are; that your daughter was just as much.

Without hesitation, I have call to mind all the love you have shown me throughout life.
You may be down now but your strength shines through.
Mr. Charles Mac Williams, I love you.
~Penned on March 03, 2014~ 
~For Father's Day Contest Poetry Contest~
~Entry Date: May 31, 2014~

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

Respect Comes with Age

My father and my mother sat me down one day
     to tell me how wonderful that I was growing O.K.
The years passes by as I got to be a teenager
     with high hopes of becoming the first young manager
Life turns out a manager job is not for me
     so I kept things to a minimum working hard you see
My family had taught me with all do respect
     the life we lead is the image of our age in an aspect
Like queens and kings we bow our head
     to the people who is wiser in age even when dead
Life as our guide the time we have aged
     is what we leave behind that we are gaged
In prospective we are the stars and we are the earth
     because we age and leave behind a new birth
To those that seek such blessing of heart
     remember this age is respect for living from the start
Do you remember your father, mother, and teachers
     they are the ones cheering you on, sitting on those bleachers

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Mindful Thoughts from My Head

How often I’ve  thought ,  I’ll just stay in bed...
But that’s for sick folks my mother said
So I’ll just linger a little while...
 And let  my memories make me smile..
My mother was strong and rather petite.....
And my father so strict...and yet so sweet..
They knew how difficult life could be...
And passed that on to my siblings and me....
As they had experience throughout their life..
With all the usual stress and strife..
And the pair of them taught us all so well....
Though the way we act sometimes you couldn’t tell..
The lessons  we learn from our parents you see...
Are what makes us special like you and me..
And as we grow and make our own way...
Leaving our homeland so far away....
Years later returning to the place where we were born...
To scatter their ashes amongst the Rose garden thorn...
Was across the sea we had to go..
The memories were already starting to flow...
As we stood  outside of the garden gate....
We heard Mother’s voice, so articulate...
 “ tea’s ready “....and Dad said I hope it’s Earl Grey...
It was then we realized this was the day..
As they were gone and you can never go back..
So we must face the fact....
Our mind plays the movies in our head...
So with that in  mind ..  guess  I’d better get out of bed..... 

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

There's a Horse In Our Garage

Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.

Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents  a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.

For Horse contest  took 7th place

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme | |


Tea pot, tea hot,
Hissing sound, sizzling song,
Misty morning, missing someone,
Licking heavens, wrecking rain,
Ticking clock, clicking sound,
Fading memories, caressing moments,
Hypnotizing lights, kryptonite life,
Humming birds, hymning earth,
Graying beards, gaining wisdom,
Poignant stare, crowning scare,
My children in the city, my prayers for the city,
Face wrinkled, love winkle,
Old man’s life, chasing the grave. 

Copyright © HAGGAI IMBIAKA | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

That Drunken Man

Mommy and Daddy were having difficult times..
Arguing constantly,
cursing that ringed at my small tiny ears. 
I was only 6 years old when he came home 
having a little too much to drink.
I stood there staring at the intoxicated man, 
that I once called daddy.. 
His dead eyes burned into my head,
my body shakes as he stumbles through the hall.
Mommy tells me to run upstairs,
“What’s goin on mama” I cried
“Go NOW!” she croaked
as her eyes stared at me with scarce. 
My brother drags me by the arm upstairs. 
I hurdle into a small ball with tears poking their way down my small delicate face,
crying my heart out as if it was shattered into tiny little pieces.
I was just a little girl than, 
Innocent & Confused..
Police sirens blare from the front lawn.
I shuffle towards the cold window
peeking to see the drunken,
so called father of mine. 
speeding off, 
he was gone in a flash..
But not forever,
He came waltzing back into my life
as if he hadn't hurt a fly.
He left for about a year.. 
The memories we shared,
they’re grey and lost behind the pain which engulfs my brain.
But even today, 
at the age of 13 years old
I wasn’t blind as a bat,
I knew his ‘I’m such a good father card’
was as fake as his smile.
Which just pestered me,
Because of him I was left  drowning in a pool of depression,
I only survived because of having the strength of my mom and brother to pull myself up.
I will never forget that night
That night he bailed, 
leaving my small suffering  family heart broken. 
Yes, hes my father.. 
But no longer is he known as daddy, 
I’m never going to be daddy’s little girl again..
The pain stabbed me in the heart like a knife, 
still leaving scars behind
which leaves me to believe,
I can’t forgive nor forget.. 
That drunken man.

Copyright © Brooke McKinney | Year Posted 2014