No chance of rain tonight,
No bogeyman, when I turn off the lights.
A phrase I found and adore with the warmth of your security.
You are the reason I attain true maturity.
I love when you lay down next to me,
Like the high tide of the sea,
You move all the warm emotions inside.
My arms are the comfort you use to seek and hide.
Your nestle holds a true rhythm that hums its own song~
Nothing comes close to breaking this precious bond~
A sweet cradle-song only I hear,
You play my grin, without the strings of a puppeteer.
My heartbeat needs its fix and drug,
Your sweet, charming smiles and hug,
Is all I need to succeed,
You are, my only creed!
A kiss, I give on your forehead,
Into a poet’s world where your blanket a dulcet lullaby,
my arms are your bed.
“Goodnight Sweet Child, Sweet Child of Mine!”
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A
Yet still my heart beats for days now blurred
Two beats were counted, only one was heard
We are not even a drop of rain, just vapour
United to be once more, no clouds can conjure
All love all liking now lost… forever!
Dreams and memories, time tries to severe
Like dew-bespangled flowers alone I weep
The spray turns to rain, colours never keep
No longer will I drink your silvery voice
Destiny meant, I could not make a choice
A longing and thirst for you I cannot quench.
The cup floating in air, unable to reach.
©Holly P. Moore Lines 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12
©26/1/2013 Lines 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11
A collaboration with my great friend, David Willams, who has not judged me through my tragedy and encouraged me to continue to write.
Two minds thinking in sequence, I dedicate to my son.
Copyright © HOLLY MOORE
A telephone that seldom rings
So many songs I never sing
I open the door, but no ones there
Where are all the people who say they care
The world outside keeps going by
As I look out the window and try not to cry
Where did all the people go?
The ones I love, I miss them so
Long days turn into night
It's oh so lonely till early morning light
If I could only be what I used to be
I know how proud you'd be of me
But only then do I realize
The lord is very very close by
Then as I wipe away a tear from my eye
I hear him say, my child do not cry
And then I'm happy like I used to be
Because I know he's here for me
Copyright © Veronica Aicher
If you mess with me
You're messing with an anointed pedigree
I follow God
He knows that I am flawed
Who He loves
How He wants me to pray
Who he sends my way
I'll invite in my life with open arms
I won't forsake Him
Just as He won't forsake me
I know His Son died for me
Just knowing that alone has me in tears
Knowing that He loves me enough
To sacrifice His Son
God is my Lord
Jesus is my Savior
The Father of the Savior
Has given up his Son so that I may live free of Sin
Knowing that I can talk to Him anytime, any day, anywhere
Has me dropping to my knees
I pour my soul and heart into every prayer
I know He hears all I say
Most times He'll answer my prayer easily
Other times I have to work for the answer
In the end everything is going to be alright
Because I love Him and He love me
Copyright © Bryanna Williams
On sleepless nights I am led
To creep and kneel by your bed
To pray for your mother and me
But grief comes calling, you see
Gurgling from its endless base
It explodes out of my face
I shower your pillow with tears
Gagging on primal fears
Barking and spitting his rage
The monster howls from its cage
Backing me out to the edge
Of insanity's slippery ledge
The cord is severed I think
That unseen biological link
Has ripped loose down at the loins
And the wound bleeds from my groin
Like frayed rope snapping on a boat
The mangled end quivers and floats
Out in an endless abyss
Where my demons cackle and hiss
I rant, I plead and I pray
Still you keep drifting away
Hold on, I am with you my son
So tired, let go, it is done
Copyright © Tim Ryerson
On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day
Copyright © James Fraser
God has a plan,
And it is out of my hands.
Copyright © Kevin C. Martin
I can’t help but wonder, about the blunder, of building a one room log cabin,
Where man and wife, lived a private life, ‘til kids became real, not imagined
With no partitions, or new additions, you’d think their sex life would run ashore.
But they both knew, how to make it through, by inventing a thing called the chore.
As each kid did sprout, pa had to go out, and think up a new job for the tot.
He soon realized, that for his farm’s size, there were more tots then jobs to be got.
And the matriarch, made the remark, that inside we plum ran out of space.
So they tried to rid, their house of kids, as fast as were made in the first place.
At last the last lad, made a nice lass glad, got married and had a grand party,
But pa had ma’s hind, right on his mind; they arrived at the party, tardy.
Well all went ok, until the sad day, when the old man’s life ran out of time.
And then poor ma, lost her chutzpah, plus the cabin exceeded its prime.
So ma did call, her last son Paul, asked if he knew what she should do then,
He said oh dear, I just moved here, and that we don’t even have a den.
But son relents, and acts the gent, there is space in one nook of our room.
If you feed cows, and all the sows, cause heck ma, I’ve got a new bride groom.
Copyright © David Fisher
Papa Adam and Mama Eve's third son
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza
Hear me, hear me, sound me out,
I don’t understand what you’re about.
Euphoric drugs to boost your brain?
Why they're dragging your senses down the drain.
They mask your mind and make you doubt,
at the slightest word, you’re prone shout.
Oh oh ohhhh, how they tear you apart.
A false embrace to numb your heart.
But why won't you see, that they can kill?
As they choke out your spirit and shatter your will.
They can turn a goal into the ultimate reason,
while your soul screams out at this unjust treason.
True ecstasy doesn’t come from a pill.
It’s an innate feeling, with a costless bill.
A weed is something that grows wild and free,
Not a joint that you roll up, upon your knee.
And crystal, a long mineral process, as in rock?
But now I’m hearing, it’s made around the clock.
Man oh man…...will you please wake up?
You’re drinking serenity from a broken cup.
The dealers will treat you as though you were swine,
for money always feeds, their greedy jowl minds.
And they don’t seek just money, but power as well,
as they man the controls of this highway to hell.
Oh yeah, I'm mean to tighten my grip,
to speak out my mind as I watch you trip.
You aren't the cog of a wheel at a county fair,
turning around aimlessly, but going nowhere.
I know you can kick this, and make out just fine,
but how about the others, the ones waiting in line?
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald
I love guns and I have plenty.
When Daddy passed he had near twenty
He kept them locked in the safe I built,
Loaded and ready with no blood spilt.
For him a gun was a precision tool,
Not to be handled by just any fool.
He taught us all how to use a gun.
Took us to hunt and we sure had fun.
The day before my Daddy died,
He called us each to his bed side
And gave us guns from his collection.
He knew we needed no direction.
We keep them cleaned and polished each
Remembering his final speech.
"Care for this and when you die,
Give it to your son - please try -
Make sure he knows its proper use.
Take it now - and don't refuse."
Copyright © Ray Dillard
This is a journey, a trip call it what you will
It follows the footsteps of my ancestors, and allows my thoughts too spill
Firstly let me take you back, to tell you so little of my past
Indigenous I am, from the "Stolen Generations" I did not last
This is why I must make this journey, to allow me to find the real me
To retrace the few steps I made, to rediscover what my young eyes seen
How ironic that the person I'll ride with, is the son of the then official
Whose deliberation to round up us children, the scene, locale
It's now the morn of our travel, where I look I find hard to see
The peripheral of the distant horizon, is all that really captures me
The town where I grew up so young, barely to the age of five
Perth, now bustles like a termites nest, zig zagging in busily strive
Into the bush we go, to a place where us youngsters so enjoyed
Moore River Native Settlement, which soon became children void
As I walk my arid lands, patterned in the heat of this day
I recall with every step, where us Indigenous children played
We could survive on the smallest of fruit, water we could easily find
Even the son of the then official, said that we are a superior kind
He marvelled when I spotted tracks, traces of where animals crossed
Remembering back to when I was five years old, our lands always talked
We opened up as we led our horses, introduced all those centuries ago
They opened up my lands, rivers we walked, now the white man flows
This is a journey I had to make, it's called, it's in my will
No more "Stolen Generations" no more will my culture spill
Copyright © James Fraser
That same raindrop catches me either in the sun or shade...
The clouds look all the same but for a few that won't fade...
The taste of a tear is always on my tongue...
A salty spice from a cry not sung...
I look up to Heaven to see who it is...
My unborn child , a tear that is his...
written by Michael J Falotico
Falling Raindrop contest
sponsored by Carol Brown
Copyright © Michael J. Falotico
Dad never knew his father. That soldier died in a war.
All Dad heard was brief stories of the man that went before.
Grandma had some pictures and some medals on a wall.
But Dad never knew his father which was what mattered most of all
I’ve done some family history, and seen the ship’s manifest.
I’ve heard again the story of the good ship Lafayette--
How Grandma and her children searched the waves for periscopes,
Knowing that one torpedo could blow away all of their hopes.
This could have been in any war. Soldiers die and families flee.
But this was the family story that was handed down to me.
It started in old England, then to an immigration line:
A 3-year-old at Ellis Island, in July 1939.
They fled their burning country, to be called “war refugees”.
With help from an old uncle and a kind community,
Grandma made a new start here in the land of liberty.
They learned that Grandpa was killed in ‘44 in Italy.
I found online the letter, that my Grandma didn’t see,
About how the Sergeant-Major’s infantry company
Was caught out in the open by Wehrmacht artillery.
The letter said he didn’t suffer. Was he really killed instantly?
I never knew my Grandpa, though I was named after him.
Though I served a different flag, I was a soldier like him.
I’ve seen my father’s scrapbook, and Grandpa’s medals on the wall.
But I never knew my Grandpa which was what mattered most of all.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday
You hate your dad, I know
but I can't choose between you two...just no
You're right, I probably would never see
how bad I screwed up, but
without you, I've gone nuts.
Seriously, I will keep trying
to have you back, 'cause I'm crying.
I don't wanna lose you, o.m.g.
I'm really sorry...
I know I was a terrible girl
but I'm a clam and you're my pearl.
Without you, I have no value
without you, I'm no longer cool
I missed everything we've been through.
Your voice when you sing, I'm glued to you.
Hey, I'm still your number one fan
and you'll always be my sweet, young man.
you're the water, and he's the sun
without you both, I'd be done
I hope you can just understand
I'll always wanna hold your hand
no matter what happened, I'll love you still.
We used to hang and used to chill.
now I'm mad we can't do that
but again, it's my fault the balloon went splat.
I'm desperate to hear you say
'I love you mom, it'll always be this way'
I want your forgiveness, seriously
I'm really sorry.
Copyright © Celine Tran
IMPRESS ME SON
Brevity is the span of life, it is so short ;
But linear is victory without any short-cut.
The world you see now is a battle field ;
Doggedness is the only mean to the yield.
A hand that sowingly itself deceives;
Cries in vain upon what it later receives.
Be not a leaner but self reliant;
Hunt not fly nor ant but kill the giant.
Remember,the whole world is yours;
Limitation is in nowhere but in us.
Impress me son now that I may smile;
That I may be proud of you in Niger or Nile.
Behold, you are the last leg of my race;
Fail not son, in your hand is the ace.
User’s name : Kayod5.
Contest : Impress me ll !.
Sponsor : Giorgio V.
Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode
You'll never be forgotten, though you're no longer here.
It seems like only yesterday, but it's been over forty years!
Other children have been taken, yes, of course, we know!
But, to us, you are a treasure and we still love you so!
You were only with us, two plus years, they say that time will heal.
But, although it's been a long, long time, the pain is still so real!
God knew that you were suffering, He knew you were in pain!
So He decided to releave you, from the Tumor in your brain!
He took you up to Heaven, son, to give eternal rest!
He placed you in His garden, where He only keeps the best!
I'm wishing I could take a peek, in that garden, in some way,
to see just how you're doing, and make sure that you're O.K.
It broke our hearts the day you left, when the Good Lord called you home.
Bobby, part of us went with you, you did not go alone!
No, you'll never be forgotton son, what more is there to say!
You're always in our thoughts and prayers, we miss you more each day.
Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR
I am ten and crossing home.
Two players missed it, as it rolls on and on.
An error if you're scoring the play,
but I call it a home run on my first day.
I am ten, and I have found my first love
in a tattered ball, and a hand-me-down glove.
I am twenty, and I am throwing hard.
Beading sweat, please stay in the yard!
Each pitch thrown with a hope and a prayer.
Scholarship athletes can't be only fair.
Medical school looms larger than the Show.
A privilege for few, but I don't want to go.
I am thirty and I cannot put it down.
Sundays the old men come around.
Love of the game a common bond.
The bat is no longer a magic wand.
Reminiscing about those bygone days.
I can no longer beat out those close plays.
I am forty, and I watch with delight.
My own boys throwing with all their might.
A lump in my throat, a moist eye.
I contentedly look on and sigh.
I've passed down the love to the next generation,
and I wouldn't trade that for a standing ovation.
Copyright © James Nichols
My bundle of endless joy
He's my sweet little baby boy
Just yesterday he was my new born son
Look, how quickly my little one has turned one.
He won't crawl neither would he walk
However, has his way through his babbling talk!
The whole day long he's just having fun
Moving around, jumping on his bum!!
He's a gritty explorer, sans any fear
He instructs us all: loud and clear.
Very much like other bratty boys
He bangs and shatters his sister's toys!
He pinches and pulls her hair, yet gets away
She kisses and cuddles him: loves him anyways.
To his favourite songs, he would shimmy-wiggle-jiggle,
It would make his sis uncontrollably giggle!
As much naughty as it gets
When he sways his silky ringlets
Shaking his head from left to right
With a dimpled smile, my,my what a sight!
I simply can't describe how it felt
When he said, "mamma" my heart just melt!
A racing car, Minnie doll, his phone and his ball:
He knows them well and says it all.
He hushes with a "shh" the whistle of a cooker
He can tell you from miles, the sound of a cracker!
Mimics the donkey and the crow, counts very well his one-two,
He calls out for the lift and can stop an "autooo"!
He daily prays to God, loves ringing the temple bell.
So, my charming handsome boy is devoted and smart as well!
My rock star baby, you have me bedazzled!
Copyright © Yesha Shah
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Juice in the video, sick in the car.
Untidy bedroom, scattered toys,
girls playing nurses with little boys.
Dogs' tails being pulled, a cat's on fire,
interrupting the moments of love and desire.
Passing the blame for their little crimes,
playing with frogs all covered in slime.
Screaming their heads off in a plush restaurant,
having a tantrum when refused what they want.
Arriving home late covered in mud,
not going to bed when they know they should.
Non-stop talking while dad's watching telly,
splashing the walls with ice-cream and jelly.
Chocolate stains on their Sunday best,
painting funny pictures on granddad's vest.
Why do parents' voices echo from afar,
Oh, what a joy little children are !
Copyright © Ken Duddle
Hey, this is nice floating around in here
No sweat and no strain, got nothing to fear
Whoa! What is this? (Don't mean to complain)
I think I got flushed down somebody's drain
Ouch! What's the deal? Must you be so damn rough?
I refuse to come out! Don't like it? That's tough
Crap, I'm exhausted; I'm too tired to fight
The lights! The lights! Turn off the freekin' lights!
Slap ME on the ass? That hurts you old cow!
Okay! I'm screaming! You satisfied now?
Hello...Pleased to meet'cha, and who might be you?
Daddy? Yeah, right, so what else is new?
Good lord, I'm burnt out, I could use a short rest
Where? Well okay, right here on your chest?
Wow, this is cool! It's really kinda neat
Like hearing the sound of your gentle heartbeat
Yes, rock me a little, I sure won't refuse
And hum me a tune while I take a quick snooze...
***Had the priviledge and pleasure of being the first to hold my son after he was born.
There was a picture but alas, it is long gone. Now the only picture that remains is the one imprinted in my memory...
Copyright © Tim Ryerson
I wish that things could be
The way they used to be
When you were so young and really needed me
But times have to change and you had to grow
To the wonderful man that we've all come to know
It's nice to look back at your wonder years
With so much love and pride and a few little tears
I'm so very grateful to have a son like you
And I'll always love you unconditionally
No matter where you go or what you do
Copyright © Veronica Aicher
Last Fall, my church's Scouts and I went hiking.
A few miles north of Big Sur’s coast,
There is a forested park much to our liking.
Point Lobos is the nature preserve that I love most.
The beauty there is supernal, beyond description.
We chose our trails with maps and compasses,
And practiced local plant identification.
I pointed out Monterey Pines and Cypresses.
For a time we climbed a steep inclination.
We looked down into a cove, home of sea otters,
From a viewpoint near the old whalers’ station.
We climbed through a cleft worn down by waters.
That Saturday outing wasn’t a total disaster.
The boys passed tasks to advance in ranks.
Life doesn’t get much better for an old Scoutmaster.
Lastly, to the Great Spirit we all gave thanks.
For Goethe Stanzas contest
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday
When my son was young and so very, very wild…
I loved him dearly for he was my child.
But I feared the drugs, alcohol, and friends he did keep.
I knew they would destroy him, as I found my Eyes do weep.
We found a private High school with new peers to seek.
Miraculously, He found his own way back, and to college he did leap.
He chose a college and fraternity far away, as my eyes blurred again.
But the day he was on his own, became the best that’s ever been.
His fraternity became his brothers, and advice they dished out.
Study time became important, with gentlemanly behavior devout.
I’ll thank them each, in the leadership and help they all showed.
I’ll thank my son for growing up, and for becoming who we now know.
Community service brought blood drives, and teaching inner city kids.
They worked on their fraternity house, reclaiming it from the skids.
All parties had designated drivers to take every body home, all right.
They gathered clothes for the homeless to brighten up their life.
They built Homes For Humanity for to work he was never adverse.
Then, to add to the rest, he continued to work to become a nurse.
He put himself through college working in a hospital and ambulance.
He had learned a reverence for life, happiness, and yes, even patience.
My wild, wild son has found purpose in life and peace at long last.
And again my eyes do weep… This time with love so vast...
Copyright © Carol Eastman
Uther, the High king of England
fell in love with the Lady Igraine
Knowing she was married to Gorlois
he decided to fight the walrus
For he was the Duke of Tintagel
that Uther wanted to mangle
‘Thus he defeated his enemy’
and took her, his wife to be
The High King delighted to tell
of Merlin’s magical spell
How he’d become Gorlious in disguise
and fooled the Lady Igraine to socialize
Tintagel castle was full of joy
celebrating the birth of a baby boy
‘Twas Arthur they had named him’
a bonnie baby small and slim
They lived in a dangerous time
where Saxons attacked without sign
So Uther gave his son for safety
to his immortal wizard thats greatly
In time Merlin fostered him away
to Sir Ectors where he would stay
Raised in the Cornwall countryside
where he grew strong and very wise
He grew up with his foster brother Kay
not knowing his real parents any way
He didn’t know he was heir to the throne
until later when it became known
King Uther died and no one knew
about His son that should over rule
So arguments broke out everywhere
who should be King, who would dare
But Merlin had a cunning plan
to make Arthur take a stand
For he was the true king and heir
a kingdom he would rule and fair
A mysterious stone magically appeared
in St.Paul’s cathedral, in the garden rear
Extending out, was a huge sword
a message inscribed to my Lord
Whoever pulls this sword from the stone
will be the rightful High King of England’s throne
© Copyright 22nd December 2010 K.C.Leake
Copyright © kevin leake
One of the taken three,
Has returned home to me.
Five years he has been gone
So some days he is still withdrawn.
I am happy to have him here,
I no longer have the fear,
That he will not be free
As he is home with me.
There are new journeys to be had.
He will triumph though, like a good lad.
He is after all my son,
He will have his victory in the long run.
Of him I am very proud,
This emotion is allowed.
He is now a young man
Moving on with his plan.
He is enrolled and going to school,
Where he will shine and rule.
My son will show them all
How well he can stand tall.
Copyright © Kristy De La Keur Scoveille
We awakened, we argued, just like we had done before
It was mostly about football, the Celtic versus Rangers score
I would choose my team, as usual he would choose his
Pushing and shoving would then entail, growing brotherly bliss
But this was a day that was going to unite us, brothers, yes we
For we were getting our uniforms, the Boys Brigade's 4th Company
Football squabbles we left behind, to Bishop Edens we would go
It's our Primary School, did I tell you, our learning's in scholar show
As usual we met at playtime, in the same team we always played
We were like Pele, no doubt, well! it's what we tried to display
To the clock we always watched, as we told each other after school
Lets hurry home to have supper, for the 4th Company in us ruled
We left the caravan together, then brotherly competition arrived
Hey James! I'll race you to the canal, my little legs in strive
Into the distance he ran, blimey! he's much faster than I thought
I must continue to look up to him, he's my elder, I'm sure well taught
Just as I turned the corner, now knowing that I'm lagging behind
One minute he was there then gone, images now run through my mind
What I have witnessed, is now focused, a JU250 van has swept him away
It's impact I feel in my heart, I'm now in slow motion play
I now reach the junction, in my peripheral I hear my brother scream
Nothing like this I have heard, am I absorbed in a nightmare dream
The driver exits the van, his head he holds in his hands
I'm seven years old in tears, just trying to understand
Copyright © James Fraser
(Saints & Sinners in the Church / God's Patience with Sinners / Final Judgment
MT 13:24-30, 36-43)
He proposed another parable to them
"The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a man who sowed good seed in his field
While everyone was asleep his enemy came
sowed weeds all through the wheat then went off.
When the crop grew and bore fruit, the weeds appeared as well
The laves of the householder came to him and said,
'Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where have the weeds come from?'
He answered, 'An enemy has done this.' His slaves said to him, 'Do you want us to go and pull them up?'
He replied, 'No, if you pull up the weeds you might uproot the wheat along with them. Let them grow together until harvest;
Then at harvest time I will say to the harvesters
"First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles for burning; but gather the wheat into my barn."
"He who sows good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom.
The weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sows them is the devil.
The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels.
Just as weeds are collected and burned (up) with fire, so will it be at the end of the age.
The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all who cause others to sin and all evildoers.
They will throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.
Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father.
Whoever has ears ought to hear." (Taken from MT 13:24-30, 37-43)
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza
It was before a decent time on a Sunday morning.
My son leapt onto my bed and squashed me; no warning.
I had been in a dreamers state, the sixth lottery number
almost revealed, as I was summoned from my slumber.
A wet sloppy kiss landed on my cheek.
What a rascal, orange juice from the fridge he did sneak!
Copyright © Jodie Hannen
21st February 2012
By Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Hey mum and dad please do not lowly hum or keep mum,
When by your little one asked “where do babies come from?”
Narrated over and over this metaphorical tale,
Many scoff to tell, be it female or adult male.
Birds are like men and fly as they please,
Bees are like women, dedicated to their queen, to her whims appease.
Bees sit on and pollinate the flowers,
By, buzzing around many and over few hovers.
The birds spread the “seed”,
These to the “gen next” they lead.
This is about birds and bees a short verse,
On a topic, proscribed and taboo which parents surely must never be averse
Copyright © sashi prabhu