These Son Introspection poems are examples of Introspection poems about Son. These are the best examples of Son Introspection poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
While walking through a hospital one day, a veteran I did see
He was in a wheelchair with both legs missing, and he did it for you and me.
I turned around a corner and down another hall
Only for my eyes to behold a family who has lost it all
A five year old cried out,"Why did daddy have to die?"
The mother held her son closer while she greived and began to cry
The mother of that young Marine, who had fought over in Iraqu
Wandered why her son so brave, didn't survive the enemie's attack
The father of that soldier, hung his head to cry
He was a retired soldier himself, why couldn't he have been the one to die?
His heart broken sister, sits in shock and tries to deny
The death of her older brother, he was killed and don't know why
A few days later, a family, everybody all dressed in black
Went to the funeral of a twenty-five year old who too our bullet in Iraq
The Bible says "thou shalt not kill." and "Love your neighbor" too
Maybe our soldiers aren't doing what's right, but they still take your bullet for you
They sleep in foxholes, and eat in trenches, and do all that they know to do
They rest in the sand with no comforts of home and they take your bullet for you
The restless nights turn into days, you wouldn't believe all they go through
THe rest of us sit at home and gripe, and still they take your bullet for you
The next time you hear a 21 gun salute, don't condemn as others do
The next time the taps are being played, remember, they took that bullet for you.
Thanks, Veterans for your sacrifice.
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.
I look into his soft blue eyes
And see the face of two before him
The sweet innocence and wonder
Of all that the world possesses
For in him lies the possible
Those things that escaped before
As our time is too short
To experience all the beauty before us
His smile and giggle so enchants
Free of the worldly weights to come
Unencumbered by life’s many roads
Choosing all rather than some
Such possibilities await this one
As with the two before him
Which ones will he choose
What path shall he take
But not today, for time seems endless
For now, to explore all he sees
When joy is the only decision
And beauty in everything abounds
In life to get by, I really do try, very hard to live by,
the old fashioned ways, of how my daddy lived his days,
He often told me not to lie, and when he caught me, it made me cry,
and I still remember him say, son you'll be ok, tomorrow's another day,
Then daddy told me about the war, the first time he wrecked a car,
and of how it made him cry, when some of his friends died,
Then we looked up in the sky, and the whole world felt like ours,
staring high up in the sky, I just wished that we could fly,
Being young, I asked dad...why?...why do people have to die?
Then I heard him sigh....and say....my oh my oh my,
and he looked me in the eye,
as I yearned for his reply:
Son, people are dying without....and dying within,
with no way out.....hunger starves a friend...
Death is much about, bloody wars that never end...
The whole world, no doubt, suffers from serious sin,
Then we looked high up in the sky, suddenly a shooting star went by,
and the whole world felt like ours, as daddy told me about the stars,
Then I listened to him say, son...tomorrow and everyday...
let nothing stand in your way, and you'll succeed in life....OK.
I love the rain,
On some deep unconscious plain.
It seems to seep in and soothe
The pain of an overtired brain.
That never rests,
Because of the stress,
Brought about by bad choices.
And sometimes the voices
That never seem to leave me alone,
Behind the eyes they plot
And manage to accomplish
What they desire to dethrone.
The King of Hearts is now a Jack,
Using Diamonds to fill the void left by his Queen.
Using a Spade shovel, she buries their past,
And some of her skeletons too.
I mean, she wants to start fresh, and squeaky clean.
I love the rain. It brings forth new life,
An attitude changed; serenity, acceptance, courage to maintain.
To learn, to grow, to believe.
The hope of a new relationship,
And a budding love with my seed.
I need him, he needs me and we need him on high.
I must not waste anymore, the time's getting slim.
I love the rain.
Because it opens my mind,
My thoughts are simple, and the truth I seek, I find.
When there's a storm,
There's calm before and after,
But the journey through
I s, to me, what really matters.
I love the rain.
You Drive me into this Malice, into this Maze
I can only see the last of days
Your Creation Failed With Me
Burn with malice as you bridge to the plains of ennui
Native, Liteskin, sun kissed
sit, talk, get to know me
for I am not my skin and
even though the tan pigment
I am my heart, thoughts
and actions,reflection of
A car accident took
my Homies brother this morning
and as we sit and talk to him
now, through faded room mourning
Young man, stole pop’s keys
from sleeping pockets
joy riding with friends
headlights beaming, MN
summer star sky gleaming
Dad's unaware, boy & friends left
till woke, by early morn’ meeting
God opened the skies and took
two good ones away
I felt it rained, clouds crying briefly
for them today
70 miles an hour, Murderapolis streets
took two good homies heartbeats
jus’ a mile away, a close
friend heard the tires screech
Driver yells to him, “get a knife & cut me out!”
Neighbor, like doe eyes in headlights
filled with doubt
ends up dying after all
at the hospital
down 29th Ave and McKinley St.
Two of the Five Souls involved
God, now, does keep
I recall seeing the drivers smile
less than one week ago
why Mista Watkins & White Jr.
was it yo’ time to go
your loved ones may never know
We don’t always understand
the Lords plan
but He surely knows
heartache and sorrow
is how July fourteenth does go
two significant young Southside sons
at 3:30 am, drove into a utility pole
crushed glass ridden streets
two homies, with us no mo’
I pray Jesus be with them
as they grieve, and friends
surround them with the love
car accidents & tragedies
close to home to you
tend to place things in perspective
defrost a persons mind
set it into view
cuz’ its not about the color, of
your skin, or where you came from
it’s the way you impact the world
in the end, who you’ve grown to
the lives lost, were good peoples
Stood for good values like Church steeples
vibrant athletic youths of the future
barely 14 & 17, gone too soon
I hear the sad, cry, lonely night of our
Murderapolis streets, claim
two more young heartbeats
you will forever be remembered
and loved, keep an eye on us
from above, we know you’re
in a better place, were all running
an impossible to win race
for we all have a time card to punch
under the Lords undying grace
your Influence and charm, young men
is locked within us
and we shall all party again
in the Kingdom of Heaven
our final resting Place
7/15/2010: R.I.P.- Patrick Watkins (17) & Duane White Jr. (14)- South Side, Minneapolis, MN
you are forever loved and missed, but not forgotten, watch us from Heaven, Amen
(based on a picture)
Two metal figures rest on his desk--
A slender black crane and skinny black dog.
For years they have rested there standing on edge
As reminders and guardians of a darker past.
But these things are unknown to the boy;
The grandson who sits on his grandfather's lap.
He reaches for the figures that look like toys;
Like innocent igures meant for his pleasure.
Caught up in the moment, the grandpa relents;
He gives up his memories, gives up the grief
That have been with him as long as these figures
And he watches young hands handle the "toys".
He reflects while watching, his slight smile grim
That recycled gunmetal was used to make them.
The Look On My Child’s Face…
Just yesterday I noticed a look of
love on my child’s face.
This happened in a most “ordinary place.”
It was in our home.
A place by God’s design.
I felt God speaking to my heart
this particular time.
I didn’t take any time to
stop and realize,
The look of love and innocence
in my child’s eyes.
“Am I being the kind of Dad
God wants me to be?”
“Am I being an example of Christ
for my child to see?”
Have I been demonstrating my
teaching my kids God’s love,
May a Christ-like life in my kids
be clearly seen and understood,
As one day they will
grow into adulthood.
I hope that one day my
Children will say:
“I want to be like my Dad-
every single day!”
By Jim Pemberton
(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)
Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,
they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.
They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,
and white was right in South Africa back then,
but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,
you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.
You, my mother, would not, could not break,
You stood firm, you stood tall.
You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.
You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,
the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,
my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,
by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.
You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.
You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,
you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,
you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.
Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,
all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.
I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,
the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.
I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,
you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,
of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.
I salute you!
(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)