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Narrative Child Poems | Narrative Poems About Child

These Narrative Child poems are examples of Narrative poems about Child. These are the best examples of Narrative 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


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See'n

I wish they laid him in it.  I mean, they ought to of laid him in his fleece — the gray fleece jacket he always wears.  Why is Papa layin’ with that tie round his neck?  It makes him look stringy — like chaw.  Papa don’t look stringy — don’t wear nothin’ round his neck neither.

Papa always wears his gray fleece — the one missin’ threads everywhere just like his bald head.  Papa always says hairs gots minds ‘a their own and don’t never set still — just like me.  But I did.  I set for hours on Papa’s lap — as still as a stone. 

Papa has long white hairs stickin’ out his neck at the place where he zippers the fleece up to, right under his chin.  The fleece has threads stickin’ out like that in some places. Them bare spots on Papa’s fleece — sometimes — them bare spots are fields.  

Martha and I plays in them fields.  Martha likes horses. I don’t.  But we plays in them fields anyways.  Martha rides her horse all smarty-pants and grins at me and Papa. 

Papa always wears his gray fleece — even the day Martha stopped.  

We was settin’ on Papa.  Martha was tucked up under his smokin’ arm. I was on Papa’s knee.  When Martha stopped, I walked into the field with her.  Martha turned pink.  She was born blue.  Papa never used his smokin’ arm after Martha come along.

After Martha stopped, Papa used his smokin’ arm again. I like the smoke smell —Martha couldn’t.  Papa said it was bound to happen — like rain on a Ju-ly picnic — why Martha stopped. 

When Martha stopped it was like she could smell smoke for the first time. 

I wish they laid him in it — I mean, they ought to of laid him in his fleece — in the gray fleece jacket he always wears. The gray fleece jacket the color of everthin’ in Wilson’s holler — everythin’ the color of ashes what blow down from the smokestack at the mill.

I wish they laid him it — in his gray fleece jacket what smells like Prince Albert and smoke and Papa — the gray fleece jacket what he always wears ‘cause he’s always cold, even in Ju-ly.  The gray fleece jacket he wears ever day — even the day Martha stopped.

~

Reverend Blackburn talks, Mama sobs and I watches a stone slide slowly down a muddy gray pile ‘a clay next to the hole where Papa is goin' to be put.  The stone looks like a snail what tried to crawl up the pile but slipped down on account of the rain.  A snail ain’t nothin’ but a slug with a house on its back — that’s what Papa says — just a slug wishin’ it don’t have no house to pack around.

Me and Martha puts salt on slugs we find under rocks down by Patrick crick — then we watch ‘em squirm and struggle and curl up and shrivel — and stop.

I looks up at the rain and closes my eyes until I can see Martha.  She’s wavin’ at Papa from way over a big green field yonder all dressed up with bright yellow dandelions.

Before I opens my eyes I seen Papa wearin’ his gray fleece jacket — the one he always wears — the one he was wearin’ when he stopped.


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Mother and Child

and she said Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams but today I live in my daughter's happiness All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own All my friends I do not see,to stay with her at home Money might get tight,but what is money compared to pure joy of a child What is money compared to her almond eyes Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come But what is success compared to first giggles to first steps, first mouthfuls and her little grabs Compared to gurgles and babbles to first time she calls me mama and hold on to my hands What is beauty in the world compared to a pearl This innocent child,a coloured coral petite pretty girl Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams But today I live in my daughter's happiness I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires roses on doorstep,unsigned love letters with spiced cologne and enticing words Today I live in my daughter's shadow To watch her live her own dream I watch her bloom in autumn gardens from princess of hearts become queen Tomorrow I will not be here She might not get to see the white of my hair the wrinkle in my smile But,today she knows I love her long more after petals wither long more after a mother's hug fades long after I shine from the sky.
Dedicated to my beloved Christina with love Happy first birthday wrapped with barney hugs and Winnie the pooh kisses :-$:-|B-)


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Shaken to the Core

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me. 
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif. 

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped 
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body. 
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life. 
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
 
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears, 
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK". 
I lied, knowing it wouldn't.  Besides what could I do with so little to give. 
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me. 


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Evacuation and Loss

The night shone for the full moon,
Sky brewing a coarse monsoon,
Bolted were windows, locked were doors,
The frequency of death frighteningly soared.
But who was this infant high upon the hill?
He denied the storm and just stood stone still,
Eyes shut like blinds and fingers dug into ground,
Felt he could move no muscle, for was sadly street bound.
Shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tight round
His skinny body, battered and browned
Praying for the sake of friends, family and all
However imaginary, he imagined them call
 “Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry, remember our love”
Joining their gaze in the beyond above,
He softly mumbled a song to forget,
The once daily song that was always a duet,
Alone on that hill without any feel,
Of an afterlife he finally accepted, wasn’t real
Tears met the floor, now bathed in yellow light,
As lightning struck him too quick to fright,
Child lay on the floor, dismembered and black,
Though his mouth was smiling and his happiness had come back,
As re-joined with family, head held high, 
He waved his tortured existence goodbye.
Hugging his mum and his dad the same,
Somehow put an end to the incessant rain,
The natives emerged from their homes, safe and sound,
The boy crying for happiness at the new life he had found.
Soul peering at his body, dead at age eleven,
Holding family’s hands they could finally pass on and join heaven. 
The touch of their skin brought old emotion,
 Parents who were torn betwixt war and devotion,
A child whom they gave their best shot,
By train to board and bomb to not.
The grave of the boy with the electric crown,
Who carried a burden he couldn’t live down,
Stood proud in the yard of cobbles and stones,
For everyone knew those were a heroes bones,
When you look into the sky on a stormy night,
Remind yourself of the boy’s plight.
As he is the clouds that damper weather,
Out to protect his town, children altogether,
He wanted a life for them around,
That didn’t consist of being mentally wound,
A life that he could never possess,
But he did not bathe in spiralling depress.
Life is sacred, upon that hill,
Those cobbles and stones bring great goodwill,
For the sun only shines on that grassy land,
Still holding marks of the boy’s humble hand,
Some say that the yearly rain,
Is him up above, the tears of a chain.
The chain of the tears shed on that night,
Of the fear and happiness’ conventional recite,
Up above, being tucked under the covers,
Is a little boy with an injury he recovers,
Mother kisses his head and says her goodnight,
Father over bed, comforting a nightmare fright.
Drifting off, the boy could hear,
A little rhyme to calm his fear,
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry remember our love-“
The young man rose slowly in his bed,
Opened his eyes and smiled as he said
“I’m here”


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Night Angel

They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
The man.
The child.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
The terror
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Agonizing
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A passer-by.
A doer of good deeds.
He stops.
He sees.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
Bravely
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
He runs.
He hides.
The passer-by,
Believing he saved
A child
From a long, cold walk,
In reality
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.


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You're a Super Hero - Poetry Contest

It was time to sit little Timmy down
It was time to have "The Talk"
"Timmy" I said "Timmy your daddy is the super hero known as"
it is here I took a dramatic pause and finally said
"Cabbage Head"

At this point i waited patiently,
patiently for Timmy to stop laughing. 
I tried to continue but Tim wouldn't have it
"no dad please, please don't speak I'm trying to catch my breath"

I remained silent. Just then Timmy said 
"so whose your sidekick cauliflower ears"
he was now gasping for air through his hysterical laughter

Timmy I said "calm down we have to talk"
Timmy stopped laughing but then he added
"so where do you keep your Super Hero costume?
In the vegetable crisper" back to Tim laughing
which led me to believe Tim was being sarcastic

" What's your superpower? The ability to
control itty biddy Bunnies to do your bidding,
(again with the sarcasm)
turning meat eaters into Vegetarians.
(my child hits the nail on the head)
So who is your arch nemesis Vegetable Chopper, he slices he dices."
(this kid knows a lot about me)
"No no I know Salad Dressing he drenches you in his juices
until you wilt." That's ridiculous I think
I would never fight a bad guy named Salad dressing
...again.

I decided I would give Timmy some time
to absorb our serious talk while I made a call.
In fact I decided to wait until the next day
I had to call my sidekick. The phone rang. He answered
I said "Cauliflower Ear is that you"




Maurice Yvonne
August 30 2014
You're a Super Hero
Poetry Contest-Carol Eastman


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Daniel the Conqueror

In a land far away was a family with two boys
The oldest loved sports the youngest only toys.
You should be like your big brother the father would always say
It’s time for you to toughen up and leave this childish play.
Yes Quinton was a fighter, loved games of every sort,
But nothing did he want to do more than play a sport.
Daniel he was meek and mild a softie like his mother
He hated when his dad would say, “Be more like your brother.”
Hurt and down he took a walk up on a rocky hill
Throwing stones hard at the water, he let his anger spill.
Why doesn’t my dad love me? Into the air he cried,
Kicking rocks with fists curled, tight against his side.

Meanwhile on an island far across the sea
A leader spoke to the animals, almost like a plea.
Legends say a leader from mainland shall appear 
A strong and faithful warrior, a boy that has no fear.
How shall we find this man child? Asked the animals out loud,
We’ve never seen a human said a yearling really proud.
The Albatross said strong and brave, I will bring him here
I know he isn’t very far, I feel his presence near.
The bird flew out across the sea searching high and low
Wondering where he’d find him, the boy they needed so.
There; high up on a hill side a warrior stood so tall,
He knew it was the chosen one, for he could hear him call.

Now in a flash he swooped down, grabbed Daniel real fast
The albatross was thinking, I’ve found the boy at last.
Daniel he was screaming as he dangled by one leg
Flying over water yelling let me go I beg.
As they neared the island, the animals all gathered round
Watching as the big white bird, let their hero down.
Welcome said a racoon, we’ve waited here so long
Today we’ll have a party, let’s fill the woods with song.
They sat all night telling horrible tales of an enemy they feared
And all felt a little safer now that Daniel had appeared.
I’m not the hero you think I am, there’s been a bad mistake
And a little bunny looked at him, you must be for my sake.

Daniel fell in love that night with all his new friends here
None of them made him feel bad, they made him feel so dear.
For their sakes I must beat this foe, an enemy, a disgrace 
Making sure he never comes back to this peaceful place.
For days they planned together, what everyone would do
And when the varmint showed up they stood up to him too.
Instead of running and hiding, they stood together tight 
The badger lost the battle and ran home fast that night.
The wise old owl thanked Daniel for ridding the beast at last
Conquering their worst enemy, who now is in the past.
On wings of love the hero left his friends on the islands strand
When Daniel went back home that day, he had become a man.

The moral of my story? With a little love and trust,
Everyone can be a hero, we are more than clay and dust.
 
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.18.2014
Carol Eastman’s Contest: 
Fable to the Rescue 
1st


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African Child

" From the debt of my heart"

The African child
Sat behind the bamboo fence
He was sober and tense
Sputtering and wondering.
He forsook the bush meat
And the gathering under the moonlight
For sobriety and the causes of his uncertainties.
His clothes were like dried leaves
His feet like openings in the eaves
He longed to see a brighter tomorrow
He clarified the causes of his sorrow;
Sins of the father,
Fighting not to make things better
Therefore darkening the weather,
Making his destiny falter and bitter.
Tears exuded from the sound of his flute,
His fears enlarged like a parachute
But one thing he never understood,
Watch and pray, oh! African root
For your foundation is stinky, filthy,
Faulty and guilty...... watch and pray.



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Adult Child of an Alcoholic

Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
         and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
         wooden legs
         betray
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
         bourbon tweaked philosophies
         of life begins
         at  forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
         the glass that begins another
         day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
         lipstick coated leeches who prey on
         your diminishing
         breath.

Through these wintry days pass faces long past
         into what was then
              while with the coming spring ...
                       at last!  at last!
One can remember
         and want no more 
              what could never be:
                      a Mother.


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Iowas Child

Gone are the fields of winter white
soon to be replaced by hues of greens and yellows,
in the interim, fields of barren brown and dirty gold
turned, to breathe warm air from departed winter chill

Plumes of black and gray from mans machine
kneading the back of Mother Earths desire,
before impregnating her with the many seeds 
that will produce offspring to quench mans many needs

oh, how lonesome she looks, so alone
holding yet to some remnants of children past,
left only to cradle her dead, left by man
yearning to suckle new life, as only a Mother can

Above, from the heavens, Father prepares
to germinate those so many seeds,
with life sustaining necessities only he is allowed
sunlight and life giving rain, loosened from the clouds

within days Mother is impregnated
she can feel the multitudes of organic life,
moving within her womb, yearning,growing, needing
the escape, to be warmed and nourished by the Sun

Minutes turn to hours, hours to days
suddenly weeks pass,and yet another life,
giving rain, descends from guilded clouds
arms and fingers, of her children, open, sustained

nearing the end of a warm and wonderful summer
it is time for Fathers other children,
to reap what he has sewn
time for Mother Earth to let her children go

My, how they have grown, tall,lush and full
of the fruit they were meant to bear,
to provide nourishment for the masses of seeds
grown to maturity, in need from the father

Again, the gray black plumes of mans machine
come to life, they move through her fields,
her children, like a predator among prey
until, she is left again, with remnants of children past

Soon she will be blanketed again in winter white
gone will be the warm breath of life,
her children taken from her, she is again barren
only to be betrothed to a promise of new life.


I wrote this on a day trip to Illinois from Iowa across wide open farm land.

                      God Bless....Taz


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Twilight Child

~*~ Perched on the porch steps, as the crimson sun goes down I am sipping on my cold iced tea, and drinking up the joy I am smiling as I’m watching him, as the weary day retreats… While the shadows of the trees and poles are stretching long and narrow He is running swiftly in the yard, in the warmth of summer breezes His arms are opened vast and wide, while he races through the trees I see him weaving figure eights, he is flying like a sparrow While he studies how his shadow moves, as swiftly as an arrow He is laughing at his mirrored twin, a silhouetted super hero Now he’s jumping over power lines, finely etched upon the grass Reflections from the poles above, in the magic of the dusk The joy lights up his face with wonder, a new power of discovery! It seems if he could tightrope walk, those lines into the sky His shirt billows out, like hero’s cape, his glee is free and wild Oh, joyful moments watching him! … my precious twilight child !
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Inspired by Rick's Contest "Shadows and Lines"


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she dying to survive

deprived of a father to tell her that her skirts to small
she wore it to hug her hips and rise with every sway in her walk
her mother, another statistic of having babies to young,
was to whipped in her dip trying to be hip so she cheered her poor child on

she's dying to survive in a broken home
daddy not around to watch her spend a penny and mamas hardly home
she's dying to survive and she's put her school on hold
she's another undereducated black child with no priorities or goals

she careers soliciting her body, making it hobby to walk up and down blocks
waiting for the right brotha she can sweet talk and pick pocket
at the honk of his horn, she stops hot trotting
hopped in his car and found a quiet spot for lip locking

her hand rises up his leg, she feels for his man
he nods giving her consent
she prices her body for those new Jordan and dolce & gabbani
she'd rather rock the latest fashions then to feed her starving body

she's hopelessly devoted to being the hottest at the parties
she's dying to survive wanting attention to feel the space neglected by another 
who makes alcohol a hobby
she's dying to survive rich living is her poverty

she's deaf to her inner voice that yells to her it's wrong
she confides in bad associates who cheer her on
she doesn't know this is how she's dying
she's dying to survive


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Child Prostitutes (2006)

Staring head on in the face
What is happening in each corner of this dreadful place
I don’t want to say rather me that you
I wish there was something I could do
Children for sale just isn’t right
Buts its happening day and night 


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My Unborn Child

"You," my unborn child, "I long to hold;"
"You my unborn child, "I will love forever, as 
our lives unfold."
" I know God has you in Heaven, waiting somewhere, 
and in His time, your love I will share."
"He alone will provide the way;"
"You my unborn child, are in my prayers everyday."
"I know you will be special in every way," and
fill my life with joy everyday."
"Your tiny hands and your cute little smile,
such a bundle of love, you will be my sweet child."
"I will be right here, a mother waiting to be, and
when God is ready, He will send you to me."


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It Takes A Whole Village to Raise a Child: The Farmer

It Takes A Whole Village to Raise a Child: The Farmer

It has been said that it takes a whole village
To raise a child; How does a farmer help
Families raise the children?

Farmers live near the village; and together,
Everyone helps raise the children.
How do they help?

The farmers near the village grow food to sell.
They plant, tend, and harvest vegetable crops.
Veggies: lettuce, beets, cucumber, and tomatoes
Collard greens, cabbage, onions, and potatoes
Green beans, artichoke, peanuts, the list and work
Goes on and on and on— 
Farmers hire many workers to harvest their many crops.
Products are then, sold and sent to many vendors.
Although there are still some independent farmers,
Some farmers, like those in olden days, grow on rural farms.
Families, men, women, and children working together,
Using hoes, beasts of burden and hand plows to work the soil.
Children helping along side watching adult examples—
However, these days, big agriculture businesses own farms. 
They use huge machinery to operate their many acres.
Food producing farms: planting and harvesting to feed masses.
Their products, like smaller independent farmers’ products,
Are sent to markets in their homelands and abroad.
In the process of providing food and cotton for people,
Agriculture businesses and farmers alike set examples.
Good or bad, the children watch wide eyed
And ears perked!


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The Best day of My Life

I always thought that I knew love
How intense that feeling could be
But, you were my gift from above
Just exactly what I'd need

I never thought I'd be a mother
I thought that time had past
It was a shock to believe another
For I was pregnant at last

I was 39 at the time 
I felt kind of tired and old 
My doctor said that I was fine
And a child is precious like gold

It wasnt always very easy 
Being pregnant, working each day
Some times I'd get kind of queasy
But, eventually it went away

Tests, ultrasounds, bloodwork , all were fine 
An amnio to see if you were okay
Monthly appointments, filled much of my time
Everything was progressing each day

I worked until the day before
Your grandparents flew out to see
I was very ready, couldn't take no more
Wanted my child for just for me

Finally the day had come,when I was to see my son
I got up early, got everything ready, even checked your room.
Slowly I drove to the hospital ,awaiting for the fun
For this was it what I had waited for, i'd see you before noon. 

At the hospital they readied me
A Doctor put a catheter in my back
My Mom and Dad rushed up to see
Their grandchild in a wrap

I told them of my nervousness 
How I forgot the words to say
So together we as a family
We were able to pray

I had to wait for a long time 
Emergency twins were on the way
They said I was next in line 
In the holding room was where I stay

So at 930 they brought me in to the room
They draped a sheet in front of my face
I hoped my head wouldn't  zoom 
I wanted to start this race
 
At 9:54 you came into my life
Your Dad ran to the end to see
The child that was bore by his wife
We became a family of three

My eyes filled with tears and I felt joy
It was all so new, I never had felt it before
Here's your child, perfect, handsome, and its a boy
For on that day my love for you grew even more

The bond between a mother and son
Is a story that can't be told
To look into your little eyes, I was overcome
My memories of that first time will never get old

So on this day when you had came 
Was the best day I could have ever thought
Never mind fortune and fame
To have a child is a lesson in life that can never ever be taught. 


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Wild Flower

Wild Flower
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 In Death Of A Rose by Nate Spears
 
Rescue this sunflower
It's capable of being a ray of light
Nurture it, value it, and love it
Its petals are more delicate than they appear in sight
 
 A wild flower it is; but it displays beauty
The facts of its species remain unknown
Its fight to reach its true potential is admired
It’ birth to existence is undetermined
 It’s roots shows trauma
Its presentation brings hesitates to potential caregivers
No one's prepared to take a chance
This flower is destined to win
 
All earthly roots sprout from above
At some point in a life’s span; we could use a kiss or hug
 He who refuses to display any element of the wild
Is merely real
An artificial representation of life
Stuck in Styrofoam surrounded by fake moss and dust
No breath, no soul, non-existence
A human being choked from an outer dimension.
Rescue this wild flower with love.


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A Christmas Tale

As evenings dark began to close in
a little girl wipes her nose on her sleeve.
Listless and hungry she walks in the snow
a poor and lost soul, one cold New Year’s Eve.

Her dead mothers slippers were much to large,
they were flip flopping while crossing the street,
two wild carriages coming full speed
made her lose them, now she walks in bare feet.

She glances in windows as she walks by,
families eating and making good cheer,
her pains from hunger she tries to ignore,
she’s starving and freezing, poor little dear.

The north winds cold breeze keeps blowing her face
catches her breath as it blows back her hair.
She spots a dark alley where she can lay,
Tired and windblown she can no longer care.

She curls in a ball tucking frozen feet
carefully under her old blanket cloak,
she leans on the building, closing her eyes
now given up and her spirits are broke.

A shaggy old dog, nudges her gently
she hugs him and draws him close to her heart,
smiling she whispers, we’ll go together 
when Jesus finds us, we’ll never more part

Then both of their eyes close, she bathes in dreams,
sitting at a fire, with food on the hearth.
When she awakes, a lady stands smiling,
pats the old dog saying, good boy old Barth.



The Little Match Girl by H.C. Anderson
Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.


Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
12.03.2014
Contest: A Christmas Tale
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi


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TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS

TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS Daddy's little girl is going. Daddy's little girl is slowly leaving... Silent night... it's what the angels are singing Outside there are ringing laughter, however-- in a hospital bed which was cold white as the snow lies the body of a little girl, d e a d. Her little soul just had to go. She just had to go ahead than the others. Her once sun kissed face now the palest cream. Her once twinkling eyes now shut so tight. The glow of light and love she always bring was lost on Christmas night, as Santa stood in red and white holding a present on his hands staring at the child his eyes wet with falling tears for his little girl has died. _______________________________________________ © 12:02 am, November 27, 2014


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Boy at the Fair - Well, I Declare

I watched, fascinated, as the tall lone boy
in line to ride the Scrambler
stuffed handfuls of peanuts in his mouth.
This was the same boy I had spied just an hour ago
further down the way
where thirteen seemingly ravenous, foolish people 
bent their heads to plates, and with hands behind their backs,
plunged their faces into myriads of pies.
He hadn't won the contest but had come rather close;
the nuts he was eating now replaced the pies he'd fed his face.
But telling stains of blueberry and meringue remained
upon the long sleeved shirt.

The line for our ride proceeded at a turtle's pace
till finally we got into our seats.
Secured inside, we waited to begin.
Close by, I saw the boy unbutton
the top of his already loose baggy jeans,
a timely gesture I would say!
Then folks around us howled 
as round and round we went.
Perhaps some screams held terror.
Mine held only delight.
And when the ride was finished,
we exited as quickly as we could
though giddy from that sweet rush of adrenaline.

I glanced a final time at that strange lad.
He stooped and sputtered something to the ground:
a few whole peanuts and a couple of blue tinged chunks.
Disgust was worn on the faces of the onlookers around us,
but only I was well aware of all the food 
he’d still managed to hold down!
He wiped his mouth on one long sleeve
and stared right back at them;
well, I declare, 
he headed straightway toward a fragrant hot dog stand. 



 
.




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A Woman's Worth

A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears


Her purpose in this world is hurting
She’s never been a designed of perfect
But she is a mom, so she’s super
She works
She cleans
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
The house 
Making it a home
For a beautiful family to roam
Building wonderful memories
Becoming a woman of worth
Keeping her faith through Christ
Keeping her pace through health
Keeping her sanity through managing
This is a woman’s worth 
I’m giving you


Despite of all the stress 
She receives her family with open arms
Through all the mess
She’s a fantastic mom
A wonderful woman 
Deserving a round of applause
Plus a standing ovation
For always being an American sensation
That held this continent down since day one
Since the Plymouth Rock landed on us
Thank you for her giving
Thank you for her living
Thank you for her children
This is ,
A woman’s worth.


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Crazy

My friends and I had midnight hide and seek
One had to stand by a tree and not peek
In my state of hiding great I was hard to find
My friends decided to just be unkind
They all got together and decided to hunt me down
I first hid in the river near my house and almost drown
When they walk close by me I silently move through the grass
It was very hard to see, but I crawled a long time and almost ran out of gas
Then I heard one say that they were going up and wait by the tree
I had an idea that made a way to make them see
A shadow that ran in the distance thinking that would be
I had my horse pull a little manikin to make them think it was me
My friends took their flashlight and shined it toward it
I thought I had them but one thing was clear they did not fall for it not a bit
They all laugh and started to call out my name
They all asked how the heck did you have time to pull that trick that was so lame
I did not answer so they kept on looking for me, but I was so quick 
Some of my friends started to get really mad and tick
I was a master of doing weird things they all knew what I can do
The night was still young and the grass was collecting dew
I decided to make a distraction once again
To think of it, it would probably make the night end
My friends finally surrounded my tree house
I was quiet, so quiet, more than a mouse
I had some rope in the tree house to make my escape
To distract them I made a loud noise like an ape
The tree that my tree house was in was at least forty feet up
I had some stash in my tree house a drink or two in a cup
My final hour is about to end I did not want my friends to catch me till I got to the tree
I took the rope and tide it on a branch and pushed off and that was the key
I landed on the garage roof and sneaked my way to the tree
My friends knew me to well that they plan things before I could see
They had a fish net ready for me to step into
I thought that was kinda wise and some what like pew
The few feet by the tree there was two of my friends that was ready
Up in the tree they both jumped down and pulled me up in the net fast and steady
They thought they had won, the person had to tag me before I touch tree
She ended up having to get something to stand on to reach me
I swung my weight back and forth till I ended up touching and the game ended
My friends and I were so full of surprises and that is what the game handed


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REMEMBER ME

When you don't know how many tomorrows you'll have, 
You tend to focus in the immediacy of today;
A homeless child just trying to survive.
Rummaging through dump rubbish every day.

Another afternoon in this hellish forsaken place, 
Ankle deep in garbage scavenging a dinner plan;
Feeling particularly weak and sick on my stomach, 
When a large group pulled up in two white vans.

The slide doors of these vans opened fast, 
And well dressed people jumped out in a hurry;
Honestly, I was glad that I wasn't too close, 
They were strangely awkward, I was worried.

The group spoke a different language, 
I think they were from The United States;
Most of them were snapping pictures, 
Which is something I do not appreciate.

They were drinking cold bottles of water, 
What I'd give just to have a taste;
I'd be happy with a half empty hot bottle, 
In this sewage minefield of trash and waste.

One of the strangers seemed different, 
There was something about his eyes;
He seemed to look right into my soul, 
As I stood there swatting away flies.

It's hard to describe what I was feeling, 
Although little time had actually passed;
There on that filthy hill I felt a bonding, 
I remember wanting this moment to last.

On his face I saw sadness and passion, 
He could tell I was a boy totally broken;
Existing day to day on this stench heap,
We were talking but no words were spoken.

Then someone in the group said something, 
And the group quickly boarded up to go;
Except for the one locked in on me, 
From the vans they shouted "Come on, Joe!"

He ran to the van.. and grabbed something, 
Then with sensed urgency he rushed over to me;
The kind stranger delivered two ice cold waters, 
His contagious smile was large and friendly.

As he turned to go I tapped him on his shoulder, 
He swung around I was shocked to see tears;
I felt a simple pure love from this angel,
Who from out of nowhere suddenly appears.

Walking back to the van he turned and waved, 
I took a long drink to salute.. no longer thirsty;
The rest of my life this moment sealed in time, 
For him as well, I think Joe will always remember me!

For Sheri's "Out Of Water" Contest
*He gave more than a Drink.. He gave Dignity! 

Narrative Poem 
From the city dump in Puarta Plata, Dominican Republic

Poet: Lyric Man


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Malala Yousafzai

Malala Yousafzai,
a Pakistani school girl,
was shot in the head
because she wanted an education.
A cowardly brain dead camel humping
moronic rat bastard raghead nazi shot her
for that reason and that reason alone,
she is a female and she wanted
to obtain a decent education
and have a bright future in this
turbulent world in which we live.
Malala lived and is well on her way
to becoming a brilliant young spokeswoman
for the equality of opportunity for
girls and women all over the world.
I pray for her safety and continued success.
And may every warped brainless raghead nazi’s
sorry worthless soul burn in Hell for all eternity.


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My Fantasy, My Husband

My Fantasy, My Husband July 25, 2011
As a child I had a dream, was’ such a fantasy only a princess in a fairytale surely 
dreamt such things! In my heart he dwelled; this prince my dream, my fantasy I 
knew so well. My mind filled with thoughts of him day and night for our souls 
touched in the night as I lay dreaming.
Life happens and everything in it for a reason. Having lost so much my baby in 
heaven, my boys gone with their father, my heart’s broken! I lost all that I ever held 
close now memories for this princess who once had a dream.
He exits the elevator and comes my way. I hope he stops to talk even if my boss 
said to stay away from him. Once more, I have begun to dream and my fantasies 
have come back to life. He dwelled in my heart as a child when I lay dreaming. This 
is my prince, my fantasy the one whose soul touched mine. My prince and I shall be 
his princess!
People say we are too different; he would not ever marry you. Life and 
circumstances are all against us. He is a wealthy, smart doctor. You are poor and 
have no degree. What could he see in you or could you have in common? 
Soul mates now together as one in my dream, my fantasy my fairytale alive and 
true. My husband, My Prince surrounds me with love not caring what others might 
say or think. Together as one, I continue to dream and share all life’s fantasies one 
by one.
				                    Debbie Knapp /Princess


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Beautiful Bloody Angel

Bloody fetus in a jar 
I buried her, at sixteen years old.
My heart crumbled for the very first time. 
I want to know her skin,
Every smile line, every dimple, 
Every scar that has yet to fade like and incision too deep on my lung
I can’t breathe.
I want to know her scent
And I dream of it like it is the breeze of the coast
I can feel the vibrations of the ocean smacking against my skin
Weeping, rapping, weeping, rapping,
Weeping
As I fall to my knees. 
I want to know. 
what you meant
when you said to me “Baby I’m gone”
gone home
running home
gone home
ill go
wherever you are 
I want to know.
I want to see the crop farmers clapping to the weight of wind 
Let me in
To you
I want to know,
Your love.
Every opportunity that arises that meteor showers this millennium
And the way the clouds hide it all
Underneath their power to protect us from what,
From what.
Like the weight of the world fell on my shoulders
And the clichés clapped at the poet’s last line
And the heavens smoke glazed my eyes
As I stepped outside 
Put my thumb up for a ride
Because I want to know
The smell of dissatisfaction 
And the tingle of effective poison
And the embrace of a lost loved one
Up there, covered in clouds
That protect me
From seeing her
My sweet, sweet baby.
My beautiful bloody angel.
I want to know what it is like to forgive,
have my mind freed of all resentment 
and neglect of the happiness that went hidden into the frozen corners of my brain.
I want to know love,
to know contentment and stability and the light that rains on so many men,
so many women.
I want to grasp that.
I want to hold peace and press it against my chest.
I want to take God and cup him in my hands and scream
“Where Were You!”
Where have you been!
Where will you be when I am falling… or floating
Where will you be.
I want to know
Where is she.
Not just about that old mason jar buried in my garden
But God, did she fall or did she float?
Because I want to know
Because wherever she went I will go. 




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Cotton Field


                               Each summer my parents would take us to
                               my grandfather’s ranch in Southern Texas
                                 to help with different  jobs. It might be
                             branding cattle,  digging fence post holes, or
                                picking cotton! My parents had told us
                                   stories about the cotton fields as I
                                  grew up. I wasn't old enough yet to
                                      partake in this miserable job.

                              One fine morning my brothers and I were
                            awakened before daylight dressed, fed, and
                               taken a mile down to the cotton fields!

                               We were handed heavy cotton ducking
                               sacks, they were over twice as long as I
                                       was. We all started diligently
                                        filling our sacks with cotton.
                            Under the hot summer day sun, which was
                                beating down. The field was elegantly
                 plowed with neat rows, lined with brown dried plants, with
                                beautiful fluffy white soft cotton and
                               seeds in bolls. A protective vessel that
                         does its job with sharp burrs that make picking
                              cotton by hand quite painful, and bloody.

                               I walked up and down the cotton rows
                              dragging my heavy sack. With blistering
                                   sun overheating my body, I had
                              began to ache, getting weaker, the sack
                                 got heavier every minute My hands
                            had swollen up with cuts that were bleeding
                                 from removing the cotton out of the
                                  bolls. After a while I started feeling
                                faint,running a fever, heaving, then I
                            collapsing to the soft plowed black soil. My
                                   family  run over wondering what
                          had gone wrong. I had developed Heat Stroke!

                               Never again was I brought back to the
                             cotton fields to perform that dreaded and
                                                   hated job!

                                  I just can’t imagine anyone  that
                               would want to put up with the misery
                            and suffering of doing that for a life time

©By: Eve Roper 12/8/2014


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Hugs

There is no hint, or clue
This sweet child of two
Could ever comprehend
this hug, and how it heals
all the wrongs the world has known
how it takes me to moon, gives me hope when I am blue.

With his unknowing, smiling face,
A cowlick in his hair, freckles here and there 
Who takes the air from my lungs with a glance
Skin glistening, pink and rosy from the sun,
As he comes bounding through the door,
Mud on his small shoes and face
Without an inkling or a trace..
No idea of how the pace 
of my heart bursts, in the wake 
of emotions I feel

The way that my arms would wrap around 
His small body so tightly, that he would gasp.
This well of love that I can't express....

    But of course, I don't squeeze so tightly.
      I must hold my love for him
        With more restraint,
          Keep my arms encircled in a more gentle embrace,
             For he wouldn't understand how much love
                His sweet presence stirs up the air I breathe
                   This child, this precious son of my daughter
                      Will never know....the joy...
                        how this one little boy
                          has made my life complete




....
for Skat's contest: Hugs


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Diary of a Child in Trinidad

  

I remember the land of drums I was born
  Bedded beneath great hangin' nets,
       The sound of the conch and the horn!
My blue suitcase filled with stuff,
    The red tricycle and pedal car
That made me race and made me puff!
I remember the hounds of revolution nightly howl
  On the streets of my island home...
So now I reign afar in melancholic exile
  As might a king denied his throne

I remember my first day of school so bleak,
  A gingerbread house on Picton Street
     Where I first kissed a sweetheart cheek!
Hearken tales of men in Sherwood...
      Nelly Stone in her rockin' chair
Readin' the Adventures of Robin Hood.
The loud guttural yard turkeys' gobble and flap,
  And kids singin' their songs of joy,
I remember the year, the girl, the sounds
   In all its virtue when I was a boy
  
I remember the front yard we would play
  And the annex rooms we called home -
      Livin' and growin' and findin' our way!
Wavin' at the Queen's royal parade
          Down on Saint Clair Avenue
In the crowds followin' her motorcade.
I remember huddled around the old valve radio,
  Long siestas in the hot afternoon
Till late beneath a corner streetlight halo
   Ravin' drunk slumped Blue Moon

I remember sticky chewy peanut brittle
  With my cold Nestle chocolate milk,
     And gorgin' my tummy little by little!
Behold Down-the-Islands dashin'
    In a boat out on Staubles Bay -
The sea spray across the bow crashin'!
Watchin' as darkness fell the high moon and tide
  Shinin' on bay and jetty so bright,
When, as young eyes grew weary, I would
     Rest at peace through the night

I remember all dressed for Sunday School,
  And afternoons at the Country Club
      Splashin' around in the swimmin' pool!
And at sea playin' captain and sailor
       On board a ship Panama bound
In my cabin with my toy car and trailer!
I remember the ports and voyage of no return
  Into the yonder crossin' the equator,
When old Neptune rose from the undersea
    To bless our ship and navigate her
      

                ----------------



              September 1990