"THERE HE WAS HOLDING HIS HAND OUT"
God, can I hold your hand and follow you?
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.
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?"
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.
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray enough?
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.
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?
Getting right with me has brought you here!
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see My Daughter, Mothers, Sisters, family, and friends?
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
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-)
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2013
They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A doer of good deeds.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
Believing he saved
From a long, cold walk,
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
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
Carol Eastman’s Contest:
Fable to the Rescue
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
He's used to war, he fights real hard,
He's a soldier, he's battle scarred.
The enemy is weak, there is nothing to fear,
His compassion is gone, he has no tears.
He was taught well, was taught how to kill,
He's done it so much, it's lost it's thrill.
He no longer feels bad, when the enemy dies,
Tears don't come any more to his tired eyes.
In the beginning it was against his will,
But he soon broke down, and got used to kill.
Never thinking that his foe, was also just a man,
Like him with a family, doing the best he can.
He cannot have feelings, for anyone,
But then, for a moment, he thinks of his son.
He wants to go home, but it's not time yet,
So he goes back to a war, that he wants to forget.
Next day on the beach, on his tour of duty,
Lies a child's body, on the coast of Turkey.
He cannot believe what he sees with his own eyes,
A cute little boy, with no signs of life.
Lying face down, right there on the sand,
He picks him up, with his big strong hands.
And when he saw that there was no hope,
The soldier realized he could not cope.
He shuddered deeply...letting out a sigh,
And that's when...the soldier cried.
Now the whole world mourns that little boy,
Many children elsewhere, receive another toy.
Yes, people stand by, while these refugees die,
Some see the news and say, please...pass the pie.
John Derek Hamilton September 04,2015
Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2015
There was a little dog one day,
Who ambled on his aimless way.
He didn't have a house or home:
A doggy bed or fine meat bone.
His coat was mats and full of fleas.
He owned no boy to try and please.
Near garbage bin was where he sat,
Along with one sad, homeless cat.
His human threw him out you see.
This person wasn't you or me.
For we would never be so cruel,
Or act like some poor, heartless fool.
The winter came and with it cold.
Dog's airy ways were put on hold.
He shivered in the dark of night:
A sad, pathetic, needy sight.
And then a storm blew in with snow.
It left dog with no place to go.
He sat and whined beside the road,
For someone kind to lift his load.
Then came a car -- slow passing by.
A young boy warm and loved inside.
He saw the freezing, half grown pup
And begged they stop and pick him up.
The winter passed and next the spring.
Now please behold a wondrous thing.
A boy and dog romp on the grass.
All mats and fleas now in the past.
It's joy and love and fun we see.
The way that God meant it should be.
Both run and play, all pain now past;
This bond of dog and boy shall last.
The sad thing is allotted time
Of man and dog will just not rhyme.
The boy will know sad loss of friend,
Long years before his own sure end.
Then in a time that's yet to be,
They'll reunite both young and free.
Forever will their bond go on,
In timeless sunsets, countless dawns.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
bourbon tweaked philosophies
of life begins
The hands that tremble as you tilt
the glass that begins another
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
lipstick coated leeches who prey on
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:
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007
I'm sitting cross legged on the side of the road
while Dad holds my shoulders, in trying to console me,
but tears, uncontrolled, keep tumbling down.
Most stunning, right now, is the fear, I've not known
Never before, .....had I felt so alone.
Reality has settled, like darkness around me
A first-time encounter with death and it's toll
Though, how many times, I have played out the role?
It was always the same.....
Just a game to be played
The drama? Just kid's-stuff.....who knew what it meant?
Bang, Bang you're dead!...
Point a finger .... he's dead
A stab, rubber swords, ... at my eight year old heart ?
While slowly, with drama, we played out the parts
Our death scenes, .....pretending to take a last breath
Then, back on our knees, and up in a flash
ready again, to reverse all the rules......
Death wasn't real........and never this cruel
Tonight, driving home
a deer out of nowhere,
A thump, and a jar, a flash in the light
And in the dash of a moment, ....a crumpling crash
Make-believe shatters, in the path of our car
Dad reaching his hand, to check I'm alright
Then opens the door out into the night
Reluctantly I follow his somber silhouette
And met by a moment I'll never forget
The air bitter cold, has taken our breaths
I turn eyes away, but now it's too late
Glass lifeless eyes stare back in the lights
I'm strangled by silence, and the shattering sight
as still and cold, as real as if stones,
The deer's lifeless eyes, stare into the night
I feel such a change in the stars and the sky
I felt something die, in a child's heart tonight
For Trashed #2 Contest: Sponsor: Broken Wings
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
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
Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014
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.
Copyright © Richard Pickett | Year Posted 2010
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.
Copyright © Charlene McCutcheon | Year Posted 2014
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
Copyright © Nichola Vincent | Year Posted 2014
I came across my ex-son-inlaw's Obituary today. I decide that I'd better go to her. (My Granddaughter) break the news, and to just be there for her.
He'd left my daughter and granddaughter 'Kylee' shortly after she was born. Now a young adult...has never seemed to have been affected by the split.
When she was old enough, my daughter just told her, that they were both too young when they married, and that he went home to finish growing up.
As I drove across town to her Apt; my mind flashed back to a day when 'Kylee' was jut ten years old. Her mother had called and asked if i would give 'kylee' a ride home from school, as she had an unexpected meeting to attend. I was happy for anytime I could spend with her, as we did share an unconventional sense of humor. And all of the nonsense that accompanies that form of Fatuous Affliction.
And it also provided her access to a much desired cash windfall.
We parked outside her house and engaged ourselves in frivolous banter, while we waited for her mother.
"Who's better looking, Me or Brad Pitt?" I loved the way she would furrow her brow...giving me her 'Classic Once Over' and sarcastically retort on cue: "Why you of course, Grampa"! That being her rehearsed standard answer...would cost me another dollar. I had just started on my list of 'Notable Leading Men' when I noticed she was staring intently at the "Slurpee Man."
As long as they had lived there...one would be hard pressed not to notice him,
as he made his daily pilgrimage...shuffling that 300 lb. body on a 5 ft. frame...down to the '7-11' across the street...for his Super Sized 'Slurpee' Treat. "I feel so sorry for him gramps!" Then it happened. I really have no excuse for it...just that Maybe I felt 'I owed her one' (So silly, I know) But it just came out: "Do you know why you feel so sorry for him?."It's time you knew the truth." It's because he is your REAL DAD!"
I expected her to hit my arm...say something like: "WHOA!"..."That will cost you a Whole Ten Dollars!" But no. She just whispered a barely audible "OH."
About that time her mother pulled up; and 'Kylee' just gathered up her stuff and followed her mother into the house.
When I pulled into her driveway today, she was coming down the walk. I got out of my car and walked towards her slowly. "I've already heard Grampa." "Are you going to the funeral?" I asked her. "I don't think so." She answered. "What will you do?" "I'll just keep doing what I've always been doing since I was ten years old," "I'll get down on my knees and pray...adding...I hope there are lots of
'7-11's' in Heaven, and that tonight especially, he really enjoys his Super Sized 'Slurpee' Treat." After a brief, and awkward moment...she smiled... and with a tear in her eye...went on to say: "I remember EVERYTHING you've ever told me Grampa."
Copyright © Frank Herrera | Year Posted 2016
Shrub leaves lie curled in the dormant yard;
Trees shiver in their nakedness
As a crisp autumn wind exhales
Into the barren night sky.
On the corner of Walnut and Maple,
The Old Crowder House fights for breath--
Creaking and moaning with age and neglect;
Too decrepit to shelter life beyond a few strays.
There in the cupola she sits
In the long forgotten platform rocker,
Watching the child parade with eager longing
As they wander from house to house.
Will one look up to give her a smile?
Will they even notice her there in her chair
Rocking, as she has done for a lifetime or two
Mourning the loss of her own?
She hears a child's cry echo through the night
And notices a boy clinging to his mother.
Does he see me? Will I finally be released?
Alas, it's just the cats and startled birds.
And so she sits. Waiting and Rocking;
Rocking and Waiting for that magic night,
When the hallow spirits sing and dance
Under a barren sky as the cool winds exhale,
And the marchers of the child parade
Finally, look up and notice the wraith
Longing for a child's smile,
As they pass on their way to the next treat.
October 17, 2004
Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015
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"
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
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
Copyright © amber causey | Year Posted 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
Copyright © R Kumari | Year Posted 2006
"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."
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007
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!
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010
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.
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013
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
Contest: A Christmas Tale
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
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.
Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013
TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS
Daddy's little girl is going.
Daddy's little girl is slowly leaving...
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
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2014
There is so many stories telling a child how to grow up, the difference between right and wrong. to follow the rules, to see in color, how to stand strong. But still, you are children, with innocence in your eyes! Children who still get surprised when you discover that the butterfly really flies. Little boys who idolize things such as the man who plays with crocodiles, even though we call him the crocodile hunter, he doesn’t actually hunt them, and just like those little boys that idolize him, he just plays… And the little girls that know the disney princesses are wise beyond their years, and recognize the wicked witch of a mother in Tangled, and the different kinds of love in Frozen, and that beauty isn’t just on the outside in Beauty and the Beast.
So what else is there to teach you little princes and princesses who will one day rule the world? Because Dr. Suess told you that a person is a person no matter how small, and the Little Mermaid told you that no matter what happens you have to stand tall. So what else is there to teach you??
Well I have 7 short things to teach you! can you count that high? 1-2-7! ohh oops did I forget something? Oh well I bet you can’t count higher than 11.
Number one is that parents are people too. Or even better, parents are children, like you and you and you. Parents want to have fun, and even if they tell you they don’t, they do believe that Santa is real. And no matter how you feel, they love you and will always protect you. After all where would Simba be without Mufasa? Because Mufasa saw that his son was in trouble, and he opened his maw, and let out a roar that could be heard shore to shore, and he saved his son.
Now on to number two, which might sound a little crazy but I swear its the best thing that you will ever do is DO NOT let anyone put you in a cage. Think of Repunzal. She was locked in a tower where she had no power, left to pick the petals off of flowers when all she wanted to do was see the lights. So yes, instead of doing exactly what was right, instead of seeing things in black and white, she let the world get a little hazy and saw things in a nice shade of grey… or gold…. and climbed right out of her cage and ran off into the night with a thief who i guess was technically her Knight in shining armor.
2 plus 2 equals 4, which just happens to be next. oh no! honestly how could i forget about number three when it’s all about honesty! Aladdin lied to Jasmine and we all know how that ended. so no, lying is not recommended. You probably won’t end up at the bottom of a river with just a lamp with a little blue genie in it, but lets not tempt that trend.
Now 4, 5 and 6. Four, do exactly what scares you, Five, make it happen, Six, sometimes you just have to tough it out. Do exactly what scares you, step out of your comfort zone. into the unknown. How do you think all these princesses got their thrones?? You have to make it happen! If your paper airplane heart wants to fly away, you have to grow your own wings. Because I can tell you right now, Peter Pan is not going to show up at your window and take your hand, pulling you away to Neverland. Even if you wish on exactly the right star, he’s not going to fly in on pixie dust and save you. You have to do it yourself and make it happen. But sometimes you can’t save yourself so you just have to tough it out. While it’s true that a broken heart hurts worse than a skinned knee, in the moment your skinned knee hurts pretty bad. Pocahontas told us not every story has a happy ending, so you have to tough it out, suck it up buttercup, and pick up your crown.
Now the last thing is number seven. Don’t be afraid of 7! I know 6 is, because 7 ate 9, but don’t worry you don’t have to be afraid. What you should be is yourself! Because what you see when you look in the mirror should be exactly what you want to be, not what everyone else wants to see. That is the key to happiness. You don’t need a fairy godmother to make you a dress with glass shoes. Because when the clock strikes midnight and no one else is around, you shouldn’t have to change from what you were to what you actually are. So really, there is nothing else to do except to be you.
Every story begins with Once Upon A Time, and even though you can’t see what comes right around the riverbend, with a little bit of magic and the right rhyme, never say it won’t end with Happily Ever After…. The End.
Copyright © Allie Rosenthal | Year Posted 2015
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
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
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"
August 30 2014
You're a Super Hero
Poetry Contest-Carol Eastman
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
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
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
Debbie Knapp /Princess
Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2011
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
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
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014
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
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
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.
Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
I turned the key,
pressed the gas pedal.
The motor belched
the starter grated.
“No. Not today!
I can’t be late.
I’m teaching the class.
I have to be there!”
piped up from the back seat,
“Try it again, Mom.”
The motor coughed, caught,
settled to a steady purr.
My little two-cylinder Fiat,
slow, but steady as she goes,
took me everywhere.
Again, from the back seat,
“I knew it would start, Mom.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2015