Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative | |

The Clouds


My voice=
God, can I hold your hand and go with you?

Gods voice~
My sweet child, it is I who will walk with you now! 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 the earth... Your love and devotion is 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 always ran up 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 of tribulations. We could not speak, but it was my light that would not allow you to get weak.

My voice=
Is this that dream of beauty? The one in the book my preacher spoke of. 
Yes! I remember it now it is called paradise. I felt this company once before, Lord.
Many times, I have forsaken this light, and still it never left my door.
I felt it the day I was born, and the day I became baptized in your holy name.
I felt this light before, can you explain it some more? 
Lord pleases clarify that day I fell down to my knees and accepted Jesus as my savior? 
Every day since, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my own 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.

My voice= 
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray right?

Gods voice~ 
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself, which left questions for someone else.  
At times how could I answer when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your souls disguises.

My 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 days. 
How is it that I am in your promise land?

Gods voice~  
Getting right with me has brought you here!

My voice= 
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see them? My Daughter, Mothers and Sisters~


Details | Narrative | |

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. 

Details | Narrative | |

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”

Details | Narrative | |

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,
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.
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.

Details | Narrative | |

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

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

Details | Narrative | |

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 
Carol Eastman’s Contest: 
Fable to the Rescue 

Details | Narrative | |

A Mothers Last Goodbye

“Good-bye my daughter dear,” she said As tears welled up in her eyes “It’s time for me to go to sleep This must be no surprise The good Lord knows my battles And my health is ailing still He’s given me so many blessings I’ve passed them to you in my will I’m sad to say good-bye For we have shared much joy Remember me to Sarah My grandchild I love and enjoy I love you my daughter These years together have been sweet I’m so glad you love the Lord And again we will meet I’m not afraid of dying ‘Cause I know that in a while Christ will call me from my grave I feel my life has been worthwhile For I taught you to seek your Father To help you through every trial He’ll always be there to guide you With never a denial I leave you in His hands”, she said As she gently kissed her daughter’s hand Her eyes closed very slowly Against cancer she’d lost her stand She’d been a wonderful mother Teacher and true friend Faithful to her Lord And gracious to the end. Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2007-2012

Details | Narrative | |

What Colour

What Colour?

What colour are the oceans?
On warm summer days the oceans are crystalline blue, with bright streaks
Of ivory flouting on the crest of each wave just before it crashes down
Into total oblivion!

And what colour are the mountains that enkindle a dying sun?
The mountains are bright red, like a burning ember in the flame
Of fire off our multimillion mile star, as it slowly dips to rest
Till the morning!

Oh what colour is a new born child?
A child holds the beauty of youth in colours that span the years of its parents 
Age, until the greying colour of passing seasons takes away the child in us all.

And what colour is the moon above us?
In late fall the moon flickers in shades like lucent charcoal as it slowly cools,
Then turns to black!

What colour are our hopes, what colour are our dreams?
Nevermore are our hopes mixed in the colour of our dreams, for in wake our 
Soul equates the mind for a second then is gone.

And what colour stands for the worth of our lives?
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colors more radiant than our past
But still more mysterious than our future

                  By M. Norton

The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colours more radiant then our past
But still more mysterious then our future

                      By M. Norton

Details | Narrative | |

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

Details | Narrative | |

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. 

Details | Narrative | |

Baseball in Heaven

My grandfather and I had a special relationship.

When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore.  But, my family moved away from 
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my 
grandfather.  Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to 
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles.  I was the one grandchild who 
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.

Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when 
he was young.  In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make 
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or 
get married and raise a family.  As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by 
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that 
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove, 
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.

But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the 
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the 
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles.  As crummy as the Baltimore bums are 
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than 
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.

I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing.  Had he 
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a 
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much 
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.

When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once 
again strap on his spikes and don the leather.  Without a doubt, they must play baseball in 
heaven.  And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young 
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.

(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)

Details | Narrative | |

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.

Details | Narrative | |

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 
Contest: A Christmas Tale
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi

Details | Narrative | |

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. 


Details | Narrative | |


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

Details | Narrative | |

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.

Details | Narrative | |

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,
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. 

Details | Narrative | |


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-- on a hospital bed which was cold white as the snow lies the body of a little girl, dead. Her little soul just had to go. She just had to go ahead than the others. Her once sun kissed face when she smiles 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 had died. ©O. E. Guillermo 12:02 am, November 27, 2014

Details | Narrative | |


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

Details | Narrative | |


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

Details | Narrative | |

Teaching an Old Dog

All I remember is going into the garage to get the snow shovel.
I am not even sure how much of the driveway I managed to shovel.  Apparently, I was lying in the snow for several hours before one of the neighbors noticed me.

The next thing I remember is waking up from a deep sleep to the sounds of beeping machines with tubes and wires stuck into and on my body.

As I slowly regained consciousness and my eyes were able to focus, I was aware of a young, bald child looking down on me.

“Hi,” said the smiling, angelic face.  Given the child’s age and complete baldness, I could not tell whether they were a boy or a girl.  And, with the tube inserted in my throat and taped to my mouth, I was in no position to return their salutation.

I tried to remember who this child might be and why they were here with me.  I guess my eyes displayed my confusion as the child said, “I'm Elizabeth.  They let me walk around the hospital a little.  Sometimes I sneak out of the oncology wing and look for people who have no visitors.  I like to make sure someone is there when they wake up.  I know I always like to see someone when I wake up from my operations.”

She just stood above me smiling.  I then noticed she was holding my hand.

“Sometimes it is hard for family members or friends to come visit.  Some people just really don’t like hospitals.  And, I guess”, she said, “not everybody has someone that close to them.  So, I like to become their visitor for them.  I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t mind.  Although it did make me embarrassed to realize that I fit in the latter category; I didn’t have anybody that close to me.

She just smiled at me and petted my hand as the medications worked their magic on me and I started to drift back off to sleep.  I heard a nurse come into the room and say, “There you are, Honey.  You need to get back to your room now and leave this nice man be.”

The next time I regained consciousness, I noticed a hand drawn picture of a house with a Christmas tree out front with a note that said, “I hope you get home before Christmas” and was signed by Elizabeth.

Each new day, I was welcomed by another drawing of Christmas scenes; smiling faces; reindeer; and, starry skies.  All containing a happy note and all signed, ”Love, Elizabeth”.

After ten days of recovery and following the insertion of two stents into my heart, I was well enough to return to my empty home.  On my way out of the hospital, I stopped by the Oncology Wing to say good-bye and thank you to Elizabeth.  When I asked the nurse at the floor station where I could find Elizabeth, she replied, “Oh I'm sorry, Elizabeth is no longer with us.”

I then said, “Well can you tell me her home address or phone number, I would really like to thank her for visiting me in my hospital room this past week.”

The look on the nurse’s face indicated that I misunderstood what she had meant.  Elizabeth was no longer with us.

Sadly, I started walking towards the exit.

Just before I got to the elevator, I noticed an open door with a man lying on his bed, with tubes in his nose and throat and nobody else in the room with him.  I went into his room and sat in the empty chair.

When he opened his eyes two hours later, I said, “Hi, I'm Joe.  I noticed there was nobody here when you were brought back from your operation and I know how nice it is to see a smiling face when you wake up, so I thought I would sit here with you for a while.  I hope you don’t mind.”

He squeezed my hand; gave a slight smile; and, slowly drifted off back to sleep.

Details | Narrative | |

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

Details | Narrative | |

Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.

Details | Narrative | |

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.

Details | Narrative | |

My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess

Details | Narrative | |

Teach the little ones

I stood at the gate and heard their screaming as I walked up the drive
children left to yell the proverbial hell, adult torment and live's
yet how do you make life better how do you make life fun
the dreams lie within you it's games you need to play

Timmy walked around the house with a hammer hitting the fridge
I asked "why why do you give him the hammer" "because he likes it"
With dispair can't you see the danger other children's heads 
just because the child like's it dosen't mean it's right

I would play with my son threaten to put him into the bath
threaten to put him into the wardrob laughter became the game
I would not give him a hammer just because he liked it
I gave him a cricket bat and taught him to hit the ball

I gave him lessons and taught him to catch the ball
I read to him and taught him to read 
I allowed him to to try different clubs like wrestling and scouts
and with it all I joked and played teaching him to enjoy

It's not so hard to enjoy bringing up kid's 
all you need to learn is be an adult set the rules
and teach then to find the joy of life.

Details | Narrative | |

My Story Telling Who is this Princes

The night air made her feel tired
As she looked out side all the fences were wired
In the distance she hears crowds yelling
As she was to young to know they were rebelling
Father she asked where are we going?
Mother said to keep quiet and keep walking

Mother yelled in the night air
Father gave out a blank stare
They yelled run my princess run as far as you can
As that moment past her little feet pushed off and she ran
She ran to the nearest bushes and crawled into it to hide
She never smelled the air before as if someone just had died

As she lay on the ground under a bush she heard 
A loud yell in the distance almost to absurd
My name is Angelica, I am just a young girl who does not know 
Angelica just wants to live her life with help to grow
Angelica did not know what just happened she notice a figure in the distance
A little person just like her, a strong but gentle presence

Angelica saw the people who were shouting run off toward the voice
She was scared and she knew that she had to make a choice
Angelica fragile state was so confused and lost
She knew it will take burden on her at a cost
But in that moment of quietness a young but strong voice called out
Can you trust me just because? will you come with me with no doubt

My Story Telling  Together In A Strange World

Details | Narrative | |

Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay

Details | Narrative | |

The Day Uncle Joe Lost His Handicap

Uncle Joe had a habit of telling people,
I have a handicap you know.
His sister-in-law, Viva, grew weary
Of hearing that.
After all, had she not taught him
To walk, to talk and to feed himself?
She was seventeen when she came into Joe's life.
Too young to listen when the others said "he can't".
She did not know the meaning of the word  "retarded"
And did not understand why a child of two 
Was not walking and talking.
She believed he could learn and he did.
She coached, begged, bribed and loved him
Into doing the things any other child of two could do.
So, years later, when Joe persisted in telling others,
Strangers and family, that he had a handicap
Viva got tired of hearing it.
 One day she said You know Joe, I haven't seen
Your handicap in a long time. 
Maybe it's lost, let's look for it.
After all, you can't tell people you have a handicap
If it isn't there anymore, can you?
His brother, Hugh, agreed
So they searched all day for Joe's handicap.
Neighbors stopped by
And when told of Joe's dilemma,
Joined in the quest.
Behind doors, in closets and high in tees
Every nook and cranny explored,
No stone left unturned.
Finally, evening approached and 
Still no handicap.

Viva said, Well Joe, your handicap seems
To have vanished, flown the coup, escaped
You just don't have it anymore.
Since that day, Uncle Joe has never again
Mentioned his "handicap" to anyone.

Details | Narrative | |

The Woods

I met a rabbit in the woods,
With no whisker but two boots,

I asked him, ‘Sir, where are your whiskers?’
He replied, ‘I traded them for a pair of boots and some biscuits’,

It did make no sense to me, to why a rabbit would do such,
As, a pair of boots and some biscuits could do him not much,

The rabbit muttered softly, ‘It is unwise of you to look down on us creatures,
Only because we haven’t any human features,’

I was taken aback by the rabbit’s statement,
Only to grin in ailment,

As for me, it is peculiar for a rabbit, whose gift is to hop,
To mask such a gift like what weed has done to fertile soil,

In great humility I questioned him once more, ‘How are you to escape a fox,
When it is done with a man’s lox?

You can jump not, with those boots on,
Making you an easy con,’

The rabbit then replied in displeasure, ‘I have brains of my own,
You make me frown,

I can take them off whenever I want,
And put them back on when I’m done,’

Notwithstanding, it made me still wonder,
‘What were the biscuits for, besides easing his hunger?’ 

Written by Sunil Rao.

Details | Narrative | |

The Tea Party

A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives 
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink 
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel 
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns 
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the 
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in 
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le 
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of 
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar, 
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her 
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor 
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A 
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed 
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps 
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary 
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the 
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea.  A girl child resplendent in 
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned 
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter 
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake, 
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair 
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The 
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy 
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes. 
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
 as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.

*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)

Details | Narrative | |

letter to Eden

My deplorable emotional collapse. 

Lucky for me, she happened to be in her many hour siestas!

My dear sister amelie came over (previously arranged to pick up some rocks that z mama rolled in a pile) and upon opening the front door all internal hell broke loose!

Utter torturous sadness tore thru every fiber of my being - hence a logical explanation conclusion per the abdominal distress that thankfully diminished. 

Aside from helplessness as of crumpling like a heap of cards, an extreme fright gripped me at the thought of yourself and shana returning to ramshackle mishmash.

Early today, she many hours sweeping (what her hands formerly hurled from the upstairs bedroom or glass and/or plastic containers blithely tossed on the kitchen floor) with some improvement.

Though, i might need to spend later today (Wednesday) gutting the refrigerator and discarding any potential alien life forms.

A prediction that a. you and shana will be quite sad leaving the tranquil home of the dunning family and b. stepping back into a place where disorder and entropy feast.

Please try to express sentiments per how you feel toward me! Such emotion might well be, but not necessarily limited to (just guessing) -- > anger, grief, hatred, loathing, rage.

Despite your impression or reaction toward and/or against me, i do value you more than any precious gem!

Matthew can honestly claim that "mother" acts considerably more pleasant to me. She politely greets me with what her "GOOD MORNING MISTER HARRIS"!

This message blurted soon after she espies me shuffling to the bathroom tending to that human toy let trees.

This and other of her cheery inquiries for attention (talk, contra dance, back rub...) find me practically catatonic at such ordinary desires. 

Years on end never er or rarely found me to experience this personable facet, yet...SHE WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH OCTAVIA LAMB NOR GAYLE BAIR!

As (possibly) mentioned in the previous email, i too shared similar antipathy, hostility, offer dollops of voluble vulgarity!

At some juncture in the recent past, a strong objection against reacting in that manner (no matter the three musketeers - as referred to by thee senora and chief television watcher), spoke to this papa in crudely fierce, immeasurably lambasting tone.

Matter of fact, i emailed Octavia to inform her of the legal documents en-route to her home in gap, pennsylvania and reiterated appreciation for our (albeit unwelcome and long overdo) stay at blank greentree lane.

No intent to augment change in the counterpart. We seem to be diverging in any former opinions. 

Now, (meaning within the recent present)
 numbness freezes and seems to cease up desire to be alive
sometimes i do not care if the grim reaper takes me for an eternal drive
aware that you and shana would be well tended in that busy bee hive
comprising cheerfulness, delight, happiness, liveliness, joy, kindness mirth,
 et cetera where amity, comity, energy...does strive
among lovely offspring of shari and Andy, both troopers against challenges 
 as if...he married a heavenly wive. 

Shari and amelie encouraged me to express churning agitation within me
which best be conveyed now rather than per your return, 
where communication will be done as ease a lee.

Omg! The hour fast approaches four-ante meridian. Gawd cooks the time away. The task to organize the refrigerator hardly seems like a choice! You may not even notice since, (though the kitchen floor swept) aversion to enter the eatery might deter courage. 

Your risk to board a plane considerably less than the hazards that lurk in said innocent locale.

Take care my dear. 

Details | Narrative | |

My Number Sevens

The seventh day of week and month
in seventh month of the year,
number seven dominated
when I decided to appear.
I was seventh in my family,
five brothers, Mother and Dad,
also the seventh granddaughter 
each of my grandmas had.
When later, two more children came,
I then was one of seven;
unless you count the baby
who went right straight to Heaven.
My seventh nephew came along,
you guessed it, on my birthday.
Seventh day of seventh month 
and seventh in his family.
He was one of seven children raised
in his family and then
he became a Professor of Economics
and a US Congressman.
In nineteen forty one I wed
in the seventh month of the same year
that a seventh of December strike
filled our young hearts with fear.
We'd been married twenty-one years,
a multiple of seven,
when God decided to take home
loved husband He had given.
He died the 4th of seventh month;
was buried on seventh day,
the anniversary of my birth.
It was a sad birthday.
He didn't live to see the seven
grandchildren who are mine.
He'd be amused to know how sevens 
are still keeping me in line.
My niece's seventh grandchild came
in two thousand and one;
born on my birthday, seven-seven.
Number seven is not done.
I've had my share of ups and downs, 
perhaps my seven's power
alternates from good to bad
and changes every hour.
I'm tryin to keep track of all
the sevens that I own.
Perhaps I'll die on one, if so
please mark it on my stone.

Magical Mystical Numbers contest sponsored by Deborah Guzzi  5th place

Details | Narrative | |

The meaning of destruction.

Its cold, clouds grey, no sun to guide me,
hands search for the missing eye that has long since past.
I hear them bicker and curse, do you know what they are?
Slimy slurping dripping muck, the snow has gone, but left my
world with black soot earth.
These creatures seem to thrive on it, thrive on my shallow pit
of existence.
I gather myself, I crack my knees as I bend to pick a limb,
what should go first? Of course my feet to carry me.
With such effort for a pointless quest I begin to think that
there is nothing but death scraping at my neck, hinting at
my demise.
Ages since my trumpets call, they call me home from a 
nightmare of cry's and vomit.
My mind begins to flash with imagery beyond comparison,
a child I see inside my heart, is naked, blind, sick and pale,
OH GOD!! Where is the source for this madness.
I have gathered my pieces and attempt to walk, but see
that I have gathered more than my own share of flesh, there
are those that belong to men,the men thats beneath the soil,
the creatures are red inside my nails.
My color is that of a ruby stone, as cold as one and as hard 
no doubt.
CRACK! BANG! Lighting and sound rip through the sky, this sound
is not of guns or drums.
The dark sky is fat with victory, it spues out its fill upon me, it washes
my world around me only to reveal my horror.
My comrade, my friends, my enemy's and alas, the child of whom gave 
such sadness.
Did I die too? Looking at my broken self, was I tricked to war, yes, this was it,
the price to pay, to pay the earth for its company, it seems we were guests that
outstayed our welcome.
Ha! If we were ever welcomed, I don't think invasion is the same.

So clear now, the rain making sense of it all.
My knees don't crack as I begin to fall.
Cant you see me?I have been killed.
So you can keep your stomach tanks filled.
Thank you all, your prayers are gone.
To feed the horde there victory's won.

Is the memory gone from them?
The world is sane but our race is thin.
Is this world so leaderless? 
Mankind is lone, the world is fearless.
Must we die before they see?
No, die but twice before you free.

Do you have the answer?
With blood in hand and gun in holster?
No one has the meaning or an answer to a thing.
Just that they are happy with there life they have to bring.

Details | Narrative | |

L O M L Always

The thought of her smiling gave me faith
From when we were little we bathe
My mother and her mother is best friends
They both took care of us and gifts they send
We pulled each others hair
And she was always quick to dare
When I smiled at her she knew it was no good
She learned to pull me up and she understood
I just wanted her attention and that she gave
She knew it in her heart love was my slave
From when we were a child with full of energy I had my way
She was the one who was my guide and she did not push me away
When I saw her cry one day and her eyes was so sad
I gave her a flower and I smiled at her and made her glad
When some one special leaves her heart
I sat by her and never wanted to depart
She is the love of my life always
She is the one who gave me my hope through out my days
So I gave her my heart and love from within
And I did not make it thin
I stood by her side since I was a child
I gave her my support when we were wild
She knew who I was and I let her go the distance
I did not hate her or give her resistance
My mother and her mother are great friends and their virtue will never end
Because of their love they both trusted us to live our ways to transcend
So my childhood friend was my best friend, and now my wife
She new it from the start that we part of each others life

Details | Narrative | |

another day

pale pink is the pre-dawn sky
"pink sky in mourning..."
today will be a pre-proceeding
- for some it will be the same
for some it will purvey monumental,
tsunamic, quaking, flashing innocence
as a muffled buzzing and pounding followed
by eerie stony silence enveloping the sun

FLASH! - what you knew you knew is gone
flash of white to yellow to red to black
billowing dread washes over as waves 
upon waves cover all good of the world
and flotsam of teared memories float
in mind and vision from past treasures

dangerous are those loving thoughts
unarmed without any weapons of indifference
vulnerable to the suffering and anguish
to stagger about befuddled and weeping
singularly, communally the onlookers look on

and piles of cairned candles and trinkets
appear out of nowhere, everywhere
feeble attempts to express hurt and good
- no good will come - yet - in time -
in time - time scabs over the wounded

the blood-letting stops, tears wither
and night follows this immemorable day
that we always remember, eons from now
as if it were last hour that i noticed the time, 
where did it go?, when will it stop?

© Goode Guy 2012-12-17

Details | Narrative | |


It has been four months
when my life was changed
my son was taken
Daniel was his name

A mothers love 
is whole and complete
her life is her children
atleast for me

There is not a day
I don't call his name
remembering his life
now nothing is the same

Those all night talks
that he and I shared
over coffee and tears
he knew that I cared

A heart so full
of compassion and love
he tried to please everyone
he couldn't do enough

I see him now
with that cute little grin
holding the door open
saying "mom, come in"

Details | Narrative | |

Learning to Spit

What can you do with all those seeds,
slick, black missiles that blaze
a path down your throat,
when what you want is to taste
the sweetness that surrounds them?

You collect them, as if they're treasure,
and curious grandchildren follow,
eager to play, sure of victory.
I spat those flat torpedoes beyond
the range of their imagination, and they,

in slack-jawed wonder at my dubious talent,
took turns spitting and measuring,
each determined to beat my record.
I dispensed seeds as lips pursed, tongues 
pushed, seeds flew and the air rang 

with spitting sounds. Grandpa shook
his head, laughing at our nonsense.
The game continued, dishes stacked 
unwashed, pride built, skills increased 
and seeds diminished.

But watermelon seeds' primary purpose
is not to be denied. Lush vines sprang up
in flowerbeds, dwarfed petunias and snapdragons 
and produced huge, sweet melons, 
replete with slick, black pips.

Details | Narrative | |

Ghostly Child

Ghostly child
peering through
foggy mist
watching from afar
from another dimension
in another era
from another place
drifting through time
caught in between worlds
towards spirit light
of beacon bright
shining on her
the way to go home.

She lingers on
from dusk until dawn
floating through air
searching for her mother
who was lost at sea
from long ago
entity from eternity
forever lives on
in her daughter's ghostly heart.

Free her from her earthly plane
into the spirit world
where she belongs
in finding peace
rather than remain
in limbo state
away from her mother's
loving embrace.

Details | Narrative | |

The Duppy Man

The Duppy Man
On the island where I come from, where the golden beaches span. Lives a terrifying 
creature, known as the Duppy man.
Now the Duppy is quite picky, about whom he haunts at night. For it is only naughty kids, 
that the Duppy wants to fright. They seek out all the naughty ones to scare them at their 
leisure. For the screams of terrified children, is every Duppys pleasure.
What does the Duppy look like? , well let me tell you all.
But make sure you are sitting down, for the fear may make you fall.
His head is on the wrong way, and his left leg seems to drag. He knocks upon your window, 
screaming like some old hag. And over his right shoulder, he carries a big bag.
 And as he walks and drags his leg, he sings a little song, “All you naughty children, won’t be 
naughty very long.”
The bag is for the children who he knows will mis-behave, he takes them back to his lair 
where they become his slave.
But the Duppy won’t just grab a child, he must select the worst. So the evil Duppy calmly, 
will ask this question first.
“Is you a good child, or rotten to the core?” and he looks deep into their eyes, where he can 
see much more. 
For in the eyes he sees their souls, and the truth in what they said. And if you are a good 
child, the Duppy simply will say “bed”.
But if you are a bad child, and the Duppy says it’s so, he will offer you a choice, be a slave, 
or your big toe.
If you become the Duppys slave, he will put you in his sack, and after a night of haunting, 
with him you will go back.
He will take you to the underworld, where all the Duppy gather, never to see again your 
mother or your father.
But if it is the big toe, you decide instead. The Duppy takes it graciously and tells you what’s 
“Child I will haunt you now, forever and a day. Unless you prove to me child that you can 
change your way”.
Then he places your poor big toe on a necklace that he wears, and turns away and heads 
off, to find another child to scare.
So children, children everywhere, on the island that I live, please pay close attention, to this 
advice I give.
When you hear the whistling of the wind, and a dragging on the ground. Make sure it is not 
naughtiness, but goodness to be found.

Details | Narrative | |

The Baboon Dossier

The Baboon Dossier…….. By Peter Onyancha

The child laughed, blurred
There were little tears steaming
The mother Baboon; a signature smile
The story teller sustained –

The Dossier:

As I said, that was long ago
We were like them, yes
The humanbeings, with human things
We used to wear cloths; our skins were delicate
We struggled and caged ourselves in houses 
Even the feet cushioned with solace Shoes
We have come a long way.
Nature was alien, child

But how, mummy how 
An intelligent child; curiosity – distinction
How did we become today, mummy
Will they successfully walk naked?
Will they ever change, poor things!
(Evolution – child, from mother )
And stop the baggage of those cloths
And be free from fear; and become normal
Mummy, do they also think!

Child, you think too much
Mummy prevails; they are not as bad
In their homo-egosystem,  they are fine
You may not understand the science inside
Ours is ecosystem; theirs egosystem
 “Ego” and “Eco” is too much, child 
Ask your dad, when he climbs down
It takes millions of millions of time to develop
When they become us, we will be their histories

A Mercedes Benz with a flag – 
And another many other around it mill
Then land rover with humans dressed like the bush
Mummy, look, poor things

Child, Listen before we go up home
The flak you saw, flags the hope
These creatures, too, cherish some hope
The bush –like dressing is the vision
A future, where they shall be, Child
Where we are, Child

When you grow up, run but learn
The myths, the truths and the gem
You will note them, child
You will not then, chide!

Details | Narrative | |


"Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two and this story"....A Rambling Poet

Just nine years old but she had a dream
of serving others, of doing good.
Adults were failing, but this young girl
decided to do everything she could.

Her birthday was coming, she had a plan.
She asked her mama, who soon agreed.
No gifts wanted by birthday girl,
but rather money for world in need.

She’d heard of the children in Africa
with no fresh water to cool their thirst.
She wanted to cure all of their ills
and need for water would be the first.

Three hundred dollars she set as a goal,
which she almost reached by her birthday.
She didn’t give up, she would find the rest.
She must have three hundred to send away.

There are other children who’ve done the same,
given up their gifts for the water cause,
but Rachel’s story is quite unique
which I’ll tell you now, but I must pause

To steady my hands to pour the tea
and to wipe away this unwanted tear.
More of her story I’ll tell you now.
New twists and turns will soon appear.

Rachel was traveling with her mom,
on some good deed, I have no doubt.
A car pile up and a child was hurt.
That ‘s what this tale is all about.

Rachel died, but ere she did
she begged her mommy to finish her dream,
to get the money to Africa,
so they needn’t drink from polluted stream.

Over a million dollars raised
by tender souls who have heard her plea.
The money just keeps pouring in
from simple folks like you and me.

“A little child shall lead them”.
Dear, sweet Rachel was one of those.
She put the needs of others above
desire for birthday toys and clothes.

By: Joyce Johnson
August 16, 2011
For Constance's contest "I fancy another sad poem"  Won no. 3

Details | Narrative | |

Grinding Start

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!”

Our three-year-old
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.
I prayed.”

Details | Narrative | |


If you think physical toil is bizarre
and out of fashion,
Who will train your child?

Moses instructed the israelites to train
their children to be industrious,
and it was regarded as sin to allow youth
 to grow up,unconscious of physical labour.
If a child was to be educated for holy office,
also a knowledge of practical life was neccessary!

Every youth whether his parents were rich or poor,
 was allowed to learn a particular job.
If you are a parent who neglects to provide physical training,
 and only concentrates on mental and spiritual training,
You have departed from the instruction of the LORD!

Proverbs 22:6;Says`Train up child in the way he should go
and when he is old,he will not depart from it.`

chipepo lwele
*special dedication to my father and mother
  [mr & mrs pensulo lwele]

Details | Narrative | |

the Joy Of Killing Pt 2

... Is dead, no more moves to make, is a cold hearted killer and wants more, your child
died sooner, now this fellow and who is next? The man bends down to his victim and with
the saw starts dismembering the body in front of you, your adrenaline rushes quick and
your eyes wide open to how far can it go, legs, arms, head separated from the body, now
the man stands and walks to you, with no mercy draws a knife and stabs you in the stomach,
your world gives a quick flash back in all good moments and the reason why you live on,
your dead child and your soul companion, now you don't want to die without giving up a
fight, so on you struggle with death to not take your soul, bleeding deep the man sits
like a child in front of you, you raise your head to see clearly and another flashback
comes to your mind, the man you spilled the coffee early in the morning, the man who
walked away and didn't accepted your forgiveness, so on you cry with pain, a psychopath is
on your house and murdered your family and you are the target, so you gonna die, the man
stands and picks up the saw, grabs you by the neck with no mercy, choking you on, he raise
you high with demonic strength and with the saw starts cutting you in half but your not
dead yet, you scream silent with mouth covered and pain makes your eyes fade, half way
trough and your not dead yet, the man keeps back and forward and slices you in half, your
last exile for man kinds future, the man walks away, next morning police is there, murder
number 147 in 7 all that goes of year, so your name is on a list of cold cases, 10, 20,
30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, and keeps counting the years been stone cold case, so never you
will hear a word from justice... 

Is this the world we live on?

Details | Narrative | |

The Joy Of Killing Pt 1

Those whom are neglected by society and has particular broken heart, no family on their
side or better not needing anything, looking up high for answers and don't get a good
explanation why, those who love to humiliate and like to bully, when their tears fall one
dies, you all ignorant ways don't like the fact you are been watched, by those whom like
your tasty blood, the have a passion like you do, different, but same, we got to move on
and leave behind the world so dead, by the hands of a killer you shall sleep long waited

You wake up early in early in the morning, you shower yourself of, a cup of coffee might
help you stand strong for the rest of the day, your soul companion gives you a good bye
kiss and your kids tells you how much they love you, love fuels your soul with strength,
now get on the car and go work for a lifetime, you get to work and get of the car last
saying a new day, a new story to tell, arriving to your office you with no offense step to
a tall man and spill his morning coffee on his shirt, you say im sorry but the man walks
away, now go to work, a beautiful day and lots to do, so the day comes to an end some how...

4:30pm, your going home, a long day of work did quite tired you, you drive home safely and
get there, open the door and your family with a smile says hello darling, how was your
day? Dinner is served, night is heavy, 10:00pm and you need to sleep, your partner hugs
you and soon kisses you, a romantic moment to go to the room and have a lovely scene for
what is to come, but at 11:00pm your tired, so you need to sleep, soon after your in
dreams, so a minute for your world to change...

(Help!) Your partner screams, soon a child screams same word, you stand up quick, heart
rushes, no gun, no knife, but you must help, get out the room and soon you see a splash of
blood on the wall in front of you, your child is dead, you run to the living room, your
partner is tied on the floor, bleeding deeply wounded, whats next and what happened? So
you get knockout, when you open your eyes your faithful partner is pale white, cant
scream, cant move, you are tied tight and mouth covered, hands and legs are quite sealed
together, you see this dark figure, a tall strong man stands in the corner, shadows cover
his identity, you desperately try to move and help but he soon closes by and beats you up,
with a saw on his hands treads you with your fellow companion, so he walks to your partner
and slice the neck, fade away to sleep...

Details | Narrative | |

What is Flesh

What is Flesh?

Muscle and blood, skin, something to be viewed with sin.

A form, a face, a body, a man, a woman, a child is it 
something worthwhile.

As we look upon a child and see a smile we know it is 
something worthwhile

Our mind say Love, our body warmth, our emotion need,
Our spirit strong.

What is flesh but a loving dash of more from above.

Details | Narrative | |

A Special Place

Running memories
of a place in which
one walks and talks
in hushed tones.
Still, subdued, restrained
within a spirited energy
moving down rows of mystical bindings.

smelling musty on a rainy winter day,
passed through portals
where grandiose granite
lions guard the way.

Grandmother took me the first time.
I sat, at four, in a lemon yellow chair
as my feet touched the floor
(that had never happened before!).
Given a card on which the letters of my name
would be a magic wand,
I carried home treasures.

The Libraria.
A sanctuary grew as I knew
the joy of an explorer
within tales of other times,
other wordy worldly places,
as from meticulously managed shelves,
a perfectionist in me was bred.

The Library
evokes change in all.
With grown-up pretense left behind,
curious inner child faces abound -
eyes wide, heads cocked to and fro,
knees bend down, or arms stretch high
in search of knowledge, dreams, drama, escape.
The child in me will always find
spiritual wonder in this,
a special place.

Details | Narrative | |

Evil Lives and Lies Among Us

He walks with confidence he has protected his family. The successful banker has 
done well for his family and his mind is set in stone that he is right eternally.
He does not care if others make the right journey.
He smiles and is satisfied that he rebuked the poor family away from his church. The 
poor family with the smart mouth child, who eats too much candy and stole some 
quarters. The child whose father rejected him and has no use for his illigetimate son.
The father sends his twenty-five dollars a week to quiet the child support monkey on 
his back. The child cries himself to sleep to know his father has no use for him.
Somewhere a hand reaches to the wayward child, to comfort and love. Somewhere 
there is love, but not at this disharmonious church!
Don't come to this church unless you have your tithes and clean clothes and know the 

I have come to call the sinners!

Details | Narrative | |

Twin blood

How can i Rest!!!
How could you take a girl child from me
How could you forcefully take her
Shes only 6 years of age 
All she needs is a motherly care
Do not do this to her and her sister
Because they will never forgive you
Why keep them apart
Is it that you want me bordered
Well you can please yourself 
But justice comes soonest
There after you have lost it all
How can i rest without uniting the innocence
I will fight to the last blood in my vein
As i will never give up on them
Finally!i see you loosing them forever
The clock of  their freedom is ticking 
Silence! I can hear the voice calling....

Details | Narrative | |

Through Eyes that Bind

It is through the eyes of my infant child that seen humility as a can of whoop-ass to 
make us see our selfish nature:
 Regardless of my argued reasons that justified leaving for weeks, and then making 
a triumphant return home, my intent was to make atonements for being a missing 
father to my infant daughter. However, it was after holding her high above me and 
our eyes had met, when this reunion, in an instant had left me feeling badly.  
My sadness drew born because her face held without an expression of joy in the 
welcoming of me home.  
This is when a simple act by this child instantly humbled my very being and left me 
feeling ingratiated by her presence. 
Epiphany from such striking means of enlightenment could evermore not of 
happened in same silent manner! 
It had occurred while I was still holding her aloft just slightly overhead. This is when 
slowly; my daughter began outlining of the contours of my face with her 
downwardly extended hand.  Upon finishing and raising it up and back under her 
chest, it wasn’t but an instant after what came next that I knew something special 
had transpired – with a life-changing profoundness…
 …It is still my belief that the intent of this baby daughter was that I see and feel 
this same hand’s tiny pointing fingertip, now accusingly come down slowly until out 
of view to gently place upon my forehead - seemingly to stay forever.
 A sense of fear had now swept over me in the form of analogy…
I hadn’t seen my daughter in weeks, and in this vision her extended forefinger and 
thumb had transformed into a sword with hilted guard and unseen pommel 
attached to a wide shaft with two razor sharp edges plummeting to a pointed tip. 
This was my inferred life arraigned and put to the question of life’s promises made!
 I had to come back to this daughter…; if not - what would be her fate? – Or my 
 I momentarily closed my eyes, being shortly thereafter recognized by me as nuance 
of subjugation. Incredulously, upon unmasking for restored sight, occurred a vision 
instead, was her innocence that had let my mind see! 
It happened upon lifting this fingertip that became her sword’s point; she then laid 
the finger flat on my nose and smiled a smile. 
This was not a Coup de Grat arraigned; my daughter had just knighted my soul 

Details | Narrative | |


I put aside All the hurt and pain, And keep in mind All the things I’ve gained. I still remember The good things too, From all of the ex’s I’ve been through. Ex Number One Was my first love, He gave me such inner strength That there’s nothing I’m afraid of. From him also came My special first born son, And my first wonderful daughter The second child born. Ex Number Two Emotional control came to me, He also gave my children The best grandparents ever to be. He fathered my second son A child so very wise, And my last little baby girl Who gets the eye from all the guys. Ex Number Three Gave me the dancing I still long for, Will there ever be another With such style and grace on the dance floor? I even gained a stepdaughter Who is as special as the rest, She is also my friend And I wish her all the best! Ex Number Four Was always thoughtful of me, And he taught me that a handyman Is something that I could even be. He tried very much To make me happy somehow, He was a wonderful friend And he’s still my pal. Florence McMillian (Flo)

Details | Narrative | |

Struck Dumb

As a young child I had no fear
With Mommy and Daddy hovering near.
If ever a danger should draw nigh,
Four older brothers were standing by.
A happy child, I breezed through school;
I easily learned by rote and rule
Until in high school to arrive,
Eight years of learning reduced to five.
No other student as young as I,
Adrift from every familiar tie
I walked those halls a child alone,
Without the friendliness I'd known.
I puilled into protective shell
And though I learned my lessons well
I feared the limelight I must claim
When ever a teacher called my name.
At eleven years with the rest fourteen
And though in all truth they weren't mean,
All paired with boys and obsessed with hair,
They simply overlooked me there.

If asked to recite or forced to speak
My throat would close, my knees went weak.
I was so afraid I would be sick
Words wouldn't come, my tongue was thick.
And so it went for four long years,
I hid my fears and unshed tears,
Until my English teacher informed me
Salutatorian speaker I would be.
Tall enough now the mike to reach
I had no way to avoid that speech.
My advisor said to imagine there
Was a loved one sitting upon each chair.
My beaming folks, proud sis and brothers
I spoke to them, not to the others.
I settled into a comfort niche
And gave my speech without a hitch.
From that time on I have not known
That feeling of being all alone.
I've read my poems in public places
Without one fear of the sea of faces.

For "Edge" contest sponsored by John Heck  took hm

Details | Narrative | |

The Splendor of the Stars

He crossed the room toward the door as evening fell, the daylight slowly fading and spilling on the floor in pools of black. A child was there on the stoop, mewling and wriggling in her basket, an urchin, so pathetic and alone, abandoned like a buried memory.

He took her in his arms and held her close; his touch would bring her comfort like a well-remembered song as he bathed her by the fire and dressed her warm. The lovelight in her eyes, uncompromising took his breath away. Older folks should live their lives like this, invest their souls with such devotion that there is no need for worry, or cause for anger, just the pure and perfect eloquence of faith.

She took some nourishment and grew stronger. The seasons waxed and waned and no one came to claim her, so they became sufficient to themselves, anticipating one another's wants and needs.

Up on the the high ground they would wonder at the heavens as they strolled by waters shimmering in starlight, dazzling their eyes to tears of happiness. Storms beset them, and still they bore it all, like two creatures who have come to trust the power of their love.

Sunlight crossed to starlight, he grew sad and incomplete. His mind left him struggling and blind, as time drifted by like a slow and gentle stream. She cared for him now, as he had cared for her so many years before, caressing his brow, bringing light to his dark eyes, and she wept quietly when her friend at last departed.

Alone she settled to her thoughts like a child wrapped in a blanket and slept, remembering his kindnesses and strength.

Finally she gave in to her loss, no longer able to endure the pain of her grief. The Father blessed her, held her in his arms and re-united them forever in the splendor of the stars.

Details | Narrative | |


He was a silent man.

He stayed upstairs, typing unceasingly
and during dinner, mumbled accusingly
nothing ever finished

That evening he noticed, 
saw his child sitting in the distance
alone, he crossed the field

He teased; they played, 
among the blades of several hills, 
a thousand times they rolled, 

He laughed; they roared
 Disney visions, collaborating 
goose-bumps; torching recollections.

He taught; they practiced
hundreds, of air pockets among them 
they flew like ravens

They went home, and thereafter

He was a silent man; 
his child unspoken.

Details | Narrative | |

God Still Rules My Life


What do we as Christians do,
    To get our point across to you?
Is violence the only way to make you understand,
    We are not going to take it any longer this is our land.
In a land of democracy the majority rules, 
     It’s time for us to wake up stop acting the part of the fool.
Christianity still leads the way in America today,
     So I think it’s time for us to let the minority hear what we have to say.
For too long we have sat back and swallowed our pride, 
      I for one am not an ostrich and I will not stick my head in the sand to hide.
Start letting the bunch that run our government know what we want.
      Let them know there will be hell to pay if they don’t.
Now they are giving birth control to our children at schools without our consent.
      That gives kids the go ahead and that gets me bent.
Plus they are taking away our God given right of having a say on what they can 
teach our child .
      No wonder things are getting so screwed up and kids are going wild.
I’m not blaming our kids or the schools, I am blaming us the parents for letting 
things get this far.
      Mrs. Goodie Two Shoes and Roger Doright can make rules up all they like, 
but in my house I wear the star.
My kids are grown and now I am raising a grandchild that I love dearly.
     So I know what is happening I see it clearly.
If we don’t draw a line it will only get worse.
     So I ask for support in putting our Lord back where He belongs and that is 
     Thank You!!!

Details | Narrative | |

The Chairs Have it

“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table, as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunks into his well-worn seat. Tufts of fanny fur tickle between his spokes. “Aahhh chhhooo!” Windy sneezes. The rabbit toppled over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose.

“Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” Tex the horned back chair at the tables girdle chortles. 

A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake, shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter chocolate icing on my skirt?” She moans. “Mon Dieu.” 

A girl child resplendent in golden locks and white pinafore tears into the room planting herself on the caned ladies rocker Mary. The loose tails of her apron catch beneath Mary’s rocker and the child tumbles face forward into a full cup of Assam.  “Awww now what a shame,” Mary whispers to Tex. She lisps through the spider web pattern of her seat. The child rights herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string.

A top hat flies through the air and lands on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed chair. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder back mutters, between its back straps. The windsor replies “Her name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “She looks familiar, don’t she?” A girl child runs screeching, around the far end of the table chasing a set of disembodied eyes with a cat tail? “Ou a le petite fille?” Matilda groans. A single, rose-pink, button popps off Matilda’s back and lands in the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the horn-backed chair. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns forming his head. His humor is short lived. A putrid pink flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel leather seat. A pot and kettle band arrives through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A game of musical chairs begins in earnest.

Details | Narrative | |

The Boy Who Loved The Rain

Let me tell you of a boy,
A boy that I once knew;
This child once lived in Illinois,
Close to where I grew.

He always loved to play the games
Of Tag or Hide and Seek,
But he'd always play in rain,
And that's why he's unique.

I guess he liked the thunderstorm
And how the lightning struck.
He would run around the barn
And stimulate his luck.

One time, I guess, was his last run
As he went out to play,
The clouds that droned had hid the sun
And took away the day.

The lightning flashed and hit the grass
With so much bearing force
That people ran inside, alas, 
To dodge the bullet's course.

The boy stood out among the wheat
That grew inside the field.
He waited for the rumb'ling beat
That shook the grinding mill.

Finally he raised his arms
Into the sky, so unrestrain'd
And shouted all throughout the farm
That he was there to greet the rain.

That's when the final strike release'd.
That's when the boy had all his nerve.
And as the thunder pounded east,
All the people would observe

The death of one who loved the feel
Of water from the sky.
We buried him out in the field,
A tomb he'd not deny.

That's the story of a boy
A boy that I once knew;
This child once lived in Illinois,
Close to where I grew.

Details | Narrative | |

I Wish

I wish I were a child again - I would
tell my mother how important things are,
Things like hot chocolate on a cold night,
mud pies in the sun, learning how to skate,
I wish I could wish - as a child should,
and blow out a candle on a cake, have a cookie jar 
in the kitchen filled with good things" bright
curtains letting the sun in, a white fence, a gate.

I wish I were little again - and I would
tell my father to smoke a pipe, sit in a big chair
and hold me on his lap, tell me a story,
and throw me up in the air, play games with me.
I would go back - if only I could,
and wish I had a father and mother to care
about the important things - the glory
of childhood is
Being a Child.

Patricia Langston-Moran

Details | Narrative | |

A Prayer

I can sit inside my room for hours
and just think about the wrong i've done
I can sit and just hate myself 
or regret doing whats all ready been done
staring at the wall 
knowing i cant redo my sins
all thats left is for me to pray
I get down on my knees 
I cry Jesus please forgive me 
and listen to what i'm about to say 
"Jesus I love you 
and i know you love me to 
I cant take this no more
I've done so much wrong 
and I dont know what to do "
he replies to me 
"My child  you cry to me for help 
but yet you've done no wrong 
for all you've done is served me 
and sang me glorious songs
its the people all around you
that make you think this way 
but child just pray for them 
I will  listen to what they have to say 
and for you my child
keep your walk with me 
for I can do great things in  your life
I can set you free"

Details | Narrative | |

In The Quiet of Night

She couldn't wait
Any longer
Putting on a navy coat
She turned on the porch light
And went outside
Searching the road
That ran past her house.

That morning 
Just before the sun 
Came up
They spoke
Silent walls 
To their secrets. 

Shivering in the night's dampness 
She couldn't remember
Everything he said 
His muffled words 
Seemed so vague 
And far away.

She went back 
To rest. 

Closing her eyes 
She felt movement
Turning over gently 
To someplace far away
And the thought of dying
Came to her
A chance light from a passing car 
Shadows on the walls

And she saw
The substance of a child 
Walking in a dream
A dim light 
Highlighting her hair 
She asked, Are you coming to take me?
Smiling the child answered
We are eager
When life gives
And afraid when life takes back
You have time
I will be back
When you are ready.

The wind was beginning to race down 
From the west
He had forgotten how cold 
The March wind could be. 
Turning up his collar 
He walked quickly
The sound of
Gravel churning under his boots.

She heard 
Boots scraping the front steps
What took you so long she asked?
I dropped by to see my Mother
There's not much to say
Mom's still waiting for Dad
To come home
After all this time.

Details | Narrative | |



Grandma, when Grandpa went to Vietnam
And left you at home alone
Did you ever think he wouldn't return
And be forever gone

No, dear I thought he'd be back
And never leave again
But that crazy war in Vietnam
Was one we couldn't win

Well, Grandma, where is he now
Is he still fighting the war
Will he ever come home to be with us
Why did he go so far

My child your Grandpa had to go 
And fight for freedom's sake
But he won't be coming home again
And that's so hard to take

But Grandma, if he's not coming home
Why did he have to stay
I'd like to see Grandpa again
So he and I could play

Well, son I'm sorry to tell you this
There is no other way
Your Grandpa may be a prisoner of war
Or what the Army calls MIA

Well, why is he in prison
Did he commit a crime
I don't understand, Grandma
It's been a long, long time

Yes, dear, you're right, it's been so very long
Since Grandpa went away
But all the love he gave to us
Is with us every day

You're right Grandma
He really did love us all
He had to go to Vietnam
To answer his country's call

My child you are so very wise
And one day you'll understand
Your Grandpa had to go and fight
For the freedom of our land

Grandma, I love you so
And I'll never go away
I won't leave you home alone
Home is where I'll stay

Thank you dear, that's very kind
But Grandma will be alright
I love you too
God is my guiding light

He's my light too, just like Grandpa said
He's always by our side
He helps us every day
And dries the tears we've cried

	Curtis Moorman
	June 17, 2011

Details | Narrative | |

A Christmas Child

A face presses up to a store window display
of an angel in ermine
with arms bangled and boots thigh high.
Mannikin thighs harder than the fake tree
in the corner festooned with popcorn ...
stale now in the airless window.

The eyes of the child glow looking in
as mannikin eyes look out at the
turtle-necked tourists stopping to smile
at the child watching a toy train wind
past the feet of the angel in ermine
and her glistening red boots.
The train is filled with jeweled brooches,
earrings, and a necklace of diamonds.

Growing tired now,  the child walks
to a cardboard box at the corner of this store
where her mother sits on an old pillow
holding a flute to be played as its
red carrying case fills with coins.
Coins that will never buy diamonds.

Hauntingly beautiful Christmas carols her mother plays
while the child sits on the sidewalk
watching feet pass and coins drop.
Soon, they will walk across the street to a cafe
where she will drink hot chocolate
before they return to this box
to sleep in the silent night.

Details | Narrative | |

The long walk home

I remember as a child walking through the countryside,
People were so polite to greet each other – how are you?
With simple lifestyle in an agricultural ambience,
Theirs is my goal, my future longing to welcome.

While I’d always prefer to walk - rain or shine,
I couldn’t help but see first my friend close by;
my hero who saved me while getting drowned
the time of our town fiesta of Our Lady of Peñafrancia.

Old folks who used to hang out and visit us,
because of my grandma who’d say ‘come’,
some of them would really come and say:
‘we’re here to join you for a nice meal.’

On big celebrations like Christmas and town fiesta,
family relations would come in droves to see us;
their children would come along to ask something,
especially gifts and some money for this event.

For a child like these things serve as imprints,
a treasure trove of memories I still cherish;
a connecting link to my past with sentiments
indeed, it’s a heartland of true importance.

Described as a centerpiece of family interaction,
our home was like a rendezvous of some people,
whose attachments to our features of being hospitable,
welcome them to enjoy our kindness and compassion.

Though, to some of them our place was quite a distance,
but it didn’t matter to walk on foot, to come to our home;
It’s because they saw and felt truly a welcoming culture
from each member that fashioned to say no problem at all.

The long walk home may set the tone of exhaustion, 
But this reminds me of a pilgrim like in the bible;
The Holy Family who, in their flight to reach their destination,
Finds a place where they can be safe and call it a home.

Details | Narrative | |

A World of Shame and Neglect

The little child was born into a home of violence and abuse.
      Sadness was the closest thing to love and that was no excuse.
A little child screaming as his mother gets slapped and tossed all around,
     While his worthless father struts thinking he is something he is quite profound.
The little children with ragged clothes and snotty noses just stood there in tears,
      What an impression this father has made for them through the years.
We live in a monkey see monkey do get messed up society,
     Most of the children grew up watching their parents fighting never knowing 
 Alcohol or drugs, seemed to dominate most of the poor.
     The thing they didn’t realize this was only a temporary escape door.
The pain that was eased only led to more grief.
      Till violence took over in the name of relief.
 The daddy was loaded up paying the bills, food, utilities and rent,
      While momma stayed home pregnant and got fussed at for the money she 
They had sunk so low they were ashamed to attend any church,
      Afraid that the pastor might point them out as he stood on his perch.
What is the answer if any to this little tale of mine,
       How can we make it stop, can we ever draw a line.
 I do know that hate begets hate so could love be the key?
       Has anyone ever tried it long enough to truly find the answer of this I  would 
love to see.
All of my life I have heard do unto others as you would have them do unto you,
        Such a simple answer could this be all we need to do?
Think About It!!!

Details | Narrative | |


On the naming of a child
Certain protocols should be followed by the registrar

Protocol one

If the chosen name is Rainbow or Honey dew
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And given a book containing sensible names
This process should be repeated until a sensible choice is made

Protocol Two

If the chosen name is Chardonnay or Champagne
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And a large group of people should be assembled to laugh at them
The parents should then be given a dictionary
To look up the definitions of the names that they chose
This process should also be repeated until a sensible choice is made

Protocol Three 

If the chosen name is Moonflower or Gallifrey
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And the child should be immediately taken into care
Then the parents should be put in the stocks
So sensible people can throw rotten fruit at them
Before finally being committed to an institution

PS – Should it ever be deemed that they have been cured
They should be sterilised before release
And their names entered on the pretentious parents register

PPS - Anyone from Cardiff, The Wirral, Norfolk, Suffolk or Essex will inevitably
Name the child after a piece of fruit, a place they have visited
The name of their favourite car or a product from a supermarket
As a result these people should not be trusted to name their children.
Registrars must name the children for them
In the same way that Hurricanes and tropical storms are named
If they complain go straight to Protocol three

Details | Narrative | |

Child Dreamer

The view I see so beautiful a new horizon a bright sky
everything’s falling into place.
Vibrations have started paving the way for a new life
Magnificent sights and wonders captured within my mind
Excitement within my heart beating faster
Air I breath I'm feeling good
Born with a gift within my labyrinth
Like the magic of a crystal
Images I see time talks to me
I close my eyes century’s pass me by
Looking in the sky my mind can fly messages I hear
By the water my power grows
By the touch of a hand a deep emotion I feel
I am the messenger from the light
My life force has the everlasting glow
The road that I travel lies deep within a realm of enlightened thought
In this land I am a mystic
Abilities within my heart and mind have no boundaries
My wisdom teaches the children of life
My thoughts can move the megaliths
With the wave of my hand a portal open up
Through this dimension angels guide my inner soul
Listen closely an echoing voice calls out
Now watch as my arms turn into wings
Hold tight prepare for an adventure through fantasy
Higher 'n higher into heaven sky
The many sounds that surround
A breeze that breaths
Look into my eyes watch me turn into a star shooting through the sky.
Tonight something beautiful is about to begin
In a world of wonder everything comes alive.
In the corner of a small bed room, 
A sleeping child soon will hear magic. 
A picture on the wall. a battered guitar by the window
This picture is filled with visions of harmony and dreams.
That guitar is magical it works for any child that makes wish.
Outside the window a shooting star with 
the power and magic to create dreams into reality.
A gentle breeze rushes in; an angel like glow ignites the picture
A symphony of color engulfs the room.
The guitar begins to play. A gentle voice fills the air singing
Dream that dream watch 'n see 
What you have always known and wished for soon will become reality
You are the one we’ll come to know and love
I know you’ve been abused it’s in your eyes
It’s alright to cry open up let the emotions soar
You are the star, climb the sky show the truth to the world
Show them what you can do, we have seen you do it and we know
You’ve been hidden from so many, a child so gifted and beautiful. 
That little voice you keep hearing is you guiding you along 
There are no boundaries for you and I in life.
Dream that dream keep creating
Watch and see what you have always known and wished for soon will be reality

Details | Narrative | |

The Kings Three Sons Part 4

The King answered back, "I love you as much as a king can love a son, but I love my people more, and you shall not be king." With anger, the third son raised his fist and spat, ‘When you die, I shall have this land and raise my army of children, forced into acting like men." And with that said, he stormed out, yanking his child servant behind him. Once out beyond the hearing range of their King, the three sons had a meeting. They were never kind to one another, but now, they had a new thing to hate together. So they banded as one to take the throne. The wizard posed and puffed his pipe. “But with them as kings the land would sure fall; would it not?” I couldn’t keep the question in my mouth. “Very wise,” the wizard said, before continuing on. “The three sons pillaged the land, taking the crops, raping the women, murdering the men and stealing the children. The land was at war, except their was no army to save the people from the three sons. The King; he wept from his death bead and called forth his only daughter. ‘My father,’ the daughter wept as she fled to kneel beside the King, ‘I have been waiting for you to call upon me.’ ‘Your brothers have brought ugliness to this land. They are starving the people, raping the women, murdering the men and making solders out of children. I am too weak to stop them from the cruelty they bestow on humanity. What would you do my child to stop them?’ The daughter sat back to think. "The people are scared, they're watching their mothers, sisters and daughters be taken against their will. Their husbands, fathers, brothers and sons are getting slaughtered before their eyes, and their children are being ripped from their arms, and their stomachs are full and blotted with hunger."Tears slid down the daughters cheeks, ‘I shall go into the villages. I shall ease back the pain with courage, and together we shall rise in a revolt against the evils my brothers have laid forth. With love and hope and truth we shall overcome the hatred that has swept through this land." The King smiled and spoke, "My daughter, I love you as much as a father loves his daughter and I see that you love the people just as much. Go forth, and save your people from those that wish them harm." The King kissed his daughter on the forehead with his dying breath.

Details | Narrative | |

The Barefoot Days of Summer

The Barefoot Days of Summer

By Elton Camp

	When I was a child in rural Alabama during the 1940s, going barefoot during the summer months was still a general practice, especially for boys.  It was feasible because few roads were paved and sidewalks in the country were virtually nonexistent.  The sun on hard, dark surfaces created burn hazards that prevented city kids from going without shoes outside the confines of their own yards.  

	My father’s childhood had been spent in the more distant rural areas of Marshall County.  He and his siblings went shoeless partly by choice and partly because it was the inexpensive thing to do.  Shoes for their large family would represent a significant cost.  Memory being the fickle thing that it is, he looked back on “going barefoot” as a privilege and source of delight.  It was a childhood rite that he wanted me to enjoy.  

	“You can start going barefoot now,” he announced in June of each year.  His tone showed that he considered he was doing something wonderful for me, so I didn’t want to disappoint him by revealing my true feelings.  Going shoeless hurts—a lot.  Sharp rocks and stubs of plants seemed to be everywhere.  After about a month, the soles thicken enough that walking becomes less painful, but it’s mainly a matter of degree.  Without a doubt, the sandy, grass-free yards of his youth contained fewer perils.  

	In the forties, our yard had what passed for grass, but it actually was a mixture of grass, clover, and general weeds.  When the clover bloomed, it created a hazard that no amount of tough skin could prevent—bee stings.  The pain was intense and lasted a couple of days.  The only treatment my parents knew was to moisten the head of a kitchen match to make a paste to apply to the sting.  Despite their assurance that the folk treatment would help, I felt no better beyond the fact that something was being done.  In later years, I took a perverse comfort when I learned that the sting tears out the internal organs of the bee so that it dies shortly.  The mere fact that I was crushing the insect with my foot gave it no right to retaliate. 
	Apart from the beach, I haven’t seen a barefoot child over a year old in a long time.  Viewpoints and circumstances change and that childhood ritual has vanished.  Good riddance to it.  

Details | Narrative | |

for lexi

quick witted 
like the child her mother was
i miss that child 
but adore the butterfly she has become
she will be more 
than we all imagine
if we let her be
just as her mother 
and her grandmother and great grandmother were and are
but we come from a line of struggle
of will and wellness
of dreams and wants
of can be and will be
she smiles
and my heart is as full as it can be
she treats me like a playmate
and i wouldn't have it any other way
i love her and her mother
as much as my heart will allow
as much as there is room for
as if they were my own

Details | Narrative | |

Save A Child


The very saddest thing the saddest of all,
     Is to see a little small child starving and waiting for death to call.
And see it’s momma pleading with her eyes hoping someone will help her child.
     While we sit here obese with our plates so full, how high the food is really 
Our world is so unbalanced and so unfair,
      There is enough to go around but we have to share.
If every person could hold a starving child as it draws it’s last breath,
      And have that child look into your eyes with hopes you have come to spare it 
this death.
I think maybe then we would all reach into our jeans,
     And share what we’ve got so none of us has to witness this scene.
I pray that peace and happiness fill every ones heart,
     And that we all dig a little deeper and let this gift of sharing grow from the start.
A starving child is no ones enemy,
     And pity won’t feed it or set it free.
If you can help and you don’t that is like committing a crime,
    I pray you and yours never experience this sadness and that it can be stopped 
in our lifetime.
Send what you can I know you’ll be blessed,
     Help that little child please give it your best.

Details | Narrative | |

Save The Children



What makes sense in this world today? 
   Most of our children don't even know how to play. 
It has to have a remote control or hand held joystick. 
   Most of the games are either evil, violent, or just downright sick. 
Most parents don't spend enough time with our kids till the damage is done. 
   Then we wonder what has happened to our daughters and sons. 
A lot of these cartoons and games truly have such evil themes. 
   They influence our children, their mind and their dreams. 
If a child is shown and taught nothing but killing and hate. 
   What do you suppose might be their outcome, can you envision their fate? 
Instead of rewarding a child with an electronic game, try buying them a book. 
   Perhaps maybe one you might have read when you were their age, and 
challenge them to look. 
Try being a parent and remember who's the boss! 
   There is just no excuse and you can't afford the loss. 
It's not always easy being a parent but remember what you have at stake. 
   Last but not least, tell them how Jesus died for all our sakes. 

Details | Narrative | |

Wolf- Man, the middle

Day crackles clean and warm like burning coal
A new passion swam his veins, they bonded him
For that pheromone was strong in him, and abrim 
The pack bayed towards the sunlight burning gold
And welcomed a brave brother wolf into the fold
For he who before the bear stood calm, his noble
Suit displayed, found his totem in a moment bold
And transmigrated his soul to the new realm possible.

He could not make destiny again, but destiny chose
For him, the wolf man everywhere was known. He 
Was the hero wanted, yet scorned with circles closed
Like doors against him, for all his deeds of mercy.
But the dog gene made him a man's best friend still
And howling he brings the pack always to his will
Neither did they sit while any child or innocent ached
With fear or pain, and from the malice of evil intent.
The wolf man knew but little thought how each act
Propelled him to a higher level and another death sent
For seeds all die that spring to trees, and the same fact
Was true for him every new level he was to attain
While propelled upwards greater animals to become
He knew the bear level awaited him next in the chain
Of cycles. But for service alone his heart still hummed.

Nor did he know hes was hunted too, for one man firm
In his conviction to repay, the thing that from forest came
The thing massive in muscles, humble in every term
That dared the forking tongue of a livid flame
To retrieve a child, the only child the mother left behind
The child that was enblem and memory of that love
Whose death would perish his flesh and torment his mind
The wolf-like thing, the man beast on wings, dove
In from above, and came out with life between his jaws
Hair fried, and limping as if with injured paws
And the throng of them that rush upon the scene then
Making a barrier between it and curious but cruel men
And how it seemed in thin air he vanished without reward
And cause a grateful father to follow the trail full and hard.

Did he have the hours to find him still, to meet the kind
That make us wretched because our hearts are blind
Did he with ego melted, and with a different disposition
Qualify to know and taste the foreign truth of transmigration
To destinies on the brink of fate, and death at the gate
Gasping and gulping, still in the grasp of time we wait.

Details | Narrative | |

The Splendor of the Stars

He crossed the room toward the door as evening fell, 
the daylight slowly fading and spilling on the floor 
     in pools of black. 
The child was still there on the stoop, mewling and 
wriggling in her basket, an urchin, so pathetic and alone, 
abandoned like a buried memory.
He took her in his arms and held her close;
his touch would bring her comfort
like a well-remembered song as he bathed her 
by the fire and dressed her warm.
The lovelight in her eyes, uncompromising, 
     took his breath away.
Older folks should live their lives this way,
invest their souls with such unwavering devotion
that there is no need for worry, or cause for anger,
just the pure and perfect eloquence of faith.

She took some nourishment and grew stronger;
the seasons waxed and waned and no one 
came to claim her, so they became sufficient 
to themselves, anticipating one another's wants 
     and needs.
Up on the the high ground they would wonder 
at the heavens as they strolled by waters 
shimmering in starlight, dazzling their eyes 
     to tears of happiness. 
Storms beset them, and still they bore it all 
like two creatures who have come to trust  
     the power of their love.
Sunlight crossed to starlight, he grew sad 
     and incomplete. 
His mind left him, struggling and blind, 
as time drifted by like a slow and gentle stream.

She cared for him now, as he had cared for her 
so many years before, caressing his brow, 
bringing light to his dark eyes, and she wept quietly 
when her friend at last departed.

Alone she settled to her thoughts like a child 
wrapped in a blanket and slept, 
remembering his kindnesses and strength.
Finally she gave in to her loss, no longer able 
to endure the pain of grief. The Father blessed her, 
held her in his arms and re-united them, 
forever, in the splendor of the stars.

Details | Narrative | |

A Mothers Love


Her lullaby she sang so sweet,
    While kissing her babies toes and feet.
Momma loves you she would coo as she rocked,
    This tiny gift from God she still was amazed and shocked.
Such a perfect creation and it came from her,
     She prayed to be the best mother that there ever were.
It was so tiny and fragile and she felt so alone,
     But it was also the greatest thing she had ever known.
She had created life the most amazing gift of all,
     As she caressed it to her bosom all rolled up in such a small and tiny little ball.
The child was asleep and she hated to lay it down,
     As she released its little fingers that were clinging to her gown.
Goodnight my precious child as she gently laid it in its bed,
     Momma loves you and she gently caressed the baby’s head.
Sleep tight and she asked God to watch over her precious child with all his 
      What she didn’t see were the guardian angels God had already sent that very 

Details | Narrative | |


I saw her sitting in the park alone
Crying, crying there
She seemed unfed with nothing for her own
But the salty tear
My spirit grieved my heart was touched to see
Her just crying there
I sat in silence and longed for words to free
Her from her despair

She looked at me with suspicious eyes and sighed
With sorrow and care
As though something sacred in her soul died
Which caused her each tear
I hate to see a woman cries, I hurt
With every sad tear
I am angry for each inhuman hurt
Moved by every fear

And so resolved I chance assured her, please
Can I dry your tear
Then in sudden torrents, longing for ease
Her story came clear
A child violated make mothers scorned
And the seas in tear
Cannot wash the slithering hand, the horned
Thrust she has to bear

Daily in her womb it grows, daily she flees
Followed by each tear
She agonized with God on bended knees
And just silence there
She will not destroy the child for two wrongs
Will not dry a tear
Nor undo the sorrow souring her songs
Till death cease her care

So thinking fast I said the cross altered
Once another tear
A woman bruised and battered lived unfaltered
Its bright crown to where
New dreams to make from old dreams shattered there
Love shows through each tear
The rainbow in coming child, I'll be there
No more crying here     

Details | Narrative | |

Sing Him A Lullaby - 2

One day a child was hurt 
and of course he was to blame.
The kid would barely make it he 
was beat so bad. There was talk 
of vigilantes to scour the woods 
until they found that lousy no-name, 
that vicious little kid everybody wanted dead.

They cornered him so he didn't have 
a chance. They roped and tied him 
and beat him black and blue, though
he screamed he didn't do it. All his 
anger and his rage came spilling out; 
he was like a wounded animal waiting to be shot.

And then a stranger intervened,
a man with gentle eyes and sallow skin 
who spoke soft, he was serene.
His voice made everybody calm and quiet. 
He put his arms around the child and held 
him close until he stopped his sobbing, 

and then he said:

"Instead of beating him, show him 
some compassion. With mercy 
and forgiveness take this forsaken, 
frightened soul into your hearts 
and sing him a lullaby, a lullaby to 
bring him from the depths of his 
despair and make him whole."

Details | Narrative | |

Sing Him a Lullaby (part 2)

One day a child was hurt 
and of course he was to blame.
The kid would barely make it he 
was beat so bad. There was talk 
of vigilantes to scour the woods 
until they found that lousy no-name, 
that vicious little kid everybody wanted dead.

They cornered him so he didn't have 
a chance. They roped and tied him 
and beat him black and blue, though
he screamed he didn't do it. All his 
anger and his rage came spilling out; 
he was like a wounded animal waiting to be shot.

And then a stranger intervened,
a man with gentle eyes and sallow skin 
who spoke softly and didn't need a big 
stick. He was huge. His voice made 
everybody calm and quiet. He put 
his arms around the child and held 
him close until he stopped his sobbing, 

and then he said:

"Instead of beating him, show him 
some compassion. With mercy 
and forgiveness take this forsaken, 
frightened soul into your hearts 
and sing him a lullaby, a lullaby to 
bring him from the depths of his 
despair and make him whole." 

Details | Narrative | |


I admit that it was last summer I really envied everything about her
from her well-groomed head right down to her perfectly manicured feet,
Deep down inside I found myself wanting to be her
and I wanted her to be me.
She never had to worry about not having a car
because she always had a new ride waiting in her driveway,
She never had to continously stay at home and be bored
and just daydream of getting away.
She never had to take care of a small child 24/7
tending to his every whim and need,
All she had to do was leave her child with Grandmother's
and let her handle all of her child's wants and needs.
She always seemed to have money in her pocket
shopping at the mall was her favorite past time,
She always seemed to have had new clothes hanging up in her closet
and she always semmed to have had her hair and nails looking so fine.
I looked at her as having the life that I so muc had desired
a life that I also felt that I so much deserved,
I would look at myself and at my life thinking they were both too simple and tired
I wanted and desired more than just love.
Many nights I had found myself laying awake
with so many doubts and so many fears,
The love of my life never knew how much my heart ached
and how much I longed for things to been different here.
I thought she had it much better than me
her life just seemed more exciting and adventourous compared to mine,
Unfortunatly, it was the pubic image of her that I had only seen
and not the real brat behind the closed, four walls.
Even though she had much more material riches than I
she was poorly lacking in self-respect and dignity,
After realizing that known fact my eyes were then opened wide
my life was way better and was richly satisfying abunduntly.
I have a family that honestly and sincerely loves me
and there is food in my cupboards and a roof over my head,
The material things really matters not all that much to me
it is the love from my family that has made me feel so blessed.

Details | Narrative | |

Domestic Abuse


What gives so called parents certain rights,
   A child is a gift from God not something you fight.
I’ve heard the excuse when I get drunk I just loose control,
   I say to you if you take your anger out on a child you have no soul.
A child has to have discipline I’ll be the first to agree.
   I’ll admit I’ve placed my child across my knee.
But I had enough sense to know when enough was enough.
   I wasn’t trying to prove something or trying to be tough.
My kids I love with all my heart,
    And they heard that nearly everyday from the start.
A man to me is not a man if he has to beat on his family if that’s his plan.
    And to the ladies out there I say to you walk away from this type of man.
They won’t change they don’t possess the desire,
    They’ve shorted out their overload wire.
Call the cops are do what you must, 
    There is help out there, there’s people you can trust.
The odds are less than one in a thousand he will ever change.
    Something is wrong with their mind they are deranged.
How many women and children have died from this form of abuse,
    Trying to break away just trying to get loose.
There is no clear cut answer just leave when you can.
     And no matter what never return to this type of man.