These Daughter Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Daughter. These are the best examples of Daughter Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
For nearly 45 years I never spoke of that day; the emotional pain was too great.
I simply hid it in the lining of my soul, knowing in my heart you didn’t stand
a chance with me as I stood in the rubble of my life and let you go, wrapped
in my heart with a wish and a prayer- all I had to give. And for 45 years,
I dreamed of you and me playing in fields of daisies under blue skies as
I cried inside, wondering where you where, and if there was a part of you
that somehow would remember me- would remember the bond we made
in that single moment we shared together, when the nurse held you up to the
nursery window for me to see as I stood on wobbly legs, with my trembling
hands holding unto a pole with a dripping IV?
I prayed. Lord! How I prayed that someday, by the grace of God,
you’d come back to me when the time was right.
So I lived my life. Got back up and crawled out of the rubble that was me,
and lived with half a heart that somehow still managed to beat.
With the passing of time, I bloomed; sometimes red, sometimes blue when I thought of all the years we could have shared as I sat and listened to family and friends
tell me of the joyful times they shared with their children, grandchildren
and great-grandchildren as, I smiled and cried inside and dreamed of you,
and all the years of your life I missed and, all the years I would never know.
It was then I realized I was a very lonely soul. So, I wrote and wrote and
wrote, never suspecting for a moment that nearly 45 years later,
you would find me through a poem I wrote for you.
I know I can never replace the mother and father who raised you, for the bonds
of time shared are much stronger than blood. Yet knowing what a wonderful
women you turned out to be, beautiful, intelligent, compassionate
and now with a daughter of your own, is enough for me, and someday
when the time is right for you, I hope and pray , we will meet again.
This is a true story. It was through this forum ( poetrysoup ) my birth daughter found me.
Opening the closet of narra doors, I sweep through
organza skirts and gemmed ringlets; my hair
ruffling aimlessly upon scalloped kerchiefs
smelling decade - old hyacinth, Mom’s favorite
ambrosia: she would lift her anklets
in tiptoed hums, ”night and day, you are the one..”
Evenings touched her candle hands; hands
that soothed wounded knees from jackstone fights;
her fingers caressing a pony -tailed girl’s wrath
with piano keys rippling into a gentle moan;
“night and day you are the one…”
And i am delivered from my tempestuous rants.
From nowhere, the porcelain mirror gazed at me;
her rhythm of silence billows, cradling my nights
with each veil of her almond eyes
that enter into my irises: a serene sight
too close, much too tight I clung to her unspoken word.
Through years, I grew like a bamboo shoot: her quiet smiles
and music walked me through reality’s maze.
And how I would wail bearing the grim of hard study,
coughing late, late hours of reading toil…yet,
she stayed like a moth with charm flushed
in a wind of calm gaze, ebbing .
And only Mom could melt my temper
when my raging soul paused to wonder
at her light’s glow: oh, her feminine beat illumined
more lamplights dancing inside this rebellious head…
and now, she hovers around me.
I become her eyes, chanting, “night and day,
you are the one” ; never balking at my surreal conquests.
She is gone bequeathing warmth into my torched flights
without question; with much love dripping
from her graceful movement, straying all through
these my breaths: “night and day, you are the one…”
Leonora Galinta's Poem For Mommy
By: nette onclaud
So… during basketball season… our manager, Anna,
would sit by me on the bench.
I told her about Nana drawing with charcoals.
I told her about how I wanted to buy her charcoals
so she would draw again.
I told Anna about how Nana won’t draw anymore
because she used to draw…
when Papa was sick.
(I was telling Anna all of this because she likes to draw
and mentioned she likes charcoals the best)……..
All that being said…
Anna gave me the most beautiful charcoal drawing
of a basketball on a wooden floor.
It is framed and really big.
You can tell that she put time into it
and really wanted it to be pretty.
When I opened it in class today,
I was so surprised……
and told her it was beautiful.
She smiled at me and said,
“I drew that because of the story you told
me about your grandma.”
I bawled like a little kid.
Just that the story would influence her, and
inspire her to draw that for me.
It is awesome.
I had forgotten that we even talked about drawing…….
That story meant something to her.
And that is why people teach.
Tell me of your peace.
Let it tell your story now
Of trials and tribulations, a tale not of dreams
Weary from a journey of self-discovery
My child, know the comfort in your peace
You feel hope in this familiar place
As it gently sloughs the pain away
Tell me of your peace
In which we all are blessed and free
Search throughout your soul sweet child
Peer not within your cluttered mind
Look out to rest your tired eyes but do not let them see
Solace found strewn upon daily thoughts is fleeting at it's best
Lasting merely moments, in untouched souls a true peace
Oh yes! You'll know when you arrive but only you will know
The world will melt away as a candle left under the blazing sun
Away away, until you feel home again, an unguided familiar scene
An innocence once lost is restored, all sins suddenly forgiven
Soaking this in with relucant ease,
Breathe it deep with a slow release
Take it in, delight in details you discover
Be calm here child, please have no fear, I am here
You are safe in this place of yours, no hurt no tears
We share not the same peace, no no
Unique to each of us, yet stranger to none
Trust in more than what you see, know beauty is within reach
We share this unspoken bond of freedom from ourselves
Please young one, listen closer now
I say, leave it all behind you love, it will only weigh you down
Cleanse yourself of careless words and careful lies
I know you're weary, let go of all you carry
Don't be afraid, here you are burden free
Trust in you, blessed one, it's easier than you believe
Sweet child, tell me now if you see
Peace resting deep within
Waiting for you
For you to let it be
We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,
Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...
These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken
Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"
I had heard this song by an obscure artist, with a twist as it played verses
of 'Somewhere over the rainbow, with 'What a wonderful' world entwined.
It's simply melody strummed on a ukalele mesmerized me as I listened on the radio
in the car.
I remember saying to my wife, "I want this at my funeral." I was morbidly honest
Several years later, I was watching an episode of E.R. in which our favorite
character, Dr. Green discovers he has brain cancer, and a short time to live. He's
basically given the advice we all wish to avoid. "You don't have long, retire, enjoy
the time you have left."
Dr Green, plans a vacation with his daughter, who's relationship has been strained
since his divorce. For the next three or four episodes Dr. Green and his daughter
spend his last days surfing in Hawaii. Mending the relationship slowly, to a degree
of understanding only a father and daughter could know. He's still Dad, and she's a
teen working on letting go of her resentments.
In the last episode of the story, he's not doing well. He keeps passing out and his
strength is waning. He knows it's only a matter of days, possibly hours; but doesn't
share this with his daughter, the scenary is of a bungalo on the beach, white sands
surround the openness of the primitive bungalo, palm trees speckle the beach, and
in the distance lies the royal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
A day of surfing is suddenly changed as he suggests that his daughter go ahead of
him, he'll stay back and watch until his strength returns. So he sits in a hammock,
and watches out in the water as she strolls off to surf, Background music grows to
this song I'd so loved, by and artist named Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole and as the
music is playing softly, the camera pans in on the face of Dr. Green for his death
scene, and his last breath. The camera pulls back, from the back of his head, above
the bungalo, above the beach as if we are Dr Green's soul departing this earth.
Yes, I cried like a little school girl as realized that my favorite character had just
been erased from our show, with no chance to come back for a Cameo... What!? of
course that's why I cried! OKAY! it was a tear jerker! and the saddest part, was the
relationship with his daughter was still in repair . Moral of the story i guess-- You
never know when its your time, so don't hold on to petty resentments, and love
every minute of life.
I later learned, Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole; had also died
In the warmth of a massive cozy bed, I lie
Enjoying the freshness of a washed sheet
Lost in a make believe world
Lovely enough, I can’t wake
But while in the deep of my fantasies
I am suddenly awakened by my little one’s silent echo!!!
Her turns and sucks,
Her little hand-full tummy, rumbling
Yet again, wet diaper.
Oh no!!! Why now?
Sleep never felt so lovely
But I just can’t ignore this growl
Am I not her supper-mom?
Sleep-walking; I grab some warm milk and fresh diaper
For who came from me, same flesh and blood!!!
Have you ever imagined the world we live without women?
It is like a lung without some oxygen, agonizing and inevitably dead
A face never with a smile, boring and unfriendly
A cup of tea without some grains of sugar, bitter and foul
A pool without some water, dry and boring
A good ride on a bad untilled road, rough and uninteresting
The earth without some drops of rain, a honeymoon in Sahara desert
But how come with the great number of women on planet earth
We still live to cry as a reggae legend sang “no woman no cry”
It is because they permit evil as much as they permit good
Gullible and instrumental in the hand of the wicked ones
Ugly and nice, beautiful and dangerous
Cunning like a serpent, deceitful like chameleon
Holy but a liar, having a form of godliness but highly ungodly
Lovely like a white puppy, sweet like bees honey
Women control men while the men rule the world.
I slide my tongue across my lips; I taste salt from where my tears once fell. The serpents been winning the race, Infiltration of my desires take procession, I’m standing in the mirror and I don’t recognize my own reflection. It’s not the flesh but the soul that’s been disquised, every carnal temptation he’s devised oh how quickly I’ve come to oblige. I need to hit rock bottom and slow my pace, at this point he’s winning the race, baking firm an eternal glaze upon my face. I care so much that I care not. I’m so hungry yet no food is sought. Feel so much sorrow that I’m not dolorous, sing so loud but leave absent the chorus.
I’m vulnerable, looking for warmth in another’s touch, simply falling victim to his charms like a little girl searching for warmth in her daddy’s arms. Though, he provided no warmth, he didn’t provide much, just the foundation, the stepping stone where he left his prints; of course I followed with every step slipping farther from the grasps of temperance. You can call me an abuser Lord, I abused your love, snapped the wing of your symbolic dove, snapped too the wings of thee angel upon the golden gate, funny how I just read Job and he knew not his fate.
Thank you for trampling me into the ground, into the dust from which I roze, into utter darkness living with consequences to paths I chose. I thought you were guided me completely from the light, in reality it was never out of sight, even your own shadow leaves you in darkness. Give me the courage that I seek, give me strength when I am weak, and at times make me weak where I am strong. Give me positive passion for life like the passion in “Solomon’s Song”.
Seven years I’ve been waiting for
A Christmas with you I wish for
Just like the other years that passed by
My wish for Christmas never gone by
A thought bothered my mind
How do you feel fine?
How do I feel fine?
If it breaks your soul it breaks mine.
Everything you have to sacrifice
A tear drops in your eyes
I wish I could make it dry
But I too can’t stop myself to cry
I hope he will grant my wish
If not now, maybe next year
I would still be waiting here
The same wish that I wished.