Can you recall the hush of Christmas past?
Think back to when you were a little child,
excited Santa Claus would come at last,
too young to even know you’d been beguiled.
In shadows of your quiet room you lay.
Then maybe to your window you’d tiptoe,
look out and search the sky for Santa’s sleigh.
But all you’d see were swirling flakes of snow,
And in that night, while all your family slept,
you tried to stay awake. Do you recall
the only thing you heard as Sandman crept
upon you was the clock upon the wall?
The hush of Christmas past is never gone.
As long as there are children, it lives on.
Her big eyes shone while to her chest she clasped
the violin her dad worked hard to buy.
Delightedly that Christmas morn, she gasped
to see it; then she promised she would try
with all her might to learn to master it!
She practiced hard. The girl that they called Bright Eyes
would dedicate her all. She never quit.
Each day and night, she strove to memorize
the strings’ sweet notes, in love with allegretto!
How quickly she caught on, and one main goal
was in her offering of a vibrato,
which - when it filled the air - might touch one’s soul!
Today she casts such magic with her bow
that all who hear are warmed by Bright Eye’s glow.
written 12/29/14 For the "Let the Music Play On" of Mystic Rose
Young and pretty, living a normal life
Suddenly her world would never be the same
Her lovely boy born with special needs
Her daily life now the toughest of games
She carries on with her head held high
Having a career, still being his mother
Constantly dealing with medical issues
Yet she would not change him for another
Nurses and doctors fill her daily life
Fighting for the services that he needs
Never one complaint does she voice
Knowing not where his path will lead
A special soul; accepting the hand dealt
My admiration for this woman so deeply felt…..
I am privileged to be one of his nurses...I have never seen a stronger
more dedicated mother..
(I apologize for the
format the website
is having problems,
hopefully it will be
Poised, she waits by
pajamas by the door.
Still as a statue,
Waiting for Mama is
this toddlers trial.
fog I shake from my
Waking to silence
instead of her
Angelic voice asks
for chocolate milk.
Such a treat in the
morning, smooth like
Attentive, she holds
the glass as I pour.
Half-way full, she
politely asks for
Diligent steps to
the kitchen table,
Holding on as best
as she was able.
abrupt, no warning.
Milk on the
For Contest: Three
A child needs a place where he can run
unhindered by some wooden fence or wire.
He needs a spot beneath the summer sun,
a peaceful breeze to soothe him should he tire.
He understands the time to pause in play;
to rest upon a hill and thus renew;
to study clouds that fleck the azure skyway
until they rearrange and pass from view.
A child wants to laugh and taste and see;
to hear a rushing stream; to twirl and leap;
to dip bare feet in mud; hide in a tree
and greet the stars before he has to sleep.
A child sheltered from the sun's caress
grows pale and little knows of happiness.
For Francine Robert's "Barefoot" poetry Contest
A child's beauty contest I watched in such awe;
young girl in a wheelchair to her father, his all.
Escorting her on stage with such grace and pride;
each so blessed to be at the others' side.
A fragile princess in a purple pageant dress;
twirling her first in her chair then lifting her to his chest.
Their dance so inspiring; such an enchanting sight;
so gently he lifted her high up to the sky.
Sparkling, bright eyes and the most beautiful smile;
none deserving of a crown more than this precious child.
An imperfect body, viewed as a gift from above;
her beauty matched only by a father's boundless love.
Beauty in my eyes is not found in perfection;
but in acceptance, uniqueness, love and dedication.
June 29, 2014
Contest: Encore-anonymous positive new sonnet
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Why does a child have to go to school?
Why do we have to spend so much time working?
This seems simply cruel.
Isn't it just irking?
Some people say school is important for learning
Couldn't a child learn on their own?
It would cause much less yearning,
After all, we can learn from our phones.
I can somewhat see a parents point in sending their child to school.
But why would you choose what we wear?
It just allows us to look like fools,
We may as well come to school bear.
As you can see school is not fair,
So please don’t force us to go if you care.
I lived my best in season of the sun,
those yellow, mellow days when cares are flung
to June’s warm breeze, and childhood is begun,
a field to wander in, and all is young!
I lived my zenith in the summer heat.
Ah, zephyr of sublime and untried heights!
Blue sky, July, and taste of kisses sweet
still haunt my mind in cool midsummer nights.
In August came dry winds, and I was torn
from my adobe of early gleeful days.
My children both at summer’s end were born,
and now a grandchild in new sunlight plays.
When dusk, unhurried, comes, I live my best.
In Virgo’s sun may I be laid to rest.
For Brian Strand's ANY 2012 POEM any theme/
any form max of 18 lines Poetry Contest
and now for PD's Any Form Under 15 Lines Poetry Contest
Beneath the weeping willow
A gentle figure swings
Her dress of white a-billow
While soft and sweet she sings
She sang within this bower
What song I cannot tell
Her hair bedecked with flowers
Blue Canterbury bells
And on into the gloaming
Is heard this pleasant sound
When stars begin their roaming
She lets her hair unbound
Then o'er her form the willow weeps
The night is still -- the child sleeps
Growing up as a child I never wanted to sleep alone
In fear of the darkness and most of all the unknown
“Mommy is there monsters” I would commonly ask
Her reply was “only on Halloween, the ones we see in masks”
Still not satisfied with her answer and questioning her some more
Asking her the same old thing as I did the night before
Frustrated and exhausted she finally took me by the hand
Looking under my bed, in my closet and even inside my night-stand
“So see my daughter the monsters are only in your head”
“It’s time to get some sleep me dear, now do as I have said”
Respectfully obeying my mother; my little body trembling with fear
Wishing the hour was morning, praying for “him” not to appear
But as the darkness faded and uncomfortable silence came about
I could hear the monster stirring, getting ready to come out
Hoping the noises I heard were only my brothers messing around
Pulling the covers over my head, hoping and praying not to be found
The footsteps getting closer, the monster is almost to the foot of my bed
I now can hear his heavy breathing, oh God how I wished he was dead
Quietly he lifts my covers back and lays down in the bed beside me
Touching, groping and mauling, trying to cover my eyes so I cannot see
He took away my childhood and with that my trust and self-esteem
A pleading child without a voice, invisible as it would seem
So yes my daughters there are monsters, everywhere we look
Saying as I remember my childhood and everything he took
My whinny,crabby, hungry teen
Your stinky,spoiled and quite mean
You want, you need, you have to have
The latest,newest, modern fad
Your greasy, grimy, hands smear
My wall, light switches, and the mirror
Empty snack bags,with sweet and sour
Create tall,extensive buildings that tower
Your messy,your dirty,in need of a shower
Please make it quick,not loiter an hour
Your smelly,nasty, disgusting shoes
Are slowly poisoning every room
Even with big mouth,rolling eyes and sighs
I would not trade you, I surmise
When you miss a child,
Of your very own,
That is your flesh and blood,
You begin to wonder,
Where did you go wrong,
In your own life,
Instead of looking,
At the beautiful life,
This you must remember,
So many of the difficult times,
Cause of the times you did share together,
For your children will remember more,
Than you really want to give them credit for,
And they will always remember you,
As their loving parent,
For loving them so much,
More than you will ever know,
And you will never forget them,
Just as you hope,
You will never be forgotten,
From their lives,
Within life's cesspool, captives held for trade,
Along infested ways where young-child rape
Is glorified by twisted souls who gape
And for the purity of babes are paid.
In dim, demonic dwellings are they laid
And sold to loathsome loves who drape
Stolen innocence in sin's evil curse--
Beyond protection or rescuing raid;
The shadowy officials turn the head
To wink or sometimes join the savage curse.
Somewhere sad, broken parents, sobbing, lie,
Tortured days and nights saturate with dread
While ever fuller grows the sex trade's purse:
The victims cry alone and ask God why.
May 3, 2014
A SONNET OF LIFE
(Apropos The Children I Know)
Act your age my darling little child;
Take care not to go about in blinded haste.
Enjoy this lovely life for a while;
Time is elusive and you have none to waste.
Listen, candy does not always last very long;
Can be as hard as rock, yet melts as easy as ice:
Teases your tongue with sweetness and then its gone;
Leaving you wading the emptiness of something once nice.
Yes, when you are young, innocent and very sweet,
This old life can throw many enticing things you way:
Making you think that it’s all good and life is always neat;
But be aware my child, life has her debts we all are bound to pay.
For just as the night must surly turn into another day;
You my child, like me, will eventually grow old and gray.
The loneliness is pervasive at home
Noise of the television can't drown it
The emptiness happens each time you roam
I'll turn the porch light on and a moth will flit
While up, open the window just a bit
Now sounds of the night and traffic clearer
In the distance your truck's clank transmits
With each moth flit, the engine's noise nearer
Wonderful knowing you are home and safe
Delighted that you're here again child
Let me close the window, hug the waif
Closing it, remember when you once smiled
The moth no longer flits to the porch light
A closed window blocks the sounds of the night
Inspired by Craig Cornish's
Written: November 07, 2014
Saturday mornings my list was quite clear,
Pull out the comet and toilet bowl brush.
Windex, perfect to polish the mirror,
Finish the toilet with one final flush.
Scrubbing the sink till faucets do glisten,
Empty the countertop, free from clutter.
Scour the bathtub, with so much ambition,
While under my breath, complaints I utter.
Our shower the biggest job of them all,
With its showerhead and sliding glass doors.
Standing inside to scrub ceramic walls,
Finally finished by washing the floors.
Child labor I’d cry when I was not paid,
When I grow up, I am getting a maid.
10 syllables per line
Deserve the world my child,my son
If I could give, with heart I'd run
Pray instead, I must for you
Placed many tools to get you through
Life ahead unknown my son
So much I wish, your dreams ignite
Strive for all, please shine that light
Become the man I know you'll be
But please for you and not just me
Dig deep inside with every might
Strive for all thats due, you'll see
Deserving much from world, not me
Kindness, compassion, intelligence too
Owning these gifts, build confidence in you
By example, trust, live life for thee
Accept these words I give from me
My child, a man will come to be
With laces tied, she is up and away
With the glint of the moon on her steel blades
The clink of metal as she leaves the ice
Pirouette of glee as her soul takes flight
Swirling and twirling, a bird on the wing
With her scarlet skirt flared out in a ring
Without any strings, she flies like a kite
A vision of grace on a windless night
Carving her masterpiece there on the lake
Gaining more power with each breath she takes
Joy beneath heaven on a starry night
In a world of white drenched in golden light
A girl with a dream and a pair of skates
Swan in a ballet on a frozen lake.
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!
"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!
The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
and on his heels--I made my promise good!
We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
What is it like to be my little hero?
A morning chat would mean great adventure
A ride with your imaginary aero
Would fly us to places never gone before
Inside your world, we made things possible
We are both so strong to save the world
With unique powers, you are unstoppable
Put an end to villains with your mighty hurled
Within you, I see my own reflection
Full of imagination and a dreamer
Someday your dream would have a clear perception
What best for you, I would be your defender
Every day is like a blink of an eye
At 7 years old, time hastily flies
Noel N. Villarosa
19 April 2014
Posted also in: www.pinoylifefacts.blogspot.com
Be not forgotten faith that bids me stay
When darkened hours come bringing heavy rain
Flood waters ominous rising delays
Foreboding storm cease or I'll go insane
In selfish pity I could lose my way
Controlled by circumstance not dreams I've prayed
Be not caught up in struggles of this day
And miss the joy and passion of plans laid
Rise my soul hear the whisper of His voice
He'll calm the storm and waters will recede
You'll cross dry land so let your heart rejoice
You had faith to stand and now to proceed
So stay the course your treasured promise land
Find your child your awesome little man
*This is a poem about seeking (hunting) and reclaiming a childlike faith to believe!
Contest: Hunt for a Sonnet Gems & Seven Stones in the Crown
Who doubts the tender love of a Parent
(whose love is here and present to the end
for showing and for giving to attend
to ev'ry son's and daughter's contentment)?
Parents love when one's loved by no other;
it is a truth of nature to commend,
a law that one cannot break or transcend:
a tenet of life unlike another.
Out of tender love, Parents pray away
the evils in their children's paths all day long
that they walk in the straight and narrow way,
and then grow wise and may know right from wrong.
A Parent's love's by far a greater love,
a child's right that no one can remove.
(A tribute poem to Connecticut Shooting victims)
Whilst time is not in our hands to bear
Whispering hushed sound, steals someone’s life
A lithe gunman brandishing gun to err
If only I hold time, I’ll stop the strife
The ephemeral laughter of childhood
Bequeath memories to posterity
Be an advocate for gun ban, I would
Parents felt like dry leaf in an eddy
I speak of my thoughts, hopes, and prayers
A glimpse of dulcet smile one last chance
Felicity in heaven cloaked the fears
For these children once have a dalliance
One by one, far and near, gunshot broke out
In silence, their presence you can’t live without
Posted also in Voicesnet.com (Jan. 2, 2013)
The Sweetest Hopes
The tiny infant sprawls midst tubes and wires
In shock I kiss a breath on fairy toes
His life becomes my fervent most desire
And with each moment love within me grows
Oh tiny soul, my darling only son
I will exchange with joy my life for yours
A gift of life I’ll give to know you run
Become a wanderer to distant shores
Perhaps a watcher of the unknown skies
Or young philosopher at Plato’s knee
Or struggling artist without fame or prize
Little one-- 'tis all the same to me
I make no sound when dreaded silence falls
A tragic ending needs no curtain calls
Dec 10, 2012
listen to this carefully my son
there are so many worries under the sun
but much happiness
so think and free your self from sadness
for the deeds of mankind is madness
worst things keep happening
but it all depends on you
so be wise and let your speeches be few
for action speaks louder than words
know that you will be judged
according to your works
the harder the preparation
the easier the battle
rely on nobody for life is a struggle
She quietly slipped into his room
There he lay very proud and arrogant
Who had held a gun to her child's head_ "boom",
He would say_Satan his assistant
He would tell her child that he would kill her
And he would kill her beloved family
She could not know that this would not occur
The child lived for eighteen years anxiously
How can one forgive heinous offense
Committed against a child that is loved
Only through God forgiveness for events
God forgave without Him she would be unloved
She asked him if he needed anything
Promised to visit while inside screaming
Our ex-son-in-law is in a nursing home now in the last stages of Huntington's Disease
We think that he was abusive because of the illness but don't know for sure..
Our daughter divorced him and remarried to a man who is treating her good...
Woman! darkly gleam is your work I esteem…love it!
From mountainous mountain top to valley‘s belly
I hear you pluck…on eagle‘s wings…onward pluck
How nice, your device visits and forces in their smelly
Glamorous cells, a glad evening‘s grief to run amok.
Then ever, of flowing emotions savour. Oh their deeds befit!
Skip a stride, hop a stride, and gleefully grin upon
Their seeds too – in their please full bliss and homely homes.
But a seed… …he who wears my face and is adorn
With a talking tongue like that of his majesty Jerome‘s;
When you, him happen upon, spare an empty glance. Clickaty-clacks too,
Mine ears must hear not near. And my nose, free must it be of your flu!
On scribbled accounts, oh read, ever shall you in your shrine;
And content shall I be having inked my fourteenth line.
Don't blame the bearer of bad news -
A gun doesn't kill by itself or a knife,
Nor a violent video game or hostile views;
An evil act is but wrought by a mind's strife.
When you nurture a seedling or stunt its growth,
You can foretell it'll be a vine or an oak tree,
So is with the mind of a child as he grows forth -
Will he be hateful or inherit his life stress-free.
There are spiritual laws that govern with
the same certainty as the physical laws;
Faith, trust in God, and love are not ancient myth
But values that shape the character sans flaws.
Like putty, wax, dough or a lump of clay,
Mold the child right lest another soul he slay!
A man within the wood becomes a child
With brutal bruises on his broken soul
In frenzied foment running wretched wild
Until full fragmentation of his whole.
Each stuttered step brings terror deep within
But takes him to the center of the wood
Where trees become embodiment of sin
And speak in timbered tones not understood.
The purpose of the pace he chose to take
Is vague in all its vast complexity
But clarity of memories now make
Him face a frightened child's reality;
A worn and wasted shadow-land unknown
Where there a child still trembles all alone.
On fringes of shadow, charred black of burnt night,
she limps through the dimmest and cruelest of streets.
Huddled with her loss, body bruised and beat,
Mama’s caked makeup tries hiding her fright.
Little girl of twelve pretends to be grown;
with tomorrow gone, she paints on red smile.
Bright lights flash cold eyes, wicked hearts defile;
all star-struck fresh thoughts are buried in moans.
An evil descends from man’s greed and scorn;
In dark suit and tie, an average, white face,
money for Mama, from far, west world place.
Screams pierce soiled mattress on hot, red-smeared morn.
From under tight ropes her stripped body bleeds;
recoiled in dried tears, she silently pleads.