At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
I used to dream of marrying one day
a princely man! My soul mate he would be.
I dreamed of visiting lands far away.
That dream I lived! It’s now a memory!
I used to like to kick a ball and run
the bases, ride my purple Sting Ray bike,
skip rope, play tag and other games so fun
which have become the things I USED to like!
I watch my grandson get excited by
a visit to the park, a simple toy. . .
He’s unaware how fast that time can fly
and how - one day - he’ll miss his childhood joy!
And what he’s dreaming, I can too recall. . .
as bliss I found in things when I was small!
Aug. 21, 2015 for the Childhood Dreams Poetry Contest of Silent One
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
I stand before you after all these years
Amid the ocean brine with misty tears
On these old banks above the Fundy Bay
With all those words I never got to say
Wild daisies spread themselves across your grave
Where lies the fallen marker that I made
When I was but a child and new to death
In Grief so deep it nearly took my breath
That broken house still sits above the bay
Now weathered by those many stormy days
Those years we walked along that rocky shore
Those years you saw me safely to my door
And now that I am old I do believe
You were an angel sent by God to me
In Loving Memory
Written: February 2nd, 2016
by: Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2016
In a field of daisies, bathed in a perfume
of wild roses, clover and ocean brine,
you and me in the early afternoon
drinking Kool Aid, pretending its wine,
and sharing left over crumbs with a few tiny ants,
that scurry across a thread barren cloth
that has spent years in a trunk with a moth,
While we eat a meal fit for a King and Queen-
Periwinkles, Dulse and canned Sardines-
treasures from the Great Atlantic Sea,
while the rolling waves break on the rocks below
this field where so many daisies grow
He loves me, he loves me not, my daisy flies away,
And only Jimmy and the wind will ever know.
Written: June 9th, 2014
This was my first picnic with my first love - We were 6 or 7 years old at the time.
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014
Childhood memories of days in the sun
Running and playing, simply having fun
Hearing the squeals of joy and delight
As our bubbles rise quickly and take flight
See the happy smiles on the children’s faces
Whose bubble will win …watch as it races
That big one’s mine – it’s going to be first
Disaster strikes and the bubbles burst
Borne on a gentle summer breeze
Beautiful bubbles blowing in the trees
Mixing with the blossom floating down
Dressing the ground in a blush pink gown
Time to reminisce of days gone by
Oh how I wish that time didn't fly
Contest: Bubbles and Blossoms – Olive Eloisa Guillermo
~awarded 11th place~
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
When I was a young boy,
I built a castle on the beach.
I made it from sand with my shovel-toy,
Then the waves grabbed it in their reach.
They tore my castle down,
And dragged it down into the sea.
So i took my shovel and, with a frown,
Built another castle quickly.
I built it bigger and stronger
Than the ones in the past.
I thought this one would last longer,
But its walls would no longer last.
I built a moat around the last one that day,
But the waves seemed desperate to wash them all away.
Copyright © Caden Jones | Year Posted 2011
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.
Copyright © Annika Johnson | Year Posted 2013
Mother’s Love (Sonnet)
Love begins at the time of conception
When a mother’s dear child grows in her womb.
Her life is changed to thoughts of protection.
Excitement and wonder of gender bloom.
This new little life will bring heightened joy.
A new baby is what dreams are made of.
It matters not if it’s a girl or boy,
Birth will bring happiness and so much love.
Teaching a sweet child as he or she grows
Is a most important tool used each day.
To teach how compassion and kindness flows,
As they emulate and do things our way.
A mother’s love, with every endeavor,
Is a gift to her children forever.
© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong
Happy Mother’s Day to every Mother and Step-Mother and Grand Mother and
G. Grand Mother. Happy Belated Mother's Day to those of you in countries
where you have already celebrated Mother's Day.
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014
Dancing butterflies and laughter
without a care. A day full of sweet
smelling blossoms fill the air.
Sister's golden hair glistened in the
Summer sun's glow, as Mother blew
colorful bubbles that bounced off
her little nose.
Mother's heart was always full of
love to share and the day of blossoms,
and bubbles will forever in my memories
be kept with loving care.
Precious and few are moments shared
together. This wonderful day of blossoms
and bubbles, in my heart will last forever.
April 6, 2015
Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2015
Still the Worst Job Ever
How do I hold thee, let me count the ways.
I hold thee trembling, beneath kitchen sinks
crouched in the darkness of the brightest days
guiding thy beam as his patience shrinks.
I hold thee dulled by lightning’s fearsome flash
shakily awaiting unseen anger
tortured by the inevitable crash
intrigued by the neediness of danger.
I hold thee wide eyed in dirt-floored cellar
your flame slow flickering on edge of sight
dimming through the range of yellowed color
draining the darkness from a darkened night.
I hold thee, for my brothers all have fled
I hold thee, not knowing what they dread.
Submitted for - Sara Kendrick - Jobs – Poetry Contest
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014
Early Winter Farm Chores
Shall I muse at midnight on the morning sun
now hiding very far beyond the pale.
Dread farmyard chores needing to be done
as morn sun rises over hill and dale.
Warm in bed, staying would be a disgrace
when winter marches in far too soon.
Tarry late and hot glowing embers embrace
to rise late only in a lazy afternoon!
Or instead jump from this warm , soft bed
racing on out when red rooster crows.
Quickly getting pigs and chickens well fed
all long before the cold winter snows!
Up early before morning's sweet sunlight.
Another farming day, another long fight.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-01-2015
Note-- Edited an older poem from back in the 80's.
Shortened into a sonnet..
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
Soft night has come my little child, so rest
Come lay your head upon your mother’s breast
Oh close your eyes and listen as she sings
And soon you’ll hear the sound of angel wings
Come drift away into the land of dreams
Where fairies dance and smile while sunlight gleams
Oh come and float among the clouds of white
No harm can stir within this world of light
Come laugh and play with fluffy cotton sheep
You’ll clap and sing and they will run and leap
Then come return into your warm, soft bed
Let evening kiss you softly on your head
Oh sleep until the night at last is done
Oh sleep and dream my precious little one
Copyright © Steven Mossburg | Year Posted 2011
Choices, Voices and Bad Company
Bang , bang , gunshots in heated night air sang
jump back , be careful where you nightly hang
Fun, fun , going where the night action stays
danger waits hidden when nights replace days!
Kick it, kick it, time to chase the gals
beware safety gone if you hang with pals
So carry a shooter , step up your game
name in the paper soon may be your fame!
Hold on, hold on, your future life has game
you grab future rejecting drugs so lame
Stand up , a man that carries his own weight
yield not to greed, lust and all useless hate!
Live on, living to find your star and shine
Live on, love in life , love so very fine!
Robert J. Lindley 08-24-2014
Note: A sonnet that presents today's life choices are
often far more serious when made than young
people can realise. Seeking action and thrills
always come with a cost. Quite often a deadly cost!
Don't freely decide to get yourself so lost!
Been there, down that, long ago..
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014
Oh, how I loved my little teddy bear
although I don’t recall from whom he came
or when I first laid eyes on him or where;
I only know I chose for him his name.
Yes, Pinky Winky’s name was like my own,
a playful silly nickname “Andy Pandy,”
and also in his ear a bell was sewn;
I jingled him and thought he was quite dandy.
Everywhere with me went Pinky Winky
until he met sad fate with one cruel splash.
He fell into the toilet and got stinky.
I wailed when Mother threw him in the trash.
Alas! The pink imposter in his place
no jingling made nor had dear “Winky’s” face.
For The Teddy Bear Picnic Poetry Contest of SandyIvy
-dedicated to PD
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
Off to the garden to share in a tea
Sweet Juliana has just become three
Billowy dress sprayed with cottonballs pink
Tiny white shoes, for a doll you would think
She sings to the blossoms in childish song
Whirling and twirling, soft curls like goose down
Held in her hand sacred wand of delight
Dreaming of bubbles so feathery light
Sweet rosy pucker blows soft angel air
Froths of moist bubbles float down everywhere
Rainbow of colors and liquidy swirls
Bubbles, oh bubbles, true heavenly pearls
Our garden of youth, adventure filled fun
Long summer days where we played in the sun
Copyright © Kimberly Shaw | Year Posted 2015
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
Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2007
The one room school house always was too full.
The windows oversized and chill on winter days.
You sat behind me, I thought you were real cool,
one day you passed a note to me to say...
I Love YOU, you wrote in colored pencil.
I kissed the yellow paper on that line,
then took out a red pen and I stenciled
a perfect heart, PLEASE Be My Valentine.
He blushed from ear to ear and, he scribbled more
a crumpled paper said, "Please meet me in the park...
on the bench, by the fence,".. too cute to ignore.
The bell rang, out we went into the dark to spark.
That day so long ago, now we're old and gray
I often think of that kiss, as near me, my man lays.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
MEGANS HIT - the Baseball Sonnet
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!"
(the umpire was my Daddy, in this 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
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014
G irls giggle and tell secrets. That’s okay!
R ambunctious boys can cause my head to ache.
A ngelic girls are easier to take.
N ight comes. They kneel beside their bed to pray.
D ear little dolls, they go to sleep straightway,
D ress up like princesses when they awake,
A nd nicely play. No trouble do they make.
U nsullied darling little nymphs are they!
G lad news for Grandma having girls again;
H ow nice I need not deal with all the woes!
T wo sisters, Lydia and Natalyn,
E arn hugs and kisses just for being kin.
R eflections of my dreams, and on life goes. . . .
S weet granddaughters let love and laughter in!
An Acrostic Italian Sonnet for
Contest by dakarai cobb:
The Sonnet Man's Acrostic Challenge
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
Which love is not a struggle to the mind?
'tis easier to think love glides along,
regardless of a road not there to find,
or never caring what is right or wrong.
One love, of child, a father's steady hand,
protecting innocence, through many years
as if he knew the way, and had it planned,
to heal each mortal wound as it appears.
As if all things begin with his okay,
the good, the joy of life to build upon;
demanding right, and hoping in some way
he's always with you, even when he's gone.
The banged up knee, your losing of a friend,
are yours to feel, but his to comprehend.
© RON WILSON AKA VEE BDOSA
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013
SUNDAY DINNER (Hillbilly sonnet)
Ma's cookin now, so come and set a spell
and you can bet we'll have her Sunday best
before the settin sun, and who can tell
what's on her stove--but it will meet the test.
Can't you just smell that fryin chicken now?
And you must know the gravie's fresh and hot
for pourin on them taters--I allow
a little more than I should have--so what?!?
The butter it just melts on bread so light
to compliment the vegetables we grow,
now if you know a life that's half as right
as this, you'd better make it yours to know.
And I will say the grace, to thank God for
what He has give--so He will give us more.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013
Children learn by the games they play
the games you teach them to control
They watch your eyes, they watch your smile
your opinions take a heavy toll.
Do you teach them to run and jump high
or lead them into a darkened room.
Do you give them guns and sword play
or send them outside to grow and bloom.
Have you explained the hurt, and the pain
which comes from the letting of blood
or glorified taking of sides
and bleeding victims crushed in the mud.
Two dimensional deeds plant red seeds
in the fertile fields of growing minds.
*title credit to Crosbey Stills and Nash
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013
Once were ragged souls like chattels branded,
Blown by Atlantic wind and sail in chains:
Where long ago reeking slave ships landed
African herdsmen in old Port of Spain.
And from my Father's car I saw the yields
Where cane would men of burden burn and mash:
Where woman and child stooping in the fields
Saw the ripping flesh and heard the whips lash.
Now broke are the fetters of time and fate -
That car, that relic of a dying age!
And the ships of old and their human freight
Hunted, sold, and transported in a cage.
In my Father's old Plymouth Belvedere
I saw ghosts of the mills and the ploughshare.
Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 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.
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015
Tiptoeing in the middle of the night
Certain that Mom and Dad are out sight
Stealing away to do what I love best
Heart pounding like a hammer in my chest
There on those linen sheets you wait for me
All spaced out, and as blank as blank can be
I close the door and hide away the key
Escaping from a life of drudgery
Once again putting my life on the line
Though Mom and Dad say it is such a crime
Neglecting my homework to be with you
Knowing to thine own self I must be true
So with pen in hand I lay myself down
And pray that this diary won’t be found
Author: Elaine George
Written: may 19, 2014
Inspired By my imagination for the contest
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014
May You Guide
And determine our stride
That we stay on course
While we Carey this Cross
I trust in You
That this path is true
They say You only give us what we can bare
I have faith in You that the conclusion will be fair
May You Bless us All
We will need your strength
So we do not fall........
Copyright © Ninette Carey | Year Posted 2014
But fiction you are, our Juliet, unborn,
mere humans find love so hard to portray,
thus leading many to their death, astray,
fear not a Romeo is born each day.
Childless children be not to death forsworn.
Why leave the bloom of youth in this dark way?
To these false examples swear not, allay ...
these foolish gestures and stay unmourned.
What care true love for false sacrifice's knife
or petal poisons made by perverse form,
live and brave the days with courage cajoled.
Oh, waylay the cowards path, leave your grief,
for grief will come to all within life's storm;
live a full life linger for life is gold.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 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
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
I went to camp one year to feel so free
Not one of us got sick at all for sure
I went into the river to see and fish
But I was pushed into water so pure
Setup the tent to sleep the night away
With bites that itch kept up the night so sad
The next we thought an idea to try to sway
Insects that bit we net and killed so glad
We slept all night away till sun came up
The dew on tents a view I like for morning
We had a fire to warm water in cup
The drink was strong to wake us up with warning
The camp worker had said there was a fire
Among them all practiced putting it out
Bond fire was great to have this year campfire
We all was new to have much fun no doubt
Now home we go in weeks been gone delay
Running around forest so fun O.K.
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2015
I think of you often
And times that we knew.
Most were such glad times
And life was still new.
Childhood was shared
With others so dear --
We were just kids then –
And life was so clear.
Now we look back in wonder
And ask ourselves why
If times were so happy
Then why do we cry?
Thus, sonnets are posted
When childhood is toasted.
Written by John Posey
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2014