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Sun Childhood Poems | Sun Poems About Childhood

These Sun Childhood poems are examples of Sun poems about Childhood. These are the best examples of Sun Childhood poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

Out of the Sun

             in the sun 
              to long
 The skin became the bark of a tree
 the soul turning to brittle scars
 for uncaring worlds to see.
             my face
            is a pile of 
           old owl bones
sewn into banks of midnight creeks...
even the plump, over ripened ones 
no longer look at me...
but if their car was desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black
they'd paint a wormy, water colored  smile...
slide it through my barbed wired heart
so long as I could spin the jack...
so I spin it until their potholes turn to satin-
              in the sun
               to long
the mind has smoothed over 
like pebbles in Saturn rings..
a forgotten spice in the conversation of life
an hour later the word snuggles up to me

Tomorrow or forever( which ever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside
till my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday 
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack,
when the mind was a great silky nest...
the face a flowered meadow place 
where watercolors swirled all day, 
the heartworms kept at bay.

I'll stay hidden within the briar, 
till the jewels of memories sooth 
every scar - every stripe,
the molten knots of cruelty,
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
until then only my curtains breathe...
       ...stayed in the sun 
              to long

Copyright © Anthony Slausen

Details | Free verse | |

Within The Clouds

it stormed again in her heart last night
     wild slashing rain
driving hard against the walls
     battering the beat
     and riding the heat
shattering wailing zephyrs
this tempest bemoans her

it stormed again in her heart last night
      hard pulsing thunder
and raw rhythms that quake
and she alone to feel the pain
stark and dark Kentucky rain
tearing past her guard
to lay blasted and bleeding

it stormed again in her heart last night
where daffodils should bloom
where the sun light is cast aside
and tulips weaken and fold
     cherries lose their hold
lightening has shadowed eyes
willow boughs must always weep

it stormed again in her heart last night
as she alone watched the sun die
fragile hands, and hollow cheeks
    torn and worn, the shattered
in the red and blue that mattered
in a dark lake beneath the crying moon
     that is where the tears go

Copyright © Christie Moses

Details | Free verse | |

Color of Sun

You'll find a piece in the puzzle, that is part of the past under billowy white clouds, and the sizzling sun in a wood sided home. where the trees are in bloom where there's room for a childhood, that has only begun There is a piece of the puzzle, outside in the yard while wheels of a tractor come alive in the fields There's a five year old girl skating sidewalks, with cracks rollers, beneath her, singing "clickity clack" while a rustle of whirlwinds is fast on her heels to rife with the ruffles she wears on her back Faces she knows will be leaning on fences Lifting up smiles, and knowing her name Where the same furrowed brows, and most without shame work for the gain, of a few measly dollars And mothers will holler..."Come home! Time for supper!" As the sky has turned copper, at the end of the day There is a piece of her, dreaming out under the elms, where a heart might be broken, and the stars cast a spell What is home harbors there, where her heart wants to dwell In a room with a puzzle, spread out for her eyes To sort out, and covet, and search for the sky Where there's room for a childhood that has only begun And a piece in the puzzle the color of sun

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Rhyme | |


Alone on a mountain top, she quietly sits.
Looking down below lies a dark pit.
On the other side runs a river next to a valley so green.
Pretty flowers everywhere, it’s the most beautiful scene

Overhead the birds are singing as they all fly by.
The setting of the sun adds a beautiful contrast to the colour of the sky.
Animals on the field playing around all so carefree.
This is the place she calls her own, a place to escape reality.

She closes her eyes for a minute, n the memories come flooding in.
Memories of her childhood days, life then was like a dream.
Climbing on the mango trees, making swings out of old tyres
Hide and seek in the garden and playing with toys made outta wires.

Sliding down the banks with old crates and cardboards.
Not missing an episode of star wars and playing with toy swords.
Running around bare feet n not worried about any cuts n bruises.
Having fun in all our games no matter who wins or loses.

Rushing home after school to catch her fav cartoons.
Sunday morning trips to the beach n been there till late in the afternoon.
Holidays and special occasions always celebrated with family and friends.
She opened her eyes n wished those days had never ended.

The sun had finally set, it was time for her to go.
But she will be back here soon, of that she sure knows.
For this is where she finds serenity, her place to be alone.
A place she feels free and far away from home.

She heads on back, an hour’s drive away.
She felt reluctant to leave, she wished she cud of stayed.
But she enjoys the long drive home as she passes a forest of trees
This is how she forgets about her pain by reliving the special memories. . 

Copyright © Sasha Maharaj

Details | Free verse | |


  i cannot count enough stars 
   to tell how many shine in your eyes 
     nor can i gather into one 
     the brilliance of the sun 
      that your warmth brings 
       though the sun and stars pass 
        beyond and beyond 
         all things that last 
          i'll meet you in that discovery

Copyright © Gerry Mattia

Details | Free verse | |

His First Love

I remember the heavy round wooden tables
Built low to the ground,
Just right for kindergartners.
He would always sit close. 

I didn't notice. 

Out-of-doors on the playground was a giant oak.
He made me an acorn pipe, then taught me how.
I made lots of acorn pipes, giving them all away;
Even his. 

He stood quiet with little fists pushed deep in his pockets.
But I didn't notice. 

The sun was golden
Shining through high windows
Down on the low round table,
Particles of dust dancing merrily on the beams. 

He handed me a present,
And as the royal blue paper with tiny pin stripes 
Crossed the sun's rays
The stripes lit up like diamonds. 

Gently opening the paper,
Careful not to lose the sparkles,
I could feel the whole class watch.
I was embarrassed. 

Inside was a book about a velveteen kitten.
She was black and feminine.
She wore a pink bow,
And she was fuzzy to the touch. 

I treasured that book.
As time went by I rubbed the kitty's fur
Until she was loved slick and smooth. 

I don't remember saying thank you.
I'm sure I did.
Surely the teacher would have reminded me;
There in front of the whole class. 

Over four decades ago - yet - 
The memory of that special gift is as clear and bright
As was the sun beam that day.
And I would like you to know Jimmy Wilson; 

That I noticed. 

Note: An old kindergarten memory to share with you. Written about 22 years ago.

Copyright © Judith Angell Meyer

Details | Free verse | |

Sun of my Son

I see in your precious smile
An endless road, 
Perhaps infinite,
With a wide eyed innocence 
That journey’s beyond 
What sight can see.
Contentment fills your face 
As vivid as a rainbow’s arc 
Through fine mist
Ever hinting of a loftier place--
A sacred place that dwells within.
My gaze falls upon a mature soul
Still nurtured in the bud of youth,
Who retains a wisdom of many lifetimes.
Your gentle guidance inspires your
Parents to reach for the unattainable.
I remain awestruck 
By your radiating aura
As it intermingles with mine, 
Leaving me exalted in knowing 
You are a gift divine.

*Dedicated to my two year old Grandson Brody

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong

Details | Concrete | |

The Rising Red sun

                       Inspirational poem.. Rising Golden red sun all its way..dedicated to all 
                               of you  guys..wrote by Mrs.Madhavi.Suyog.Pagare

                                          The Rising Red sun

As like the charming moon and  luminous star fades away.
It promises to send the dynamite sun shining in the sky.
Due to which oceano pearl glitters all the day.
Praying god for the happiness in all our way.

The morning sagas made me understand, Me and my vivacious life.
But When I look back and pick up the souvenir of my childhood. Its just nostalgic. Feel like to go back to the teenage. The sustained pain is the only option left that I can’t get those days of my innocence back.
All I could make up my mind and just say, move on. Just move on.

Ray of hope chimed my heart.
Because god gifted me Something and added in my cart.
Provided me and my sincerity towards work can’t depart.
From the very day uplifted to give a quick start.

The moment I realized the magnetising power of the sun.
Felt trust on it and renovated my life again by attenuating my pains.
Rest all I expect peace my thee.
Left with the ray of hope. Bless us  MY god, My lord !!!!!

Wrote by:

Copyright © Madhavi Sarjare pagare

Details | Epic | |

Scent of Paddy Flower

Scent Of Paddy Flower

                                   By Goutam Hazra


My father told me 
first time 
I was just a boy then,
“Follow the scent of paddy flower
move with the wind it carries,
surely you will go to heaven.”

I remember
he would catch 
fistful of wind
bring near to my face
and wonder,
“Isn’t it godly!”

Magically, opened his hand
but I never felt
what scent he meant.
Days of kind rain

“Son, see the misty wind
rushing all over the paddy field
comes every year
to drink the scent of paddy flower.”

Mere as a boy
I could see only
tides of a green plane
touching my little finger
and racing far… too far.
I would ask  
“Where have they gone?”
Smiled my father 
and said
“Did not you listen,
they are going to heaven,
call the goddess then,
‘come goddess dear’
we all are ready with paddy flower.”

Curious was my face,
“Papa, then?”

“Goddess will arrive smiling
her feet will be here
Seeing a pot in her hand
all those paddy flowers
delighted, will open their mouth more wider
and life will be poured…”

“Where these flowers come from?”

Remained my father smiling
speaking all his mind
looking high at sky
asked me to see there
spoke he again.

“Rain, rain, kind monsoon rain
on the first day of its shower
kind rain would ask me to come here
with bagful of paddy seeds,
‘let seeds be spread all over,
let its eternal relation with soil
be the fertilizer’
when all said is done
waiting rain 
starts showering its kind
make visible hiding life in the abyss of seed.
Happy wind changes color
being green all around
waits for the day
when the wind would smell the scent of paddy flower.”

Days passed by,
kind rain was still in waiting
sometimes hidden beyond horizon
or simply making sun blind with its smoky face
and whenever wind said,
‘Dry I’m now’
quenched the thirst.

Someday wind played naughty with sun
asked kind rain to make it misty
and with brushes of sun rays 
painted a rainbow on the face of east sky.

Wait was over
green field blossomed with flowers
and wind said,
“Fill in my heart
with scent of flower
I shall bring life…”

Happy was my father’s voice
“Rain, rain, kind monsoon rain
said so
green wind brining life 
did so
scent of paddy flower
is made so.
Bare footed be here
print your soul
in the dust of this soil
kind rain will come
green wind being there
life will be yours 
with the scent of paddy flower.”
Cruel entropy

How old was I then
nine or ten
my father looked up
up to the sky
again and again
for a month long
only to see 
change of sky’s color
from the color of a summer day to a long humid night.
Dry wind cried at last
over my father’s sweating body
“Rain, rain O kind rain, where have you gone.”

One day sudden
kind rain came again.
Cried to my father
“Why no green wind came this year
from ocean 
to bring me here.
Desert wind why
dry my breath
seeds you have sown
how could I then
enliven with my rain.”

many question
my father had asked the rain.

Short-lived, hurried rain could spell its last breath,
“I am not that rain 
as was your friend,
I am the curse of dying forest
I am the ghost of all pollution
I am born out of acid weather…”

Who knew, it left for where?

My father cried 
As kind rain left him alone
hiding in a dry wind’s bone.

My father was still
going every morning
asking the soil
in vain
if soil could alone
make the paddy flowers to be born.

Year passed by,
came back the time, 
for green wind to bring kind rain.

Rain came one day.

But why
as a cloudburst
roaring always
pouring unwanted
like an unkind monster
flooded misery
in the life of a simple farmer?

Dumb remained my father
for days together
sad was his voice at last,
“Run away, son, run away from here,
sky rain wind
river village land;
thread of this garland
who cuts it
go, stop now there hand.”

Draught and flood,
uncertainty of life 
changed my mind 
as of a farmer’s son.
Books, studies and education
reasons, truth and compassion
might have had fulfilled my father’s mission.

Does not this civilization
converts us 
as the products to do more production.
Run, run and run 
run ahead of time
let be it, at the cost of inhaling killer tension,
stress taking  over your life.
Insomnia, cholesterol or cynicism
is our success’s companion? 
‘A’ is shaped as ‘B’
and ‘B’ is sold as ‘C’.
but I found the basic
what it remain
as life’s supreme conviction 
‘simply a fist full of paddy
and its grain’.

Scent of life

So here, I am again
standing in front of this green plane
searching for the shadow of my father.
Green wind surrounds my existence
I can see the dance of those bunches.
My mind whispers to my ear
echoes those words of my father, 
“Bare footed be here
print your soul
in the dust of this soil
rain will come
green wind being there
life will be yours 
with the scent of paddy flower.”

I never felt so,
what I smell now 
is the scent of paddy flower.

Copyright © Goutam Hazra

Details | Pantoum | |

Bronze, Silver and Gold

Bronze, silver and gold Caught in the sun so light The momentous reveal of every fight Wishes we are never told Caught in the sun so light Bronze faces contrite Wishes we are never told Faces much too bold Bronze faces contrite Compared to crinkled green notes Wishes we are never told Survival’s fight Compared to crinkled green notes The momentous reveal of every fight Survival’s fight Bronze, silver and gold

Copyright © Phoebe Morakinyo

Details | Pantoum | |

Bring the sky nearer to me

Bring the sky nearer to me give me back the childhood days, so near to me that I can see a rainbow's kiss with sunrays! Give me back the childhood days those wonder eyes to see in sky, a rainbow's kiss with sunrays butterfly dreams free to fly! Those wonder eyes to see in sky a twilight's birth with morning dream, butterfly dreams free to fly like childhood dawn's first sun beam! A twilight's birth with morning dream so near to me that I can see, like childhood dawn's first sun beam bring the sky nearer to me! © kashinath karmakar ======================= Placement:5th; (March 2011) Contest:Back to Back Sponsor:Paula Swanson By:kashinath karmakar (15th March 2011)

Copyright © kash poet

Details | Triolet | |

August Sun

An August sun can gently warm the early dewdrops, in the morn and days of carefree, golden charms An August sun can gently warm the songs of whispered daydreams, torn from posies, sweet, among the thorns An August sun can gently warm the early dewdrops, in the morn
____________________________________________________ 5/29/15 For Andrea's Triolet Contest Visual #4

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Free verse | |


I was a child catching butterflies
on the yellow flowers
sprinkled on the green grass
at the roadside
They were beautiful butterflies -
big ones
small ones
red ones
yellow ones
and some tiny blue ones
which gave different shades of colour 
as they were struck 
by glancing sunbeams
There were little four-winged ones
which puzzled me
why did they have four wings
while the others only had two?
I was catching butterflies
but today 
a thing called progress
tore up the yellow flowers
on the green grass
at the roadside
and there are no more butterflies 
and still I do not know 
why some butterflies had four wings
while the others only had two

Copyright © john beharry

Details | Rhyme | |

Wassamassaw Bay

Bob and Hannah went to fish in Wassamassaw Bay.
They told their mom they would return for church so they could pray.
But both of them lost track of time, returning way past noon.
The sun was down and it was dark and there was a full moon.

“What do you have to say to me, for it is very late.
The moon is up, the sun is down, your meals are on your plates.
You haven’t done your chores and now it’s almost time for bed.
The dog is barking angrily for he wants to be fed.”

“We are so very sorry but we did lose track of time.
There was commotion on the Bay although there was no crime.
And when we tried to leave for home the officer said, ‘No.’
He said we’d have to stay a while and that we could not go.”

“He said he had some questions so we would have to stay.
We told him that we had to go to church so we could pray.
The officer said we could go after we told the tale.
Of how in Wassamassaw Bay, we caught a big white whale!”

By Samia Arroyo for David Williams' Palindrome mad contest.

Copyright © Samia Ali Arroyo

Details | Rhyme | |

Pretty Polly Petree

Pretty Polly Petree sit on her little window seal
hoping the day would be full of fun and thrills.

It was raining and the clouds left no sun shinning 
but pretty Polly Petree believed in silver linings.

So off to her room she left running, in hopes to find
some paint to make a Sun so bright and shinning.

Polly Petree painted a lovely view of the sun and flowers
to chase away all the clouds and the thunder showers.

She took and hung it in the window facing the sky and
away went the clouds and the sun waved Hi. 

Butterflies and Blue Birds sat on the window's edge and
said Thank you Polly for the dryness upon our heads.

You are welcome, said Polly and I hope your day is fun 
and Oh so jolly.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

our islands

we see the sun almost everyday
when it's not hiding behind 
a thick haze
we live near tall buildings 
that hide the moon
and the lights of the city
makes the sky a dark gloom
what chance have i to make it 
to the beach
i'm poor and have nothing 
so it's out of my reach
our birds are pigeons
not much to see
and our wildlife the rats
with whom we compete
our beauty is different
than beauty you know
our beauty is make up
and sometimes tatoos
tatoos of the very things you speak
the sun the moon
and a beautiful beach

Copyright © The Situation

Details | Ballad | |


It is...within the tiny things of early morning, that moment breaths alive, it is within the tiny whisperings, that a melodye the very dear and the antelope, play home on the range.

so goes the melodye of heart beat, that plays quietly the songs of soul,

here a rhyme is born of day-light coming so soon, through the early morning eyes of the moon-light, and the starry dreams of twilight's transitioning...

into the light of a love letter written to dawn.

soul to soul conversing, as in this love letter, the letters just join hands with the words and just march across the sky...and at the end of the rainbow, there be plenty of golden time,

way down deep on the inside, the inspired choir, of a bumble bee, or a butterfly, starts to sing, like tiny things that live,

flower to flower,
blossom to bloom,

watered and deeply cared for...

O' Eden.

I say, deep beneath the surface of a wishing well...where the pennies lay,

I wish a sun-rise.

Copyright © Marrio Biggs

Details | Rhyme | |


Like gleaming gold dust floating in still air, sparkling sunbeams silently stream through bare, neglected, aging, cracked unpainted walls that from my childhood, I can so very vividly recall.
In delightful uninhibited childish glee, I try to grab hold of these lucid illusions persistently. But these artful dodgers expertly evade my eager grasps, like frightened fireflies they swiftly glide away from my obvious trap.
For now, that’s okay though, because in my daydreams I know that one day when I'm all grown up, I’ll magically capture them and fill my fairy cup.
Date: 7/27/2014

Copyright © Kika Ayala

Details | Free verse | |

waiting on the sun

You can almost hear the funeral procession
of leaves drifting lowly to earth, symphonic 
children’s laughter bounces off crispy tips
rain completing its wash; lost
wet clothes saturated with a day
that will enter history.

Softness of winter foretelling a story
the one washed down storm drains
wrapped in black tied laundry bags,
suitable for the shedding skin of trees.

Swirling wind tosses the pile of dry bones
nature, a chef mixing a salad
water the dressing-- children the tongs;
lunging through piles as if waltzing
without mirrors.

Time, a rake with bony fingers
scraping delicately across 
an earthen scalp. Longing 
for new birth, sprout your wings 
lullaby the past.

Lost within reason 
singing without words
wrapping around
the rusty rake
propped lazily
across a skeleton fence.

If we face the east, can the west capture thoughts
a limp wristed boomerang never returning expectations?

Copyright © Jason Johnson

Details | Rhyme | |


I was the sunshine that cradled your day 
that tried to push the clouds away 
I was the sand that ran between your toes 
when you were four years old 
that soon became the rain you danced in 
from seven to eleven 
And I watched you grow in the glow 
of a moon that beamed 
when you turned thirteen 
How unfair you thought I'd become 
when you turned twenty-one 
because you lost a few dreams 
But I stayed awake when you were out late 
I was the stars 'till you turned twenty-eight 
And when you found your love 
"the one" 
I was glimmer in the eye, the blue sky, the sun 
Then you turned thirty-one 
I became cloud, thunder and shower 
there weren't enough minutes to put in your hour 
You forgot how to dance in the rain 
'till you turned forty all you did was complain 
Then you took off your shoes 
and went back to the sand 
I was now the warmth of your child's hand 
At forty-three 
you spent more time with me 
You began 
to understand 
And when you stood fifty years old 
you stayed warm to me even though 
at times I was cold 
How close we grew 
when you turned sixty-two 
The breeze was I 
that hung your grandchild's kite in the sky 
And I'm sorry I made you sad 
when I took "the one" away 
But I was proud 
when you pushed aside that cloud 
and cradled 'me' in the sun 
for the remainder of our day

Copyright © Gerry Mattia

Details | Narrative | |

Where Memories Keep Me Warm

My grandparents lived in a drafty old farmhouse,
yet, filled with a warmth, that came from the heart
and a hearth, where we hovered on cold winter nights. 
Days were much sunnier, the breezes were brisk, 
and the ritual of bedtime, meant taking a risk.

The bedrooms were poised on the back of the house
The heat could not travel the length or about
It took all of our courage when bedtime arrived
removing our layers, we must set aside.

An old fashioned bathroom,  and orange Lifebouy soap
cradled in wire, in racks by the sink
A claw footed tub, swallowed one's pride,
with water as cold, as the frost-bite outside.

My bed was a cot,  next to her sewing machine, 
Under the clock in the frosty, back room

Grams would come in for a minute, or two
long after sundown, and bedtime was due 
And although she was stiff, from old joints that would creak
She'd kneel down beside me so softly to speak
Holding my hand, and together, we'd pray
Thanking the Lord for the gifts of the day

A kiss on the forehead,...then off went the light
"Sleep tight, little one, worries tonight 
I prayed to the Lord that no bedbugs will bite"

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Rhyme | |

A Day In The Sun

A Day In The Sun

Dr. James E. Martin

A day at the beach brought lots of fun, 
To all the kids, to everyone. 
With all the excitement everywhere, 
To excessive sunburn nobody cared. 

After hours of baking in the glaring sun, 
Some began noticing they were getting “well-done.” 
As they began nearing day’s end, 
Perhaps too much time they did there spend. 

The long ride home that afternoon 
Brought misery that would not end too soon. 
To have to sit in that confined space 
Made everyone long for another place.

Upon reaching home and journey’s end, 
To another matter they must now attend. 
As preparation was made for a peaceful night, 
A new realization brought much fright. 

As shirts were removed for a relaxing shower, 
All noticed the results of the sun’s power. 
Where once the skin had natural hue, 
Red, like a lobster, was all too true.

Copyright © DrJim Martin

Details | Lyric | |

in the southern sun

He said
Look at here boy
Aint nothing worst than life
But you might as well live
And times are coming 
For better or worse 
You might as well hold on 
I’m still here 
And until I die 
I’ll be the same man
He says 
Boy I’m still here
And until I die 
I’ll be the same man 

I said father
I’m going to move away from the river
I’m going to be a city man
He said, sun down, it’s getting late
And you’ll have all night to chase those dreams
He said son now
Your mother calls so goodnight

I’m still here
And until I die
I’ll be the same man
He says 
Boy I’m still here

He wasn’t my real father I can’t even call him that 
Around a southern sun he marched in a straw hat
It’s a hundred degrees outside he must be crazy
Seventy-six and he takes on the humidity 
Better than me

He says 
World war II was nothing new
You should’ve seen Vietnam 
He says you see boy
I’m still here
And until I die
I’ll be the same man


Copyright © Jerry Golden

Details | Free verse | |

Little Brown Feet

On quiet days in mid autumn 
When sun and clouds play ‘peek-a-boo’ 
Somber thoughts linger in crisp air
Of some other time and place where 
Harmattan winds in December create 
A hazy fog of dust and sand  
Draping the sun from dawn to dusk

I hear sounds of children’s laughter 
Singing ‘Ring around the Roses’ 
Playing ‘Na fo’ and ‘jumping rope’
No one took note the birds were silent
No one had seen them fly away
No one recognized the warning
Soon horror and mayhem would ensue

Little brown feet tender, yet fast
Pound the earth skipping, jumping
Lean and strong; weaving in and out
Through serpentine reeds of brown and green 
Dust clouds rise, burst with each tap
Happy voices chanting a local jingle
‘Who bucks it takes it... free rope”

On quiet days in mid autumn
When leaves of Oaks and Elms
Brown, red, yellow, gold and rust 
Carpet concrete sidewalks   
Rustle loudly beneath my feet 
I still hear eerie sounds of wailing 
Of children’s terrifying screams

In some other time and place where  
Harmattan winds creep south 
Like an iniquitous invading force
Bringing in chill and fog of powdery sand  
Then sudden sounds of terror assault the ears 
Trembling in shock powerless to move
Little brown feet melt with nowhere to run 

They huddle behind walls of mud bricks 
Others dash towards the woods 
Leaving broken flip flops and tennis shoes
Scattered on fields of dust 
Through thickets, shrubs and razor grass
Little brown feet bare running scared
Now bruised and bleeding unaware

Hades’ orchestra plays its symphony 
Emitting a cacophony of sounds
Mortars falling! Red-tail rockets sailing!
RPGs rip and the AKs unrelenting rat-ta-ta-ta….
While Harmattan winds like a steam engine blows 
Long hard fierce and cold 
Little brown feet will skip no more

A tribute to the Children of Liberia (Liberian Civil War - December 1989-2004)

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick

Details | Blank verse | |

Walking Contradiction

A metaphor you wont understand, a hint you don't quite get, a curtain slowly opening 
up and then falling closed once more. A skittish animal running out of reach and then 
looking back, the sun shining behind the clouds, and a bright eyed child, so curious, but 
hesitating just behind its mothers skirts. 

In another place, another time, tomorrow is the here and now. but in the here and 
now, tomorrow never comes and we seem to live in the past. Through the metaphor, 
through this opening curtain, trots a skittish wolf with its ears laid back, as light as the 
mist around it. Stalking silently through the low brush, as i'm walking past these 
speeding cars on this empty street. The glittering sun breaks free from the clouds 
grasp. its a golden meadow in the city of backwards trees.

Finding my way to a smooth pond, gazing into the glass surface where the raindrops 
fall up. Hearing everything when nothing is making noise, looking up at the invisible 
people, smiling, and looking down once again. Hiding behind a different sort of skirt 
now, not a child anymore. And as the rain petals fall up, distorting the ponds surface, 
the mist wolf stands beside me as we stare into the water, and our reflections slowly 
disappear. Gone, along with the invisible people...
None of us were ever really there to begin with.

Copyright © Jordyn Thompson

Details | Free verse | |

The Castle of the Sky

As the sun rises,
everything comes to life.
Even the city that never sleeps
seems to be just waking up.
As the city is reflected,
down onto the river,
it is tall and majestic.
The center of all life.
The only thing that is more beautiful...
is the castle of the sky.
At night it is the stars and moon
where the fairies work their magic spells.
At day it is the sun and clouds
where the Gods play.
Only believers can see the castle of the sky.
And know what spells the fairies work
and what games the Gods play.
But all of us have believed at one time or another.
And some of us have never stopped believing
in the castle of the sky. 

Copyright © x x

Details | Free verse | |

Adopted Pluto

Visual 1

Earth does ballet to stay in shape
dancing before the rubbernecking moon
that chases us around the sun
making waves in oceans like our emotions
                                      …for an obnoxious pet.

Mars and Venus are anxious lovers
who can’t cuddle in their king sized bed
because restless Earth sprawls wide between them
constantly turning, warm and feverish.
                                      ...but not like Mercury.

Mercury has cancer and a great tan from all the sun.

Puerile asteroids caper about the solar system
giggling and sharing jokes with the big galoot-- 
Jupiter is stupid, but loves a hearty laugh.
Poop and fart jokes are favorites
                                      …Jupiter is always gassy.

Saturn is too discerning for such unrefined buffoonery.
She’s the hula hoop queen
                                      …4.5 billion years and counting.
Loved by all, but secretly engaged.

Mopey, woebegone Uranus wears the other ring.
On their first date Saturn was pretty in pink and
Uranus smelled awful
                                …Jupiter loves that joke.
Still, nobody stirs up trouble like Neptune who
takes a three-pronged approach to everything
and made Pluto cry with news of adoption.
Since then, Pluto has grown
                                        …quite distant.

All the while, the sun smiles a contented smile...
                                         ...and looks on.

Submission for Lexi's Art Contest
Hosted by: Mystic Rose

Copyright © The Grahamburglar

Details | Kimo | |

A yellow and pink sun

A yellow and pink sun smears and washes through an unfinished hopscotch square sing ~ Rain Rain Go Away ~

Copyright © Michael Dorken

Details | Sonnet | |

Ode to Arizona on a Hot Summer's Day

Ode to Arizona on a
Hot Summer's Day
Written by Adam M.

Oh sweltering is
summer's day of
So hot the desert's
kiss from sun above.
And sweat that drops
cause me to
reminisce -
the past, a summer's
day a child would

A playtime in a
grassy field of
and from a hose the
water cool and free;
oh such a joy is
this midsummer's
the children's
laughter flows in
joyful spree.

I wish that day
would greet me just
once more,
The joy of feeling
free on summer's
Instead I am
confined to cool
Upon my laptop
typing verse to

Midsummer's Day you
make me such a fool
I fear your heat
will be forever

Copyright © Adam M. Snow

Details | Rhyme | |

Summer Sun

The summer sun shines warm and bright,
it rekindles memories back into the light.
Boyhood days of playing in the street,
our bonds of friendship were bittersweet.
As we grow old and life goes on,
we march to a different song.
But new memories are born each day,
just remember to tuck them away.
So when the summer sun shines warm and bright,
you can bring them back into the light.


Copyright © Joseph Sergi