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Best Son Poems

Below are the all-time best Son poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Son poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Son Poem | |

O' Middle Child

O' middle child, dear son of mine, you have always let the others shine
All through the years, you have stood behind
---I want to say, I've noticed you  

Your sister's charms, of course, we knew...
And your brother's skills were multitude
But, my quiet child, though your words were few
---I want to say I've noticed you

While people cheered, and guitars were played,
 as your siblings sang upon the stage
You cheered them on with no restraint
---but, I want to say I've noticed you

Such wit and charm, a heart of gold, 
More generous soul, I've never known
A shoulder you will always lend
---a brother, friend until the end

I love you all, .....of course I do
I have watched you grow, each one of you
My quiet child, you are still the same
---you'll step aside from all acclaim

As parents now, all three of you
I am proud beyond the words I hold

My middle child, I hope you know, 
while you've always been a one to sow
a quiet gift to all you've known

---I want to say I've noticed you........


                                                            




______________________________________________________

Details | Son Poem | |

The Game, Playing the Game

'I want you to use all your powers and your skills
I don’t want his mother to see him like this
Look, look how they massacred my boy'...
Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) in “The Godfather”
-------------------------------------------------------
Playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?

I drove home by that road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you drove
that road where our lives crashed, exploded and shattered
shattered in jagged shards of Silver-Saturn pieces

(This is where you must have seen the swerving headlights
What were your thoughts? Were you worried? Were you alarmed?
This is the spot, oh God this is where, where it all hap...
What were your LAST thoughts? What were your last words
when that pick-up jumped, jumped and flew out of that ditch?
You always said "WHAT THE!"... Yeah, you must have said that)

Driving myself to madness playing the 'what if' game
What if you had driven just a little faster?
A little slower? Stopped to pick up something?
DIDN'T stop to pick up something? (Did-didn't-did...)
Stayed at work a minute longer, or left a minute early?
(What-if-what-if what-if-why-where-what-when)

Just what are the odds? Just what are the chances?
2:AM? Maybe one car, one car every 2 hours or so?
It was 'perfect' timing, a 'perfect' flash in time
(Perfect-imperfect-perfect-why-where-what-when)

I drove home by that same road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you drove
that same short-cut road, that road you were driving
driving and trying, trying to get back home...

Yes, playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?

Details | Son Poem | |

Judge Not

The congregation eyed him skeptically
     Long hair, a beard and sandals on his feet
Beyond his exterior they’d not see
     This rambler had just come in from the street

He blessed himself with the sign of the cross
     And joined fully in each hymn that was sung
It was soon apparent it was their loss
     When he greeted God with a gentle tongue

“Lord, You sent Your Son to roam on this earth
     His hair was long and to some seemed unkempt
And when He preached, insults were often hurled
     But He was not repelled by their contempt

“And so, Lord, I seek forgiveness for these
     Who cannot see beyond the clothes I wear
I’ll not be put down by those I displease
     I ask for forgiveness, make them aware

“That Your Son sported sandals and a beard
     I ask You judge them not as they judge me”
When the mass ended, the man disappeared
     At heaven’s gate his name’s on the marquis

Some of the congregation dwell below
     But the homeless man now sits by God’s side
For he had chosen love’s path to follow
     Appearances he did never deride



*For Jared's "At First Glance" Contest

Details | Son Poem | |

Soldier

I saw a burial with a bugler playing taps;
I turned to my father, “what happened?” I asked.
He clutched my hand and with a quiver in his voice,
he began to explain and his eyes became moist.

“My son,” he said, “this is rather difficult for me;
for an old veteran like myself this is tough to see.
In that coffin lies a genuine patriotic warrior,
an honest-to-God hero, an American soldier.

I appreciate that soldier and the service he gave,
and I honor his sacrifice as he’s laid in his grave.
He was honorable, selfless, courageous, and bold;
please remember him son, as you grow old.

The value of his service, I must explain,
if not remembered, will be lost in vain.
As a nation we’re nothing without soldiers like him;
and failing to remember would be a terrible sin.”

I listened in awe as my father spoke,
it seemed as if his heart were broke.
I suddenly remembered when he went to war,
and when he returned I thought nothing more.

I never asked why he walked with a limp,
and I didn’t care about why he was sick.
I was too busy enjoying the life that I had,
to realize that I had it because of dad.

I finally understood what my dad was about,
and it hurt so bad I cried out loud.
He sacrificed so much so I could be free,
and his battle scars were suffered for me.

It was my father’s spirit that spoke to me that day;
thank God I finally understood what he had to say.
I saluted his coffin as they laid him to rest,
and I thought about the medals pinned on his chest.

That I didn’t honor him sooner, I will always regret;
and I pledged that day to never again forget.
I’m proud that my dad was a patriotic warrior;
I’m honored to be the son of an American soldier. 

Details | Son Poem | |

Missing My Little Boys

My babies have all gone,
They've grown and left the nest,
Spreading out their wings to fly,
Upon life's thrilling quest.

The years flew by so quickly.
Babies turned into little boys.
Little boys grew into manhood,
Putting away their childish toys.

I miss those little boy faces,
With their mischievous, winsome smiles.
I miss their childish chatter,
And their creative little boy wiles.

Why didn't I pay more attention?
Why didn't I play with them more?
Why didn't I realize how fleeting time was?
But I didn't and it makes my heart sore.

I miss the little boys that my sons were,
But I'm proud of the men they've become.
They'll always be my little boys,
And I will always love them.

Kim Merryman    3/10/12
Entered in SKAT's "Greatly Missed" contest

Details | Son Poem | |

Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning
I try not to wake him, though he stirs slightly
As I crawl out from the warmth of the covers.
I'm tempted to change my mind, and stay awhile longer,
But a glint of sunlight peeks through the blind and calls to me.
If I burrow down again, and drowse too long, 
This glorious time of day will be gone...until it comes again tomorrow.

I tiptoe quietly and begin the morning ritual.
The splashing of water on my face, of letting the dog out,
Of brewing the dark, hot liquid that will help to
Open my eyes and recharge my reluctant brain.

The inviting aroma finally wakes my senses, and after
The first sip, I begin to feel the desire to join the world again.
I go outside, step onto the weathered porch, down the steps,
Onto the wet grass to retrieve today's bundled news.
Within it comes a page-by-page account of disasters, obituaries and comics...
I decide to forego all that gloom, and lay the paper beside the front door.

Instead, I drink in the morning air.
The new day is slowly coming alive.  There's a slight chill.
This coolness will be baked away later, when the sun is high.
I pull my robe around me tightly, and sit down on the stoop.
Birds are chirping, and soon, I see that neighbors are beginning to embrace the 
day.
House by house, there is evidence that awakening has occurred.

A car is cruising by our  house.  The occupants, wearing their
Sunday best, and on their way to an early service to praise the Lord.
While some are sitting in pews, singing Alleluia,
A man down the street is starting his lawnmower.
Not mindful that the Sabbath is a day of rest,
Or that he may wake a late sleeper.

Inside my house, I hear the sounds of water running and dishes rattling.
Then someone calling my name.  In a moment he appears
Carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee, one for him, and another for me.
He's come to see what this new day has offered, and sits down beside me.

We sit together quietly, and soak up the morning sun.
It wraps its warmth around us, like the bedcovers we had abandoned.
No words are needed to enjoy this moment.
However, toast and jam, and bacon await us.  So we turn and go inside.

Details | Son Poem | |

Wise Men Still Seek Him Today

W-hen the fullness of time had come, Jesus was born behind an Inn in a cave-like stable.
I-n the Inn there was no room for the Son of God, no room for the Saviour of men.
S-tar was shining so bright above the stable for the shepherds to find their way to Him.
E-ven angels proclaimed His birth to those shepherds "Unto you is born this day."
 
M-anger is where Mary and Joseph first laid him.  It was filled with hay.
E-very animal there must have known that their Creator had come that day. 
N-o one knew the depth of love God had, to give His Son to dwell among men.
 
S-ame star guided three kings from the Orient, who studied the stars and heavens.
T-hese wise men from the East came saying "Where is He that is born King"
I-n their hands they brought him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrr.
L-ike these three wise men, wise men still seek him today! 
L-ove is the reason that God sent His only Begotton Son into the world to save us.
 
S-eeking for you and me, yes God was seeking for us because we had left Him.
E-veryone, yes, all we like sheep have gone astray. Everyone to his own way.
E-ach one has to make his on decision to follow Him or not to follow Him.
K-ing, born to be a King. King of the ages. King of the past. King of the future.

H-eaven, He came from Heaven to earth to show us the right way.
I-niquity, the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.
M-elody, He gives us a sweet melody, we sing many songs of praise to Him.
 
T-ree, A Christmas tree, the love that Jesus had for us, to die on a tree.
O-nly one life and how soon it passes. Only in life can we accept His Love.
D-eliverance, He came from Heaven to preach deliverance to the captives.
A-cknowlege Him and accept Him. Behold now is the accepted time.
Y-ou, Yes, this Christmas Love was for You.  Will You accept this love?

For Brian Strands Christmas Love contest.

Details | Son Poem | |

Your Time To Shine

What will you do when it’s your time to shine?
Do you have all your words written down in your mind?
Have you planned for the day when they call on your name?
To lift up a soul and help hide someone’s shame?

Is it easy for you to just stand up and speak?
Anytime, anywhere – any day of the week?
What about when you’re asked to give your point of view
On the many events that take place in the news?

If you’re asked to speak on the ‘good news’ of Christ
To those who yet walk in the world, full of vice.
Do you have rhyming words or a sweet song to sing?
As you share with others our Resurrected King?

These questions I ask are to keep us in mind
Of the Great Commission given to all mankind!
That our King will return with Victory in His hand,
And all men will bow with their knees in the sand

Giving glory to God – Who has truly loved us all
Even though our disobedience caused us to fall.
Yet He gave all He had even Everlasting Life.
He forgave us our sins – He took away our strife.

His command said “go forth in the world, filled with love
And be as wise as serpents – but gentle as doves”.
So what will you do when it’s your time to shine?
When God opens up Heaven and says “This child is Mine?”

Details | Son Poem | |

Security Blanket

Security Blanket 

No chance of rain tonight,
No bogeyman, when I turn off the lights.
A phrase I found and adore with the warmth of your security.
You are the reason I attain true maturity.

I love when you lay down next to me,
Like the high tide of the sea,
You move all the warm motions inside.
My arms are the comfort you use to seek and hide.

Your nestle holds a true rhythm that hums its own song~
Nothing comes close to breaking this precious bond~
A sweet cradle-song only I hear,
You play my grin, without the strings of a puppeteer.

My heartbeat needs its fix and drug,
Your sweet, charming smiles and hug, 
Is all I need to succeed, 
You are, my only creed!

A kiss, I give on your forehead,
Into a poet’s world where your blanket a dulcet lullaby, 
my arms are your bed.

“Goodnight Sweet Child, Sweet Child of Mine!”

By; pd

Details | Son Poem | |

Home Run

It wasn't because he brought her flowers....
 It wasn't because he wined and dined her....
   She loved him because he spent hours on the computer
       trying to track down the 1970 Brooks Robinson baseball card
                                                                   for their oldest son's birthday
She loved him because he played with their kids, even after a hard day at work...
     baseball games in the big front yard...
            cheering them on...
                not getting angry when the youngest son 
                           knocked a homer 
                               straight through the living room window


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