CreationEarth Nature Photos
Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Growth Poems

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

Search for Growth poems, articles about Growth poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Growth poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Growth Poems
Read Growth Poems
New Growth Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

New Growth Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Growth poems are below this new poems list.

Spring Growth by Babbit, DM
Old Growth by Tuason, Thayne
Growth Of The Emergent Virus A Prototype More Lifeless by Schumacker, Earl
Family Values Growth by Jenkins, Greg
Haiku riddle of growth by Miljkovic, Davor
Prudent Growth by Coyne, William
But many forget our growth is in darkness by Frank, Mark
Growth In A Very Slow Progress by Makama, Funom
Life and Growth by Barclay, Bernard
GROWTH Part I by Promise, Rainbow

View all new Growth Poems

The Best Growth Poems

Details | Growth Poem | |

Big Girls do Cry

They expected her to be the jolly fun one.
The one   w e a r i n g   a smile on her face.
So she became.....who they wanted her to be
She was quick with her wit, telling her practiced fat jokes.
It was a pre-emptive strike of sorts
her attempt to remove the target
from what some thought was her "considerable ass".
Never again wanting to be the "butt" of people's jokes!

She remembers the year she was "Chubby Checker"
the year her parents gave her that checkered jacket
she also remembers how hard she cried.
They laughed and one boy sang 
"Big Girls Don't Cry----- they don't cry!"
She vowed to herself on that very day
"I will never ever cry again!"

There were the many diets
the yo yo effect..."Yo big girl, lookin good"
 Friends asking her  "have you lost weight?"
Those "good for you"s!!!!
The attention felt good in a way
but the weight she'd lose seemed to come back the next day.
Somehow the cursed food felt like her only true friend
the only one on whom she could depend.
The food never judged her
instead it filled the empty sad part
the part that weighed nothing
yet felt like it weighed a thousand pounds!
The part that felt lighter when she was full
it somehow felt like a hug from the inside.

She stopped eating in public
not wanting to hear comments like
"she could do without that ice cream."
There were also the buffet comments
"She's going to get her money's worth!"
Still what hurt even worse
were the nice people
the trying to be kind people
the ones who felt sorry for her people
Saying "all you need to do is lose a few pounds." 
or "you have such a pretty face." 
Some people would tell her "You're just big boned."
Then there was comment she hated the most
"You have such a great personality!" 
For she knew it was all part of the "Fat Girl Show"
the persona she had gifted to them.

Then came the day
that epic day she stopped joking.
When she smiled when she wanted to smile
when she dressed in the ways she wanted to dress.
She embraced the form she was given
she celebrated all of her curves.
She decided to eat when she was hungry
nourishing and loving her body
she allowed colourful foods to occupy her plate.
Strangely, she started losing some weight
but it wasn't her goal
for inside she was becoming whole.
Skinny was not who she needed to be!
When tears came she allowed them to flow free
she was no longer her own enemy
The more she cried
the less she felt her empty.

She learned, everyone
y e s.... everyone,
has some kind of insecurity!
No one is completely who they wish to be
some have hidden bits
others are more obvious,
even  if   some are somewhat oblivious.
She now has learned to be a compassionate witness
one who is much kinder to herself
she doesn't  keep her thoughts on a shelf
So when others make jokes
or give painful pokes...
She tells them "That's hurtful and it's not okay",
"I'm who I am and I'm perfect this way!"
Maybe next time they will consider what they say.
For today and tomorrow and every other day forward
she is more than some number on a scale that she weighs
or some joke in an insensitive phrase.
She now can be and see her true self in extrodinary ways















Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016


Details | Growth Poem | |

The Library of Trust and Hope

The Library of Trust and Hope
The Bank of Trust and Hope

(Cant decide on title, so feel free to pick or suggest one)

She was all but four years of age
Birthdays were such magical moments
The cake was filled with candles
The balloons still in their package twelve on the table

Daddy daddy, I can not fill these balloons!!
They are not magic like you said!!!!!
Do not fret Maria, its daddy who is magical
I shall help you little one, let me see those balloons

Sure enough daddy blew up twelve white and pink balloons
Maria was in awe at daddy’s magical powers
She knew her daddy would fight dragons to bring her but a smile
Maria knew she was safe in daddy's arms, oh what a birthday this will be

Maria was now ten years older
Fourteen years old and already filled with so many happy memories
On this fall day, home from school
There was grandpa in the back yard as usual

He was tending his garden of roses
When she was younger, he told her they were magical roses
Grandma would speak to him in his magical garden
From the heavens above


Now at eighteen, daydreaming in a coffee shop
A stranger picks up a rose from an empty table
A smile oozing in charm, stares into her eyes
This is for you, beauty for beauty


She was swept off her feet, in a whirlwind romance
They danced and dined, it seemed all on her dime
Until the morning she awoke, completely alone
Both lover and credit cards did abscond


Now twenty one, and wise to the world
Absorbed in her studies, somewhat colder than one should be for that age
A chilly fall day in an empty library
A stranger comes, giving her a drawing of a red rose

Hello he says! I drew this for you!
Oh no she thinks to herself, not another one!
Politely she smiles and replies thank-you, but I am taken
This stranger smiles right back and says, the drawing is for you no matter

The next week, and the weeks after, the same routine
He comes to her with a drawing of another beautiful rose
She politely declines his advances
Maria knows that a rose, has a stem, and that comes with pricks

The twelfth week and here he is again
What is the poor girl to do?
She is curious, and she can not quite help herself
She asks, from what do you draw such beautiful flowers?

He smiles kindly and replies
How about next week, I show you?
We can have a coffee, and discuss art
Hesitating she just can not say no to this simple gesture of kindness

They are walking along, and surprisingly she finds herself
Quite intrigued with the ease of their conversation
He takes hold of her hand, and says I live over there, the house in red
She has no time to object as he pulls her forward to the backyard

She stares in absolute shock and awe at what appears before her
Why its the most beautiful, wonderful, enchanting English garden she ever saw
You? she stammers, you made this?
He smiles shyly and says; well now you know what inspires my drawings

Now Maria is eighty and filled with both happiness and sadness
Her husband of all these years has passed on
To be with all his precious roses in the heavens waiting
She sits in their garden, remembering a life time of memories

She picks a single rose, and inhales its fragrance
Contemplating the wisdom's of life
I miss you so much my love
You taught me trust is earned and not given
	Your love was my blanket of happiness, wait for me my love, 
		I am yours eternally





Dear Reader

I was lucky in life to have had a good upbringing. My daddy, showered me with love, but most of all he taught me that gifts were not objects, balloons were not magical, nor was he. I learned that what was magical is the time and effort he took to love me, and protect me and those memories I so cherish, but they also he showed me the values I hold dear in myself and those around me. 

Then there was dear old grandpa. His garden was his passion, and I suspect that if I could have had more time to spend with him, it was really grandma’s passion, and after her passing, this was the activity that kept him close to her soul. In that respect, I guess it was truly a magical garden. Whenever he saw me, his eyes would light up, he would pour lemonades and he told me such wonderful stories. Unlike many though, he listened to all my troubles and told me, that in life I had to learn some things the hard way, but that he himself knew for a certainty that I would find the love and happiness, that as a young women, I felt would be lost to me forever.

I re-tell my story for all the people out there that have lost trust in others, or have lost hope in humanity. You may have your heart stolen for awhile, someone can bring you sadness, but never let them steal your soul. Learn that trust is earned, not given, and never punish the rest of the world, for your bad experience, for ultimately it is you who suffers most. Be giving, kind and generous, with a strong will and mind. If someone does not respect you, then they shall never earn your trust, and that’s how it should be. Be wise, be prudent, be safe, but most of all be open to love and kindness

God bless
Maria Sefue

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Growth Poem | |

When Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer Met Henrietta Huckhellopolis


Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
was leading a lonely life working nights at the fookfoorfiffenfimmer factory,
where he was in charge of loading crates full of fookfoorfiffenfimmers
onto cargo cars destined for the city of Cincinnati.

There was such a huge demand for fookfoorfiffenfimmers 
in the city of Cincinnati,
poor Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer worked his hunnyhush to the bone.

On one of his few holiday weekends,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer went to a hair salon for a trim.
Here he was attended by a hairdresser named, Henrietta Huckhellopolis.
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer instantly fell for the husky-voiced hairdresser.

Gaining enough gumption and gallasisgoppingguff
needed to bypass beating around the bush of courteous courtship,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer asked Henrietta Huckhellopolis
if she wanted to leerlumpaloomp later that evening.

"I would love to leerlumpaloomp later this evening," she replied,
batting her long lashes lustily.

And how those two leerlumpaloomped!

They leerlumpaloomped long through the night.
They leerlumpaloomped so loudly,
the neighbours ended up sticking stuffystoils into their sensilivities,
in hopes of drowning out the noise.

Nine months later, 
the lovers were blessed with a litter of lullaloonillies -
wot with the loud leerlumpaloomping and all.
But, of the seven lullaloonillies,
four of them had two lumpalots instead of just one.
 
Bolstering himself against drowning in despair
at the prospect of having sired freak lullaloonillies,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer helped design fookfoorfiffenfimmers
especially meant for lullaloonillies who have two lumpalots instead of one.

Since the double-lumpalot fookfoorfiffenfimmers
were Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer's idea to begin with,
the owner of the fookfoorfiffenfimmer factory
gave Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer a forty percent cut of the royalties.
_____


Fortunately some fairy tales come with a happy ending,
because the city of Cincinnati was hit with a record level of lullaloonillies
born with two lumpalots instead of just the one.
The high sales of double-lumpalot fookfoorfiffenfimmers,
enabled Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer and Henrietta Huckhellopolis
to quit their jobs and buy into the fookfoorfiffenfimmer factory.

Yes, after getting married,
Harry Heironymous and Henrietta Huckhellopolis-Huffenhoffer 
lived happily hever hafter.
So did the lullaloonillies....

including those with two lumpalots instead of one.







+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

flowers for Chinaski -- part ii

part ii


There was a time
when I wanted to be one of them,

to somehow fit in
with the fancy rituals
of their high society.
But the da-Dumb, da-Dumb, da-Dumb
made me want to puke,
made me want to bounce my head 
off the table, hopefully causing the bone china
and forks
to add clatter to their snobbish 
symphony.

Words like "gossamer" 
flitted around the room,
word so thin but veiled 

and distant,

even the candle light appeared
to shy away from those dry wings.

The snobs talked about how
I was too simple with words.
They did so with such a simple, 
small-mindedness,
the irony provided oxygen for flame
to devour.

And the critics proclaimed that
I wasn't able to love,
when really, I just wanted to get away
from them, 
smoke a cigarette in peace
while hitchhiking back to my chubby cherub,
feel her belly fall and rise against my skin.

I was finally able to love,
and she died.

The previous pain had been for show:
"Look at the drunk ham
feeling sorry for himself."

But when she died,
I distilled tears
into a different type of proof.
I was no longer willing to be
their carnival attraction
placated under the table,
listening to them upstage each other.

When I was able to stand again,
a cold, sharp thing was birthed in my mind,
and 
I wanted to shoot them all between the eyes,
splatter their degrees and deeds 
with their blood and brains.

I found peace though -
stopped wanting to be one of them.

I found peace
away from their chatter
about what to carve on their headstones
or what type of fancy imported granite
their mausoleums should be constructed of.

I found peace in readying myself to be 
consumed by 
roots,
to be perspired into the open, fathomless sky --
the same deep blue as the bird 
who finally pecked his way
through the rusted cage of my heart,

freeing us both.



April 12th, 2014



“i am with the roots
of flowers
entwined, entombed
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
and argument...."

-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"



+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

Little Fire

I witness you fading away, The winds blow frantically They are against us, as all are Little fire, rise in my cupped hands Be it my life I shield from the elements so unfeeling? Little fire, brighten as I feed you This moisture receding from my pores must cease Before I drown this diminishing beauty I gasp, Surprised at the howls and retorts of this icy tempest Nature’s exhalations mean to end what must naturally end My hands shake Little fire—my life! —I must keep you alive! Grow against all odds Against the screaming whirlpools of bluster Against the torrential tears that mean to overcome you Against the ashes that can only watch the desolation around you, As you search for more fuel to masticate My flesh is no treasure to me, So lick me deep, my flame Devour these hands that shield you Rise hastily, as you burn Ascending up my arms, Lighting every goosebump, shriveling every hair Rise till I am all aflame in this wilderness Boil and evaporate every murderous tear— The fluids of sorrow that so pulverize purpose Eat through every sinew, and every tissue, Every muscle and every bone that has grown For this moment and this moment only I give you every piece of me, little fire! So that my spirit, finally free, shall rise to the heavens Past the shrieking winds, preceding through the jeers of thunder I give you my all, blessed fire! So that these eyes may witness every storm die And I may laugh at their futility!

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016


Details | Growth Poem | |

The Late Blooming Iris

Lately I have paused, pondering death
But I'm not fit for it's journey yet.

It's not that I loathe meeting death's kind
It will be, for me, an experience of a lifetime.

I've had one stupendous, lovely, awesome gift
A second chance at life I could not resist.

So tell me this... who's thinking of dying?
I am the rainbow. Rain falls, next, I'm smiling.


Lately I have paused, pondering death
But it's out of my hands, my stem's length and breath.

All I have been, isn't all that I am
I've taken a stand to let The Source guide my hands.

I can claim to be a calico, carved by nine lives
Again, and again, I rise with clearer eyes.

I'd assume any form my Maker shapes me to use
Would I be excused, if in your haven I refuse?

I am a flower, even in winter
Even in winter, I am a flower.

*

Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2016


Details | Growth Poem | |

One World

Love is not a color,
No hue, neither a race.
All of our blood is the same, 
That runs deep within our veins.

If we could lift up each other,
And know that we all care.
If we help our sisters and brothers,
There's a bond that we'll share.








©2013 Honestly JT

Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013


Details | Growth Poem | |

Call it love

The night it is barren
from inland to the sea
but I am the one who loves you
you are not alone.

Tonight the sky is empty
stars fall in the sea
I am the light to guide you
do not wish to be alone.

If the world becomes deserted
all eyes you see are sad
I will smile for you
you will never be alone.
 
Sleeping I dreamed you
awake I keep dreaming
I dream because you love me
and I am not alone.

It is sometimes madness
a longing absentee
call it love
and we are not alone...

Copyright © Ken Carroll | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

TO and FROM

---Everyday---


If I had only one gift
I'd give it to you
In hopes, you pass it along
With a Smile

*******

Sharing is Caring
The True Meaning :)



Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015


Details | Growth Poem | |

Paradise Leaving Not A Trace

Paradise Leaving Not A Trace


I took the last picture off the wall
 then my broken heart started to bawl
 on the floor lay your broken vows
 fat they lay like bloated cows

The love sworn by your sacred heart
 flipped over like an apple cart
 the corner lay three mismatched shoes
 I sit here , lonely, cryin' da blues

I took that picture and held it tight
 sad memories of our fightin' last night
 you spat upon my deep, deep remorse
 grieved as you beat on that dead horse

I saw dear hope entered my heart today
 I saw a picture that reminded me of you
 the pretty girl had your perfect eyes
 sun shining so like you in her skies

Tell me just one more time how you care
 lie to me even if it is an oath unfair
 whisper gasps of our sex-filled nights
 baby, please forget those recent fights

Lets hang the pictures back on the walls
 lock the doors, not take any damn calls
 undress as we rush into mad, mad embrace
 stay in that paradise leaving not a trace

Robert J. Lindley, 06/21/1976

This was my last poem written to her before my first wife and I finally 
divorced. I had my best friend deliver it. He said she threw it into the 
garbage can and told him to tell me to go jump into a lake. Next morn I 
knocked on the door there, her mother answered. I asked for my poem back 
from the garbage can, she got it and gave it to me! I have it still with dried 
food stains on the last stanza.
I keep it to remind me that too late is a damn terrible place to ever be!!! This 
is the first time I have  ever shared it with anybody since she never even read 
it. 
I hope you may like it , for it shows that young fools
 suffer too. And often rightly so...

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

I Did It My Way

I Did It My Way
I did it my way, not for the applause but because, failure was not an option and I became a rebel with a cause. I wanted higher education and was told I couldn’t have it all, so I had to prove them wrong even if I had to creep or crawl.
I was accused of having a stubborn streak, just because I wasn’t mild and meek. Challenging every obstacle placed in my way, and all the negative things that people had to say.
In spite of all the “You can’t do that,” that I was told, I stubbornly did it my way and confidently smashed the mold. Marching to a different drummer and dancing to my own tunes, I kept my eyes on the prize ignoring all the nay-saying buffoons.
To keep on track, I learned to juggle tasks knowing I wouldn’t be derailed. To keep my ducks in a row, I learned to haggle knowing I wouldn’t fail. With dedication and hard work, as sure as night follows day, success was mine because I certainly did it my way!
6-7-2014 - Submitted to contest “I Did It My Way” sponsored by Shadow Hamilton

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

Mesopotamia

Iraq is civilization's cradle -
a casket is being built
with the cradle's worn planks.



August 7th, 2014





+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

Black Diamond

On the border of the obscure wastelands, In the depths of shadows and torments, Far beyond the land of Never Was, Never Will Is a place where I hold you, strong and silent… As the shards of your sensitive sadness prevail, Sifting the awaiting coals below, I shall reflect slivers of your light upon the darkest woe! I fight with the broken alliance within the dimmest coves, I mean to pull you into Death’s demise Where the pained poets prevail and the suns of justice arise So that e’en the coldest of coals reach warmth! Generating power so strong, that the gods step aside As these diamonds-to-be burst into the light of day Revealing your words of Always Was… and Always Will The Black Diamond, once captive…finally free…though coal black still!
For Shadow Hamilton's Contest: Fighting Depression(poems for PD) 12/7/14

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

Paranoid love

Tell me that this fear is just paranoia in my mind, 
we're not straining, we're not struggling, 
we're not sinking, we're just fine. 
I'm not perfect my dearest, but damn have I tried, 
and I'll try harder but I know I'll have the same results every time. 
Do you want me all the ways that I am? 
With all the struggles and the tears and the clinging to your hand. 
I fear your getting further and Im left on the shore to stand, 
watching you in the distance with a bullet in my hand. 
Tell me all this worry, its just clutter in my mind, 
tell me not to worry that we're doing just fine. 
Cause Im scared to run you off and I feel Im falling deep. 
And Im so frightened of these thoughts that its getting hard to sleep.
All I know is that the heart wants what it desires, 
because of you the match inside has turned into a fire. 
And I feel the broken glass thats sticking from my skin, 
Wondering if you'll remove the pain or push it back in. 
My hearts frantic wondering if you feel the same, 
pleading and begging for more than just a saying, 
but to feel and to see that im not alone, 
with being in this love thats overwhelming. 
Once I told you that we didnt have a spark, 
but you were lighting up and I was sitting in the dark. 
And this fire, this blaze its wrapped in desire. 
Im terrified to lose you, I think I might die or, 
maybe disappear from all the pieces falling out, 
im going crazy but when i open my mouth, nothing comes out, 
and I cant explain to you why I just need to hold you close, 
why every time you leave Im scared to let you go, 
why these tears are building up behind my eyes, 
all I know is that the heart wants what it desires 
and it desires to be your wife. 
So tell me in my panic, that your words are true, 
tell my my dearest what I mean to you, 
tell me that this paranoia is all within my mind 
we're not struggling, we're not sinking tell me we're just fine

Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2013


Details | Growth Poem | |

Spring Forward

Spring Forward


A helical "Slinky" type coil
Compresses or springs without toil,
It’s spiral at times,
Or stretched to the nines...
Like worms that are happy in soil!

Beneath or on top of the ground,
They stretch, but so often lie wound,
Their tunnels air earth
To make healthy dirt
And seedlings are glad they’re around!


© Sandra M. Haight 2015 
   All Rights Reserved

~2nd Place~
Contest: Spring Forward
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged: 03/09/2015

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015


Details | Growth Poem | |

'Smothered No More'


Bounded by fear - 
Do you still remember that?
When I would build my walls;
I would let no one in
I would look for ways to cut them off
Especially those who got too close 

Do you remember when I said?
It was for their own good 
In the meantime you knew it was the fear talking
Afraid of the consequences
Feeling that if I let them in, 
They might be hit by misfortune

I never thought it would come to this
I never thought the fear would dissipate –

Replaced by faith 
Replaced by the knowledge 
That everything that happened 
Had to happen

In order for me to let go
To stop myself from stifling my growth 

I needed to embrace the pain, 
Embrace the laughter,
Even the fear of losing loved ones 

I needed to let go – 

I needed to experience the hurt 
I needed to experience the joy
I needed to experience the fear
I needed to fail, 
I needed to fall

So I can stand today
Knowing that no matter what happens
My mind,
My body 
And
My soul 
Is ready to go on –

That fear can be toppled by faith 

If I focus on me 

Focus on today and not on my past

©142704092013

Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2013


Details | Growth Poem | |

TRUE LOVE SAILED OVER SEAS

TRUE LOVE SAILED OVER SEAS Have I met trouble when I met your ocean eyes for beneath that steady gaze, I reach the highest sky? Slothful moon turned grey, so the stars: tired and pale when I behold your white angelic grace. . . Distant and unfamiliar you may seem, I wasn't afraid to run, run and catch your gleam without a guarantee of us becoming one, still, I pursue to behold you, my woman. I am no Romeo nor you are not Juliet but allow me to prove, I love immaculate... Hundred miles and hundred days we may separate, yonder, seasons change, my heart to you, I dedicate. Overseas, each time the ship reach the shore, immediately like thunder, I trip to the door for me to send my love letter or find a phone excited I am, the opportunity, I don't postpone! Pity at that time, no internet or cellphones yet so the instant a signal peeps, it's you, I first check. My ears blush and so I am in fever love each time our exchange of thoughts began. Then again while we talk, sometimes, the signal fret, or without proper warning our chats end to wreck. Coins gone and so time on shore is done, again I want to dial My sunshine smile not turning to the river Nile... My heart on somersaults when they hand me your letter like a little boy with his favorite toy, I keep it near my chest awhile I am on reversed cardiac arrest, I confess. Winter feeling I have blown and within is a summer weather, ten months or a year in the middle of the sea with only your letters and photo I kiss, I, in jubilee! Years passed, I came home and I search your address, my intentions of wanting to marry you, I will express. Your parents, unsure of me, they probe too much. How many women I touched-- I gone to bed with for am a sailor, they thought to any girl I resort, I was stunned but I remain calm and quiet as I know myself, loyal to you and no one else. I tried to woo them and prove, my only love is you. God must have blessed us-- as their stone heart melt, a year later, my dream of being your husband came true. _____________________________________________________________ ©O. E. Guillermo 07:42 pm, January 19, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015


Details | Growth Poem | |

Growing Old and Brittle

To wake up with the rising sun
Wishing me old bones stay in bed
No longer do I feel to run
Life is all but over and done

I look in the mirror feeling blue
Front teeth no more, leak like a canoe
Getting old, this is no fun
Spending my days inside, away from the sun

Ricky called, hey Arty lets go out
Sorry Ricky, I am too old for that
Ah come on Arty lets go to the park
Leave me alone Ricky I am staying right here in the dark

Ricky was persistent, come on arty the park the park the park
Art replied, I am old now I don’t do parks!
Why not? It’s a sunny day; we always have fun at the park
Cant, Stevie told me, I am too old to go out and play

Why he said I am too old for toys and my trucks
I am too old to play even with the ducks
I didn’t wanna be old but there you have it
Stevie says I am one big sissy with my toys!

Ricky, not to be deterred
Come on man, I love toys too 
Lets go the park, come on come on
You are only seven years old Arty!

I feel older Ricky and missing all these teeth
No one will want to play with me, no one at all
I do Arty! lets go, besides haven’t you heard the news?
Seven years old why that’s the new five!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


Details | Growth Poem | |

A Single Soul Cries Out

A Single Soul Cries Out

Across this barren lake my ghost did sail
 lost and heading straight into another hell
Behind, remnants of a dark and wayward past
 treasures stored that shall never last

Sunny skies ever looking down upon me
 joined by those memories soul sought to flee
No wind to send my ghost sailing right along
 on the shore images of a faceless throng

So far ahead a welcoming sandy white beach
 forever racing farther and farther from my reach
No deeds to perform to gain my deep reprieve
 only memories of those I so easily did deceive

Within this lonely lake a single Soul cries out
forgive me , forgive me  , in a wailing shout!

Robert Lindley

note: Once a man raced about all alone, 
stumbled upon a rolling stone,
fell into a headlong dismay,
gathered the courage to just pray,

Words that did by faith then atone,
soon the condemnation was forever gone..

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

I need it to rain

I need to hide
to drown my sorrow
to not feel obligated to stay a secret
the darkness to blanket my self inflicted pain
the thunder to stifle my screams
the lightening to set me on fire
I need it to rain...

I need to be revitalized and invigorated
to feel serene and tranquil
to be calm and collected
the darkness to bring me peace
the thunder to direct my mind
the lightening to guide my heart
I need it to rain...

I need to escape
to feel the ground at my feet
to feel the wind in my hair
the darkness to blind my captor
the thunder to clap in approval
the lightening to sever my shackles 
I need it to rain...

I need to grow
to heighten my potential
to cultivate and thrive
the darkness to shelter my fraility
the thunder to ward off any imminent danger
the lightening to strike as my weapon
I need it to rain...

I need to be laid to rest
for someone to cry for me
for someone to long for me
the darkness to resemble my abscence
the thunder to echo my voice through your ears
the lightening to flash visions of me before your eyes
I need it to rain...

Copyright © VALERIE THE HEAVY HEARTED POET | Year Posted 2013


Details | Growth Poem | |

My end is now

When I was growing up,
Daily they packed my outgrown:
Shoes, shirts,suits and trousers;
And paid me commendation
As they milled around me
Like night ants around light!

When I was geisha-guy
And my frame was fame
And my gaiety  was deity
Oh they milled around me
Like day ants around rose

When worker I was
And my table was the host
To all that delighted belly 
Oh they rounded me about
Applauded me with their belch
After my grain and grape.

Now my hairs are white
And my frame is gone
My teeth have left
Sight is dim, hearing is poor;
How quick they dessert me
Like a cinema after the show.

It is home alone
As they call me demented
The brats that once me hailed
No one to tell goodbye
Sad today I must go
My end is now.

Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode | Year Posted 2014


Details | Growth Poem | |

Poetic Manifestation

With each supple curve I am further enchanted
Ready to succumb with every lingual verse
Wholly captivated by each whisper granted
Overcome by need as in each line I immerse

Sensual expressions caress my wanting soul
While jagged words ignite hidden carnal thoughts
Painted sentences tease in lace and stilettos
While metaphors subdue with leather and garrotes

When engorged analogies slide between inviting lips
Analytic paragraphs build toward climactic declaration
Overwhelmed by wordplay and coupletic courtships
I acquiesce to her power and emerge the incarnation


~FJ Thomas


Copyright © FJ Thomas | Year Posted 2015


Details | Growth Poem | |

The Weeping Willow Tree




The weeping willow is outside you see
Even though it is beautiful it wasn't meant to be,

Our willow is huge and hangs to the ground
When the wind blows you hear it all around,

It's beauty is timeless and very much alive
But, on a sad note it is not wanting to survive,

It will be sad to see an empty space
Till the new tree we plant that will take its place,

The weeping willow will definitely be gone
I am sure late at night you will hear its song,

Weeping and crying for all of us to hear
Because after all the roots are left that will shed its tears.



Written By: Unique Poetry 2010

Copyright © Michelle Born | Year Posted 2015


Details | Growth Poem | |

Why I Write

I am wise 

I am misunderstood 

I am under-rated 

I am inspirable 

I am unknown 

I am profound 

I am articulate 

I am logical 

I am passionate 

I am powerful 

But I am this only because 

I am a leader 

I am a follower 

I am a philosopher 

I am a teacher 

I am a student 

I am a lover 

I am a friend 

I am a man 

I am a son 

I am a brother 

But this only means that 

I have a mother 

I have a sister 

I have brothers 

I have friends 

I have pupils 

I have admirers 

I have seniors 

I have fighters 

I have dreamers 

I have muses 

And I have all of this because 

I am not a nigger 

I am not a hater 

I am not an idiot 

I am not a punk 

I am not a thug 

I am not an atheist 

I am not a liar 

I am not a bully 

I am not a faker 

And that is why I write 


“Why I Write” 
by:  Eric L. Boddie

Copyright © eric boddie | Year Posted 2015


Details | Growth Poem | |

As Spring is Felt

===============================

Warm rains, shaken from winters' pelt

pelt earth into reform below.

Below new soil, as spring is felt,

felt springs uncoil to melt the snow.

===============================

Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015