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Best Sibling Poems

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

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My Younger Sibling and Baby Love by Jennings, CayCay
sibling Love by kandee, kaotik
Like a sibling soul by escobar, mark
Sibling Sanity by Kelly, Renee
Fear not my Young Sibling by Manriquez, Jesus
Sibling Sabbath by Gordon, Dawn
Sibling Bond by Washington, Barbara
Sibling Rivalry by Hines, Fayla
Sibling Rivalry by Johnson, Joyce
Sibling Rivalry: Hitting by Smith-Johnsen, Dane Ann

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The Best Sibling Poems

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Natural Born Dreamers

"Still Born"

Shh!! Mommy, quiet, quiet she is still sleeping
Shh!! Mommy, quiet, quiet she is off dreaming
Shh!! Mommy, before you wake her: “My baby sister!”

Now look what you have done, you gone and woke her!
Please, mommy do not tell her what you expect and will concur. 
She is silently listening to the unique secret found in every waking minute.   
Making movements, imposing that her dreams come with no limit.

Shh!! Mommy, she is dreaming again,
Waiting for another day to end,
Hasting the way you count every minute before she arrives.

Shh!! Mommy, she is not ready yet.
She told me a secret when I press my ear near your nest.
She is hesitating the moment for you to hear her newborn cries.
She is not ready for you to count her fingers and look into her eyes.
She likes it in your womb where it is nice and warm.
She is in a dream protected by a place where angels swarm.
Mommy I fell asleep when you sang that beautiful lullaby..
Mommy, mommy, I’m ready to see her: “My baby sister!”
I want to play with her- Is she everything we dreamed of.

I’m sorry mommy, I do not understand why you cry!
I was not there when the angels woke her without saying goodbye.
Mommy, why did God call and take her home? 
Mommy, I am still here, please do not feel alone.

Shh!! Mommy, do not cry no more.
Mommy, please wipe those tears and show me how to be brave.
Mommy, stop, listen, and feel her smile and wave.
She will always listen, when you visit her grave.

Hi, mommy, why don't you stand by her grave anymore?
Mommy, I see you weep no more.
Mommy is she no longer asleep nor in dreams?
Is she in a better land with no trials and deems?

Mommy, now I see everyone’s heart is clear, and no longer stillborn.
Mommy, now life must go on, and in it, we will always have time to mourn. 
One more thing, mommy thank you for holding my hand,
I am just a sibling, who needed time to understand.


((for contest))

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

More great poems below...

Details | Sibling Poem | |



A conceited spring leaf, with pride in its heart


Its vigor and its beauty


The tree, how important it and its sibling leaves were,

And that without them naked the tree would have remained

Having no 

Foliage, that so majestically the tree had dressed which, not only  
Oxygen supplied to the tree 


Also protection from the wind and for the birds a place to

Make their home.  

The tree, after the leaf its long monologue had finished,

Turned towards it and asked with a sardonic smile:

“Where would you be, my newborn friend, if I were not 



To provide, my branches for you to grow on 


Nourishment from my roots that are hidden in the

Ground? *

© Demetrios Trifiatis 
    12 MARCH 2015

* All stories I write with such dialogues, are the result of inspiration. 
If, however, the story is not a poetic one, Please, blame me and not 
the inspiration!  

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sibling Poem | |

My Fallen Brother

White marble stones Stand proud in the sun To remember my colleagues The heroic fallen ones Many a battle Many a campaign Some did return For some never the same On the green grass I stand Blue sky above The souls of my comrade's Like peaceful sitting doves The name on this stone Reminds me of the day My best friend and brother Was taken away An offensive was launched Brothers at war Bunker to take At the top of a tor Smoke screen exhausts the view to the hill As we wind our way through Zipping bullets, blood spill Noises of lead, as they rip through the flesh As we hit the barbed wire Now a scarlet stained mesh Objective in sight as we approach our aim As I hear the groan of the injured Many dead, maimed Grenade pin pulled Bunker window we lob Hands sweating How many lives will we rob Explosion flash, shouts of pain As the smoke lifts on this bloody terrain We enter the Bunker To witness our task The enemy lie distorted Faces grimace, death mask I turn to my brother to signal it's safe As a shot rings out in this theatre place He stands still for a moment Eyes glazing and cold The death of my sibling At 19 years old As I open my eyes and turn to my son I see what I have as he holds my grandson Family values, love and a bond As I remember my brother Of whom I was so fond I proudly walk past, salute as I go The white stones standing proud Peaceful doves in a row I find myself fortunate to stand here and tell To talk of my brother, and the fallen as well .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Old Men In Blue Jeans

Old men in blue jeans

Dungarees – that’s what they were called,
heavy, blue denim, metal button fly -
form that followed function.  The “cuffs” were
rolled up because inseam sizing and “pre-worn”
softened and frayed only occurred if you got
them from an older sibling.

Time has a way of softening things, Dungarees
included.  They shaped themselves to your needs,
became one with your movements, stayed with you
through the tough times, went to town with you,
wore the scars and tears of youth moving forward,
taught the lessons of toughness and tenderness,
of reliable, responsible, dependability.

The clothes did not make the man, the man gave
meaning to the clothes, imbued them with his ethic,
his love, his success and failures, stood with him
in  welcome rains and barren fields.  The jeans,
flannel shirts, boots, weathered face - caught
between an ever present grin and grimace -
awaited each sunrise with a purpose.

The blue jeans are now faded by age,
highlighted by wear and tear, creased
in the rutted way of old roads – necessary
but untended.  They offer the comfort of memory’s
warm embrace, the unspoken bond of a friendship
shaped by the demands of life.

They still walk together, these old men and their
blue jeans, more slowly but no less proudly,
for they have grown old together and know
that “the clothes did not make them men”.

John G. Lawless

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sibling Poem | |

You kill with Your Hate

**You name them your blood
**You fight side by side
**Against the “Enemy”:
**The different in sight

Your soldiers against soldiers
And Yet
You’re all alike
Both brothers from Adam and Eve

Alive you’ll never come close to one another
But you’re friends die side by side

You both heal but hate
You both suffer in and out of battlefields
You're all good
But you've all been call bad
You're suppose to be fighting the system
But the system is beating you up
It's gotten you in a Sibling Rivarly

We start with name callings:
Latino chickens
American slave driver
Arab terrorists
African dust

Then it's fist fights:
I got a slap
I got a punch
I got a kick
I’ve gone to jump you
--& Pretty soon a tornado--

And we died with weapons:
I’ve got a rope
I’ve got a brass knuckle
I’ve got a knife
I’ve got a gun
--I’ve got a bomb--

Maybe, it's time you understand
That you didn’t kill him 
With your guns or knives
You killed him with your hate

**You name them your blood
**You died side by side
**Against “Your brothers”
**The same inside

(For the Sibling Rivalary Contest)

Copyright © sajdah al-riyami | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Bronte Inspiration 4 - Specially Written For Tim Smith


Little Patrick in the nursery playing with his toys 
Asks ''MUM'' can I have a sister like the other girls and boy ?
His friends have told him in playschool about their expanding families
Our little boy wants a sibling and we are only too happy to please 
With every waking moment , we climb those Bronte stairs 
Or get cosy on the sofa, the foot stools and easy chairs 
We felt that we had tried so hard and we had little left to give
The doctor told us that our test had come back positive 

We are so very blessed Patrick’s a lovely little boy
He looks just like his daddy; he is our pride and joy
Despite the fact he’s young and only just aged three
He is so excited at the expected addition to the family
Only yesterday he brought me his favourite teddy
Put it in the nursery for when the time is ready
He would love a sister and has chosen a lovely name
I’ve told him to be patient we must play the waiting game.

Patrick often cuddles up and touches your tummy 
Says ' I can feel her growing inside you mummy '
His much loved chicken nuggets he shares with you 
Come on mum , you know you've got to eat for two 
We giggle as Patrick’s patience grows shorter
I'm just hoping that we have a beautiful daughter 
He wants a sister with every ounce of his heart 
I'm praying that we can do our part.

The time for the birth is now drawing near
With you by my side I have nothing to fear
Patrick is due to stay with his little friend 
To keep him amused on them we depend
Finally the waters break and the baby is on it way
We hurry to the hospital we have waited for this day
At last the baby arrives she has such a lovely face
Patrick’s name is so apt for her, so we have named her Grace

We take care to involve our son in all we try to do 
Taking every opportunity to inspire hearts and minds a new 
Our children have their moments and sometimes they misbehave 
With love and careful guidance, we have a million memories to save 
So many children's giggles and demonstrations of love and care
We give thanks to God for the happiness we share
We've ensured the Bronte house is a happy love filled place
A sanctuary of our own for our children Patrick and Grace

13th June 2014
Written by Jan Allison & Darren Watson

Copyright © JADAZZLE UNITED | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sibling Poem | |

All about Me

Contradictory, Dreamy, Lazy, Careless
Sibling of Nobody
Lover of Literature, and Living Beings
Who feels lives of tiny creatures,
Matters more than our tiny benefits
Who is in need of patience!
Who fears Demerits*
Who would like to see "Swachch Bharath" put to action.
Resident of India's Former Garden City - Bangalore - 
The Literature Lover

"Swachch Bharath" is a campaign initiated by our current Prime Minister - Towards a Cleaner and Greener India.

* Demerits are Minus points given at our School.

Copyright © Sneha RV The literature lover | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sibling Poem | |


Baby birds, it's said, are born not knowing 
their notes. They learn them from their mother's 
throats in the way children learn their ABCs 
at parental knees, muh muh muh becoming mother, 
da da da, daddy; cheep cheep cheep, a cantata.
That being so, do poets find a poetic ear 
in the sphere of their predecessors?

Young, with island sand and salt my milieu, 
my concerts were the calls of shorebirds, 
the forlorn foundling cries of gulls, the staccato 
siren of a tern, should you carelessly venture 
too close to her nest; the stuttering dance-step 
of  sandpipers, miniscule but mighty.  Then, 
there were the rest: foraging land birds, seeking 
fare left by the incoming tide, their darkness 
incongruous on the purity of a beach. 

There was a time, walking to my garage 
when I found a songbird dead in my driveway; 
its small body supple, still warm to the touch, 
not ready to die just yet like all of us.  I 
placed it in a box (ashes to ashes, bird to sky), 
laid it to rest under the fig tree in my backyard, 
and not knowing its persuasion, I 
fashioned a cross of sticks over the fresh 
earth, believing we shared the sanctity of 
simple beauty, the brevity of life.

Near a lake where I live now, sibling to the sea, 
briny by proximity, birdsong is rampant 
in early spring. I have heard the 'death bird', 
he of the shrill one-note filled with foreboding, 
who heralded the passage of a dying husband 
in an interminable summer of illness.  Here, 
there are the sharps and flats of ordinary 
choristers, and one whose mother was surely 
a coloratura soprano in a former life.  

This one whose concert halts me spellbound,
turns me to stone (not salt) with his serenade of
couplets, no two the same, some so comical I laugh 
out loud to the absent cars and senseless concrete 
of my parking lot.  He sings and sings, never
abated, nothing by rote, and I? I wait, heart in 
my throat, should he be the songbird from 
under the fig tree, reincarnated. 

Copyright © Nola Perez | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Sister, Sister, Beloved Sister

Sister, sister, life would be awful without my sister,
She is my rock, the voice of reason, my safe harbour;
Not an older sibling but younger, always my anchor,
Oh, she was born with an incredible inner strength.
She possesses all the beautiful qualities of my mother,
When I am ill, it is my sister who holds my hand;
By my side she will always and forever stand,
For me she goes the distance, no matter the length.
She is my soul's deepest love and greatest strength,
I will always listen and depend on her advice;
It is full of wisdom and is usually quite concise,
Mother must be smiling down from her heavenly land.
Through all life's twists and turns we are one,
Oh, the days of childhood play, until the sun was done.

December 19, 2015


For the contest, When Older or Younger Siblings Step In, sponsor, Eve Roper

First Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sibling Poem | |


Pain ~   ~   ~  pain
Invisible swimmer within blood and vein
Barbaric and callous
Dwells within corpuscles
Intrinsic and inescapable
Source of pool of tears
A lunatic clown that impairs muscles
Schizophrenic display when he batters bones
Free from arrests despite his cruelty
He aches with passion; death's sibling
Oh! don't visit me, friends and family
Comfortable one that renders comfortless all who
Smile suppressor; hope vaporizer
Rolling in bed and roars like a lion
Diverter of prayer for wealth desire
"Dear God please give me good health and vigor".

Copyright © Afolabi Muideen | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Christmas Eve

She enters the bedroom and locks the door
A few deep breaths, a precious minute alone
She sighs, takes a moment, to unwind and restore 
A brief chance to re-group... refresh.., tidy her hair....
Her blouse has a splatter, ....what should she wear?
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she closes her eyes, with no one to peek
Lies back, her thoughts swim, easy it would be to curl up and sleep...

A hectic day....they had arrived early in the morning
Like swarms of bees
Buzzing frenetically...dispersed quickly throughout
A tidal wave of activity,
A house, bulging at the seams..
Once again, home for the holidays
The brood...all her chicks and, and the cackle of offspring
Home to roost....

Beyond the closed door, the house is filled with small, distant sounds.
A clatter of dishes from the kitchen, oops sounds like something broken..
Someone is laughing.....someone else is talking politics.. 
Good smells of dinner, and bayberry candles scent the air.
Faint strains of music from the stereo,  Perry Como's joyful voice
One of the children is whining with a yowling fervor that her sibling has pushed her

Okay...time is up, ......she must check on dinner...
Turning out the bedroom light, stepping into the hall....
She stops,...hesitates just for a moment...
"Thank you, Lord...for these sounds, these smells, these precious moments....
Thank you for these many blessings....
Thank you for this most wonderful, happy year....

Thank You"....

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sibling Poem | |


Through time that has past,
I watched my brother grow.
He grew up so fast,
To become the man we now know.
A sibling love is suigeneris,
There for; we become protective.
They are with whom we are the most generous,
And whose words are often the most affective.
It comes from deep inside,
When we wish them the best,
Then consumes us with pride,
As we watch them fulfill that quest.
I knew his search was finally through,
That he had found his true love to embrace.
The first time I saw him with you,
It was written all over his face.
How delightful it is to see him this way,
Clearly your lives were meant to be like this.
So in case I have not told you; just let me say,
I am so proud to have you for a sis!


Copyright © Pamela VanHyning | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Straying Juvenile

My younger sibling, I brought you painfully up,  you brought me "pain"  fully
I myself struggled through  constant hard times, your constant struggling with yourself, hard timed me
I cleared a pathway through life for you, you clearly thought the pathways were lined with gold 
Today I had to repair,  Mums front door, the door you caused to be kicked down yesterday
I love you and will defend you, even when you are wrong, which as you know, you never are
You lost your parents some way back and now it seems you somehow lost your way

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

You cannot mess with men like this, they follow no set rules
Wealth becomes a god to them, they do not suffer fools

I pulled you from a hole today, I pulled you from a hole
The talk was death to stinking thieves, I saved your very soul

You lost your mum and dad so young, is that why you rebel but life is not a one way street, I lost them both as well

You brought me lots of grief tonight, you brought me lots of grief
I brought you up as many things but one was not a thief

I handed back, the things you took, I gave them all right back
The men who stood at mums front door had shot guns in a sack

The offer that they offered me,  was one,  to not refuse
Return the goods the "bastard took"  or read it in the news

If mum and dad were still alive, for this you would pay dear
If mum and dad were still alive, do I make myself clear

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

Copyright © john scott | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sibling Poem | |

My Fallen Brother

White marble stones
Stand proud in the sun
To remember my colleagues
The heroic fallen ones
Many a battle
Many a campaign
Some did return
For some never the same
On the green grass i stand
Blue sky above
The souls of my comrade's
Like peaceful sitting doves
The name on this stone
Reminds me of the day
My best friend and brother
Was taken away
An offensive was launched
Brothers at war
Bunker to take
At the top of a tor
Smoke screen exhausts the view to the hill
As we wind our way through
Zipping bullets, blood spill
Noises of lead, as they rip through the flesh
As we hit the barbed wire
Now a scarlet stained mesh
Objective in sight as we approach our aim
As i hear the groan of the injured
Many dead and maimed
Grenade pin pulled 
Bunker window we lob
Hands sweating
How many lives will we rob
Explosion flash with shouts of pain
As the smoke lifts on this bloody terrain
We enter the Bunker
To witness our task
The enemy lie distorted
Faces grimace, death mask
I turn to my brother, to signal its safe
As a shot rings out, in this theatre place
He stands still for a moment
Eyes glazing and cold
The death of my sibling
At 19 years old
As i open my eyes, and turn to my son
I see what i had, as he holds my grandson
Family values, love and a bond
As i remember my brother
Of whom, i was so fond
I proudly walk past, salute as i go
The white stones standing proud
Peaceful doves in a row
I find my self fortunate to stand here and tell
To talk of my brother, and the fallen as well

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Today is Your Day

Happy is the day a baby is born.
Happy are the parents of a new born.
Happy are the siblings of the new born.
Happy are the relatives to the family.
Happy are friends and well wishers.
Happy is everyone who appreciates God's Gifts.

It is wonderful to experience parenthood.
It is wonderful to experience sibling rivalry.
It is wonderful to have an inclusion to the family.
It is wonderful to have someone to love.
It is wonderful to have someone to love you.
It is wonderful to celebrate procreation.

Today you remember your coming to the world.
Today your parents remember your first word.
Today your siblings rejoice with you.
Today your relatives celebrate with you.
Today friends and well wishers appreciate you.
Today everyone felicitate with you.

Here comes a day for you to be really happy.
Be lost in the celebration of Goodness.

Copyright © Raymond Emeka-Mbah | Year Posted 2007

Details | Sibling Poem | |

I Remember

I remember the day
I heard you died,
I remember just how hard 
that I cried.

My heart ached more
then I felt it could be,
Just by knowing you 
were not here with me.

Even though you have
gone away,
The memories of you 
are here to stay.

You were like a
sibling should be,
Now you are a guardian
angel to me.

Copyright © nicole gagnon | Year Posted 2007

Details | Sibling Poem | |

God's children

Next time you're walking down the street
Don't judge a person by their face or feet
Think of them as God's child like you
Now, how does that change you view?
Look at your opponent in a war
They now look like you standing at God's door
We are all the same on the inside
It is something most of us hide
Sure they may not be that great
But they are not someone to hate
They are God's child just like you
They are you sibling through and through
So don't judge a book by it's cover
Because they are God's child too, like every other...

Copyright © Jen H. | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sibling Poem | |

My Ghetto

I know not of your ghetto

My ghetto came in smiles and spectacles
Hugs and greetings melted sentences 
Stretched in arms injected with word pistol paintings
Wings gestured to fine art the artistic judgments before
tension rose in hair extensions 

In pieces everyone rested in peace
Shovelled down the grounds as they searched 
Meaningful words in poetry
Words in poetry
Words that best described why stomachs rumbled in beat-box none stop
Ghetto fellows followed all fantasies
Speaking the language of anger and sibling promises

Johannesburg please burn your lips as 
you calculate populations in pockets 

Bloody picnics picking pieces in natives 
who danced and strangled peace in pieces
You hold the beauty of promises while sucking souls 
Outta them visitors
Ghetto ratchets 

With no rain 
Tears became our water tab for dry throats spoken in homeless tongues

In darkness Lefifi spoke lighting in his surname
Tladi e bolaya di barrie
Shatale township my Safari 
My ghetto spoke not of ristrettos energizing gold diggers
As you verbalize the energy required in hustles
You know not of the remedy i pledge to plant
In every single poetry session i promise to walk in giant steps
Giving birth to all spoken words saturated by truth  

Scruffy words followed by dirty facial expansions
Expressing the sound of souls taken out one by one
One by one
Expressing the sound of tears orchestrated by feelings
My voice unleashed words incorporating a metal tube driven by sounds 
Phoo Phoo Phoo

Pho Pho Poetry does sense my senses 
Pho Pho Poetry had no ego in our relationship
As i married A4’s with no remorse

My ink came in biceps 
Not to carry your heavy crises
But to speak more news less spices
My ghetto speaks not of prostitution 
For our grannies abused the ground in seeds feeding the unknown 

Get to know me 
Before this words announce me dead from my brain’s third floor 
I fear to fear your fears 
I ask for mercy when you mesmerise value  

Joburg your lights glowed better than my electrified hopes and 
From a distance I smelled opportunity in fat buttocks
My ghetto rose from different surnames as you televised cheating was never a mission 
My last breath will build a city in my ghetto and that’s a vision

In my ghetto
Cemeteries grow hopes in biceps from the seed of buried legends 
Legends that never slept before darkness in your itchy city
As the sound of trumpet was the click pissing bullets

Pissing Bullets Pissing pissing pissing bullets
My ghetto is painted in sounds of your bullets
Shoot my dreams before killing this session

Bloody picnics picking pieces in natives 
who danced and strangled peace in pieces
You hold the beauty of promises while sucking souls 
Outta them visitors
Ghetto ratchets 

(c) Ray

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sibling Poem | |


Poetry is too deep 
I've seen unborn writers struggle to jump holes of poetry written underneath the ground of a writer's palm
Those that propel spoken words over a distance of reality's ocean
Crawling to prove poetry speaks heroic portions 
Chasing baby facts to impress and fax the acts back to paper and pencils
These facts remain boring recited recipes while enemies call a black skin
Food or fools

Back on back with an axe 
Group hugging cracks 
On a black man's full facial facts
Diversity acts in motion 
or a series of such motions selling soft porridge

A down in pitch and up in tone verse rehearsed around the energy of sibling audience selling fired up inspirations 
They know not of
a nation changing reality's versions kneeling in prayer of changes
Preaching abortion to virgins baking babies planted by love's complicated gears 
Fertilized by human resource teachers 
who are less human

Speeding our childhood conversions
Less matured emotions grow unwanted puberty in our nation's tongue 
Speak on top of skillful poetry buildings
Thoughts from a growing feeling bigger than skyscrapers 

Don’t kill yourself if you can’t see the bottom of your poetry 
You have built the longest poetry building all writers are scripting to build 
Its like using a battery when you are already in charge
You speak in charge 
I charge my low esteem estimating charges of a rapist walking free
When I’m less guilty while eating starters in a bin

The thoughts you never clean to remind you poetry is real
Sick or not ill 
Poetry is the Nike of our point of views
We showcase how we walk fumbles in sessions 
In new sneakers of thoughts put together to drop a bomb in multiple point of views
I can kill a slam and walk free in front of a police poetry van 
Armed and covered in hand grenades of poetry speaking remedies and hidden chains

I can kill a slam 
Poetry is too deep
Ears turn a poet's reflection of reality into a weapon of mass distraction 
Instructions flood in our ears drowning sorrows and chances of change
But how do you hashtag lessons to a homeless killer who has never seen Instagram
In grams of kilograms 
Many killed before letters were sent to gain 
classicism by simply dialing apps 

Homeless cats eat in a bin that has always 
been your favorite spot to throw up constructed dreams
A spot for worries to piss dreams away after drinking hope for no reason
Its a map tracking unknown reasons
You'll never know this sh** is too Deep

© Raymond Ngomane

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Ode to Shadow

You are the sibling of Darkness
Only representing all friendliness
but you're mistaken too much
You surround me with a clutch
You hide from liberation
But you somehow form your recreation
You extinguish my fear
and make things very, very clear.

Copyright © Marceleus Menor | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Rules in the eyes of a toddler

If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed, stepped on or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back.
If it is Mommy, must make her dirty
If it is sibling, must slap,kick,and fight.
If it has four legs, must squeeze tight until makes noise
If big person is on phone, must make lots of noise
If tv is not on cartoons, scream until they are
If food is not good, throw it, refuse to eat it and cry until big people give you something good

Copyright © mandy cabral | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sibling Poem | |

Quail not at Death's door if you wrought no wilful harm

Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm

Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Should turning back in vengeance be the Dead Man’s qualm
Though even as the end nears the comfort of proffered pardon
Will in no way replace the sacrifices to expunge the burden

Sure everyone wreaks harm by chance or through ignorance
During those moments when control  depends on circumstance
The way the chips fall is not a matter for individual call
Is not that the way centillions of quarks knock into it all

Do the Dead turn back to set right their splintered houses
Or do the worlds keep spinning guided by original causes
Tell not the man whose wits desert him what’s really wrong
The punishment the Dead incur is a judgement well foregone

He who turns self-righteously around to avenge or to meddle
To set right the world’s injustices in the Manichean treadle
Might earn himself a life’s sentence to roam all over again
Dead people walking numb through friendless terrain

All they may be able to do is to warn you of a fiddle
Of some danger sapping your strength the key to a riddle
Even if friends and relatives who betrayed your confidence
Will cling to spurious justifications ever through repentance

Think not of the lives milling lost in the neck of your clouds
Is there no end to ramifications vilifications in livelihoods
Do the Dead take along with them the history of their lives
And in which distant sibling planet are they stored in archives

If only it were as easy as to look up and wish them all away
What good can this earth be with us all dead in it anyway
Bickering for pieces of molten land pieces of names in decay
Metals and rock on fire hurtling down minuscule Milky Way

What need has the Maker for such a vast and roving Empire
Even children give up playing with trains and coaches on fire
Do the Dead renew passports before entering galactic spaces
Or do they coddle up in comfort in inalienable birth-places

Wouldn’t our world be some thing else but for this baffling secret
The foregone fate of earth-born gods if it weren’t for this regret.

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sibling Poem | |

"My Triple Halloween Limerick"

Example for Limerick Contest 

Ghosts that coast, embody their trustful host
Leave no posts,  they possess the host to roast
   These disembodied souls
   Are angry deranged ghouls 
Bode snatching demons, one’s life they engross.

Halloween’s treat where they accomplish feat
Children sweet, want only candy to eat
   May we all watch our children 
   Having no bewildering
Safeguarding thus our Halloweens so neat!

Hello! I’m beautiful and very sweet
Please gimme your candy snickers to eat
   I am an angel’s sibling 
   I only want a nibbling 
I only want a sweet, not ghoul’s mistreat!!

Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sibling Poem | |


Life for me began from an angry seed; mom was only 14 years old when she was raped. She was told to abort or give this child up for adoption that no good would come of this. I am here because she fought to keep me. One sad part of all of this was her younger brother died a few years earlier, his death broke her heart. Mom's little brother was the only one in her family with blond hair and blue eyes.  Mom’s eyes were hazel and sometimes green. After I was conceived, she would get on her knees to pray, she prayed that she would have a boy with blond hair and blue eyes, like her brother. Before I was born, she was told I was a girl because of my heart rate—this was before ultrasound.  I am a boy and the only sibling of my family with blond hair and blue eyes; mom gave me the name of her brother, Edward.

So what does life mean to someone who was a mistake, someone that almost did not know life.  Well, we are all products of our experiences and those before us. If we just look at our hands, the blood flowing in those veins have a history, a history more important than any one of us as a single person, and at some point in life each of us will become part of our history. I was taught that honor and integrity were one of the most important gifts in life that once you lose those things, they are lost forever.

I am hopelessly devoted to the one I love. When I look into her eyes, I get lost. She is my best friend in life and she is my wife--pretty cool, right? Looking back, life can be complicate, and sometimes it leaves us with tough challenges, but when you get knocked down, you get back up, we owe that to all those before us. The glue that binds all of us in life begins with love…without love what do we have. My heart believes people in life deserve a chance, we are all one race, the human race, and that is how I see life socially.

We tend to put people into boxes, but I feel only those individuals who are willing to use their minds without prejudice, and without fear while in the process of figuring things out, and while at the same time understanding they may be wrong when they figure those things out....those are the only ones who are truly free. 

So for me life is a gift; each morning when I awake is a present, a present of life. I look over to my wife and I see another present, and my children and grand children are presents. When one steps outside you find other presents, there is harmony in life. There is purpose for all I see, well, except I feel like a visitor, disconnected, but I still embrace life—I am thankful for each moment that is given. The scents, the colors, and intricacies of our planet is truly breath taking, beautiful. Yet, there is something else, maybe magic in the sense there are a few souls I have encountered that I feel their presence with no explanation. So as I look to the stars at night in amazement appreciating the beauty in all I see, I wonder how many in history before me looked up and asked, why? 

Edward J Ebbs - 02/07/2015
Written for Contest: "What Life Means To Me" for Jerry T. Curtis

Copyright © Edward Ebbs | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sibling Poem | |


When I was called little brother, 
I smiled.
It meant I have an elder sibling.
One from whom I could learn,
To discern,
Between Light and Dark.

What about the Grey?

Only a few would about the grey; 
Even fewer, 
Perhaps none
Would even begin to aspire,

Is grey the divider?

What is a divider?
A partition,
A separation, 
A barrier.

In essence a carrier,
Of both dark and Light;
Having both thane sight!

The grey is never contrite,
It does and will do on sight!!!

Come with your purported might!
Unseen seen chaos,
These are my instruments,
Your might;;; 
Will be eaten as sacrements.

For continual human growth within, 
Mistakes rectified by the elder or role model;
Taught the current crop must be,
Lessons are as seeds;;; 
Planted into our mother, 
Blending with Earth, Water and Sun,
The seed transmutes and soon the seed has had its fun,
A plant is now the end product.

We humans are also ever transforming,
Perhaps not as apparent as natural beauty forming,

But what is natural beauty?

What is beauty?

Random randominity is beauty natural,
Random beauty is natural randominity,
Natural randominity is random beauty,
Beautiful randominity randoms naturally,

In essence;
Culturally cultural.

Not an over-spill,
Providence shines.
Understanding and comprehension,
In succession,
For thee. 

The trick however is to pass on that understanding and comprehension.
But how do you do that?
When most of the generation is tuned to the Playstation!
Violent games evocating the continuation
Of our disgusting violent nation.

Perhaps attempt to not scold or tell;
Allow thane actions to speak wonders,
As an undiscovered well.

Keep the resonance of thane bell,
Perhaps another revolutionary,
Your prodige has to be selectant,
Of his student, his confectionary.

Without this passing down of knowledge,
We all might as well eat the most poisonous berry.

Copyright © Chad Greef | Year Posted 2013