Miss Juliette trips the light fantastic
To temporary, temporal, tempo clocks
Pirouettes and dips, like spun elastic
In her bustles and bows and bobby socks
A whirlybird, a wonder, a wisp of the wind
Tippy-toeing to tantalize her toes
Spinning and grinning, unaware of the wind
Tippy-toe tapping to where the wind blows
Maybe I've never been enough for you,
On the occasion you speak the truth,
My heart gets broken over and over again.
Maybe if I looked like her,
Of course we would only know if I were,
Maybe that would make it harder to leave.
My heart goes out to those like me,
Others who feel like they can't breath,
Muddled by the presence of a wicked thing.
Maybe one day I'll get out,
Out of the darkness there's no doubt,
My spirit will be free and you will have no hold on me.
I woke too soon, a life almost undone
A sudden call came, before the light of day
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Her life was spared, before the morning sun
She was okay, I heard her softly say
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
No tragic end, no race was lost or run
Three lives affected, dark clouds rolled away
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Thank heaven, no journey to the setting sun
I simply whispered a thanks today
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
A precious chance, a new life has begun
There is a future, no more than delays
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
Startled I still have my daughter; beloved my only one
My fears all faded, at the break of day
I woke too soon, to a life almost undone
But all are safe, the reaper had not won
It's difficult to define a father precisely
So, let's imagine how a father would be
A father may be figuratively similar to these:
A starting point, a fulcrum, a roof, a piece of land
A mountain, a sky, a star, a beam of sunshine
A lamp, a mirror, a book, a guide,a set of minds,
...
I reckon a father can be similar to each of them
if he is viewed from different perspectives
However, fatherhood will not be fairly defined
If all the pieces above aren't yet combined ?
It's a far reaching stretch,
Large people has flooded in,
I am not alone,
My father has held my brothers hand pretty strong;
As he makes the path in between
I too am catching up ,
A carnival is yet to come
Huge creatures approached
as we stood in front .
Loud drums and hustling crowd
papa speaks to his friends around ,
But I did see his one hand still held
By that little guy on the ground,
Through a distance ,
there was this white eyed, black teeth shabby clothed crow like guy
Running right at the crowd ,
Wherever he went , people gasped.
And As he was approaching ,
I already took a few steps back
He came right at my brothers face,
And He curled up to my father's legs
leaving everyone awestruck
Then restoring to our places ,
People laughed .
It's a far reaching stretch,
Life is filled with strange people
I am not alone ,
But I too would love
To hold my father's hand .
Warmer than the summer sun
Softer than the breeze
Sweeter than a rose in bloom
My mother’s all of these’s .
My mother always stood by me
Throughout my childhood years
She would always be around me
If I would shed a tear.
She would always pick me up
No matter when I fall
Because the love of my mother
Is the strongest love of all.
Yes , mothers are God’s angels
She is my angel too
That’s why I love her so much
And miss her loving touch.
An Angel,
How could you breathe life into someone so twisted, rotten to the core?
A Beauty,
How can something that came from you be so ugly, inside and out?
A Queen,
A calamity your face sits on a peasant, so unworthy of your image.
A Warrior,
How can an offspring of yours be this weak and pathetic?
A Champion,
A shame you bore a loser that is always defeated, giving nothing but disgrace.
A Saint,
How come something that's supposed to be of you have turned out so viscous, cruel and unkind?
But the real question is,
How can someone as perfect as you beget a monster like me?
I take
her hand in mine
and guide her down the street.
Will my daughter take my hand too, one day?
left alone
icy breeze
not enough
of clothes
homeless
in this cold,
he spits
his venom,
you're
no
daughter
of mine
anymore.
Chases
his
little
girl
with
clinched
of fists.
Now
she
feels
more
alone,
left
with
little
credit
on her phone....
my mommys love was a loves room I knocked until my Knuckles bruised.
she taught me Silence like a bed time song, and bitterness in breakfast.
Her hugs were shark -skin
smooth if you dont move
but alisia moved
alisia always moved
She gave me her tired
like a hand-me down sweater
too tight in the chest
loose in the soul.
I learned to fold myself
like laundry she forgot in the
washer.
I wanted her wanting
but sne wanted drugs.
I wasent the drugs was
he child and i needed
her but
She needed them.
Now I carry mommy
In my Jaw in
in dreams
In the way I panic in someone
Says "mommy”
by alisia bentley
With soft touch of hands
mother smooths creases of fear—
folding in embrace
touching quivering candle
fingers humming haunting hymns
Love requires no hands
it invents its own language—
wing, beak, paw and lick
a body curled up to care
whispers —'you're safe'
Whales cuddle up close
dolphins ring rosy halos
seals seek safe harbors
penguins bow against the wind
birds soothe with beaks and feather
Love without fingers
a current that wraps and lifts
a tide unbroken
it cradles the heart within
steadies the faltering steps
Such love needs not touch—
it listens, watches, imbibes
hovering in care
joining two hearts together
with spirit of motherhood
4 am
fishing hole magic
I am with my daddy
catfish, bass and bluegills are calling our names
we are the only ones alive
Did you hear about the rose
that bloomed in Harlem-
through concrete cracks, through chaos,
through prayers gone thin in steam?
A winter rose
shouldn’t bloom in this blaze-
but you, baby girl, unfold anyway.
Concrete beneath you,
sirens above,
a million ghosts whispering tough love.
You glide past bodegas and busted swings,
past aunties hollering from painted stoops,
past brothers pacing—palms tight with truth.
I watch your curls bounce down One-One-Four,
your laugh a lavender miracle,
soft, sure,
still surviving-
thriving-
in a garden that forgets to welcome
delicate things.
Still, I worry-
that the city might carve its name
into your softness
before you know
you are sacred.
That the sidewalk might swallow you
before you burst.
But Wynter,
you are no damsel,
no flower waiting for rescue.
You are named for frost,
raised in fire,
rooted in rhythms older than this street.
You rise with sunlight,
spin storms into dance,
and grow wild-
like you’ve always known
you could.
Shut the door to the purple and bruised
in the dark like an old dog and a bone
refuses the water too and a stew.
cooked to be so deliciously....
but her old bones are given
and stubborn of weakness,
I just need you to drink
and to eat something...
There's another of black of visions
I can hear the ravens and the pigeons,
after the flooring of my subtle empathy
and an old friend loses her grips
as that damn kitchen sink drips
I can't go with them to the Vets
as you are and will be everything.
I protected my little girl
its down, in so much hell,
when it pelts so much hail
and a dummy for sale,
that I refuse with......
a shore with a dead whale
of a protagonist...
and how I feel I failed
with a reality of no twisted,
just random of lists flicked
and I'm alone in Oblivion.
I'll be free to kind-ness of daisies
gently trembling through the void,
and the softness of held hands
which are offering raisins,
without a trick of quicksand.
There's seeds that has a need
of watering & the showering,
Grows into roses with its thorns
defense mechanism vulnerability
can be sweet and leave you torn.
A mother cradles her newborn
and will show her teeth
if you interrupt her breath
into her child's new lungs,
and a simple harmony sang
She's now a bee to become....
Specific Types of Daughter Poems
Read wonderful daughter poetry on the following sub-topics:
birthday, son, forgive me, growing up, father to, inspirational, missing my, mother to, sweetheart, proud of my, i love my
and more.
Definition | What is Daughter in Poetry?