Creation Brother Poems

These Creation Brother poems are examples of Creation poems about Brother. These are the best examples of Creation Brother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |
Reflections of imperfections have shown me a way that I can move mountains through my power of faith even though I can't see him I know he is real through the power of prayer and a Love that I feel It's growing inside me like a flower in bloom shall I reveal my powers or is it too soon I am reading the signs through my darkness I find a reason for belief in the light of mankind that I know shall overcome the greatest of odds the Love I seek amazes me especially through the flaws because now I am inspired through the hero's that bring my throne through the darkness on which I return on as your King.

Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013




Details | Lyric |
I got mad. Didn't know how to use my energy. So I made this song on the piano. I want to sing it with my brother when he's better. I hope he does get better soon. 
Dedicated to David. Just been so angry lately. And so sad. . .

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Verse I: (David) I was alone What can I say? I was lost Couldn't pray I was trapped In their games I regret it Everyday Verse II: (Laura) I was jaded By my sin Never sweated Anything Couldn't sleep Couldn't dream I was scared Of everything Chorus: (David) Within me lies a battle A war I just can't fight alone Can you hear me now? Will you hear me out? Before I lose the struggle I'm begging for some help right now We need to take a stand I need to be a man Laura: Your heart is in my hand Both: (You) I will not fight alone Verse IV: (David) I'm losing faith Can't find the way Can't erase The things I say I see the world Instant pain! If I'm anything I'm insane Verse V: (Laura) Don't talk that way! Just look at me! You are stronger Then I'll ever be! I pulled you in I pushed you free I was foolish Please come back to me Chorus: (David) Within me lies a battle A war I just can't fight alone Can you hear me now? Will you hear me out? Before I lose the struggle I'm begging for some help right now We need to take a stand I need to be a man Laura: Your heart is in my hand Both: (You) I will not fight alone Within me lies a battle A war I just can't fight alone Can you hear me now? Will you hear me out? Before I lose the struggle I'm begging for some help right now We need to take a stand I need to be a man Laura: Your heart is in my hand We'll never fight alone Never Fight Alone

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Is It God We Trust? Or Leave In the Dust? As our courts remove God from this great nation. We are left with a confused and lost generation! As God is taken away from our public schools. A huge tide of immorality is what “rules.” The Bible is often mocked and discarded. It was on it’s principles this country was started! Just about anything of God seems to get scorned. So many “rush” to worship many ungodly forms. As God’s name is often tossed and thrown out. We tend to forget what HE is all about! Too often, his plans for living are tossed and abused. No wonder, there’s many who are lost and confused! As people forget God and worship the fallen creature. They look to themselves and “glorify” their features. Many ignore God, and get involved in deep addictions. And with this, come disease, heartache and afflictions! As God looks and sees this nation “bleeding.” It’s his righteousness, that we need to be seeking! If we would humble ourselves, he would hear our prayer! He loves all of us! And he really does care! Won’t you come to HIM, And invite him in? Won’t you allow him to be your master and friend? He brings strength and nourishment to the soul! It’s only in him that we can be made whole! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013




Details | Free verse |
The tags are labels placed on a table.
Beginning with A and ending with Z, the labels placed on the table enables me to readings.
I defeated being judgmental and did not become analytic.
My mind is a schema.

The stems are roots ending.
Argumentative are the colors exploding.
White becomes mixed and black is a misted.
Meaning is that both are within an element.

The bags that I carry appear to be heavy but they are not.
They are held many ways so that my arms will not tire.
I walk with a slight lean to my shoulder because my purse must strap.
I arch upright like a cat.

The stems rooted and garlic is scape.
The railroad track is the shortcut we take.
The blood is enriched and the heart strengthens.
Once grown, he knows life ascertains.

Pulling back the curtains, he views the beautiful garden planted by his beloved mother.
The clothes in this bag I will wash completing my chores for today.
Once done, I will leave to find something to enhance my life.
I feel agitated and I must relax.

Tomorrow will be one of the best days in time.
The stem is a broken root.
It uses or loses its route to new growth.
The knowledge it provides is wisdom to the planter.

                                   The stem asks the question of why did this happen.

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose |
Writing about daisies roses rainbows and waterfalls helped me
Escape the madness of the city LIFE.  The JUNGLE. 
Whenever I wished to return I laid my pen down and
Anticipated the next siren.  So...

I laid back and reminisced for most of the day. Now, time for
Concrete and asphalt.  Cement and metal fire escapes.  I
Screamed more times than not with every passing siren.
I wanted to admire  the faults in the pavement  close up.  I
Missed  NEW YORK when I stayed  half the Summer at my
Aunt's  place in Brunswick, Georgia.  So I've  been away for
A while,  just My style.

In this aisle!  That's my CHILD! My mother screamed in the 
Local SUPERMARKET with her thick Caribbean accent.  It seemed
As though her voice boomed  through every aisle in the 
Market.  She would  search the security monitors  when ever I
Wasn't at her side.
YEAH,  I'm   pretty regular  now.
Not  versatile anymore at all. 

I dance SMALL.  EXQUISITE.  I've had about enough of
This.  O.k let me  entertain you."  I'll put. On a skit."  Then
I said " I know. Look out of the window.  I'm going down 
Stairs to dance barefoot!!"
If you danced barefoot  You're sure to Gather a huge crowd.
"I HOPE they throw money at me."

Dressed in Jean shorts and a new green T-shirt,  she 
Pursued her money making scheme.
I was thankful for that summer.
9 years old and bored in NYC.
IT'S  only a matter of time before I found trouble.
Little child running WILD with brick feet.

I had to get their attention.
"This here Is about to be a  TREAT!!"
A teenager had a boom box with him.
"Hey  yeah, that sounds nice. Turn that up"
He increased  the volume as high as the sky.

She tapped her feet listening for the beat.
A slightly raised portion of the stoop was her stage.
Before  anyone knew it she whipped the crowd with 
The NAE  NAE for at least 8 to 10 minutes and the
Crowd grew as they oohed and aahed.

Someone in the crowd asked her what her name was.
"Licia."  She smiled breathlessly.
"My name's Licia", she repeated.

They responded just as she hoped they would.
They threw money at her.
Yeah! She danced more and heard the excitement of her cousins
Racing down the stairs to her aid.
That was fly LICIA.
No one ever called her Val, her first name.
FANTASTIC!! When ever we.
 Needed money all we had to do was dance.
Sometimes my identical twin cousins 
Damian and  Dezrah joined me.

That was a little adventure.

THEY bounded the  stairs swiftly, anxious for an accurate count.
That was it she had a rep now.
Her three cousins cheered her as they entered the 
Apartment still the only ones home.

She lived with her mother. A nurse at the local 
Hospital.
She wouldn't be home until twelve tonight.
The four of them sat on the bed counting what looked
A bit like bank robbery stash.
It was $137 and 50¢

Copyright © VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |
I wager a million on these cocoons in its pupa stage.
        That this butterfly flutters by rapidly.
The wings will fluster in a pause as beauty is seen.
        The psychedelic colors will be astounding.
She will sat on my shoulder as an eagle does
        bringing all her brothers and sisters filled with love.
I will embraced this for four days and then, I will provide them an escape.
        Sweet release!

I wager a million on this cocoon in its pupa stage.
        I will enjoy this recreation once again until it phases.
__________________________________________|
Penned on May 19, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | ABC |
 As we stalk the forest,
in search of food,
are means of hunting,
can be very crude,
we work together,
as a team,
sometimes we even,
cross a stream,
on the trail,
of a mighty mule deer,
getting caught,
is our worst fear,
for once we had,
a hefty bounty,
in every north western county,
are packs we once,
so strong and tough, 
but our survival rate,
is getting rough.

Copyright © RobieLynn Collins | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days

Emund is busy
preparing his
dance-floor for
partners who’ll put
him to the test. 
His pedigree line
has proven with time

that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
call.
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay; 
there is not enough
food for them all. 

They dip and they
weave as they mingle
together knowing
that each has a
chance 
With his reputation,
there is no
hesitation; 
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
arrival, ‘It’s
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin. 
Others move to the
side as he leaves
them mid-stride 
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.

With sensuous,
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
in time. 
He matches her mood.
His movements are
smooth 
as they twist and
twirl in their
dancing mime.
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
ending. 
With steps that are
light he glides to
the right, 	
he meets her, bows
deeply, head
bending.
 	
Emulena says,
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
anew.
It matters not
whether we all stay
together,
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
do naturally 
to deliver these in
your own way.”

After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
more.
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
threes, 
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
green shell.
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect, 
so with care he
covers every one
well.

He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
some showers.
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure 
as he, turns each
egg every three
hours.
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
prowls near-by; 
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.

The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
batch. 
This egg will be
food for his hungry
brood; 
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
hatch.
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
morning.
He’ll sit day and
night until the
time’s right.
He knows, that time
comes without
warning.

to be continued...

Copyright © J Eliza JAMES | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? |
We had lived perfectly and sin free until Satan influenced eve and the fruitfulness of this world turned sour.
    We had lived endlessly and did not know death until cain killed abel and the plant of life died.
    We had lived in peace in our cities until sodom burnt and gomorah fell and the sculptures of life turned into ashes.
    We had lived in harmony with our brothers until Joseph was sold out and water became thicker than blood.
    We all thought we could give up on anything until the trial of Job and the event of jonah.
    We all thought we had trusted followers until 30 pieces of silver turned iscariot to a Judas and the bond of friendship shattered.
    We all thought we were equal until moses divided the sea and peoples's faces turned red.
    We all thought we could do whatever we liked until noah built an ark and sinners witnessed what they dint like.     
    We all thought we would die in hardship until suratul inshirah was revealed and relief came after hardship.

Copyright © Abdulrasheed Ijaodola | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose |
MIGHTY is the fire in the heart of the CREATOR.
THE ONE.
He has created us all.
The weaker, the strongest.
The famous and defamed

Ones of  wonderous  TALENTS.
STREET hustlers and the greedy merchants.
MIGHTY is the fire which  CRACKLES
Beneathe my feet.
Which causes my path and arrows 
To be STRAIGHT.

MIGHTY is the fire which draws a single
Roaring  BEACON OF steady nourishing 
STREAMS OF  DREAMS ON DAYS OF DARKNESS.
A concise, precise  AIM  of GOLDEN  GOALS.
GOALS OF  bold  and golden  dreams Of
ROADS  

OF rows and rows of  WELCOMING HOMES.
MIGHTY  IS THE FIRE  that BURNS,
That crosses and. BLINDS  ENEMIES  with 
ITS  smoke and  wrath with  PAINFUL HEAT.
The heart of  the CREATOR  is FUEL  of the FLAME 
OF Fire  which never  BURNS  OUT..

BROTHERS AND SISTERS  you are  NEVER  ALONE!!
KNOW  YOUR  HOME.

Copyright © VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
like it  or not
we're one knot
same head
our bloods all red
no matter what corlor
tell all others
WE'RE
SISTER AND BROTHER

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014

Details | Classicism |
STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander
Far from the commoner way;
Old-time trills and falls by the hill-side still do I ponder,
as my strides coursing through the streaming waters,
Dreaming to-morrow to-day.

Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo,
Measures descanted before;
Since in timeless verses, I must follow,
Prints in the marbles of ancient folk-lore.

Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested,
Songs for the brain to forget -
Young song-birds elate to grave old temples be-nested
Piping and chirruping yet.

Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter
Trammeled so vilely in verse;
Even if its for a while,
He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter,
Won with a groan and a curse.
Of course, We still love to rhyme..

Copyright © Scott Robinson | Year Posted 2014