Creation Dad Poems

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

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Details | Quatrain |
We walked on the beach, just Daddy and me, And looked for shells in the sand. We found a starfish holding tight to a rock Then we walked down the beach holding hands. He showed me where clams had made holes in a stone; We watched how the waves filled a pool. Then he told me all about fish and such things And he joked, "Even they go to school." We ran from the waves and made castles of sand. And talked about Jesus awhile. I could tell how Dad loved him, Jesus I mean, From the tear in his eye, and his smile. We climbed to the top of a really high cliff To watch the sun hide in the sea. Then daddy told me, "Of all that God made, His greatest creation was me." All God’s Creations By: Dean Wood 7/24/2017 Quatrain 1st Place END JULY STANDARD CONTEST Sponsor: Brian Strand

Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017




Details | ABC |
Sorrow is my companion now,
Why do you tears your drowsy?
The happiness you have received,
The realization of the world of sorrow.

Life has listened to me,
Why do you co-exit?
Love you all,
We all hate hatred.

Sorrow is my companion now,
Why do you tears your drowsy?


Everyone broken my heart,
Why do you do me love?
Why do you want us everything?
We have given everything to us only punishment.

Sorrow is my companion now,
Why do you tears your drowsy?
The happiness you have received,
The realization of the world of sorrow.

Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Dear little Red Rocking Chair
crafted by Daddy's hands
it's weaved top so weathered and worn
soon I will pass it on
Dear little Red Rocking Chair

Tammy Reams Contest sponsored by: Nette Onclaud  Titled: A Prized Refrain
8/4/2015   no.4- Rocking Chair

Copyright © TAMMY REAMS | Year Posted 2015




Details | Acrostic |
 UNSUPPORTED CODE 

Once God was in crafting mood,
He had to gift something precious to the world.
And the Imagination Bee had gone far to play.
The God was blank.

So he took the strength of a mountain,
The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of a summer sun,
The calm of a quiet sea,
The generous soul of nature,
The comforting arm of night,
The wisdom of the ages,
The power of the eagle's flight,
The joy of a morning in spring,
The faith of a mustard seed,
The patience of eternity,
The depth of a family need.

Then the God combined these qualities.
And there was nothing more to add.

He looked at it,
And knew His masterpiece was complete.

He called it ... Dad,
And sent it on Earth.

 UNSUPPORTED CODE

Copyright © Panchatapa Chatterjee | 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 | Rhyme |



My Old Man

I don’t believe in miracles
Santa Clause and such
Only wish it all were true
I wouldn’t ask for much

For if truth were only known
we all would live in fear
How close one need to toe the line
what dangers could be near

Ignorance is bliss of course
remember childhood days
My own God was called father
with no one else to praise

Copyright © Eric Davies | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse |

Blond girl on a wheelchair
Eleanor. Motor Neurone her destiny
Purple eyes looking up to the hill terrain
From the shade of her preferred tree

Immobile limbs, travelling dreams
Silent thoughts flowing with the east wind
Up to the peaks scented of amber beams
Pine trees’ branches caressing her forefront rim

Silver rivers from the hill cuddling 
Her naked feet into watery whirls 
Perfumed petals from sycamores enfolding 
A pale and dreaming face of brave dreams

Eleanor. The storyteller, the princess of visions
Impossible to grasp the wind with aching hands
Mind flying to a remote story of Fairy Zinc and Elf Arians
Fiddlers playing with the branches of the Sycamores’ band 

Notes dropping as roses on Eleanor’s knees
Now singing to the sparrows her torment 
Of inelastic limbs and the joy of her free spirits
Finally galloping on the veil of Fairy Zinc fervent

While Elf Arians was inebriating her senses with spices 
Fairy Zinc brought her to a castle of dances and songs and doves
Eleanor’s melody was heard by the trees and sparrows and dragonflies
And by her mother from behind with tearful and silent love

Finally, the last sunbeam, and her flight, higher and higher
Reaching clouds, joining birds, galloping hills, swimming rivers
Walking proudly into woods, mountain peaks, cuckoo birds, 
The fairy, and the elf, and the vanishing sun 

And then… the deep sleep… her deep sleeps
A pinecone dropping into her basket of crayons 
For her friends, a case of drawings and heartily rhymes 
Mom pushing the wheelchair of the princess of dreams 

“Good night my dear. Sleep well for mom Zinc.
Dad Arians will cuddle your legs and stretch your arms
As the doc said, I have a warm soup for your pain.
Don’t be sad, all your beloved are here”

Eleanor. The princess of dreams
Storyteller, with a basket of poetries and birds
Immobile limbs, mobile spirit and wits 
Joy of mom Zinc and dad Arians

Copyright © Carlo Lazzari | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
A Horse and ale 

The brewery had many horses to carry crates of beer
around to small shops and each horse and its driver was assigned a route
The horse I liked was shiny black it had been used for funerals before
but over the years got a bit broad hipped and stomach heavy. 
The horse knew the route and stopped outside the grocer`s and waited while 
the driver unloaded crates of beer.
The horse sometimes had an erection thinking of a favourite mare a bit
strange animals only know one way and askew foreplay 
The driver usually had a bottle of beer at each shop and when 
the round was done he was in a merry mood and sometimes fell asleep but
the horse knew the way. 
After unharnessing the beast, he brushed its coat checked the hooves and
for the horse, the highlight of the day, gave it a big slice of bread.
So long ago there had been a devastating war Jews immigrated to Palestine
and got a piece of land they called Israel, we believed what the papers said 
the persecuted people deserved a homeland we did not reflect that it was.
A historic injustice had befallen the Palestine people and echo that will not 
stop before the real Semites get their land back 

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

Details | ABC |
if you were my friend
and loved me so
you won't kill me but kill my soul
just like me other friend killed 
loved me so
but deep, deep down
he killed my soul
~Justin Fields

Copyright © Justin Fields | Year Posted 2016

Details | Blank verse |
On reading Der Spiegel 
 In Kashgar where the 
The Silk Road begins
 I a bought 
An apricot
From a woman who wore 
A red shawl
Over her black hair
 Knotted under
Her chin 
And a yellow silk dress
Kashgar the biggest
Outdoor market
In the world 
Europe is so puny 
And far away
A new silk road 
Is being built 
Pipelines and trains
Expanding trade
For China 
Ok, as long as they sell 
Apricots 
At the market place
In Kashgar 

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haiku |
Sea foam wash my feet:
Let me sink into the earth
My heels then my toes

Gentle breeze kiss me
So I may feel your majesty,
Whisper in my ear

He rests on a stone
Awaiting to join the sea-
I love you Dad

Copyright © Ijm seven | Year Posted 2017

Details | Blank verse |
I've played part
Part for part - next, you wonder? 
Don't wonder ; for the excesses of night! 
Quite a candour, our mingle was.

These battles, I've tales to tell for!
The creamy, basking sunset cools, off the air...

Dominus Vobisvum! 
Et cum spiri tu tuo!

Innocence was this cry- 
Pre-empted by a cry- a cry for freedom!
For Padre et Madre welcomes - innocent 
Padre - experience we pray for? Yes!
Sweet mother's world is a blessing to view

Innocence, a moment we wish for...
Innocence, a life I desire once again

Oracles must bow,
Giants must pay allegiance to your fleet 
Legends must pay respect
Generals must salute ,
For once cum many, 
Innocence is born. 

Copyright © Babafemi Yinka Olubodun | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
My Dad is awesome in every little way
He is my Super Hero mighty, strong, fierce and unstoppable.

My Dad is my only Hero
He has charisma and charm.

When he walks the whole world trembles
My Dad is a King.

He is the only one
His name is uttered from nation to nation.

My Dad cannot be broken
He is a legend.

He is talked about in tales
His stories are no exaggeration.

My Dad is the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost
My Dad is the true and the ultimate one.

Copyright © Patricia Garcia Howard Bramble | Year Posted 2017

Details | Blank verse |
Oh, I’m so tired it is hurting me
endless wars and commentators commenting
along the line of their conviction or 
the think-tank that pays them.
I long for the autumn colours north of Portugal
a place to heal abused body and
a soul full of distress
I will go for a week or two, drive there myself 
and stop when it pleases me.
In the evening at a small hotel I will drink red wine
with my meal, facing away from the TV;
lovely food up north and gentle people.
Algarve where I live has become too hectic with impatient 
people buzzing me wanting to go home
to see about wars or football.
Yes, for sure I will go in September and not forget
the camera to record what I saw.  

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |
 Syria`s Children 

He sat down to write a poem for nature
When he closed his eyes and saw bombed out buildings
Rain dripping from wrecked concrete onto 
The street where it formed a muddy pool but that
 Didn`t stop the children playing captains of the deep sea
Another bomb fell and obliterated this harsh idyll
What was left was mist and fire where it once had been
A muddy puddle.

His pleasant poem about a track and olive roots trying
To trip him up, the shepherd, his dog, and sheep coming
His way the good small of wool like an obscenity today
And did little to assuage his fear for the future.

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Blank verse |
Morpheus`s Kiss 
I knew something was up, the love of my life 
Was there smiling we were together again?
But I was dragged into a deeper sleep one
That has no morning exit; my sister called me
Tried to pull me into this dream I resisted
With all my might I called out to the night but
No one heard me the Morpheus embrace 
Would not let me go, in anxiety, I threw myself 
On to the floor, this woke me up, I was free of 
A powerful pull, the lonely had tried to drag me 
Into their endless night, I had won but didn`t dare 
To go back to sleep again made a cup of coffee 
Waited to hear the cock`s caw and saw Dawn`s light
 Sending a message of a new day.

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Move thy feet to me 
Let us dance to the rhythm of our hearts; 
Go to the oblivion cold spring of guilty roads and selfish love. 
And drink the cup of our undying passion; 
Could this be our last dance? 
For our hearts know the reasons why.. for the second chance; 
Before the phantom of dishonest morning dies: 
Come! be with me my Poseidon.. 
 Listen to the unheard melodies of the blue Jay; 
A mind can forget, though it's questioning.. 
 And a heart can remember, despite it's aching. 
Weep must not we for sunset, 
And have the Last dance!

Copyright © Rocell Grace Aranas | Year Posted 2017

Details | Romanticism |
with noticeable burgeoning bosom in the offing, ahoy
this baby faced blubbery bosom beastie boy
fast becoming a bra man,
and might hire himself out
as a male wet nurse for employ

ment, cuz when stark naked on shark tank,
I behold two bopping, brewing, busting
flap jacks in search of a frying pan,
which change in my physiognomy doth annoy
but, suddenly spurring,

this ordinarily calm, cool, and collected chap
positing even a more radical income idea
changing ma name to Chester, letting hooters
get suckled, though,
methinks they qualify as milk duds

tit two siamese twin guys christened ell and roy
offering accompanied with serving of cookies,
where adipose floppy blimps
rank popular as novel cheap toy

where art though washboard stomach,
where brestworks didst sprout
as if overnight a markedly increased
from flat “Joe” six pack chest did an about
face, with squishy, mushy, and doughy
sprang up without doubt

suddenly forcing a sexual identity crisis,
which freaky phenomenon makes me wanna pout
for weird, wicked woebegone
affects the psyche of this lviii aged lout
wondering what other transitions,

this fellow may indeed be on the look out
feigning to traverse (in me mind) badgering
rugged hormonal secretion terrain akin to a girl scout
on the prowl targeting a peeping tom,
whose foolery demands clout,

thus this imposed unfair punishment,
as some half assed irreversible decree
maybe hints of other surprises,
yet tubby revealed, which haint no fallacy
possibly being brewed up by a brood

of bruiting imps of the pervert with glee
some bot sized microscopic
anti bosom buddy hood stolen the genetic key
analogous to a pesky malware,
virus, trojan horse secrete lee

scheming to transform the sexual identity of me
perhaps waking up tomorrow minus
my little peppy penis , and behold a pussy
should such an outcome prevail,
where media papparazzi

stake out this freak of nature re:
doubling efforts erecting fortifications
in a big old sassy tree,
especially if the press
(i.e. particularly meaning Wikileaks)
discovers ability to experience infinite orgasms
converting sexual predilection into electric utility.









Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ballade |
a boon against strife 
wool worth effort and propensity 
to revel qua biological miracle re: said offspring 
did inadvertently teach me lessons of life 

to cherish and savor each giggle, laughter and smile 
amidst cramped apartment plus feeling 
discombobulated frustration bubbling rife 
introducing yours truly 
to tha hen pecked moody blue wife.

pockmarks can vouchsafe this un beak able trait
from spouse, who need not be lambasted 
on account of increased weight. 

Like a human bobbing sponge youngest progeny 
absorbed auditory/ visual multitude 
within each axon and neuron of that infantile sensory 
“sir” kit board aware at a tender young age 
how she struggled to string words together 
to convey a mood 

predilection with language impediment 
possibly passed thru umbilical rip cord. 
No idea thru combination of genetics and biology 
that burnished beautiful lass oof an offspring 
wrought a smart girl, an apple of the eye 
per this father who never thought 
thru attempts at conception sought

supremely melded genes, he thought 
loves labors last, t’would come 
to naught delivered us an artistic, 
intrinsic, linguistic lass 
who for no price can be bought
though someday, a young lad will take a fancy 
(as ought to be the path of biology)
and hoop fully brings ye happiness 
for your remaining lifetime
with a numeral 
(following a number from one to nine) 
with many an aught! 

TOO LOVE YOU MY DEAR SHANA - 
MORE THAN THIS SHABBY POEM 
CAN CONVEY, WHICH...
UPON ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND - 
ABOVE GIBBERISH JA PROBABLY 
WILL PROBABLY RAISE ARMS UP 
IN DESPAIR UTTERING OYE VAY! 

 








Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | ABC |
When my body shall lie still
Like a fallen wooden idol 
And all the air gone from my nostril
When I shall be planted, never to stir 
 And my body enriching the soil
Don’t cry for me

I’ m now a salient silent hero
Whose adversaries have fizzled to zero
Gone where my spirit is pleased
Wander in wonders is the deceased 
A call to reap and to rest
I did my deeds all at my best
Don’t cry for me

I only humble to the irrevocable law
Dying for new seeds to grow
Death is better than a bad in-law
Fill the air with the scents of joy
With sweet wines full your jaw 
Let the bongo drums beat out loud and never jeer 
Don’t cry for me

Death is as jealous as a lover
I’m rich, but never a briber
But let my epitaph be written in your heart
A tender remind that is life is an art
The dead’s fame is his good deeds
After these mortal frames are no longer his needs
Be merry, make no mourn
Now that I become among ancestors
Don’t cry for me

Copyright © Kelchi Eke | Year Posted 2018

Details | Elegy |
Away from tireless desk job i.e.,which obliged 
swearing allegiance, fealty, loyalty within complex 
edifice, where obsolete quaint rubric, schematic, 
thematic mantra "We Bring Good Things to Life,"
met with gnawing, emerging, chomping 
objectionable quandary. The sedentary station 
exhausted, milked usurped mental energies 
linkedin hinged upon the figurative linchpin 

sans contractual mandates. Steady employment 
obliged conferring, forsaking, invoking credo, 
ethos, hierarchical jujitsu marrying obligatory 
penance requisite at General Electric, (which 
daily tasks borne with gravitas witness 
to crunching numbers vis a vis from gifted 
mathematical application, and scientific mind). 
Thus decades on end, my father remained 
steadfast on this straight and true decree, 

whereby dad (analogously applied his 
Semitic nose to the whet grindstone) 
applying inherent and learned math
ematical/ scientific principles respectively. 
He made excellent use of mechanical en
gineering degree (earned free of charge 
at Brooklyn City College viz Veterans benefit).




Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017