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
END JULY STANDARD CONTEST
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017
A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this allotrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
As the sunsets at the end of the day,
And the night begins to fall,
So, does all the dreams of all the little children,
In their own wonderlands of their own,
Wishing and thinking of great things to come,
Hoping their parents will make these dreams come alive,
Cause dreams to children should become bright and gleam,
And all to them more than just alive,
All children want is hopes and dreams to become true,
But if you can teach them how to work hard at them,
They too can make their dreams become their own reality,
For any one person works hard enough,
At what they want in life,
They can have any one thing they want,
All they have to do is work really hard to make it real,
For believers can believe in themselves,
And strive to work toward making their own goals,
Their very own come true,
Which gives more satisfaction in life,
Than things being handed to you,
So always strive for the best,
And all your wishes and dreams can come true,
In your life if you want them too.
Copyright © John Hembree | Year Posted 2013
For nine months I carried you beneath my heart
Felt you growing and moveing, feeling such Joy
Eagerly awiating your arrival, knowing you will soon
The day you were born was filled with happiness
As I held you in wonder, my little miracle, my little babe
Counting toes and fingers, seeing your little face
Love just bursting from my heart as I just gazed
I watched you grow in time, first smile, first tooth
Crawling, walking then running, always curious
Holding your hand walikng you to school on the first day
Taught you to ride a bike, picked you up when you fell
Kissing the hurt away, just to see you smile that pretty smile
Seeing you grow and mature, into a young adult
Starting high school, learning to drive, dating
Now here it is juinor year, one more year and your gone
To test your wings, to fly away and learn even more new things
I hope my love is enough to guide you on your way
To give you that sense you can do anything you set out to do
Always remember that I love you and you are my little one
May 5th Written for my beautiful daughter
Copyright © Teresa Lindsay | Year Posted 2013
A Young Beautiful girl with so much spirit in her to lift the soul
With blissful hopes to come she would become a queen they did not want
Many loved her beauty as a child but her step mother
Of a selfish dander king family did not like her at all
They wanted all but wrong for her and to lock her in a chamber with ash
And dust that filled the air
Far away from society king wanted because they felt she was from rags in poor
Stead of riches and wealth a lonely child from the cottage where
The king’s witch of a sister raised her.
She became a slave scared to face the king’s wicked sister
She abide by what she was afraid to go
With a single tear she longed to be free and become
Something more than an average girl.
But a girl that rises up from the hate and dander rules set by one world
She wanted to be free to be loved and liked for what she believed in
As the days went on she grew stronger and rising from the pain in her heart
And by the twisted society by her step moms brother who wanted nothing
But sorrow and to be down in the dumps of rags
She took a stand for freedom a stand for love and never backed down
From her past she kept on fighting a battle which seemed endless
As she looked to the moon crying out with screams that echoed in the forest
Sounding so loud half a forest could hear
She took the dagger and the shield took it to her heart and utter words like these
Lord of the sky’s guide me today and give me much more strength
Then I had yesterday and as my will to rise be ever strong may I not rest
Till this dander evil king is no more
She went off and into the castle she snuck into with mighty dagger and shield with the heavens by her side she struck him out and proclaimed freedom and love to all this is a girl truly rising faith and all that stands for what’s right a brave girl that rises from hate
this is a girl rising up from the pain
Poem story for contest( Girl Rising )
by brian otoole 8-05-13
Copyright © Brian Otoole | Year Posted 2013
I slowly stroll across my City's streets and sidewalks,
to observe the lay of this land;
I with my Victorian garb; a daughter of a very doting Father,
many speak of him as royalty.
I hear the joy of my people's hearts as they are at work, as they
are at play.
I know that this is the city in which they and I would like to stay.
For the name of my city is called Cloverway, with beautiful green
clover, which is the carpet which emerges from the emerald forests.
The houses are unique here, built with the tools of skill by those who
have perceptive eyes and extremely keen minds. I myself live in
my very nice country estate where my vineyards bring forth the richest
I lovingly care for them and call them by name. When these grapes are ripe
they are put into the wine press where they give me their very best.
Then after the rich blend is bottled they are placed into my quite sizable wine
cellar... placed upon the shelves, they await their time, for a very long time until
they sing to me that they are ready.
Divine patience has been sought before anyone partakes of these long awaited spirits.
It is never night here, no darkness in the constant light of my Father's face.
I know that he owns many mansions on more of his lands, galaxies both near and
far; for he is not limited by time, or distance.
For all things are now to Him and all things are near.
But I live here in this place, my own mansion if you will.
Copyright © Susan Clark | Year Posted 2015
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
I found myself, a lifeless corpse, finally, at the end of the line ~ mocking humanity
The warmth of the sun drawing my days to a close, once more ~ from, such, this great length of TIME
I perceived in some distance, far off from this naked human eye ~ the girl i loved
it simply must be
There was, indeed, little doubt of the presence of this ingenue’
No other way, but that, she, this daughter of aristotle had taken to form
And from the vestige of seas foam risen to shore ~ if only, so that I might believe
The sinking of my heart sang that i had dreamt this nymph before, up from the ocean’s floor, earlier upon that perfect morn
and She would have born of this prescience left upon humanity, her own sacred mark, by Horus’ primal witness
I felt as the falling petal of this saddened flower of life , now fallen to the blinding wind
and some supreme voice opened her song, alongside the lilt of this setting sun ~ and she smiled her dream down blessing me
and The full release of the tides of her love washed me clean
my body tempered for the rush of her beauteous breath, for it was my search to find this gift in each of these passing days, i savored the joy ~ and wished no more
even as her dream now found me, here, the fisherman upon this edge of this sacred shore
Copyright © Robin Little | Year Posted 2015
My house is quiet,
kids have gone to sleep.
Don't want to make a sound,
as time to myself is now a treat.
I can hear my clock ticking,
the t.v playing music.
My fridge is also grunting,
my phone i will not use it.
As much as i love,
all three kids of mine.
There all ganging up on me,
But these walls i will not climb.
It's three against one,
and that's not really fair.
I'm waiting for the day,
when i get my first grey hair.
Copyright © hayley webb-myers | Year Posted 2016
Never Meant To Love Her
She looks just like an angel, she has an angels voice.
I never meant to love her it’s just I had no choice.
With beauty etched into her soul shining from her eyes.
Each time I look upon her I know I’ve touched the skies.
On the day she reached for me I heard all heaven calling.
When she touched the heart in me it felt like I was falling.
So much I long to know of her, this angel. Heavens Daughter.
Who walks beside the Holy Man who walks upon the water.
Like where she hides the sunshine? Does she hold it deep within?
When the moon and stars come out, and night comes round again.
And can she fly like eagles though she has an angels charms.
And how’s a man on earth like me hold an angel in my arms?
And if it’s love not meant to be and I must one day free her.
Then place me somewhere high enough I can look up and still see her.
She looks just like an angel, she has an angels voice.
I never meant to love her it’s just I had no choice.
Edwin C Hofert
Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015
About: I wrote this poem for my mother. Who is the miracle, my diamond, a shining jewl of the Northern Sky. No matter how hard we may fight, how crazy and fun we get and how mystical we make our lives. She will always be my mother. My only 'hope daimond'.
*ATTENTION*: This poem was originally posted on the websites:
wattpad.com and forums.familyfriendpoems.com
by the author herself. Username: ricoelhady
Sometimes when I look,
I see nothing but the sky,
glistening and glowing,
like the ocean tide
Your wisdom and your beauty,
is beyond compare,
to a thousand lives
Your words your sayings,
are stronger than,
all the words collide
You're the first face,
I seen that I have,
grown to love,
more than the rising moon
The first voice,
came from you
singing all the way,
Your beauty, your flaws,
are uncompared to the world,
growing richer by the day,
and endless through the nights
I really don't mind,
no matter how I see you,
You're the beauty in my eyes
Never ever will I find,
a women more greater,
than your fiends
So, My dear mother,
my beautiful mother
These words I say,
are nothing compared to,
'I Love You'
Which may be simpler to say,
but imperfect to the tones,
Because I love you,
to your bones
This poem of beauty was
created for you,
To show my love,
is greater than two
Copyright © Reem Mohamed | Year Posted 2017
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
My soul is wearied because of murders:
Harvest past, summer ended, we're not saved;
My beloved's with a stranger as herder,
From the womb slew the mother made a grave;
I have seen her lewdness, her adulteries,
She bewaileth herself, spreadeth her hands,
The virgin is broken, down upon her knees,
Delivered up to the enemy's lands.
O ye women, teach your daughters wailing,
Out of the womb to see labor, sorrow;
Weep day and night for the slain, the failing,
Days consumed with shame become tomorrow;
Like a lamb that is brought to the slaughter,
Anguish brought in the voice of the daughter.
Copyright © Ryan McCabe | Year Posted 2017
Wilderness edible forests,
to hungry mothers,
became wild undomesticated wastelands
to commodifying and taxing FatherLand patriarchs.
Wilderness matriarchs once Pledged Allegiance to the Sun,
and Gratitude to GrandMother Moon
for both interdependent fullness
and new womb emptiness,
of future healthy integrity,
pregnant with promising fertility.
We pledge allegiance and gratitude to our Sun,
One Icon of our First Native Nations and Wilderness Tribes,
reforesting and harvesting indivisibly synced
under and within SkyMother Earth
with liberty to not be unpatriotically bullied
to rescind each democratic individual's right
to equal liberty of mind and heart and body,
and forest wilderness ecojustice
for all GrandMother Moon's health planting
and wealth harvesting children,
and Sun-patriotic patriarchs.
Expressing grateful loyalty within
wilderness edible forests,
to and for hungry parents and grandparents,
becoming wildly domesticated fertile lands and waters
co-arising fire-lit atmospheric climates
to cooperatively commodify
and sacredly deify
and co-invest Mother EarthTribe
maturing matriarchs with patriarchs,
born equally of transubstantiating Sacred SunLight,
breeding and feeding
cooperatively owned Gratitude
of sun-drenched EarthTribes.
Could our polycultural history of sun worship
trump mere nationalistic supremacist flagships
for more sustainable healthcare
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017