You Will Always Be That Little Girl To Me - collaboration with Silent One
I can still remember the day you were born,
now you think you are all grown, but you'll always be that little girl to me.
I can still remember those innocent little eyes
and the first time you smiled,
all those late nights spent by your side
those little secrets, in me you did confide.
I can still remember your first day of school
that feeling, my little girl was growing up way too soon
but to you, it was everything, you were so cool.
I can still remember wanting to cry, because you'll always be that little girl to me.
I can still remember pushing you on the swings, higher and higher,
until you told me you can do it by yourself, you're a big girl now.
I remember that first crush you had on a boy
when I asked why, you said "he reminded me of you."
My little girl, you can't imagine how much I love you
I should have realized it back then,
realized what a fine young lady you had become,
I must admit a little part of me never wanted you to grow,
a little part wanted to hold you close, never to let you go.
I know you'll hurt me with goodbye, but you'll always be that little girl to me.
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
Passing through framed windows like ours,
I recall your tales of reckless war and lost friends
that burned your innocence at 21... and though
you claimed flashes of courage, moist eyes
poured vulnerability looking calm, undaunted.
We both searched deeply into our souls
as a father is to his young daughter, that I wanted
to let you know, it was alright;
but that mound of shoulders turned away.
Down the years as officer and gentleman,
Time stole long weeks, absent from your dining chair,
leaving me resentful and bitter on hardened sills
until you arrive under crawling dock of stars.
But in free moments, how you cherished
me so; waking my cheeks at 3 am to race the winds,
to fly with a shooting neon, laughing with a blue moon.
You spoke of faith and honor if life dared a shame, oh
mild scent of your arms cuddling my girlish dreams...
until off you rode suddenly on heaven’s wheel.
I see you through all framed windows like ours,
that even if my iced breaths needed you more
as small flowers thirsted for rain, my anger was a cry
for love’s company... “ I have adored you
in moments of distance and nearness, if not
always, then for all eternity.”
Have I forgotten to open this, my soft, broken sigh?
Dad, everything is all right.
The Confessional Contest
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013
Daddy, why did you go away?
Don't you know I wanted you to stay!
Daddy, when you left mom,
Don't you know you left me too?
Now all I do is cry and cry
--- I want to die!
Daddy, mommy say's it's better this way,
What does she know!
They're not enough band-aids to cover up the blues
Mom's kisses can't heal this kind of pain.
Daddy, I look around
No one stands in your garage
Daddy, You took every tool
Except the hammer and sitting stool
Daddy, I still miss you
--- I love you.
Dear Daddy, I'm all grown up now
Haven't seen you since I was 10
Daddy, I sit on your favorite chair,
No longer do I miss the way you caressed my hair.
Daddy, I'm taking the old hammer and this BRAND NEW saw,
It's time to patch all the holes mom punched in the wall
*The day you walked out on us*
Daddy, don't worry about the times I tripped and fell
Mom found someone to fix the loose boards,
Got tired of scraping my knees
Daddy, I finally realized I'm okay,
I agree with mom, it's better this way.
by- Not every dad is great (but step-dad YES!)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
I decorate a grotto for you, Mama
where orchids and holy images
embellish this special place and day,
that saintly icons guard you there
as if they beg me to be released
from years of guilty devotion…
Yet I polish their laced clothes;
then close the night waiting
for wind chimes to knell,’ Magnificat.’
Scenes from younger days resound,
while you, Mama, gift me with love and hate
flickering through my confused mind:
and sharpened bells ring in my ears;
the gong of your voice banging
across the hall, yet I still recall,
mouth so tender, droning lullabies
in the soft of window sills, ‘Magnificat’…
How can I reconcile quietude and boom,
when the little girl in me longs for your
lithe timber within that special place,
till holy statues listen to my wind chimes
and finally understand this adoration.
The Seeker's Contest: Your Absolute Best
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015
like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come
dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings
don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat
I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure
but, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine,
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy, with goals
beyond our reach...beyond belief
beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control
like visitors from outer space, we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us, and then they all go home...
do we cry........? Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we vow...to hold back all the tears for now
for, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
Lapis lazuli mines with wide blue eyes
bringing to mind precious stones and
caramel scones; innocent and wise -
Wondering, yet without surprise.
Staring down the universe, a challenge
in your look though you are young;
The earth made only nine revolutions
since you came out to see the sun.
Unguarded and arched, your brows
betray high wire tension; enough
to light up a hundred moons and warm
plump cheeks to cherry bubble gum.
Be not impatient to grow; you smell
of open grasshopper meadows
and firefly lighted lakeshore walks.
You’re a mother’s envy and pride.
Red lips! Your passion for life exists.
Scarlet, lipstick would be a surfeit -
Today as then till many summer’s been,
your spirit will always be free as the mist.
After: Portrait of Carol Nye Rhoades (Robinson) (1915)
For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting No. 2
Kim Patrice Nunez
08 January 2016
Poem of the Week: January 10-16, 2016
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016
I reach onto the bookshelf
Carefully removing the photograph album from the top shelf
We nestle together on the sofa
I slowly turn over the pages
Yellowing photographs that capture precious moments frozen in time
Suddenly you become animated
Hidden memories begin to return …
We laugh as you recall stories from the past
You lovingly stroke the faces of those now long gone
Wishing they were there by your side for real
Tears fill your green eyes as you reach out and gently squeeze my hand
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
I carry my mother
like a rock in my pocket
that I just can’t seem to throw away
It serves me
it just weighs me down
When I first found it,
when I first picked it up
and started carrying it with me,
I thought it so beautiful –
I could look at it for hours
But, like my mother,
it never looked back at me,
never grew warm under my loving gaze
For the longest, I was blind to that,
Blind to anything but the beauty,
blind to the cold, hard,
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
I carry my mother,
a thought without weight
And she’s heavier
and she’s colder
than all the stones
By the time I recognized her
immutable, emotional unavailability,
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –
But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart
Could not stop
that one day this stone,
deep inside my pocket,
Might just become
its own opposite –
Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm
But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water
When my mother
Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Year Posted 2005
My sweet child
Be on guard
Be on guard of the man
Who plays on your heartstrings…
Not with flirtatious smile
Nor with flexed muscles
Not with devouring eyes
Nor with intellectual prowess
Or clothes so fine
No, these you can resist
You can set boundaries
And be done
The threat, false alarms
Their charm easily undone
Your defenses will withstand
The groping hand
The false charm
No, don't be alarmed
Oh, but child
My precious sweet one
Be on your guard
I beg you
Be on your guard
From the man named, “POET”
A man who wields words
Who crafts and designs them
Like a carpenter with wood...
Who makes them into jewels
With a jeweler’s touch...
Who makes them sweet delicacies
That simply melt in your mouth
He can shape and design his words
To fit your every need
He writes down your dreams
As though they were his own
His words an homage
To your beauty
The light in your eyes
The way you entice
Your captivating smile
Your dark tresses
Or the curve of your hips
BE ON GUARD
Oh, dear one
Be on guard
For he means to take you
To sweep you away
In the tide of beautiful rhymes
The rise of fall of passion
Making your body move in time
He means to ensnare you
To capture your soul
He means to dominate
To slowly undress
Intoxicate with his words
So you forget common sense
He wants you to eat from his hands
Choice morsels of love
While he whispers in your ear,
“There's more where that came from.”
Be on guard
For words cannot pay
Your rent or expenses
Cannot save your day
Words won’t be there
When you cry in the night
They won’t be able
To turn on that light
Words won’t be your lover
With hands nice and slow
That touch you in places
Words can never go
Listen to me
Stay away from those poets
They’ve got potency
They will woo and bewitch you
Throw fairy dust in your eyes
But at the end of the day
Only a few don’t tell lies
My child, my sweet
Get a man who will be
THERE IN PERSON
BODY and SOUL
With hands that caress
And with eyes that speak
Of your body in that dress
Spoken words make you weak
With lips that touch yours
That say you’re divine
That lick from your navel
That sweetest of wine
Stay away from those poets
Be on Guard
Save your life!
For a poet, my child
Is the greatest danger in life
The greatest beauty
The greatest dream
The greatest heartache
The greatest strife
Be on guard
BE ON GUARD
SAVE YOUR LIFE!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
Memories of the North Sea
sift in like sand kernels
on a fast, frigid tide:
events that transpired outside
the confines of rhyme,
as they were meant to.
Never before had I seen
so many shades of gray;
the overcast, monochromatic splendor
instead of being bleak and bleary.
The smell of salt and seaweed
awakes something dormant and eternal,
deep within me.
I have a surging desire
to flush stagnancy from my blood—
salty blood and water
come together in a communion
of distant relations and movements.
Beside me, a flash of bright red
digs in the sand; my child
is wearing the only vibrant colour
to be seen for many kilometres.
The colour matches her
enthusiasm and energy,
as she moves from one spot to the next
like a dancing flame;
reflected, a fire glows from my eyes.
Unknowingly, I had dressed
in the same colours of the sky and sea,
blending into the scenery
like a chameleon:
an illusion thicker than the clouds;
an illusion of stone
for me to melt and reinvent
at the spinning speed of thought.
I watch my daughter
drink the seascape with a smile of wonder;
it's her first time visiting an ocean.
With our pants rolled up to the knee,
we wade through waves,
and collect stones and shells.
She knows the chameleon
who walks alongside her in the frothy surf.
Observing seabirds cover the steep cliffs
of the island located further out,
in a blanket of black and white feathers,
I wonder if people onshore
only see a solitary dash of red out here,
or if the chameleon
is more noticeable than I had thought.
2012 North Sea Remix
December 17th, 2012
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares down the darkened hall.
A solitary line of pink light sneaks through a crack in the door.
Fighting tears hanging loosely in my eyes, I listen.
“Please tell daddy that I love him and miss him.”
It has been two months since he died. Long, hard months.
“Keep him safe.”
His smell still lingers on his clothes in the closet.
“and bless mommy to be happy…”
How can I be happy, or even smile, when all I want is to be numb?
The tears burn in my eyes, but I can’t cry, or I might never stop.
“so that she will play with me like she used to”
I can scarcely recall the last time I was able to focus; to give her all my attention.
“help her to forgive me,”
Oh sweet baby, it’s I who needs your forgiveness.
“help her to love me again, even though sometimes I’m bad”
Oh God, is that what she thinks!?
“and please help me to find dolly so she won’t be scared tonight”
Ok, focus…just breathe.
“in Jesus name I pray, Amen.”
Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares into the room lit by a solitary pink lamp.
I sneak through the door, with tears rolling down my cheeks,
and enter with a promise, that all her prayers will get answered.
Submission for Prayertime Memories
Hosted by Isaiah Zerbst
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
A clutter of wood and dust and cobwebby corners,
And dappled sun shining through dirty windows;
On his work table a drawing; a project in progress,
And tin cans and jars of nails and screws on shelves.
Tools on hooks waiting for hands that will never come,
I touch the old tools like they were the finest of lace;
And I cannot help thinking, who will want all this,
He was a simple man, my father, and I loved him so.
His death was fast, no one expected him to leave,
In a blink he was gone, and all I have are memories;
I linger there with the dust that floats in the sun,
And I weep and weep for what I have lost this day.
Then, I pick up his pencil and on his paper I write,
I write this poem of pain and it is the beginning;
The beginning of my writing as an adult with soul,
I leave the child, that was me, and become a poet,
Written July 21, 1997 at 11AM
(one hour after my Dad's death)
Entered in the contest, Celebrating My Fav's,
sponsor, Andrea Dietrich
Entered in the contest, Any Poem, #36
(a poem that placed in one of her past centests)
For the contest, A poem written before Poetry Soup,
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
Please love yourself,
My daughter wrote
As we chatted away
About my upcoming trip
And yet my tears spilled over
As I bared my heart
To my 19 year old daughter
The joy of my life
The light of my eyes
The reason I go on with life
It’s for her
I try to survive
And push on
For she still needs me
And she wrote…..
You need to appreciate yourself more mami
I can't imagine my life without you
Just thinking about my life without you in it
just makes me wanna break down
Please mama for me
Please love yourself
I dunno why it's so hard for you to see how incredible you are
She knew all my reasons
And yet she asked
Desperate to pull me out
To help me see the light
To remind me of who I was
Who I still am
And I soothed and comforted her
Knowing she’d worry
Her daddy away
And her Mama all alone
Locked in her room
Crying the night away
Yet she was the strong one
A shoulder to cry on
And after all the tears those words of hers brought
I thanked her for loving me…..
And she wrote
I can't help it. You're amazing. You just need to give yourself a chance
Come here mami we'll have so much fun
And I smiled through my tears
Grateful for the blessing I have in her
And my heart decided
For a little while longer
To fight the good fight
To let the vivacious Mommy she knew
Come to life
The one all her friends loved
And said was “so cool”
I'd ask her to go on
And to try...
To love herself...
...For the love of a daughter
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
Be proud of your scars
oh daughter mine
now a mother of children dear
Remember the time
they suckled your breast
gorging on the food of love
Worried lines on your face
anxious frown on your brow
a love story you cannot erase.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
Pendulos breasts wear with pride
your babies now full-grown and wise.
Stretch marks remain to tell
that you carried your babies well.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
A badge of honor
that's what they are.
Thickened waist and cellulite disgust many
yet tell a story so sweet so true.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
Uptilted breasts shapely hips
elegant thighs tell a story of their own
but you gave your babies all you had
with love and tenderness.
When they're grown and gone away
you will remember them still
by the scars you bear today.
Oh daughter mine be proud
Be proud of your scars.
Copyright © Margaret Okubo | Year Posted 2007
As the music played, daddy and daughter danced.
Tomorrow his little girl would be going away
to chase her dreams - live a life of adventure.
He placed a half heart pendant upon her neck,
told her he loved her and would miss her every day.
With tears in his eyes he waved her goodbye..
His daughter wiped his tears away.
"Remember me with smiles, daddy,
for when two hearts are connected
there is no such thing as goodbye.
We will dance again," she told him
As she travelled upon the mysterious ocean
one fateful night her ship was hit by a storm.
Torrential rain and powerful winds raged
until the ship sank deep into the sea.
On that same night her daddy had a heart attack.
When two hearts are connected each one feels pain.
As he read about the tragic news about no survivors
he wanted to rip his heart out - he had no use for it now.
Even though he was breathing, he had died inside,
lost in a dark abyss of anguish sorrow and pain,
slipping deeper and deeper into depression.
All he had was the other half of her pendant to cherish.
A young girl wakes up from her slumber in hospital
as the doctor informs her she was found on a beach,
but, she struggles to remember anything - amnesia!
Around her neck a pendant reads: daddy's girl.
Although her mind has no recollection - her heart beats faster.
Her soul tries to connect with her nerve system - to remember
Sitting there heartbroken, motionless - but heart beating,
a newsflash about a girl suffering memory loss captures his attention.
To his shock his daughter is on TV with the pendant in her hands.
When two hearts connect, our soul will move heaven and earth
so that two hearts are reunited, especially those bonded by blood.
8 January 2016
Half Heart contest by Catie Lindsey
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016
Maid of the Myst
I lie in repose
Under the falls
In a tranquil pool
Of turquoise blue
He left me for another
This I could not suffer
My pain already drowning me
I fell from the falls
Spectacular was the news
Young girl with the blues
Dives to her cherished death
My lover left me for I was on meth
I was confused and skin so bruised
Misused and tears seeped from my veins
No one at all could know this enduring pain
So now under the falls I enjoy the rain
My soul lies deep
Under waters so very steep
I wait, and I wait
To be alive again
From the skies
Not another… but I see a phone that dives
Floating downwards upon my weary breast
A chance you see, finally I was blessed
I call from the depths below
Like a spirit I begin to glow
Daddy daddy is that you?
From below I call to say a proper adieu
Found inside her pocket
I miss you daddy
I love you so much
Forgive my wild youth
Remember me as I was in your arms
Long ago with my pony tails
Your little cuddly pumpkin
Love you daddy
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…
who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
And how each day I wake
You take from me a little more
Than I have to give…
And how I’d give you everything
In me so willingly.
I watch you sitting at your table
Playing with your toys
Watching the television
Rubbing your feet on the floor
Hair a tangled mess.
I wish William and Myrna
My parents; your grandparents
Could have known you
Or felt for just a second
How it feels to love you.
When I watch you run
Or we play ‘Tag’ and you call
Me the monster, fleeing
Running as fast as you can
And the sparkle of joy in your eye…
Every time we play
That silly old game
I find it harder and harder
To hold back my tears
And yes, sometimes I have to
Turn away from you
Because I haven’t the strength
To hold the tears back.
I get embarrassed and I wipe
Them away before you see them.
It’s great being a father
Watching you grow
Hearing you talk
Seeing the world through
When we go to the park
I will thank God for your happiness.
I will thank him for your life.
And I will likely turn away
To wipe away
Copyright © Joseph Granda-Padron | Year Posted 2007
In my father's eyes, I'll always be his princess,
No matter how old I've grown, he still sees
His little girl, dancing across the invisible stage
A living Cinderella in miniature form, whom
Will never grow up, and thinks her dad is prince
Charming, and the strongest man on earth.
Cradling within this wondrous heart, is devotion’s
Biggest fan, the man I call my father, he's protector,
Comforter, and the everlasting image, of the perfect
Man that I idolize.
No wizard's wand or sword, holds more magic
Than his tender words of wisdom, as I stroll
Down the yellow brick road of life, I'm his
Dorothy, and he is, the Wizard of my oz.
Oh Papa, you've instilled the wonderment
Of this world within me, and I know, no matter
Where I roam, he shall always be a part
You've always said, no matter how old I get
That within thy heart, a princess remains, timeless,
Ageless, as if Alice, hidden behind the looking glass,
Peering through from wonderland, magical world.
Perfection's cherished rose, whom never loses it's
Petals, but blossoms nourished by loves fertile soil,
That only a father's faith can provide.
I'll always be his princess, no matter what bad
Choices I may make in life, I know he'll pick me
Up and smooth out the wrinkles in my velvet gown,
Wiping away my tears, turning them instantly into diamond
Shards, and letting me dance away again, clapping
For this his darling princess.
So let the musical waltz of life, play forever forward,
As I lightly tip toe, across destiny’s ballroom floor.
My dancing card remains eternally full, written within
One name stands out, it is yours dearest sweet man.
He is after all my prince charming, and I am
His dearest little girl, and of coarse in his eyes
Always his little princess.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
I wish I could blow air into your little lungs,
The day my daughter brought your stillborn body into this world.
Hold your little body warm,
And tell my little girl you have her cute little nose....
Count your little fingers, and kiss your little toes....
I could look into your daring eyes,
Facing a little boy, who's ready for this world
I could tell my daughter you have her beautiful brown eyes...
Sadly, it’s not like that.
How can I tell my daughter everything will be all right?
When a piece of my heart was stolen with her's,
When giving birth to her son, my grandson
March 25, 2013---- How it Hurts!
O’ how I wish, you entered this world crying
Instead, we're the ones left in tears of sorrow
How I wish you could be,
And not this feeling you left inside
How I wish, God could explain why o' why o' why?
I wish I could find the reasons now, and not wait until I die.
Mostly, I WISH Mommy could fix this.
Bael Lesley G.
Born March 25, 2013
RIP March 25, 2013
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg | Year Posted 2013
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
He is now a band of sky,
a bird, a cloud, a stream of blue
drifting by in midafternoon,
a dragonfly, a butterfly, a speck of light dancing by,
an abandoned sheet of loose leaf paper
with a poem scribbled on it, or maybe
a grape ripening on the vine
sweetening to perfection in the summer sun;
he is now a feeling deepening, gravity, energy, peace, commotion, the tide –
forever August, forever June…
an ocean wave never reaching the shore (the sand and sun evermore),
a smile, a tear, laughter that never ends,
a child’s open, inquisitive mind, a friend, the welcoming voices of home,
the cracks in the walls holding my secrets,
the comfort of a favorite blanket or familiar pair of warm arms.
Perhaps, he’s eternal summer, youth running with ease
in his favorite shorts and flip-flops, hair sun-bleached tumbling free,
or perhaps, he is one feather floating high on the ocean breeze.
I often see his face in rain clouds mixed with tears,
singing the Grateful Dead or a great hymn.
He is the music forever playing in my ear and
the sweet tropical air filling my lungs;
He lives in the cozy log cabin in a clearing of pines
and the largemouth bass jumping from the lake at dawn’s break,
He’s the tortoise sunning on the shore, the buck running wild,
the heartbeat of a father holding his baby for the first time,
the joy of my morning, the pain of night,
and the wind calling my name, dancing with the leaves on the trees…
he is the trees, the air, he is in my eyes and theirs.
He is in Heaven but his love is everywhere.
Written, 3/7/15 for The Pain of Night Contest
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
She searches through his remnants
Trying to find her broken pieces
Had she been important to him?
She finds a single piece of yellowed paper
Her name written in his elegant hand
Those hands that had held her once
She had felt safe in those hands
Unaware of his weakness,
Why had he left?
She kept looking though drawers and boxes
Feverishly searching for answers
Only one photo
Taken so very long ago
Proof that they had been part of his life
The proof felt like a knife
Those young faces smiling at her
Blissfully unaware of what was to come
Daddy was leaving
He wasn't coming home again
She hands the photo to her sister
There must be more
She keeps searching
Unaware of what was important to him
Wanting more clues
Another piece of paper
Her sisters name with her children listed underneath
The grandchildren he never got to know
She can't help wonder
Why were they not enough
And she realizes it was his lacking
It was never theirs
There was nothing they could have done
They could not be better girls
Good enough girls!
He was broken
Lonely long before them
His remnants scattered
She looks at her sisters
They cry together
Sad for the loss of what they did not have
Yet beneath the tears they smile
Holding each other's delicate hands
For they possess a strength he never had
They have stayed together
Loved each other
Carried each other's burdens
They have survived
If he had known them
He would have been so proud
Dedicated to and inspired by Bev Smith.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
“Apple of his eyes, yes that’s me. Can’t you see?"
Name brand bags
Outfits like crazy ONLY Hanna Montanna got more.
Check out the pony he brought me last month
Check out the mini diamond bracket and check out my bank account.
Daddy’s little princess, yes, that’s me.
Daddy says he will take me to Paris as soon as he closes the deal.
“Apple of his eyes, yes that’s me. Can’t you see?"
Copyright © Anoush Harrison-Jackson | Year Posted 2015
Your face mirrors mine,
As mine does my mothers.
Your smile is a smirk
That quickly explodes
Into sublime lightness.
Your skin has a blush
As does plums true wine,
When young men turn their heads
And whisper your name to each other.
Your hair casts a curtain
Over your face . It acts as a veil to
Guard your thoughts and hide your moods.
It falls long and silky to your waist,
and parts in a sliver,to allow one eye to spy.
If I could love you more
It would surely be like a violent death,
For I would faint, become breathless,
And my heart would burst forth from my breast
My life has been in free fall since your birth.
A never ending plunge into bottomless depths,
Fearing for your wellness and happiness.
I live only to hear you call my name
Hopefully with joy, and not with tears.
On that face that mirrors mine.
Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2011
Yesterday when I stood before him, he spoke my name
Today, I still stand, but the floorboards are cold
and he no longer knows the color of my eyes.
With each spoonful of the steaming grey I lift my arms,
Up, then down, again and again, a repeated motion – weeping,
My arms are trembling with the weight of the spoon
that holds in its cupped womb my raw, injured soul.
Father, I say, in a voice cold from straining not to break
I prod away the soup dribbling down his chin, gently.
The wrinkled hands are limp at his sides, lost.
What should be mad and free is caged within me; fluttering
feebly, thumping about in a circle of broken pieces
The look in his blank eyes has labeled me a stranger
But when they are closed my name is written on his face.
Copyright © Grace EunSong Lee | Year Posted 2010
FROM HEART TO PAPER UNEDITED
For every tear you shed from hurt
physical or emotional
For every tear you shed from shame
rightly or wrongly
my heart sheds a beat
I never knew love
Until I knew you
I love you both
from my tippy toes
to the peak
of my silver threads
Don't hurt my dears
But when you do
I will hold you tight
Encase your fears
Minimize the pain
And when my heart bleeds
or slightly feels a crack
It's because my daughters
your lives before mine.
I love you so much girls...
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
The morning dew gently caresses you
like the faint whisper of a young child's kiss.
Your limbs yearningly reach for the sun
as if awaiting a long lost lover's embrace.
Only a pair of vacant eyes could fail to see
the wonderful symphony of color waiting to be.
If allowed to come into full bloom uninterrupted,
butterflies will dance liltingly across your awakening splendor
as honey bees sing praises to your blossoms burgeoning bounty.
I can only pray your thorns grow sharp and rugged enough
to defend against the groping hands of life's wickedness.
Only the desires of the most savage hearts would ravage
a still unfolding beauty and extinguish a spectacle yet to be.
Only a vile pair of ears could fail to hear a shattering heart
and the soul deafening screams of a rose picked too soon.
Copyright © Kim Morrison | Year Posted 2013
A precious gift! Joy unimagined fills my heart
She smiles! My heart races, leaping!
And like a butterfly in spring, gliding,
It dips among new blossoms
Like a sweet melody playing softly
in the cool of the evening, I soar!
My baby, my first, like an angel sleeps
Soft, warm and brown
I stare in awe of this most perfect gift from God!
Tiny almond-shaped eyes, sparkle- searching
Nothing as beautiful have I ever seen!
She cries and her teardrops like crystal daggers
Pierce, my joyful heart!
And like a wounded sparrow it plummets
Free-falling, and I am left puzzled...confused
Nervous, I gently hold her close to my breast
I am sure she can feel my heart beating..
Suddenly our faces brush... she turns-
Our eyes lock, and smiles ripple!
My first born--all is well in my world.
Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2007