Loss Childhood Poems

These Loss Childhood poems are examples of Loss poems about Childhood. These are the best examples of Loss Childhood poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Couplet |
 


The old man sat with eyes closed, dozing in his chair
Until a little voice he heard say “Grandpa, are you there”.

He gazed upon a little boy while waking from his nap
Then reached down with a sweeping move and placed him in his lap

The child was carrying a book that he wanted him to see
He held it up and  asked him “Grandpa, will you read to me”?

The old man cleaned his glasses then opened up the book
And suddenly the two of them a wonderous journey took

They ventured lands so far away, sailed seas not sailed before
Met knights and kings and wizards on every distant shore.

Together they fought dragons, saved damsels in distress
Freeing lands of monsters and the treasures they possess

When the old man closed the cover to end their magic ride
He told the boy “We're much like books, what's important is inside”.

But one day when the boy arrived and rushed to Grandpas chair
Much to his disappointment, his Grandpa was not there

He ran to find his mother for surely she would know
Why the chair was empty, where did his Grandpa go

She sat him down and asked him if he remembered in each book
The adventures and the journeys that he and Grandpa took

He took you there to show you the things that you can find
The wonders that are yours to see if you open up your mind.

But he still walks beside you in the stories you have read
You're not left to go alone, he’s just gone on ahead

The child then went and chose a book and climbed up in the chair
And opening up the cover whispered “Grandpa, are you there”?

Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2011




Details | Free verse |
Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
A path strewn thick with ruddy-faced leaves
led to nowhere and everywhere in fantasies, 
our near-death rescue from boredom 
        come afternoon chores and homework pages 
                                                                 wrinkled in time.

I try to recall all I tried to forget. 

Back home, under the willow trees, I weep
for childhood, friendship, 
                         for innocence surrendered,
all I thought I could keep, fuzzy lines
           between love and loss,
 practical days that come with age.
I close my eyes to see through tears -
          you,  a dance in rain showers, oval-spheres
of costume jewelry, tea parties and dragons slain 
rays of sunlight climbed, 
imagination uncaged,
             carefree hours,
                 diamonds in darkness,
restless dreams fell like leaves
                       on the wrong side of the tracks.

Two kids set free in skies shaded gray -
we said forever, a pinky swear I remember,
naïve in make-believe worlds. How many years
passed by, miles kept between you and I?
A phone call once-in-a-while reminded 
of our   bitter, listless eyes, 
        our disappointment in distant words.
I hope you always knew the truth,
                    I loved you, dear friend.
It was myself, I hated.

Time cradled our laughter,
held it on the breeze, 
                         childhood secrets
shared with ease on our path, 
thick with               summer's dead leaves.  

We, too young to notice, 
                          fell into brittle leaves 
                                          trodden bare 
before first snow.

Our laughter now echoes in dreams, 
chaffing our willow trees 
                                       still sulking low, 
moss brushes away tears in timeless beauty, 
         and waits for you to come home.



An old poem, revised 3/15/17
249 words total

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015




Details | Quatrain |
The warrior lays her weary head, 
With heavy heart she cannot bear, 
Burning tears stream down her face, 
As whispered memories touch the ear.

Her armour tarnished by remorse, 
Her battle-cry a wimpered row, 
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude, 
Will never know forgiveness now.

The song began two score ago, 
When two came knocking at her door, 
In need of refuge from the world, 
Of that, and love, and little more.

Forced to fight for every smile, 
Her only solace found in song, 
She longed for love to rescue her, 
And plant her where she could belong.

Jealous tongues are seldom kind, 
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love, 
The caged canary only sings, 
When coaxed to praise from up above.

For the steely spine that now I own, 
Forever shall I grateful be, 
A gift from her, and from her own. 
Courage mounted inwardly.

I'll not forget how I have loved thee, 
And youthful memories I will prize, 
Til on the shore of His forgiveness, 
Whereto now, we both shall rise.


Copyright © Yvonne Evanoff | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? |
How do you do it...
   arrested again.
Paroled for awhile
   then back to the pen.
We know you don't mean it.
   We know that you care.
But when will you show it?
   When and where?
As much as we love you
   our hate runs that strong.
Why can't you stay with us?
   What are we doing wrong?
Are your friends to blame?
   Did they help cause this bust?
What should we feel?
   Who do we trust?
Who do we love?
    Who should we hate?
Why do you burden us
    with all your stuff
       on our plate?
It's too much to handle,
     we're too young to deal.
With the heartache we have,
     with the pain that we feel.

Your our Daddy, our idol,
     our mentor for sure.
Our anger, our hope,
     we need you here more.
Your smile, our tears
     your our happiness found.
Our twinkle, our fears,
     the reason we frown.
You want us to love you
     you want us to care
But Daddy, how can we...
     when your never there!

Copyright © karin herrman | Year Posted 2006

Details | Rhyme |
To me, she could've said anything
I wanted so badly to hear her say,
"I love you and I'm gonna try."
But all she said is "I just can't stay."
She looked away, I stared her down.
I needed to see her eyes.
She looked at me and that's when I knew...
THIS IS THE DAY MY MOTHER DIES.
She died right there before me.
I watched her fade away.
Her eyes were glossing over
as I begged her "PLEASE, JUST STAY!"
She said goodbye and drove away.
I've learned to deal with loss.
But, now she says "I'm coming back!"
She doesn't know the cost.
To me she's dead, she can't come back.
She'll have to remember the day
that she died right there before me
when she said she couldn't stay.

Copyright © Mary Nagy | Year Posted 2005

Details | Lyric |
Another song written in middle school - edited of course. ;)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Verse 1] I'm trapped within these walls Never to leave at all I am the prisoner inside my own home My spirit is broken I do not believe I'm locked in this chamber which I cannot leave [Chorus] The needles that break the skin The anger that runs within I’m giving it all away Just to stay alive The needles that pierce my veins It will never be the same We’re on pins and needles now It’s how we survive [Verse 2] They say he’ll find me soon Got to get out of this room The blood will spill and he’ll take what he wants to I’ll never let him through GET OUT OF MY DREAM He whispers in darkness, “I’m not who I seem…” [Chorus] [Verse 3] The four walls around me They start to close in I know I’m too late now I know I can’t win So just tell me I’m crazy It’s all in my head You’re not the killer And I am not dead [Chorus] [Breakthrough] Don’t tell me it’s impossible To start it all over again Infection sinks through your pale skin You’ll curse the day that I’m dead [Chorus]

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
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....
FAT
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
repeating,
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
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?
no
is daddy raping her?
no
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
pass...
did anyone molest her? 
pass....
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
more... 
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
hated herself
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,
FAT!!!!!!
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
FAT!
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
smoking weed
doing nothing,
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,
her mom,
her sister,
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
and why? 
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

Details | Free verse |
“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot

A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of 
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one 
As green,  as golden.

Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green of youth.
 
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |
That disturbed child
The teen girl with no friends, 
and is rejected by her loved ones
She feels broken inside,
like theres no other choice
She takes the iron razor, 
she puts it to her arm and hopes the pain will fade,
but in the end it only makes her feel worse
She does this to herself not because she is sad, 
but because she doesn't think any one cares
She thinks 
What if I put this razor to my throat,
and ended my life
Would they care then?
She feels like no one cares 
What she doesn't realize is, 
if she died a river of tears would come,
even faster then the blood would run from her
If she only knew life can be brighter 
If she would only see, 
that she is loved
That disturbed child, 
We miss her
and theres no getting her back
What could we have done
Was there any changing her mind
Only God knows

Copyright © Trevor Bain | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
Love is a season.
And holidays mark the seasons, and years like signs in the road,
reflecting the bumps in our journey, but showing us a way back home.

Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down,
it was long past midnight, Christmas eve.
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me.
It was if they were trying to fill our dark house with color.
The block was filled with a hundred lighted windows.
But the blackness of our own, somehow, seemed more appropriate.  

There was no Christmas tree in our house that year.
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
had taken all the strength he had.
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together.
Perry Como, I think it was, for I think I remember he sang "Ava Maria", and Dad got teary eyed.
My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week,
trying to help bring us a bit of cheer,....at least, for awhile,
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly.

The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed.
I wasn't sleepy,....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping, waiting for Christmas.
                                 
As I finally headed for bed, I noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet.
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box.
The shoe box that had kept the sugar cube house, safe, dry, and out of harm's way.

A sugar cube house that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old. 
Little sugar cubes stacked into walls, and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Good Housekeeping magazine that year,
and had surrounded it with little trees, and a oval mirror pond, and items we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store.  She had carefully packed it all away last year.
After her last Christmas.

Late into the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the fireplace mantel....just as Mom would have done.

When the freckled morning moved into day...I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me.  He had covered me with a warm blanket, and had fallen asleep beside me.

After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch from our old evergreen tree. 

We decorated that bedraggled branch...it wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had, but it brought Christmas back to my family.
_______________________________________________________________

For Deb's Contest: A Christmas Tale
(Inspired by "The Match Girl" By H.C. Anderson

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
         and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
         wooden legs
         betray
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
         bourbon tweaked philosophies
         of life begins
         at  forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
         the glass that begins another
         day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
         lipstick coated leeches who prey on
         your diminishing
         breath.

Through these wintry days pass faces long past
         into what was then
              while with the coming spring ...
                       at last!  at last!
One can remember
         and want no more 
              what could never be:
                      a Mother.

Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007

Details | I do not know? |
Those who are now elderly sit and reminisce
of sweet idyllic days which often they miss.
Sitting as families in beaming abodes
whilst a flickering fire dances and glows
Cosy nights in with cards and knitting
and days in the garden, weather permitting.
Snakes and ladders with family members
bed time when fire burns to smouldering embers

At school they were eager and behaved well
parting from friends with kind farewell
walking home with no worries or cares
helping with tea, then bed after prayers.
Yes, they love to recall memories of times
they learned stories and recited rhymes.
Played games with balls and skipping ropes
grew up with imagination, dreams and hopes

Now the old are found to sit and moan
at the new technology they are shown
the transportation speeding past
how times have progressed much too fast
What happened to appreciating what you got
being thankful despite not receiving a lot
Now seized by temptation, money and greed
today we're consumed by the need to succeed

The loud and so-called 'unique' youth
appear as disorderly, rude and uncouth
the bright, colourful and distinct attire
Is received as offensive, obnoxious and dire
Teenagers walking in packs of elite
music blasting with no rhythm or beat
the old will avoid and cross the road
feeling hostile on return to their abode

The clashes in cultures cause opposition
juveniles grow with too much ambition
thoughts  consumed with riches and fame
money, films, music and fashion to blame
little time for families, never mind schools
displaying no respect and breaking rules
What happened to growing with parents as guide?
what happened to strolling in the countryside?

Copyright © Not Telling | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
A child
No more than 12 years old
Sees images of women
Thin
Beautiful
Rich
Wanted
She looks in the mirror
She doesn't see the image
Her body doesn't fit the mold
Movies, TV and magazines
Tell her she is not what they want
She is not thin
She is not beautiful
Everyday her eyes cry as she looks at who she is
The perfect her hidden within
The beautiful soul they will not let her see
She diets
She starves
Still she does not fit the mold
She feels unloved
Unwanted
Eating less than a cracker a day
Throwing up the scant food she eats
Her body changes
Wasting away
They make her up
She wears a beautiful white dress
They close the lid
Denied the perfect her
The person she should have been
She lies in eternal rest
But she is loved
She is wanted
She will be missed

Copyright © R. e. taylor | Year Posted 2008

Details | Acrostic |
I s a child to be heard?
N o one answers, as usual. The silence is slowly killing me.
S orrow, misunderstanding and these mourning memories,
I s this the way it is supposed to be? Since that fateful day, I have been a 
G irl, lost in a whirl of tragic past, calamitous present and the fear of having no future,
N ever have I known what "family", "friends" or "fiends" mean, for
I have never made or heard of any.
F or I am thirteen, just as inconsequential as a dwarf planet, amongst boundless galaxies.
I live in misery, why won't anyone listen to me? I may be young, but I
C an converse, listen and see, and I
A m as normal as you are. So why
N ot give me a chance to prove myself?
C an you ever give me a listening
E ar? Is a child to be heard?

Copyright © Ashley Ho | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
Always cold in the morning, this kitchen is warmed now
With a roaring fire and my wife working beside me making just desserts
We stand here two hours this afternoon doing one of our projects
Cooking soup and fish for this evening’s xmas party of friends. 

The ghetto, the Projects, contained me with the music of 
The school’s leather belt and cane.  And then 
Parents lost in a fire. 
              That was a tough xmas, alcohol boozy flavored in an
              Empty-bottle kitchen, crowded and smoky.
It was a tough meat just cut today red blooded, now pale in the friends’ 
Xmas gift, the tureen shiny clean. The soup’s              
Alcohol flavored in effort to disguise taste of the firm onion, now soft slop. Next, must
Empty bottle of sauce in …add spice…Oh, now chop more veg: and the 
Kitchen knife peels and reveals their secret inner fleshes,
Crowded and jostling with juicy tomatoes, now reduced to wrinkled skins; and
Smoky, tall, erect celery now chopped into mini-sets of false teeth

Innocence lost in the poisonous smog of Dublin’s
Orphanage hymns and anthems: God and the state will help
Uniformed religious staff and teachers to tell me 
I do not belong - I must reveal no secrets about being
Woken, shaken out of bed, taken (with no word spoken) from the 
               Cold dormitory, scaly hand on my knee:
               Drown in this grasp -  fish out of water
Cold.  A small shivering fish caught in net, taken now from its fridge 
Dormitory for this sacrifice: staring, unfeeling, cold-blooded creature, its
Scaly skin shining on my cutting plate.
Hand on knee, I sit down to gut it, gills first - which made him
Drown as he struggled in the tightened net; and 
In this grasp I cut the fish open - an old  
Fish which was still feeling
Out of water. It seems a silly, scaled creature now, lifeless, staring at nothing.

I lost my loneliness from that hostile world:
She gave me peace and serenity  -
Warm feelings of belonging ; and it’s
Christmas every day. 
                 She is sweet, inviting, colorful, and around her
                 Melt-in-the-mouth music plays.
She is the essence of sugar,
Sweet free-running chocolate,
Inviting me to dissolve all of her creamy meringue shells 
Colorful and delightful, which will swirl
Around her taste  and 
Melt like love on a summer’s day.
In the mouth of my hell, she has uttered  
Music, and forever now,  it
Plays sweetly.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Written for and entered in Debbie Guzzi’s  Contest     GET SERIOUS

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
The evening star glowing in a dust choked sky. A girl stands by a window, with a tear in her eye. She stares at the scene, hardly visible through the grime. She whispers in the wind, “Bring my Dad home this time” She opens the window, and climbs outside, Having a flashlight, in her hand, as her guide. Its glow shows the sides of the street. She’s afraid for what the light will meet Bodies piled everywhere she turns, She wants to go home, and never return. What brought this fate upon her town? All her emotions are stripped and torn down. A frightening sound explodes in her ear. Shadows in the road now appear. She run and hides behind a broken wall Praying to god the rest doesn’t fall. Footsteps coming closer to her She can’t tell who because it’s all a blur She backs away further so not to be seen in light, Quieting her heart pounding from fright. Gun shots and screams fill the air, All these sounds, her ears couldn’t bear. A slight whimper slips from her lips, And over the broken stone she trips. The shadows run closer, showering her heart with fear, She wishes they would just disappear. They pass by her; she fills with delight, She just wants to see her dad tonight. She shines the light, to show her place, And to the shine comes a familiar face. She doesn’t understand who’s to blame Because on the tag shows her father’s name. She holds in her tears and refrains from crying. She falls to the ground where her dad was lying. She lifts his arm and buries her face in his chest. She closes her eyes wanting to forget the rest. The shadows emerge yet she doesn’t see, How close the end for her would be. They look down at her, aim, shoot, and fire. Being with her dad is her only desire. The night had ended causing a little girl harm But she took her last breath, in her father’s arms.

Copyright © Candice Vega | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
So much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to shout.
It was like being trapped behind bars without a way
to get out.
My mind going wild with all these questions of why.
The only way to escape was to fall asleep or to cry.
What did I do so bad that made me have to pay?
My friends, my dreams, and my life was swepped away.
I know I can do it! I try and I try.
Nothing seems to get better. I sometimes wish
I would Die.
Starved for attention. I wanna talk to the world.
I just miss being loved. Miss the warmth of a girl.
Snickers and stairs is what my life has become.
I'm treated like I'm a kid, like I'm sick, or I'm dumb.
One day to the next. Life becomes work just to be alive.
I thank god for my blessings. I thank god I survived.
I finally see some improvement. More hope tickles
my brain.
It was worth all the time, all the tears, all the pain.
I awake with a smile and new hope to move on.
I did it! I did it! All those hard times are gone!

Copyright © Travis Flasnick | Year Posted 2009

Details | Lyric |
This isn't just a poem This isn't just another emotion This is me, these are my thoughts The Imagery is my sight, And The Allegories are my Life I'm lonely, There is just me But there's so many people around but no one can hear my loudest screams Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me I'm torn, I'm Cut Part of my heart stabbed, and then taken from me The Search for my innocence, Is like a moa hunt Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me Laughing and Jokes all directed towards me Just to Hurt me Cover all of the Halls "Fag, Emo, Queer" Words I too often know Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me Curling her hair putting on her makeup "You're worthless and nothing to Me" Says the so-called all-loving-one As she screams: "Why am I not Pretty" Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me This is not just a poem not just some words my pen cries with each words But this is Just a Glimpse Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
Born I was, still alive today, down, but I'll be back to say Even at a small age, when our house burnt to the ground Disorientated, confused, in it's smoke filled surround With no other place to go, to a Caravan we called our home It was the events after this, that allowed my mind to roam Little me playing in a field, on a broken bottle I fell Crimson fountains erupted, I survived, as I'm here to tell That Monday night so special, Boys Brigade we headed to be I tried to run faster, but my brother was faster than me Out of the opening he went, boy running, was he skilled He was there, but gone the next, knocked down, my brother killed My mind now in roam and wander, fathers health started to slide Where does a seven year old turn to, to whom does he confide Pillar to post I headed, fostered out, and to children's homes Six years later many more tears, my father in deathly roam To my father I kept my promise, to the Royal Navy I would go Whilst training, caught under a raft, my life nearing slow Pulled from the water was I, nearly drained of what little I had A release of water, a gasp of air, hours later feeling so glad Eventually what I'd always wanted, to be happy and family be Married to the girl whom I'd know, would love to marry me But to a colleague I'd declared my worries, of a phone call I'd take For History would repeat itself, to awaken to a possible wake That call finally arrived, to the telephone, speaking to my eldest son Liam his younger brother, knocked down, my tears in run I'm blessed that he was saved, which cancelled out that call I only wish that technology was, that I'd have a firewall This is me up to date, apart this last weekend Again I thought I lost my youngest, once again relieved of strain Hours up at the Hospital, the first human skull I've seen A serious cut to his head, but what it could have been This my life's chapter, around the corner we never know But all I can say to the above, around me continues to glow .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
When I was very young, 
Dad and I would fly my kite.
So one day I finally asked him, 
"how does God make wind and light?"
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there!"
I nodded, then played a while.
When we first turned sixteen, 
my best friend got a brand new car.
We had plans for Friday night, 
but Wednesday, she didn't get far.
I cried when I hung up the phone, 
"Daddy! Why my best friend?"
He came and sat down on my bed, 
as we talked about the end. 
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there."
Then I laid and cried a while.
Further down the road, 
I stood dressed up in white.
The night that I'd been waiting for, 
I'd found my Mr. Right!
I asked, "Daddy why am I so blessed?
I seem to have it all!
When some just have no luck, 
they don't have much at all."
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there."
Then he walked me down the aisle.
Then thirty years flew by.
Two jobs, Dad's cancer, and my baby.
and Daddy's time grew shorter, 
and every day became a maybe. 
Then sadly the Dr. said "its time to say goodbye "
and by his bed I stood.
I just couldn't believe it, 
that he'd be gone for good.
"Daddy why do you have to go?"
I asked him as I sobbed.
I knew it was his time, 
but still, my heart felt robbed. 
"I'll ask him when I get there..."
he told me with a smile.
"If I even care! I'll meet Jesus in a while!
I know you think that this will hurt you, 
but these days are grains of sand, 
and heaven is the Ocean!
We'll be together once again."

Copyright © Ashley Beaudre | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
We said our goodbyes in June,
and the months since blur into mist.
At unexpected moments, awareness
of loss hits; tears spill unbidden.

Family gathering, Christmas Eve 
as usual . . . minus one.
We quietly exchanged gifts, 
found flowers from her funeral 
crafted into hand-made jewelry, 
kaleidoscopes, treasured mementoes.

I cooked grapes today, dark muscadines.
I extracted seeds and peelings, 
and measured life-sustaining juice 
through the metal funnel she used 
from the day of her marriage.
It came to me dented and bent, 
like her body had been at 93.

I still taste those fresh-from-the-oven 
chocolate rolls after school, 
garden tomatoes warmed by the sun, 
hot biscuits with apple jelly, 
squeezed from the peelings after 
she baked crisp slices in cinnamon-rich pie.

I'm glad I didn't know then,
about being allergic to Cinnamon.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

Details | Bio |
A dysfunctional child lies in a heap of mud
If a parent couldn’t help do you think a stranger would?
Holes in her heart 
A family that torn apart
Not a bad girl just a poor outcome
Just bad labels like 'stupid' and 'dumb'
In this tree lies a damaged root
That’s why we see no flowers or fruit
Broken trees can’t grow wings
So this little girl resorted to other things


a true story about a girl and her family

Copyright © R Kumari | Year Posted 2005

Details | I do not know? |
Mommy can you see me?
I can bounce really high!
Maybe with some bouncy shoes
I can visit you in the sky!
I'm seven years old now Mommy.
You've been gone about a year.
I can't wait to see you Mommy, 
and your memories are near.

Mommy can you see me?
Oops- I failed another test.
But I remembered what you told me
and I tried my very best.
I'm ten years old now Mommy.
You've been gone about four years.
I really miss you Mommy,
and I wish you were here.

Mommy can you see me?
Dad went off on me again.
I slit my wrists to ease the pain, 
I have scars all over my skin. 
I'm fourteen years old now Mommy, 
you've been gone about eight years. 
Who are you anyways Mommy?
Thanks a lot for leaving me in tears...

Mommy can you see me?
I'm so glad I finally changed!
In accepted Jesus like you once did
so my life could be rearranged.
I'm sixteen years old now Mommy, 
you've missed the past ten years.
But I'll see you in heaven Mommy, 
and that helps me fight my fears. 

Copyright © Ashley Beaudre | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
My name is James, born 1961
In Inverness, a small Scots town
To my father Andrew, and my mother Beryl
And Billy my brother, a pair of devils
 
In 67, we woke one night
Our house was ablaze, full of orange light
Our neighbour next door, for whatever reason
Started a fire, it must be crazy season
 
We had too move to a caravan park
By this time it,s three, to make a new start
My mother Beryl decide to leave
But the three of us left, never bothered to grieve
 
In the next few weeks, we ended in court
Two small children, in a marriage abort
We were asked to choose either Dad or Mum
But we ignored the parent, who went on the run
 
As we left the court, to start a new life
We felt sorry for Dad, as his illness was rife
He never told us that he was unwell
It would upset one of his boys, as the future will tell
 
Then came the night all parents dread;
Being told one of his boys is nearly dead
We were going to a boys club, on a Monday night
My brother was running so far out of sight
 
I turned the corner to see him ahead
No!! he's been hit by a van, Boom's  Boom's dead
I ran to my father, sreaming and crying
I'm finding my life,at 7 - far too trying
 
After the funeral, and with my father unwell
We left Inverness, our eyes a swell
To go as two, and not three as before
It's like Mother Nature closed a door
 
So we headed west, to a place called Fort William
Was it in the stars, cause Billy " is " William
We moved there, as the air was so pure
Hoping my father will find his cure
 
For whatever reason, we left the above
We found no Angel or peaceful dove
So we headed back to Inverness
Fathers health decreasing, life still a stress
 
Over the next few years, i was fostered and loaned
In couples houses and children's homes
It was really strange in all those places
Different people, different faces

Then on the 16th of Feb - 76,
James, i was told, your dads very sick.
The cancer had taken your father away
To be with Billy, where you'll join them one day

In 77, i joined the Navy, as i promised my dad you see. 
I did'nt enjoy it, i decided to leave 
Back up north, where my futures to be 
I wanted to have, what my parents had lost 
And that was my aim, no matter the cost

see page 2 of 2, ty..


http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
the season I turned eleven
was the season that I died
there'd been blood betrayal and famine
and I thought I had survived

my neighbor killed my kitten
and for that I could not cry
my mother went to handle it
told me to stay inside

i sat poised in an armchair
trying to calm my mother down
while I could feel nothing
we knew she'd made him drown

the woman was a laundress
washed other people's clothes
didn't like the stink of pig sties
it offended her frail nose

the wash-board on the right side
where the pigs did have their homes
was the one she always gave me
like the left one was her own.

only when a pig was hanging
would she demand to trade
i'd wash next to a hog's corpse
a choice could not be made.

then one day I got angry
and I dared to move her clothes
i moved them to the right side
as the rage inside me rose

the woman tapped my window
and said your cat is dead
it was two days before Christmas
she roused me from my bed

there was display of feeling
tears could not be be shed

gray fades to black
hello sadness my old friend


                                                     12/11/06


Copyright © Lucrezia Blanche Aguilar | Year Posted 2006

Details | Lyric |
 Raped and Molestated in childhood, 
   Abused and Misused in pre-adulthood,
     Alone and confused they stood; feeling
       like tainted goods.

 Let their soul cry, maybe then; they can
  regain their pride. 

 They gotta let their soul cry

 Their darkest secret's they lock  away
   within, this is why their flesh constantly
    feast off sin; and everything in life has a
     beginning, but never render an ending.

 Let their soul cry, Crying is the only way to
  gain their piece of mind.
   
One might ask," Why"? Then , I will reply,"
  They need to see at least one day filled with
     promise rather than pain and see the sun
        without having rain.
     
 They gotta let their soul cry, before their sin
  cause their flesh to die.

Copyright © Margaret Johnson | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme |
This place it is protected
It's all that we have left
You've built on every other space
Of green fields we're bereft

This one last space is ours now
You cannot have it back
We need a place to run and play
Or have a picnic snack

This place it is protected
Please keep off the grass
Your diggers and your big machines
We shall not let them pass

Come see our peaceful meadow
Now please just go away
Leave it to the children
As one last place to play



From England








Contest : Foreign Exchange 
Honorable Mention

Copyright © Nick Bagnall | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
Tonight as my baby girl started to pray
She said God it's 8 O'Clock, 
And God We need to talk.
She said daddy help me pray, 
And daddy bow your head,
As we knelt beside her bed. 
she said God can you hear me?
Mommy always said you'd hear me,
If I would learn to pray, 
And that you would show me the way.

Well God I don't understand. 
Why you took my mommy away.
Daddy always says i'll understand, 
When I grow up some day.
She said God, you need your son. 
Well I need my mommy to,
And I know that my daddy, 
Would be happier with mommy. 
Cause daddy talks to her, 
And mommy's not even there.

God can you please,
Give my mommy wings, 
So she can come to see us.
She always kept our house clean, 
And God I know, 
She keeps your house clean to.
And God I miss mommy's big hugs, 
Daddy says your son gives hugs to.
So I know if my mommy had wings, 
She could hug me and daddy.

Well God I want to thank you,
For being there to listen, 
And God think about what I said.
And tell mommy that I love her, 
And God I love you to.
Oh just one more thing God, 
Help my daddy stop crying.
Thank you God, Amen, 
Then she turned to me and said,
Goodnight daddy, I love you.

I was still on my knees, 
Beside my little girls bed, 
With tears running from my eyes.
I gave my baby a goodnight kiss, 
And said sweet dreams baby girl.
Then I went to my room, 
And kissed my wife's picture, 
And with tears in my eyes,
I knelt down to pray, 
I said God, We need to talk.

Copyright © George Martin | Year Posted 2007