Narrative Baby Poems

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Details | Narrative |
She is searching for the son taken                  from her arms 
         simply because she was believed to be a child herself.
She was unable to stand up to her parents’ wishes -
those GOD fearing upright Christians whose pride mattered
                           more than               their daughter’s feelings.

Her son’s pink-cheeked newborn face, chubby and cute,
    haunts her waking moments.
But in dreams, she sees him               tall, athletic and so beautiful.
Beautiful like her Johnny, the boy with whom she’d conceived her son
all those years ago.
 Nathaniel she had named him, Nathan for short!
              Shortly thereafter, she’d accidentally but happily been given to know
    that the adoptive parents were honoring the wish of the biological mother.
              They’d kept his name Nathaniel. Though she knew not their surname,
         his name was her glittering hope. It IS her hope today,
           for this one piece of knowledge has sustained her through
                              the eighteen long years that were to follow
                                     that long sweltering summer before her child’s birth.

That summer so long ago, when she'd been made to stay at her aunt’s house
   in a little town far away from her city and out of sight of her parents’ friends.
As her belly grew larger, she would bide her time, sometimes taking walks.
Past a rusty gate that led into an old graveyard, 
                             she would seek shelter from the sun,
            along a green shady path            meandering past headstones
headstones with names of souls who once inhabited this strange little town
                            where she was spending the fifteen summer of her lifetime.

She'd never been the child her parents believed her to be; she was an old soul.
   She could have been a good mother. If only Johnny had not deserted her.
Oh, beautiful Johnny, the father of her Nathan! Surely she'll see her son soon,
                       and surely he will resemble the love of her youth.

She has returned to this little town where she’d felt her Nathan’s tiny fingers
  wrap around hers that last day she held him - as if imploring her to stay.
But obedient daughter that she was,                she gave her son        away.
Today her Nathan turns eighteen. Born August 28th, he can’t be hard to find.
How many Nathan’s with that same birth date could exist in this little town?
                      She has kept the vow she made to herself all those years ago -
                                    to not try to see her son until he became an adult.
Now she is finished visiting the town’s two schools. 
                   There is no record of a Nathan, Nate or Nathaniel born Aug. 28th.
All these years clinging to her hope. Had the adoptive parents left town?
Had her son never grown up in the little town at all?
With dismal thoughts swirling in her mind, she finds herself walking. . .
                          walking like she did in the summer of her tribulation.
Past a rusty gate is that old graveyard she remembered from before.
                Here she is again on another sweltering August day walking
                    along a green shady path            meandering past headstones.
Almost instantly, her eyes are drawn to a small mound and a stone
                                                                                      overgrown   with vines.
A strange dread has come upon her.  As if compelled by some strange force,
               she finds herself yanking the vines off the tiny headstone!

Tears well up in her eyes as she reads the birth date on the stone
             and sees the very short span of life revealed by the date of death of
                                                                                   her son Nathaniel.

Written 10/1/16 for the Overgrown With Vines Poetry Contest of Broken Wings which was judged First place along with some other first place beautiful poems, 10/8/2016

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Birth was suppose to come easier than this.
I pant quickly as I was taught, 
but pain evaporates my gallant front
and tears have come from eyes squeezed shut

I hear a voice unlike my own
The room is filled with some concern
I groan, the doctor takes a turn
Quick-fire decision, a swift incision

... a tug, a void,...a cry...  a babe..

The next several hours are a bit of a blur
until everything clears, alone in my room
on sterilized sheets, too stiff,  too sleek, 
too fragrant of bleach, to think about sleep.

Suddenly, all I can think about is mother
and how different it was for her, 
especially, since her young husband was so far away

This miracle I bore, as soft as fine silk, 
with tiny closed fists, rose-petal nails
fills me with joy, with relief, I am filled
 with a deep pang of grief
for a long ago thief
I can feel the connection, mixed joy, and compassion 

I bathe in the scent of my brand new beginning ......
But my thoughts stream behind me,...... to a hope that had ended
My mother in bed, after losing her first....
So young, in her bed, without child,........ bleeding red
from the war that she fought, while my Dad fought his own

I cry tears all alone.... for the grief that she owned
I so cherish the breath.....of this babe on my breast

The circle of life, starts with birth .....sometimes, death

Contest: A Hundred In a Row
Sponsor: PD

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
and she said Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams but today I live in my daughter's happiness All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own All my friends I do not see,to stay with her at home Money might get tight,but what is money compared to pure joy of a child What is money compared to her almond eyes Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come But what is success compared to first giggles to first steps, first mouthfuls and her little grabs Compared to gurgles and babbles to first time she calls me mama and hold on to my hands What is beauty in the world compared to a pearl This innocent child,a coloured coral petite pretty girl Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams But today I live in my daughter's happiness I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires roses on doorstep,unsigned love letters with spiced cologne and enticing words Today I live in my daughter's shadow To watch her live her own dream I watch her bloom in autumn gardens from princess of hearts become queen Tomorrow I will not be here She might not get to see the white of my hair the wrinkle in my smile But,today she knows I love her long more after petals wither long more after a mother's hug fades long after I shine from the sky.
Dedicated to my beloved Christina with love Happy first birthday wrapped with barney hugs and Winnie the pooh kisses :-$:-|B-)

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |

...and the wind..! was, electric. there was water..! there was sun..! was all renewable... the energy, powered, sustained, life..! Fossil liquids burning emitting toxins that was OUR mistake. From the day a human kick started wound up the first combustible engine..! The first spill in any ocean should have been our clue. It was what cigarettes was to lungs- -what alcohol was to brain cells. It was a human error, a human error so huge that like a mythical dragon assumed a life of its own consumed the will the power the limited minds of limited men. Unlike the giant beast veiled as nuclear power with its unlimited potential that would have wooed the minds of the greatest among us, oil from its inception had the smell of destruction on its breath. It would in its own way fulfil the prophecy the world would end with a whimper not a bang. We saw its horns its bright red skin its pitch fork but we signed up willingly ...and from that day on our eternal souls were damned.

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
I can hear them from here 
Their wails and cries 
I can see their tears from here 
They are the babies I wasn't bold enough to birth 

Babies my stomach wasn't strong to carry 
Babies I killed before they saw the light of the world 

They were sleeping peacefully inside me 
Growing graciously within me 
Until I took the pills 
And first it was their head
I felt as it dissolved into blood 

Each moment of pain 
I could hear them asking me 
Why Mama?
Why not give us a chance to be the best God wants us to be? 

I felt them fighting terribly for life inside me 
All I could do was to hold my stomach 
As I rounded into a ball in the corner of my sorrow
Then slowly I felt life slip out of them 
And slowly the fighting ceased in a loud silence 

As I looked down, I felt between my thighs, a fluid 
But it wasn't blood, but the dreams and Ambitions my babies could have had
All streaming down my thighs 

'My MA and PA  will scold me'
' I don't want shame all over me ' I begged 
Then like angels without wings, I saw them! All in white 
They were two beautiful boys ...

Boys I could have given the best I never had 
'I'm sorry ' I uttered 
Then slowly they turned their backs and left 
And written on the path they stood was 

(This is to children who were too perfect for the world to see)

Copyright © Abosede Ogundare | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Battered and bruised mommy cries as she tries to cover her black eyes.
But mommy doesn't see daddy as her demise.
One January 25 mommy and daddy awaited as baby arrived.
Smiles of comfort and tears of joy came as so did the baby boy.
Mommy and daddy weren't ready to take care of the child for daddy was still a child.
At heart mommy took all those foul mouth liquor jeers from daddy's mouth but baby didn't 
know what that was about.
Mommy stays with daddy for the child, not realizing that it is doing more harm than 
anything...comes from daddy's mouth and baby takes it in not realizing.  
Flashing lights and sirens ring incredulously one slumber-some December night as baby was 
tucked in tight...while mommy and daddy was going on like it was Saturday fight night.
Baby cries but whose there to hear for mommy and daddy curse and de fouls the baby's ear.
Baby's heart is broken and shattered as mommy is shaken and battered.
Sweet kisses to mend her wounds internal and external but are they sincere from daddy's 
They will never part even though in mommy's heart she wishes daddy would leave forever.
One grief-some January 25 mommy rested never to return for her and daddy went on a 
"Where is mommy", said baby but daddy couldn't talk.
What could he say "I beat mommy till I killed her leaving her internally bruised and brain 
He couldn't say that any way for he was talking to Tiny in cell block five that day.
And baby has no other choice than to realize that his family was nothing more than a mere 
Sirens ring
Sirens ring
Battered and bruised mommy cries for help as she fights for her life.
Because daddy has beat her till her eyes turned dark as night.
It's ironic because baby has become a fighter in Saturday fight night.

Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
As I think back to yesterday, 
my vivid recall of your days of play.

I can still see you laughing as you ride your bike,
and all those expressions for the things you liked.

Now you are a man, and you stand so proud,
as you salute your commanders among the crowd.

Soon you will leave me for a far a way land,
filled with violence, and miles of sand.

Your dream has always been, to serve, and protect,
my son so proud of his country, with no regrets.

I pray for your safety, while wiping my tears,
your only nineteen, I can't hide my fears.

So tomorrow you will leave me, and your dreams fulfilled,
but you will always be my baby, and my life you thrilled.

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |
Marching as one, they rejoice His Birth,
children of Faith, know His worth.
Gathered in worship, separated by miles,
all know the meaning of His given Child.
Wise Men came far, to look upon His face,
the child of Mary, asleep on the hay.
Shepards in the fields, were told to rejoice,
voices from Heaven, told of this boy.
A star led the way, across many a mile,
followed by many, to see the Savior Child.
One cannot forget, how Christmas began,
a baby was born, and Jesus, He was named.

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |
Ah, the bloom was on the Rose
yet, the taint of alcohol and drugs
looms nightmare like behind her baby pink cheeks. 
Porcelain skin tones, raspberry rogue
nails to scratch and lift bits of dirty lucre.

She was clawing her way up,
and hopefully out, he hits her, “Slut,” he screams at her.
a sometime replacement sat beside him. 
His Chicano inner-city drawl hurt her ears 
and the fake diamonds studding them. 
The new girl beside him

She’s due at work by nine,
grabbing a smooth wrap-top and a mock
grey skirt, she rushes from the room to the bank.
She can still see his long fingers playing in other girls cleavage.
Rose, well, Rose pays the rent. She strikes a teller’s pose 
behind the formica countertop...

Long days, counting other peoples money
kindness, and sweetness sucked from her
like a ripe plum on a summers day.
She needs work, more work.
I asked her to help in the garden.
Long blonde, buxom, bending over weeds,
only six months to go to graduation
an associate degree…

Rose chuckles, “Look who I’ve been associatin’ with?”
I eye the twenty-five thou lottery ticket in my jean pocket.
“You want to move here Rose?”
“What would they do without me?”
I sigh, thinking of her alcoholic mother
off bingeing and her “boy fiend”.

The lottery windfall went for Rose’s college tuition. 

The bloom is off the Rose now, 
two hundred plus pounds later
strung out beside her Mom on a ratty couch, 
she eyes the Diploma in it’s cheap black frame,
and rocks her baby girl
some things, never change….

*Names have been changed, and the amount given, but part
of the ending has truely come to pass already [sigh]. 
The rest is all true.  

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
The New Year’s Baby each year starts out fresh and new,
Always exciting, the life of the party, and never blue.
He’s a quite active little Cherub who’s cute and funny,
And he’ll be there at the stroke of Midnight to usher in
The New Year and to escort Old Man 2014 outside where
The unforgiving “Dust Bin of History” awaits his tired old
Body and his failed attempts to improve mankind’s lot.
The New Year’s Baby will be a busy little fellow indeed!

The New Year’s Baby is eager and chompin’ at the bit 
To get started on January 1st to make his mark in our world
During 2015, and brings with him both enthusiasm and hope!
The reality for our little Cherub will be much different than
He realizes since certain age-old specters still pervade “Home
Earth” today:  Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, Famine, and War.
And we shan’t leave out a couple of new ones at home with
Us today too:  Global Warming and Worldwide Pollution.

With these major problems, throw in Mankind’s “Seven Deadly
Sins,” along with murder, rape, guns and nuclear proliferation, 
And all other types of crime—you’ll see and understand why our
Bright, young, and full of hope New Year’s Baby will begin to
Age so fast over his allotted 12-month tenure here on Home Earth.
Really, all we can do is to wish our Cherub friend our very best and
Pledge to work with him, world societies, and world governments
To try to make things better on our planet and among our world citizens.

The transition from the Old Year to the New Year is no doubt a time
For both celebration and reflection—and in spite of the negatives I’ve
Listed, not all is so terrible nor lost, as long as our world community
Begins to realize that the brightness of the future we hope to have for
Generations to come is very much tied to the solutions we contemplate, 
And the decisions we pursue in attempting to improve our situation.
And the big FACTOR “X” in this whole equation, lest we forget, is not
To forget to turn to the Almighty Lord God in our maximum hour of need.

I’m personally not a zealous religious person, but that does not mean that
I don’t believe in the power of divine intervention in the affairs of mankind.
The key, I believe, is for everyone on this Earth to include nations and
People alike to pull hard and a really commit to make our world a better place.
We inherited this world by the beneficence of the Almighty himself with the
Hope that Man in the image of His Maker would become his Brother’s 
Keeper—but time may not be so much on our side, as Mother Nature has
Been complaining of late of mankind’s violations of the integrity of this Earth.
A little faith and prayer to Our Lord God never really hurts—for the stakes
Facing our world for the ultimate survival of Mankind are the real deal.
Make no mistake about many of the negative factors I’ve listed—they
Are indeed real and won’t be that easy to readily solve as some require 
The concerted effort of everyone as we march forward with our dreams.
We have such tools of wonder in our arsenal of modern technology,
Why not use them for the good of mankind and strive to make the job
Of our Little Cherub New Year’s Baby a tad bit easier. I rest my case.

Happy New Year!!  Amen!!  Amen!!  Amen!! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, (December 31, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
My Hero

I was once in your womb
Pain of giving birth was like
One foot in the tomb 
The bout that you needed to ease
Because I might be lost
If you don't fight to cease
Thank you for rocking me unceasingly
Thank you for feeding me 
In the middle of the night tirelessly
The naval that I see
Is evident that you never gave up on me
I love you so much Mommy
Thank you for your unconditional love
You are my hero Mommy 
Sshhh don't tell Daddy Mommy!
I love you too Daddy! 
And you are the King and Queen of my heart.

September 30, 2015

Copyright © Meline Ngo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
In school these days 
they teach about 
sex education 
but perhaps 

they should teach 
about work
when my son 
was a baby

he woke every two hours
doctors said he had colic
time and time again overnight
we got up feed him changed him

and went without sleep
I can't imagine 
how hard it is on a girl
to bring up a baby by herself

night after sleepless night
we became exhausted
I can't imagine how
a young girl on her own would cope

then on top of that 
she can't go out
the baby won't 
disappear for the night

every night day after day
that child will be there 
wanting and needing your love
everyday without a break

granted the bond is special
and I loved bringing up my son
but perhaps we should 
talk about the work required

the loss of social life
that most teenagers enjoy
having a child will wait
enjoying your youth will not. 


Copyright © Bernard Barclay | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Once upon a time, I was an only child, for eight lovely years, it was all about me, then it happened, the most terrible thing ever, my Mom gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. She soon came home from the hospital, hugging her bundle of joy close to her heart, I peered into the bundle, honestly what was the, big deal, he was wrinkled up like an old prune. As the days past his cheeks grew chubby, he had soft, wispy hair on his head and his body filled out all cute, just like the Gerber baby, at least that is what everyone would say when viewing him. Gosh, why did he have to be so cuddly, always cooing and laughing with those bright eyes of his, blowing bubbles and taking everyones attention, and why, oh why did I love him so much. Narrative January 19, 2013 For the Gerber Baby Contest

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
The dew hadn't had the chance to come,
and the nightingale had just sung its tune,
as the fire’s flame licked the timber,
and the wolf howled at the moon.

She hoped for the prospect of leaving,
for Her and Her infant to leave soon,
as the fires flame licked the timber,
and through the window, shone
the bright moon.

As night progressed rather slowly,
and her man fell into a swoon,
she chirped; "I'll light another fire dear,
it'll be the last I'll light for you."

Within the first dozen snores he had sung,
She was down by the edge of the flume,
as the fireside slowly grew larger,
and the black creek, reflected the moon.

She didn't propose an objective location,
and She hadn't the total time too,
so she endlessly strayed into vast timberland 
illuminated by only, the moon.

Beads of sweat rushed down his cheek,
as he slumbered and dreamt it was June,
as the fire crept up the frame of the bed,
and in the cluster of stars, lay the moon.

By the time it was morning She and Her child 
we're wrapped in a swathe cocoon,
as the fire had went into eternal rest,
and newly set down the horizon lay
the ghost of last night’s moon.

Inky ash took to the sky
and in the air His remains strewn, 
as the fire had went into eternal rest, 
and newly set down the horizon lay
the ghost of last night’s moon.

Copyright © Kurtis Collins | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
My Baby Sister My baby sister, Karrean Went home to eternity Her soul is with our Lord To share His full serenity For siblings we were all close Our childhood was the best I’ll never forget the fun we had Our entire family felt so blessed She always showed love To everyone she knew We all loved her so much And she loved us all too As she entered Heaven My mind envisioned this She met her first grandson To give him a hug and kiss I could see her holding him Two days before his birth Giving him all her love To bring back to this earth There is one more vision Another blessing that I see She is also up there in Heaven Spending this Father’s Day with daddy Florence McMillian (Flo)

Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
It's not because of flood or fire,
nothing more than a desire
that's  prompting us to tear apart 
all that we've  established here.

Tired of treadmill tedium
breakfast always at eight am,
walk the dog by nine o'clock,
skim the pool tick tock, tick tock.

Time to find new closets, in which
to re- arrange familiar things, 
possessions, we can find in our sleep
Convenience, imprinted on memory

Decisions now on what we must cull
things we thought we'd always keep.
Oops, there goes the baby grand, 
the price of shipping way too steep.

We know of roads we've yet to take,
new friendships that we've yet to make.
Unseen rainbows and unformed dreams,
leaving behind established routines.

Beyond - a new horizon rises
Freedom comes from letting go
Detachment happens from cutting strings
Mix up the pieces - start again

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Loitering pain; existential in its core
Evicted; eradicated at child birth
From her core.
Self queries, examinations of the soul 
Replaced by sense of duty
For the community
And offsprings, she adores.
Existential (ist) angst left her core
Without so much as a goodbye!
Without a  farewell!
A feckless lover 
Would have treated her
Now she pieces puzzles together
Of galaxies omniscient;
For her five year old
Now she sews rainbow buttons on
The hems of pink tutus
For her little girl. 
Now she talks about glittering mermaids, Rapunzel hair 
And velocity of planes!

Copyright © YASEMIN BALANDI | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Im scared
Im absolutely terrified
My knees shake 
Like a baby fawn learning to take its first steps
I want to leap into this wondrous field of possibility
I just don’t want to be dropped like a hot potato 
Like so many other times before
I want to believe and have an abundance of hope
But how can I when I’ve been left with a broken heart
Picking up all the jagged pieces, one by one
How can I believe that this time will be any different?
How do I dare risk it all again
Knowing that im putting it all out there once more

Copyright © Madison Mittelbrun | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
One day, one of our daily papers carried a story about a teenage girl who 
dumped a baby;after carrying the baby for nine months in her womb.
And nowadays,it is common for teenagers to throw their babies in pit latrines,
 drainage,and rubbish sites;
Why acting in such a manner when barren women are cying for babies and 
 orphanages are around us?

Copyright © chipepo lwele | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
When they told me you were there, immediately I started to care.
A bond between the two, which was a bond for I and you.
You were my something to hold, my something new to behold.
Immediately, I wanted to shape you into a woman or a man who could stand up and stand for whatever he or she felt she deserved, but mainly a chance, in life.
When they told me you were there instantly I started to care.
 I was awaiting the embrace of my little one and for you to embrace this new life.
But when they told me that you would not make it, right then I knew my heart couldn’t take it.
My joy suddenly vanished away and that thought of waiting to deliver your warm embrace.
My heart began to break and wonder if this world was just a big fake, to take something so precious, sweet, unique, and by me. 
When they told me I began to cry, my soul began to slowly die.
I cried for you.
I cried for me, because we would never get the chance to meet each other you see.
However, if God will have it so, one day I will get to know who you are and what you might have been, the only remedy and medicine to put the lost and the great cost of losing you behind me.
To my unborn love, mommy loves you.

Copyright © Saudia Holmes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
While flying from Uruguay to America,
I experienced some fearful problems,
Some were real and some nightmares.
I was tossing my handbag left and right
I heard a sermon my mother used to sing
I was quite engrossed for a few minutes
Forgetting all the problems I was worried about
Hey, my co-traveler said, “your tape is running”
I remembered recording my mother’s voice
I think my mother came as protecting force
Giving an edge over my imaginative problems.
A mother is next to godliness, God personified.

An event of March, 2010 confirms my belief.
An Australian mum brings her premature baby son
Back to life by loving cuddles when chances none
The doctors battled for twenty minutes gave up
Of saving  her lifeless baby boy born at 27 weeks.
Doctors gave the child to the mother to say goodbye
The grieving mother cuddled him tightly two hours
Bringing back her son to life, weighing 2 lbs.
Twenty minutes of science two hours of love
I bet it is nothing else but divine intervention

Second part of the poem relates to a miracle happened in Australia. Anyone interested to read more, here is the link 

Sixth place winner in
Contest: Divine Intervention in honor of Catie Lindsey

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2010

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IF I HAVE OFFENDED.............

Copyright © Red Fiery | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

This tiny precious being I hold in the palm of my hand About to embark on life's journey This delicate image of man Created in his own likeness This soft, pink bundle of joy Makes even the toughest of men Start acting like little boys Can't imagine anything sweeter Turns the coldest heart to mush The sweetest sight imagined Painted with a loving brush With all the nasty everyday stuff That's happening all around us The birth of a gentle newborn babe Sprinkles us with fairy dust Hopefully this magic continues Through the years that lie beyond With the birth of each new generation A brighter new world will dawn © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
You are next to me dear love.
You are the beauty that still reins in my vein.
I sing your name in the lonely seasons.
Bride of your smile keep my breath hooked.
Next to my waist you are the cell phone.
I see us as my own.
You are next to me Love.

We both see earth spinning as time separating us.
Day and night calling, dreaming, feeling,
Logging but your eyes look straight in mine.
I speak language of our Love.
Dreams coming, dream going, here I am standing.
Our romance keeps on flooding.
Earth tests us but we remain growing.
We both see earth spinning.

Our Love is next to me.
I speak language of queens.
Our love sings songs of kings.
We multiply like flock of beans.
We remain glued like a skin to bones.
You are the queen of African soil.
My love is with you.
Hold on to it like a food you eat.
Breathe my love I see you speak.

As we walk in red rose full of tiny stone.
Seating on the corner of big stone acting in-love.
Kissing bubble of flowing hearts.
Earth speaking with sweet wind.
Hugging each other now and then.
Flowing in innocent eye ball of a child.
Big tree is our mementos dear love.
Our love remains next to me.
DoN’t let it Go!

Copyright © lonely mabale | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
 I didn’t know the doctor.
I don’t know how I chose him.
Perhaps my landlady had recommended him
or maybe I simply picked him 
from the yellow pages.
I was two thousand miles away
from my mother or any relative 
or friend with whom I could 
go to for advice. 
It was embarrassing to open 
up to this stranger, 
but I needed to know.

The doctor had bad news for me.
I was not pregnant and it was
doubtful that I would ever be pregnant.
My body had betrayed me.
I left his office in despair
and cried myself to sleep
in my young husband’s arms
after I had burdened him
with the doctor’s report.
I wanted to be pregnant.
I needed to be pregnant.
Most of the young brides of my age
had a baby during the first year of marriage.
It was going on two years for us
with no sign of pregnancy.
I was alone all day while
my husband worked  and
my baby would be company.
We had come to this city for work, 
when my husband could not
find a good paying job
near our native home in North Dakota.
I was young and lonely. 
The doctor had given me a prescription
to take for the symptoms that had puzzled me.
I don’t remember the name of the medicine
but it made me very ill.
The nausea did not get better
so I returned to the doctor.
He decided to give me the rabbit test.
The test came back positive.

My husband was worried about me.
World War Two was in full swing.
He thought he would be drafted and
he didn’t want me alone in the city
so far from my family.
We left the city of Detroit and
moved out to the West Coast 
where my folks now lived.
We arrived by train, just
two weeks before my baby was born.
It was March 4th, 1943 when
I first held my beautiful son.
I inspected his perfect body,
gazed at his beautiful face and
smiled at the bright red hair on his head.
It was the happiest day of my life.  

For Carol Brown's Happiest Day contest won 5th place

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
Beautiful Scars We both were blessed with a prince, Apple of his mom's and dad's eye, No words to describe the pleasure of his first sight. Few months gone,doctor diagnosed a hole in his heart, Disheartened,distressed we took him to Madras, To give him a remedy paramount. Alas!! surgery snatched him, Anguish at its peak screamed, Ah!! why me? Consolations came to soothe my bruised heart, This is your exam,give your best,..survive.. Vicissitudes come,go with the flow. My empty wounded womb now, Cherishes happy memories of two years with him, Along with fortitude,patience,assurance,supplication. Following year GOD blessed me, With a healthier revised edition of my lost prince, An exemplary that most scars are beautiful,few ugly. Contest:Beautiful Scars Sponsor: Laura Urbaniak Poet:Rizwana Bhurani 22.11.2015 .

Copyright © Rizwana Bhurani | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
My Heart, It Was Quite Sound

I felt my heart, yes it was quite sound
So love could invade me once again
Not so innocent, I have been around
All at stake , nobody knows the end!

As she walked by, a star blew out
A chance to get her into my path
Then a man gave her a loud shout
His voice so full of raging wrath!

She turned and raced into my arms,
Her breath and smell sent me aloft
I knew , she loved my magic charms
That fine body and breasts so soft!

A moment and the man lunged at me
too bad for him, I hit back hard
This beauty still holding on to me
This gambler had found a wild card!

Next she asked, will you save me 
That brute always follows and fights
Cries that he will never let me be
Watches me in the late lonely nights!

Into my truck we raced so far away
Once again, my mind thought what luck
This has to be my imagined perfect day
This beauty kissing me in my truck!

What is that damn awful blaring sound
Awakened then, saw my sweet dream end
Me all alone, nobody else was around
Vanished away, my beautiful , sexy friend!

I felt my heart, yes it was pounding
There was no stopping me this time
Gone were the grave doubts hounding
My poetic writings, loves and rhyme!

That moment I knew my next best plan
Grab a fifth and quickly drink it down
Sleep deeply to find her love yet again
Yes, I see her coming in that nightgown!

Robert J. Lindley, 07-29-2015

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Astonished by the news of her pregnancy, a young Virgin becomes bewildered, only
the assurance of a visit by an angel sent by God, that all is well. That all the adversities
they would face on their journey to Bethlehem{Mary and Joseph} and all the astrocitie's
sure to occur cause of the birth of the baby being carry by Mary, prepares them for the
Miraculous day that Jesus Christ is born. "The true meaning of Christmas", is diversified
by God himself, "Unto us a child is born, unto the pathetic world a Gift is given, a Gift of
Joy and Great Light". In this troublesome world Mary, your baby will become that light.
Smilling faces on all the young face's and Mary and Joseph are part of the Christmas
story, and the sheppards and and the wisemen's are prepared to present him with gifts
after the angel have warn them of this great day and the star settle upon the little king 
of Glory. 
    As we celebrate, and as the day recussiatate's, to many its just another day, but Jo-
seph had thoughts of privily putting Mary away. He has dream's, but the encouraging of
God's angel for a divorce from mary is not to be. "The true meaning of Christmas, is
diversified, someplaces around the world the snow has blanked the city with beauty and
the bird's are flying and forever and ever this day is mortified.

Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
In the blackness of the night,
Shone a bright and glorious light,
Quietness was pierced by song,
Angels formed a heavenly throng,
Heralding a royal birth,
Christ, the King had come to earth.

Humble shepherds made their way,
To the place where Jesus lay, 
God made man they then did see,
And proclaimed it joyfully.
Made the good news known abroad,
They had seen the Infant God.

Wise men journeyed from afar,
Following a newborn star,
To see Him, prophesied of old,
Bringing Frankincense, myrrh and gold,
And, to Herod's great dismay,
Departed by another way.

Holy Jesus, meek and mild,
Bethlehem's dear manger Child,
With the angels let us sing,
Praises to our Heav'nly King,
And Thy most cherished gift impart,
The adoration of the heart.

Copyright © Arlene Binner | Year Posted 2015