Poetry Child Poems

These Poetry Child poems are examples of Poetry poems about Child. These are the best examples of Poetry Child poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.


The poem(s) are below...



Details | Light Poetry |
An old man
A Grumpy bitter old man
Bitter face
Red nose
Wrinkled beady eyes
Scruffy clothes his best attire

Life has not been kind
So his bitter words bite those around
He lived alone, inside his madness
Leave me be and go to hell
His favorite expressions

The phone rang one night late
This is the Court sir, your brother’s son and family 
Have been in a terrible accident
Only your niece of four survived
When can you pick her up?

The old man was in a daze
What the hell was he being punished for now
Keeping care of a dam kid
What the bloody hell did he know about that?
"Well sir, we will be expecting you tomorrow, 9am prompt please"

Walking back to his flat, with a 4 year old girl in tow
Well the neighbors gawked to say the least
The poor little girl, tears and teddy, trying to keep up with grumpy
Once inside his flat, he looked at her with disdain
Said "Guess you be expecting some food or some such"

She nodded, as sad as she was, she was indeed hungry
He showed her the cupboard and fridge, milk and cereal in there
Help yourself, and wash the dam dishes afterwards
Don’t got no extra bed, so you sleep here on the couch
She nodded silently, thinking the world truly must have ended

Days, turned into weeks, turned into months
This little girl complained not once
All she could think of was her pain
Mummy and daddy were in heaven where ever that was
Why they left her was truly confusing

Friday was her birthday
She was sad and missing her family
Getting ready, she went to the cupboard for dinner
The old man said what the hell you doing that for?
She shivered in fear, he was always so so so mad

She apologies, sorry uncle Pete
He replied you sit your self down right there
And you be quiet you here?
Then the lights all of sudden went out
Bright tiny candles burned in the night

The old man, said, is your birthday after all
Hope you don’t mind these little cupcakes I got us here
She looked at him with new eyes
He turned, not quite smiling, no miracles just yet
They ate in silence after which, he said good night and happy birthday

The next morning even they really never talked
Other than who does what chores
Or how expensive she was to care for
She asked out of the blue
"Uncle, why do angels have wings?"

In his usual grumpy way, he replied
"So they get the hell away from us as fast as they can is why
This world is no place for happiness or angels get used to that"
She was taken back by his bitterness, still………
She replied, “but I dream on them looking over me uncle"

Well he looked at her, and somewhat softly and with unusual kindness
He answered her "that’s because you are one of them, a sweet little angel"
She ran into his arms and gave him a big hug
This was a very good thing.
For then she could not see the single tear the dropped to the floor

He actually hugged her back and with all of his heart
That day, a day for most people that was a normal day
Was for him and his little charge, a miracle
A small loving child, held that secret key
To opening an old mans heart

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015




Details | Light Poetry |
Revised.

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
The world is one big Pallette
full of mixed colours
mixed races,mixed cultures.
The world is full of different ideas
full of The Humble and The Intelligent, 
How Beautiful in its own diversity is the world.


White is too pale
Black is too dark
mixed together,they re so sottile.
Rich is too selfish
Poor is too weak,
lets make this Planet
a Wise Men"s street,
where rich and poor together
make ends meet.

BUDDHISTS are so SPIRITUAL
MUSLIMS so RIGHT ,so JUST.
PROTESTANTS,CATHOLICS so LOVING,
together they shape the Best Rainbow,
the best of our motherland outcoming

How wonderful is our Planet!
we are in it but sometimes we don"t know IT.
Protestants,Catholics,Buddhists,Muslims
Black,White people ,mixed races,
all Human Beings Embraces

she"s Catholic ,he"s Muslim
they love one another
their child was born
so JUST !like the father
so LOVING! like the mother.

He"s rich,she"s poor
together they married
and they have it all
a child wise,intelligent as the father
kind ,humble as the mother

whatever your colour,your status,believes
you are most needed to continue are Family Trees.
The world is ONE BIG PALLETTE,full of colours
all important and unique
WHAT A LOVELY COLOURFUL WORLD-charma

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2009




Details | Free verse |
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

Details | Prose Poetry |
You grow so fast, already showing glimpse of awesome creativity and transform discoveries from the industrious nature of your observations so squat at my feet and raise your attentive head up high to be equipped for this compulsory journey oh sweet creature of my seed. My hands of your molding and chastisement are already the processing engine of your refinement my strong willed mind and love soaked heart complete the stages as you hold steadfast to the train I’ve prepared for you Listen attentively as I perform this segment of my duties and lets take a tour round the routes of wisdom and gallivant the landscape of experience while I pedal your feet and smoothen your soles Seasoned flavored virtues are an armour through which life’s shots are overcomed and a colourful behaviour becomes a saviour in times of need Labor not your whole life in chasing vapour for out of vigour, flour is made from wheat, Bread from flour, but all for a time of enjoyment and satisfaction Guilty syndrome is exhibited when a person answers unasked questions and don’t force out jokes from your head or else people will think your sense of humor is on a life support Sunset is no accuse for the clock to stop running ad infinitum thus, an excuse is like a punctured umbrella it’ll still not stop the invasion of raindrops Your natural desires are borderless, but your ability to strongly control them is what makes you distinct from other species in the animal kingdom Love has no prefix, suffix or adjective it is what it is and as powerful as causing natural instincts to be abdicated in favour of kindness just for the carnivore to embrace abstinence. He who begins a tale becomes its reference don’t say what you cannot defend in court rumour is a bad odour which spreads beyond the neighbourhood and puts a noisy siren on your personality Bad companionship will lead you to the garbage and corrupt friends will join others to marvel at the immortality of your adopted stupidity Wash your face every morning with these words and take your every meal with these lines then would they be spices to which your life is preserved.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |

                                                Innocent lifeless
                                       Pretty children rest in peace
                                             Let us pray for them

                                            The kids were victims
                                       The shooter was victim too
                                             Let's not put a blame

                                                 Exclamation sign
                                          Love family, love it right
                                        Don't loose, hug them tight

                                                  Dear educators
                                           Part of the victims as well
                                               The lifetime tribute

                                           Mourn traveled the world
                                         Burn by cause last on effect
                                               Careful in our steps

Author's Note:
Deep condolance for the victims of Sandy Hook School in Newtown, Connecticut,
Inspired by Zamalea George Poetry "Sweet Children, Sleep"
*****************************************************************
4th place
poetry soup VIGIL" Free Poetry Contest 
Sponsor	SKAT- AB SIN THE-

Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
There once was a day I would watch every airplane.
Praying you was on it to come take me away.
As a child I wanted you around until the day, you actually came.
The day you came is the day my life forever changed.
I remember as if it was yesterday when you physically violated me.
Mental visions as early as the age of eight, but old enough to vociferate.
Visualizing mental pictures in my mind while I am awake very aware of the improper abuse I take.
Your body on me feels something like an autopsy of a dead body.
While you lay on top of me as you press aggressively on me.
Against my will your force kept me still.
I am trying to understand if you recognize who I am.
I try to say no hoping you can comprehend; I am weakling as you apprehend.
Mentally and physically I became involuntarily your property. 
A main character in a horror story, and you were my predatory.
I asked “God why?” as I bare to stare into his eyes.
This is not thee love I seek; all I wanted was my father to love me, but not like this injustice of violation of my rights.
This love is not real; not the love I wished to feel.
As he tries to stick his tongue into my mouth too young to know what this is all about.
I grip my lips painfully tight as he tries to slip his tongue inside.
I close them tighter with all my might, as he whispers, “let me love you right” 
I beg him to leave as he pried my legs open with his knees my insides scream “somebody please help me!”
As he whispers how much he loves me I’m praying for God to just kill me.
I rather be dead then a man’s punching bag.
As I lay there my body was dead, and I laid my soul to rest.
I looked around the room and seen the Old Spice on the desk the same fragrance he wore around his neck.
The sun began to rise as he began to close my thighs.
In that moment in time I had made up my mind any man that ever say they love me was just telling lies.
I learned the hard way that love does not kill your inside; love does not take your pride.
A fatherless child I shall forever reside.
Every day that passes that little eight-year-old girl dies slowly inside.
Asking Jesus,” Why permit this?” and he slowly whispers…as I gently whimpers, “faith is the light that guide you through the darkness, my words reflecting as a lamp unto my feet.”
“Walk unto my path I’m here to carry the weak, come into me you are weary and overburdened. I will carry the pain you have obtained.”
“I am your father and you are my child you are never fatherless because I’m always around.”

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
Tell me of your peace. 
Let it tell your story now
Of trials and tribulations, a tale not of dreams
Weary from a journey of self-discovery
My child, know the comfort in your peace
You feel hope in this familiar place 
As it gently sloughs the pain away 
Tell me of your peace 
In which we all are blessed and free
Search throughout your soul sweet child
Peer not within your cluttered mind 
Look out to rest your tired eyes but do not let them see
Solace found strewn upon daily thoughts is fleeting at it's best
Lasting merely moments, in untouched souls a true peace 
Oh yes! You'll know when you arrive but only you will know 
The world will melt away as a candle left under the blazing sun
Away away, until you feel home again, an unguided familiar scene
An innocence once lost is restored, all sins suddenly forgiven
Soaking this in with relucant ease, 
Breathe it deep with a slow release
Take it in, delight in details you discover
Be calm here child, please have no fear, I am here 
You are safe in this place of yours, no hurt no tears
We share not the same peace, no no
Unique to each of us, yet stranger to none
Trust in more than what you see, know beauty is within reach
We share this unspoken bond of freedom from ourselves
Please young one, listen closer now 
I say, leave it all behind you love, it will only weigh you down
Cleanse yourself of careless words and careful lies 
I know you're weary, let go of all you carry
Don't be afraid, here you are burden free 
Trust in you, blessed one, it's easier than you believe
Sweet child, tell me now if you see
Peace resting deep within 
Waiting for you
For you to let it be

Copyright © Gabrielle Charisse | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

I made a Jack-o’-lantern
With eerie looking eyes
The scooping was not wasted
For mama made two pies
We ate them in the evening
And then I went outside
I took my glowing lantern
And showed it off with pride.


[Dedicated to Abby Nance.]

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose |
I am a rock; earth, air, fire and water;
a child of the elements.
I grow and erode; 
my greatest strength is stillness; 
my voice, the silence.

I am a tree, a child of the elements.  
I grow and decay; 
shedding leaves and bark.
My voice is a whisper; 
my strength is the stillness; 
though I bow to the winds.  
Immobile am I; a conundrum of nature.

I am a mountain; a child of the elements.  
I grow and erode, by layers.  
my strength is the stillness;  
My purpose is a home for rock, tree and beast.  

I am a human, a child of the elements.
I grow and decay like everything else.
My voice is a gift; 
my strength is the still silence, 
where I rarely go.
Haphazardly, I run amok; 
relying too much on things I create, 
instead of my silent strength.

My greed crushes the rocks; 
destroys the trees;.  
My ego dynamites the mountains; 
poisons the water and air.
Because of me, the earth and her children, suffer.  
Wallowing in my greed and ignorance; 
my siblings of the elements, are dispensable.

I am a human, a child of the elements.  
I destroy because I ignore,
the still silence; my strength.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |

to sneak outside, into the gentle beauty of evening when all others are asleep, except for nocturnal hawks like me, I wander along the river's shore, in the twirling, dappled prism of waves, pebbles and buds, thrown across the grass by the skyline flickering through wind-tossed crowns of trees-- a rare sensation as though I were walking on a gossamer mantle of water : it's true, i love the taste of nightbreak softly caressing the glossy lacquer of summer tide-- a fragrant pewter, compared to the coppery sting of blistering daytime, that when my eyes inhale the grace offered by peeping clouds, is to be filled with a song of moonlight waltzing with the sea-breeze in a dance fest. Oh, sneaking outside in the near dusk hours has been a rite of mine since i was a child... and till now it beholds me, this magical pageant that began at age eight when from nowhere , a relay of stars and a new moon carried me out the gate and beyond this world-- if only to bestow upon me a mystical tour connecting heaven's light with waters blue. Water And Sky Contest of Gregory R. Barden Re-posted 1/5/2018

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
A heart that cries more than me 
in my pain. 
Whose congenial and benign teachings 
make me sane. 
A warm touch that dispels from me 
the gales of worry. 
Whose proximity ensures me that I'm 
protected by her under furry. 
A helping hand that always hold me 
whenever I'm about to lose. 
& my first teacher who makes me to 
distinguish between donts' and dos'. 
A voice and nothing more, an Angel 
who is entirely mine just after my birth. 
And she is none other but 'My Mother', 
The God on Earth. 
  
Although to define her in words is 
beyond my skill. 
Nevertheless I can say that her pace in 
my life, none can fill. 
She is the one who needs not a single 
word of me to understand. 
In my devastation, she is always there 
to provide effusively her hand. 
In the weariness of my life, with her, 
I may lose to be in link. 
But she ever remembers me whenever I 
breathe or my eyes blink. 
I can say that in search of heaven, 
I needn't to go anywhere. 
I would like to put my head in my 
mother's lap, as its only there.. 

Copyright © Hina Saxena | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
A grim, gray day,
endless rain coming in off the ocean.
Endless calls from other people,
"What part do we need for this?"
"Can you order it for us?"
"A happened and then B happened, what does it mean?"
"Do we hold this part toward the motor side,
or toward the brake side of the centrifuge,
when we're tightening it up on the horizontal shaft?"

There he was.
At the grocery store, picking up some stuff -
we were going to be working late that night.
God, people are slow,
wandering around like they don't know what they want,
like they have no other place to go.
Get out of my way,
get out of my way.
Tunnel vision in the fog,
man on a mission,
big mass moving at speed
to the end of the task.

There he was, 
in his mom's shopping cart,
staring at me.
Little guy, probably 2 years old,
'Popeye' looking with a knit cap on his head,
half winking at me with one eye.
Smiling. 

He was beyond 'stranger anxiety' or never had it.
He looked at me, and he knew me -
I was one of his.
He was a shaman, an imp,
a grinning cherub with a touch of guile.
So young, but he was aware,
aware that he *was,*
and that on the other end,
there was somebody who also was,
and he felt the humor and joy
which surely must be mystical.

I've thought of him a thousand times,
his little face.
A bright sun in a dark universe.

Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
Pull your blanket up my child
I know you are so very tired
Let momma tuck you in to dream
Of running free in meadows green

Copyright © Patricia L Graham | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
Upon a beach I came to stand
And watched a child at play. 
He did while playing in the sand
A point of life convey. 

With scoops and buckets he did build 
A structure tall and grand. 
And to the child the beach did yield 
A castle made of sand. 

But as he left, I do recall, 
Away I did not turn. 
And with the coming night would fall
A lesson to be learned. 

The tide came in, with force did strike, 
The castle could not stand. 
And I was shown how life is like
A castle made of sand. 

And man is but a child at play, 
His works they will not last. 
For all he builds within days
Shall be by time surpassed. 

Each thing we do, Each thing we say, 
Each notion we conceive,
They all to soon shall pass away, 
Yes, this I do believe. 

We leave no mark, we leave no trace
That shall forever stand 
Be sure my friend time will erase
Our days however grand.

Copyright © Stan Bradford | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry |
Victor or victim
Survivor or miserable wraith
All those labels, I have to prove something.
Feeling horrible is a sin, 
Having survived hell is something to be proud of?

Let me tell you something
As a small child I was abducted
I survived the road to hell; hell itself, and back again
This left my body broken
And my mind shattered

Let me ask you something
Are you more empathetic when I smile and shrug
And say: hey! This is me and I love my wheelchair
Or when I tell you I struggle every day?
The answer is not that simple

Yes, I am a survivor
But it’s not an accomplishment
It is just a status report: I survived
Am I a victor? Yes I am. I won, you see?
I still live, and put some of them in prison.

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
I had seen the artist in a frenzy moving his hand stroke after stroke the easel filling with shades. And a child straining to be still restraining its movements for it is to be done to ease the hunger. I had seen her desperation the fake smile the unshed tears the soiled attire as poverty smiled at me. Today I see the work displayed claimed among the best portrays a happy child with an innocent smile gone are the feelings and the strain on her face No more is she the poorly clad child and my heart cried for, 'art begins with a lie'.
inspired by the poem 'Lie" by Anne Waldman © Nadiya (13 Sep 2015)

Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
To define innocence in the
countenance of a child's smile
and love's eminence in wildflowers,
conceive infinity in exalted ocean's roar
whilst summer breezes glance splendor
flourishing jasmine and hummingbirds
amidst evermore expansive sunrises,
whence space and time ceases to exist 
thereupon shall enlightenment dwell

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

Details | Carpe Diem |
       
??????? ?? ???? ?? ??????? ?? ????
???? ???? ?? ??? ?????-????,
? ???? ?? ??????,? ???? ?? ???????,
? ???? ?? ???? ?? ???? ?? ??????,
??????? ??? ?????, ?????? ??? ?????,
??? ?? ?? ???? ??? ?? ???? ??????,

??? ??? ????? ??? ??? ?????
??? ??? ?? ????, ??? ??? ?????,
? ???? ?? ???? ?????? ?? ????,
? ???? ?? ???? ???? ?????,

??????, ????, ??????,
???? ?????? ?? ????,
?????? ?? ??? ????, 
?? ??? ????? ?? ??? ??,

???? ?????, ????? ?????,
??????? ??? ???? ????? ??,
???? ?????, ???? ??????, 
???? ????? ?????? ????? ??,

???? ?? ?? ?????? ?? ???
?? ???? ????? ?? ???,
?? ?? ?? ????? ???-???.....

???? ?? ?? ???? ?? ??
????? ?? ??? ????? ??,
?????? ?? ???? ???,
?? ??? ??? ?? ???? ??,

?? ??? ??? ?? ?????? ??
???? ???????? ?????? ??,
?? ??? ???? ?? ?????? ?? 
???? ????? ??? ?????? ?? ?

?? ??? ??? ???? ????
???? ???????? ?? ??? ???,
????? ???? ??? ?? ??? ?
?? ??? ???? ??? ???,

?? ???? ?? ?? ???? ???
?? ?? ?? ???? ???????,
???-??? ?? ?????? ???? 
??? ?? ??? ??? ????, 

??? ????? ???? ????? ????,
????? ??? ???? ????? ??? ?
?? ??????? ?? ?????? ???
??? ????? ???? ??? ???? ?

?????? ?? ???? ??? ????,
???? ?? ???? ??? ????,
??????? ?? ???? ?? ??,
?????? ?? ?? ??? ??? !

?? ???? ??? ???? ?? ?? 
??????? ??? ?? ????? ???,
??????? ?? ?????? ????? ??,
???? ??????? ???? ???,

?? ??? ?? ????? ???, 
?????? ?????? ???,
?? ?? ?? ???? ???? ??......
????? ?? ????? ??? ?? ??, 
?? ?????? ?? ??? ?? ???? ??......
                                                            - ??????

Copyright © Aparna Neha | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
“Metallic skin"
I dont lotion anymore
Such acts would soften an  amour now immune to abuse.

Its now 8'o clock and I can tell that mommy is already asleep.

I prepare a clean skin to be dumped in acts of unwanted desires.
A child's room to become the scene for subjected sin in sex!
My Innocents awaits to be taken once more, soon my Dora underwear will be torn off by a gentleman with the courtesy of secretly replacing them.

Swiper's car pulls up
A man of work, he stops not to say a thing, he pulls the door and creeps right in.
Right on schedule sir!
Yes sir!
Yes sir!
The soldiers on the television, I turned their voices up.

I sit in the corner, further away from him, I pressed my face into the arms of meeting walls, the spot where my tears kept me clean.

His five knives went jammed in my neck! I bit my lips causing my metallic skin to flick a tooth in the back of my head.
I swallowed it as my signature, approving this sentence.

Molten lava between my legs.
The friction scrapes me in and out!
Head held down, bowed to the name who sits on my family tree, I am green but he still picks me!
We are dogs, family on top of family, he did it horridly, a gentleman without hospitality.

He gave me something much bigger than me, pressure to the pipe,
it laid inside of me.
My reflection shows a prospective whore
Daddy what should I become a Lady of the night? For every night you open my little books to read me!

This red liquid drips me colourful, I paint a dead colouring book.
Daddy I am small but my tears are big, a million times I died in my own liquid.
I don't have a shadow anymore for I am not worthy to be seen. 
My skin grows but I shrink, dreams died one stroke at a time. He smashed my metalic skin.

Now I am HIV “Aladeen" my curves curls up cursed touched by a related beast. I am done, I am drowned in my metalic skin.

©Copywrite
By: Ramone Young
Poetic System Kidz Entertainment.

Copyright © Ramone Young | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rondeau |
What child is this, shy and polite,
who never likes to pick a fight,
who with a novel likes to be
alone and reading quietly
so very late into the night?

I know you think you’re not too bright,
but dear, you will turn out all right.
And one day you’ll look back to see
                                                      what child this is!

You’ll see yourself in a new light,
and then your soul will reach new height.
Your love right now for fantasy
will serve you well with poetry;
you’ll one day write with great delight
                                                       “What Child is This?”

Oct. 15, 2017 for the What Child Is This Contest of craig cornish

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
When I look at him I don't see a love story you'd
Read in a book or even see on the movie screen
I do see someone that is meant for only me 
Someone who doesn't judge or expect anything 
 but takes everyday as a gift and treasures
It with all my flaws and insecurities and still stands 
By me 
I see an angle heaven sent because even god knew
He would be 
A miracle in my eyes not a love story by any means
But a story written for me and him to read

Copyright © Trina Hamel | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |
Daisy Tyrrell,
A girl who feels bleak,
Daisy Tyrrell,
A girl I'd love to meet.

Her poetry tells her story
Of anguish, pain and hurt,
Of cutting her beautiful skin
Allowing her blood to spurt.

Her scars she tries to hide,
On body, in her mind,
From all her friends and family,
How I wish she wasn't blind.

Each life is a blessing
And Gods given her a skill,
She has a way with words
One she mustn't kill.

So Daisy put away your knife,
Use your pen instead
Write down all those feelings
That race around your head.

Share with a professional,
Someone to bring relief
For life is oh so wonderful
On the other side of grief.

Daisy Tyrrell,
A girl who feels bleak,
Daisy Tyrrell,
A girl whose talent is unique.


Your poetry has touched my heart dear Daisy.

Copyright © Elizabeth Kinch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
Let's make a child
From the both of us
One that will exhibit
The very best of our love

One that will grow strong
In the way of right and never wrong
A child that will play out in perfect harmony
The melody to our love song

Let's make a child
That we can call our very own
To always love and cherish
To forever have and to hold

One that will be a blessing
From the folly of youth to the wisdom of old
A child that will stand strong
In the very image of God

Let's make a child
That will fill up our world
A child for all ages
Strong in stature and confidant sure

One that brings out a smile
Be it boy or be it girl
Let's make a child
That will fill up our world

Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |
Dear Sir, my innocence is gone now, no more fear 
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here. 
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen, 
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain! 
I was crying; I was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened. 
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end. 
I begged you to stop and looked into your eyes, 
there was a reflection of a cruel world, that’s  what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did, 
Nobody knows that you made me bleed. 
Dear sir, my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was so blind! 
having hidden hatred inside, a virgin died. 
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories, 
time doesn't heal all wounds, that you marked, 
yes, you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.
My innocent world was shattered by your touch
Hope no one ever has to experience such
For all the pain, all the cruelty, thank you very much!

Copyright © Farhana Akter | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |
As the sunsets at the end of the day,
And the night begins to fall,
So, does all the dreams of all the little children,
In their own wonderlands of their own,
Wishing and thinking of great things to come,
Hoping their parents will make these dreams come alive,
Cause dreams to children should become bright and gleam,
And all to them more than just alive,
All children want is hopes and dreams to become true,
But if you can teach them how to work hard at them,
They too can make their dreams become their own reality,
For any one person works hard enough,
At what they want in life,
They can have any one thing they want,
All they have to do is work really hard to make it real,
For believers can believe in themselves,
And strive to work toward making their own goals,
Their very own come true,
Which gives more satisfaction in life,
Than things being handed to you,
So always strive for the best,
And all your wishes and dreams can come true,
In your life if you want them too.

Copyright © John Hembree | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Priceless pearl
my hidden diamond
love's sweet jewel

Heaven sent
Angelic countenance
Beauty so pure

Lovely daughter
your character delights
my devotion forever

Heartbeat on screen
My unbelief ceased
the moment
You
first squeezed my finger





Copyright © Christina Holmes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

    Close your eyes
    Sleep tight
    No creepy troll 
    under your bed                                                                  
    Nothing to fear                                                                  
    Mommy is near  

    Close your eyes
    Sleep tight
    There is no tiger
    under your bed
    Nothing to fear                                                                  
    Mommy is near  

    Close your eyes
    Sleep tight
    The dust dots under the bed        
    That is angels slippers
    Nothing to fear
    Mommy is near

    Close your eyes
    Sleep tight
    Let the moon and stars
    be in your dreams
    Nothing to fear
    Mommy is near




    - A good night comfort ....... many small children need
      some comforting in the evening - Small simple words :)

    18.02.2015
    A-L Andresen :)
    Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
 

     A empty face, dirty and dried tears on his cheeks 
     Eyes that have already experienced too much 
     A boy of 5 years folds his hands so small 
     and hope his prayer to heaven will reach 
     Life is so cruel and he need a friend -
     My mother and my father ... I do not know where 
     My home in ruins ... bombs have destroyed it 
     So heavenly father ... can you hold my hand 
     Hold around my little body ... 
                   Comfort me 
                            Love me 
     I'm only 5 years old and so scared  

     Amen





       Contest Name :Bible
       Sponsor:Regina Riddle
       

       - Thank you for my 6 space in the contest -



       16.08.2014
       A-L Andresen :)
       Copyright © All Rights Reserved 

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
             ~The Ever Lasting Love Of A Child~

You live and still living through thee only love that can last a 
whole life time between us,that same love we knew yesterday 
when we were born remains with us today, tomorrow, and after
tomorrow.

A love so deep that only you our mother can feel it,as it
Is an unconditional love that has no end,your giving,your 
love that knows no boundaries,Its real we feel it in our depth
daily when you are not surrounding us,Its for good,Its not an
illusion mom,because Its pure.

A love which transforms our shadows to experience the 
need to stay alive,your existence in our lives will never 
fade away,our respect,our missing you allows our tears
to leave traces on our cushions during the night.

That instant love of the moment when we were born Is an 
everlasting love,we feel it,our loneliness vanishes,memories 
do not seem far away,that reality will always remain in 
process of becoming even when aging.

A love without pain this is what you made us feel,a love that 
cries out loud even be heard with the rumbling of thunder. 
That same love can be felt between electric wires,our phoning
you everyday,its so full of truth so beautiful it feels like 
a spiritual love, our beloved mom.

Seconds never pass unaccounted for,you even wipe away 
our clouded eyes,that kind of love mom can even predict
our happiness no matter what the outcome of our 
coming years would bring.

That same love has so much emotions it illuminates our souls, 
its untouchable,immeasurable,unforgettable,it is a reason 
for our existence,your love cures our pain even when 
too much time has passed away.

Mom, we both your sons will love you,forever an everlasting love.
Sorry Mum we couldn't be with you in person, but our heart
cries out for you, Happy Mothers Day. Your Sons.

                                                  
Contest for PD. Happy Mothers Day
                13/5/2013   (Win No. 8)

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2012