Poetry Daughter Poems

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

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Details | Prose Poetry |

l. Opening the closet of narra doors, I sweep through organza skirts and gemmed ringlets; my hair ruffling aimlessly upon scalloped kerchiefs smelling decade - old hyacinth, Mom’s favorite ambrosia: she would lift her anklets in tiptoed hums, ”night and day, you are the one..” Evenings touched her candle hands; hands that soothed wounded knees from jackstone fights; her fingers caressing a pony -tailed girl’s wrath with piano keys rippling into a gentle moan; “night and day you are the one…” And i am delivered from my tempestuous rants. ll. From nowhere, the porcelain mirror gazed at me; her rhythm of silence billows, cradling my nights with each veil of her almond eyes that enter into my irises: a serene sight too close, much too tight I clung to her unspoken word. Through years, I grew like a bamboo shoot: her quiet smiles and music walked me through reality’s maze. And how I would wail bearing the grim of hard study, coughing late, late hours of reading toil…yet, she stayed like a moth with charm flushed in a wind of calm gaze, ebbing . lll. And only Mom could melt my temper when my raging soul paused to wonder at her light’s glow: oh, her feminine beat illumined more lamplights dancing inside this rebellious head… and now, she hovers around me. I become her eyes, chanting, “night and day, you are the one” ; never balking at my surreal conquests. She is gone bequeathing warmth into my torched flights without question; with much love dripping from her graceful movement, straying all through these my breaths: “night and day, you are the one…” Best Sad Poem Ever Contest of Laura Loo Resubmitted 8/28/2016

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014




Details | Light Poetry |
She came to visit quite often
A girl much younger than me,
I was there when she was born
And gave a party when she turned three.

She was always at my house
As a teen I watched her weep
When she sat at the kitchen table
And stated"This baby I can't keep"

At the age of twenty
When she married the wrong man,
I tried to be her best friend
And said "I understand."

Then at the Christmas party
When she was twenty nine
I was there when she passed out
From drinking too much wine.

I noticed most days after that
Her eyes were full of tears
I held her head when she got sick
From drinking too much beer.

Just tonight she called me
She had important words to say
"Guess what" were the words she used.
I've been going to AA.

Her heart was truly breaking
But she said the time has come,
I want you to be proud of me
Because "I Love You Mom"

Lynn Barany

Copyright © lynn Hanna Barany | Year Posted 2011

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 |
So… during basketball season… our manager, Anna,
             would sit by me on the bench.

After Christmas, 
I told her about Nana drawing with charcoals. 
I told her about how I wanted to buy her charcoals 
             so she would draw again. 
I told Anna about how Nana won’t draw anymore 
             because she used to draw…
                          when Papa was sick. 

             (I was telling Anna all of this because she likes to draw
             and mentioned she likes charcoals the best)……..
 	           All that being said…

Anna gave me the most beautiful charcoal drawing 
            of a basketball on a wooden floor.
It is framed and really big. 
You can tell that she put time into it 
            and really wanted it to be pretty. 
When I opened it in class today, 
            I was so surprised…… 
                           and told her it was beautiful. 

She smiled at me and said, 

            “I drew that because of the story you told 
             me about your grandma.”

I bawled like a little kid. 

Just that the story would influence her, and 
              inspire her to draw that for me. 

It is awesome.

I had forgotten that we even talked about drawing……. 
             She didn’t. 
                            That story meant something to her.

 And that is why people teach.

Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
She's a tiny floweret between buds and orchid blooms She's a beauty pouring perfume in light shades of lilac hues She's a fearless butterfly A winged vision in the sky that soars,that flutters by Spreading spring dew in my life . She's the twilight's softest music She's a song that never dies And Oh , those noichettes eyes own the glint of fireflies . She loves to help me bake She's my true sweet cuppy cake Mischief 's rose blushes her face Cheeky girl who knows her ways Ways to make her mama sigh and to earn her fond embrace . She's my daughter,She's a pearl still protected in my shell Till that time a day will come when all faries become myths and the world would steal such bliss Till that time a day will come and I loose my magic spell But today She is my girl Our shared rhymes play in her dream She's a princess ,I'm her queen Till today papa 's her hero He's the shadow of her smile Till tonight, my arms Her cradle Blissed this dream ,this girl is mine She's the Present , She 's sublime She' s where heart and soul entwine.
Dedicated to my loving daughter Christina who is two 32months old :)

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
My angel, I love to watch you sleep........ When the night comes then your voice calm down When the moon begin to sail in the sky then your eyes are closing down to sleep You fall asleep while dim light illuminates your room I love to watch you sleep my little girl You sleep like a little angel within your dreams Your hair falls both sides of your face and your hands folded in to the blanket Your pillows and bunnies are spread around you You breath soft and low while your innocent heart beat slowly to the merry tune I love to watch you sleep my little baby When I want to kiss you to say good night in your sleep then you toss your head and stretch your little body and turn around sleep again while holding your pillow God brought you to me and given you as his gift and today you are the greatest treasure in my life Someone to laugh and dance and sing in my home I love to watch you sleep my angel Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka All rights are reserved

Copyright © Ravi Sathasivam | Year Posted 2013

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 | 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 |
LEAST WE FORGET THE GIRLS’ KILLING CRY
(Apropos The Boko Haram Girls)

                i
We no longer hear
the screams of the young girls
nor the whimpering
of their little brothers—
nor the echoes of falling tears
of grieving widowed mothers
and the muffled hush, hush, hush
to new born babes.

How much longer
must we awake
to another morning
we wished we never lived to see? 

Mornings where
the horizon’s plains
are dotted with earthen keloids
of humpbacked graves
in overpopulated makeshift cemeteries 
where food crops once grew.
Horizons reminiscent of 
the screaming echoes animating
from departing Middle Passage ships.
  
                          

                  ii
How much longer
must we experience nights
of damned deranged dads—brothers
roaming, ravaging, raping
sisters and slitting mothers’ throats;  
damned deranged dads—brothers  
driven by a demonized illusion
of the Nile goddess of fertility;
intoxicating themselves
with chalices of their families’ blood?
How much longer?!!!

How much longer 
must our daughters remain
forgotten victims
Of those who’ve lost the free
in freedom—like those who’ve sold the in
in independence—lackeys 
to and of ancient slave masters
who’ve learned well 
the western ways of deception?

                    iii
Unmoved and no longer
grievously concerned,
the world mesmerizes itself
with a deceived sacrilege image
of a revered Nile goddess.
Meanwhile, defiled bodies
of African girls
are no longer newsworthy…
these wretched of the earth sisters
continue to suffer ethnocentric
rape and gendercide: perpetuations
of free roaming…hoodwinked brethren,
inebriated with neo-colonial genocide.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
A real man with morals and principles would never abuse a lady
how can a man beat a woman and drive her to nothing but fear
gone are the days when a man treats a woman the way he should
not saying that there aren't men like that but honestly they are rare

How can a man kiss a woman and then tell her that she is beautiful 
yet when they disagree he is quick to slap her across the face
all my life I was taught that I should always have respect for a woman
so if I should abuse one to my family I would be the biggest disgrace

Any man that would hit a woman to me is nothing more than a coward
have you ever considered that she is somebody's aunt or their mother 
I would never condone a man physically abusing his wife or girlfriend
I don't care who that man is it could be my best friend or even my brother

How would you feel if a man turns around and beats your only sister
I can imagine the threatening remarks or even the action you would take
you swear on your life that you would defend any female in your family 
yet you hurt another man's family you are not a real man you are a fake

I could never beat or abuse the woman that I say I love and care about 
the only time I would put my hands all over her is during our lovemaking
I was thought from a tender age that a woman's strength is her mouth 
so I would save my energy for the makeup which is always breathtaking

women don't be fooled if a man hits you doesn't means that he cares 
he tells you how soft your skin is yet he beats you all over your body 
he then comes and apologizes and tells you how much he loves you 
and later the process replays like beating you is his biggest hobby

a woman's skin is so soft and her touch is so delicate and tender 
and yet a man sees it fit to hit her this is something I can't understand 
I am glad I can stand and say that beating a woman is ethically wrong
I could never hit a woman and this makes me proud to call myself a man

so if you are a man that beats your woman honestly you sick my stomach
how could you say you love her yet you destroy her beautiful features 
I think men like you should be condemned to hell on judgment day
I'm asking the real men to join the fight against all women beaters

By: Marlon Malcolm

Copyright © Marlon Malcolm | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
Basketball Blues

Here I am trying to string some coherent thoughts into a prose in writing…
When there is this sudden continuous thumping noise behind where I am seating…

Oh no! That can only mean one thing, my little girl is into her  basketball dribbling...
In this limited space of the living room,  her boundless energy needs venting…

Ever since the local junior basketball competition has started, I wish we live on the moon…
When the whim strikes, it’s Michael Jordan incessant dribbling about  in the living room…

Only the emptiness of space around the moon can silence the sounds of these staccato booms…
NASA or whatever relevant space agency, book me quickly, if  possible, beam me to the moon..

Yeah, I know better, our cajolings and pleas for quiet in this living room is a waste of saliva…
This feminine version of Michael Jordan in my living room is in one of her breakaways runs afire…

Look out! Control that ball, you almost bump poor Nemo in his cute fish bowl off that table…
Where’s your mother, what do I have to do to get a little peace in this time of the day altogether…

Little girl, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to finish this little poem of mine to post on-line…
I have my readers and fans, they’re just like yours, hoping to see the best I can offer each time…

Yeah I know, your fans and supporters, they are cheering you on too, I see the picture…
But little angel of mine, please put away that blasted ball , how about something else to consider …

Let me finish up this shortened prose, post it up online and then I will bother you no longer…
After that, it would be better that I quickly retire to the master bedroom, silence there is pre ordered…

Tell me again, when is your last game,  for all this thumping through the week is giving me heartburns…
Do you have to bounce that ball indoors, that noisy din will one fine day bring on angry neighbours…

Better you do something not so noisy, say,  clean Nemo’s tank - it looks rather dirty to me….
What? You’ve clean it twice already in this week, are you very sure of that? How about money?..

Would you like to have some change and maybe you can grab a soda outside, it is one fine weather..
Fervently I dare hope, my little Michael Jordan, do go and pick up your many dolls, where’s Barbie..?

Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015

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 | Prose Poetry |
We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"

Copyright © Perry Campanella | 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 | Prose Poetry |
Please dry your eyes, now don’t you cry...
Let me share with you a lullaby....
I used to tuck you into bed....
Back when you were young....and such a sleepy head....
Disappointments are many in this life we lead....
But I know you’re strong and will succeed....
Please trust in me for I have a message to send....
You will never back down or crack and bend....
It is your nature to love and be kind....
Negatives don’t linger in your mind....
You're still that little girl who once sat on my knee....
With those big blue eyes looking up at me....
So I would like to take this opportunity....
When there's not enough sun....and  too much rain....
Lots of happiness, and very little pain....
Just like the moment, when my heart did sing....
With all the joy that you did bring....
To each, and every one of us....
Without any fret and not much fuss....
I am very proud of what you have become....
And all your accomplishments of what you’ve done....
Unconditional love will never go out of style....
When your tears can be replaced.....
With this Grandmothers’ smile....

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |
When you miss a child,
Of your very own,
That is your flesh and blood,
You begin to wonder,
Where did you go wrong,
In your own life,
Instead of looking,
At the beautiful life,
You created,
This you must remember,
So many of the difficult times,
Cause of the times you did share together,
For your children will remember more,
Than you really want to give them credit for,
And they will always remember you,
As their loving parent,
For loving them so much,
More than you will ever know,
And you will never forget them,
Just as you hope,
You will never be forgotten,
From their lives,
Forever more,
As well.

Copyright © John Hembree | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
  Daddy's Little Girl
		                  By Elaine Roy

O Daddy, how I remember how your smile,  always shined down on me
How you told me, that I was the best Birthday present, you ever got, the day you adopted me
When I would drive you crazy, asking why questions. You would tell me, you had to think about it and when you found the answer; you always explain it to me.
You always made me happy, just being around you; you always filled my heart with joy!
 I always enjoyed listing and learning, through the stories that you share with me!
You never stop believing in me, even when I did!
 You show me, hope, when I couldn't see it!
 You always, found away, to make me smile!
 I remember, how we danced at my wedding, to Daddy's Little Girl!
 I’m so proud of being “Daddy’s Little Girl” 
Yes, I’m “Daddy’s Little Girl, cause I was born from his heart!
O Daddy, I miss you every day and I can still hear your voice, after all these years!
Now, you live here in my heart forever, reminding me why life is so beautiful and treasured

Copyright © Elaine Roy | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
While one of Bob’s daughters bought him a wardrobe of new shirts. The other one said, “I know what to do, I’ll make him some desserts.” While the first daughter gave him polo’s that made him look so neat, Then the second got busy in her kitchen and baked him things to eat. Through the year Bob lapped up his desserts like cream for a cat, And his shirts started to grow tight because he was getting fat. Next year for Christmas the daughters knew just what to buy, And everyone who saw said that Bob was one lucky guy. One daughter bought him clothes in the next bigger size, And the other one got him equipment to help him exercise. If you would ask the daughters about his fluctuating pounds, They’d tell you that this idea wasn’t as dumb as it sounds. You see this yo-yo weight scheme was their plan right from the start, So each Christmas they’d have something to warm their old man’s heart.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
 you runway the other day
your love here to stay
you are still my world
DADDY
LITTLE GIRLS

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
I had heard this song by an obscure artist, with a twist as it played verses 
of 'Somewhere over the rainbow, with 'What a wonderful' world entwined. 
It's simply melody strummed on a ukalele mesmerized me as I listened on the radio 
in the car.
I remember saying to my wife, "I want this at my funeral." I was morbidly honest 
that way.
Several years later, I was watching an episode of E.R. in which our favorite 
character, Dr. Green discovers he has brain cancer, and a short time to live. He's 
basically given the advice we all wish to avoid. "You don't have long, retire, enjoy 
the time you have left."
 Dr Green, plans a vacation with his daughter, who's relationship has been strained 
since his divorce. For the next three or four episodes Dr. Green and his daughter 
spend his last days surfing in Hawaii. Mending the relationship slowly, to a degree 
of understanding only a father and daughter could know. He's still Dad, and she's a 
teen working on letting go of her resentments.
In the last episode of the story, he's not doing well. He keeps passing out and his 
strength is waning. He knows it's only a matter of days, possibly hours; but doesn't 
share this with his daughter, the scenary is of a bungalo on the beach, white sands 
surround the openness of the primitive bungalo, palm trees speckle the beach, and 
in the distance lies the royal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
A day of surfing is suddenly changed as he suggests that his daughter go ahead of 
him, he'll stay back and watch until his strength returns. So he sits in a hammock, 
and watches out in the water as she strolls off to surf, Background music grows to 
this song I'd so loved, by and artist named Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole and as the 
music is playing softly, the camera pans in on the face of Dr. Green for his death 
scene, and his last breath. The camera pulls back, from the back of his head, above 
the bungalo, above the beach as if we are Dr Green's soul departing this earth.
Yes, I cried like a little school girl as realized that my favorite character had just 
been erased from our show, with no chance to come back for a Cameo... What!? of 
course that's why I cried! OKAY! it was a tear jerker! and the saddest part, was the 
relationship with his daughter was still in repair . Moral of the story i guess-- You 
never know when its your time, so don't hold on to petty resentments, and love 
every minute of life.  

I later learned, Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo?ole; had also died





Copyright © michael hornschuch | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |
My dad is a brick mason and so were my 2 grandfathers so it’s easy to say I would 
know a thing or two about laying brick. It has surely come in handy a few times in 
my life and each time I’ve had to use that knowledge; I have become smarter, 
quicker, more experienced. With each job, the joints look more clean, the foundation 
more sturdy, are larger than the last, more effective, rising higher and higher. I have 
found that some jobs were unnecessary and the walls would need to be torn down. 
But as I get more under my belt, those walls are harder to tear down.  The last wall 
to come down started slowly, very tedious work, back-breaking, brow 
sweating….many man hours went into what eventually resulted in a massive wall to 
come crashing down… covering everything around it in a cloud of dust. It was a 
most victorious day and well worth the hard labor. The land was cleared of debris 
and life began to flourish where the wall once stood. But I’ve been out of work for a 
while, no need for any walls to be built….until now. I thought my mason days would 
be over and I could hang up my trowel….retire from this laborious job that has took 
such a toll on me over the years. But now a wall is needed and it is time to dust of 
the tools handed down to me from a father to his daughter….trowel, level, jointer, 
and brush. This project is my biggest yet and will require much attention to details 
to ensure that it will withstand just about any force of nature. That it will stand rigid, 
unbreakable, firm. I dread the hours that this will require, the aches and pains my 
body will endure for this enormous wall….a wall that no one will be able to rappel 
over, with numerous defensives, so high and well-built that it will intimidate anyone 
who dares to think twice about seeing what’s on the other side….a wall long 
enough to encase a small city so that those who rest inside will sleep peaceful at 
night with no worries of invasion. As I gather my tools together, I realize I had 
forgotten how heavy those mortar mix bags were. Funny…you usually never forget 
that or the effort that goes into mixing mortar. But I had forgotten. I start going 
over the blueprints, going over the knowledge that has been passed down to me 
and what I have acquired by experience….building my confidence up for that task 
that lays before me. It’s time..yes I believe I’m ready to start my footer. As my 
shovel strikes the dirt…I wonder if this is the beginning or the end of my career as a 
brick mason’s daughter. 

Copyright © A Rambling Righting Riley - Shauna Riley | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
With a huge geometry of bones and ribs
my father stands amidst us,
like an age-old iron pillar,
high durable, tensile and unbrittle
he is, the lonesome cantilever.

Though I know not,
perhaps he could be in immense pain,
or suffering from his terrible wounds;
but neither I feel nor touch
as I fear;
may be I his last crutch
or be the solve of sandal paste
on this body for ever.

Though I know nothing,
perhaps, for the sake of ‘oil and salt’ world;
he’d be even ready
to sleep on the bed of thousand arrows
and at the same time
he hides every sensitive worldly elements 
within him, as far as
a star fish does every time
when it comes across a danger.

And always, I cannot move over
to his world of desires,
it’s the same show
the same grief
day after day.


The foot prints of his journey through life
are not lost in the sand storms of poverty
and in my mind as well.
Like the third bank of ever flowing river
Like a lonely Oar of way lost solitary boat
Like a distant star in the dark sky
Like a defiant soldier in battlefield 
My father-
with dry tears and black blood
in his toil and lethal hands
continues his combat fight
against treacherous time
and treadle fate.

And with a twingle of hope against hope,
I feel every odds of life
and promise to myself a thousand times
‘I can be a nearby dawn
to remove the everlasting dark night’,
as  my thoughts don’t go
with the distanced sun.

Copyright © Neelamani Sutar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |
Last Dance
It was a beautiful day A day of celebration, a day of thrill It was the day of my sister’s 18th birthday The most waited day of a girl to be a lady and I? I was a girl that time and all I have to do is to Observe and cooperate And it was our most anticipated moment To witness that celebration and to witness our dear father as the first dance of my sister who was missing us for many years because of separation. Yet we didn’t know that, that would be the first and very last day of the year that we’ll see him His body was so thin His face looks sickly and heartbreaking He looks so different But he remained calm and at ease Michael Gan the first rose, He stands and overwhelmingly danced for my sister They turned and sway They dance like it was the last He was overjoyed Filled with different emotions Happy, touched, sad, missing us, and regretting His heart jumped over him He tries to catch his breath touching his own chest We hasten him to the nearest sickbay To salvage his life His precious life, my father Battling from death, loses his fight His eyes wide open, no air No movements, no smile because... It was his last dance

Copyright © Ana Mae Gan | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
My loving daughter... A treasure and blessings for us from our God to have you as a wonderful and sweet daughter You bring us a special joy and charm and fills happiness around our home Your smile does brighten our days and set us free Your hugs and kisses make our hearts melt There is no life without you and you are everything to us Years have gone so quickly and brought so much changes in you But your every experiences have left us to remember you forever We are proud to be your parents and its the best ever we have felt Sometime you make naughtiness and we go crazy but silently we enjoy when you tease us and others You are the beautiful child we brought you on this world for reason To love and teach you right from wrong and protect from sins No matter what, God will keep us together forever That will be the best of our family can be. Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka All rights are reserved 2015

Copyright © Ravi Sathasivam | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Missing you is like feelings of thee morning dew. The very first time I glanced at you, something like a widow a woman that husband has died. Wishing we had just a little more time. Wishful thinking believing everything you ever said was true shows how bad I want to be with you. Reminiscing over here dwelling on the past, indicating a desire of admiration I grasp. Adoration and appreciation is what I feel for you, longing suffering missing and enduring the lost just to speak to you. From morning till midnight, sunset to sunrise moving into the afternoon time I’m missing you. Arousing emotional response in motion missing you is my religion. My system of belief, therefor you’re an apostle sent by Christ making me a flock of one in your missionary. Leaving me with anxiety and tension I stay missing. Impatient for your fulfillment, missing you is an addiction and psychological dependence. Needing to see you even for a minute, in a recession I remain unchanged retain missing you.

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
My Darling Girl, 

your big dark eyes  met mine

against your pale skin and yellow hair

this name sang in my heart, Susan,

my Black-Eyed Susan.

A wild flower you’ll be, you’ll be a

kind friend,

loving wife,

strong mother,

sweet grandmother

and always you’ll be

my darling girl, my Black-Eyed Susan

Copyright © Alicia Lambert | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Have you ever imagined the world we live without women?
It is like a lung without some oxygen, agonizing and inevitably dead,
A face never with a smile, boring and unfriendly.
A cup of tea without some grains of sugar, bitter and foul,
A pool without some water, dry and empty,
A good ride on a bad untilled road, rough and uninteresting,
The earth without some drops of rain, an inescapable famine,


But how come with the great number of women on planet earth?
We still live to cry as a reggae legend sang “no woman no cry”,
It is because they permit evil as much as they permit good,
Gullible and instrumental in the hand of the wicked ones,
Ugly and nice, beautiful and dangerous,
Cunning like serpents, deceitful like chameleon,
Holy but liars, having a form of godliness but highly ungodly,
Lovely like little puppies, sweet like bees honey,
Women, an invincible force in our our world today.

(c) 2010

Copyright © Joshua Akinwande | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
She is strong but also weak
with that beautiful smile
so graceful and meek
Her touch is soft
and her words ever so sweet
Never a dull moment
always bright and sometimes lenient
with a positive outlook
even when it's clearly out of the books
She wipes the tears, and forces the smiles
touches the heart
and never you dare cross her child
Mother, Mama, Mom, Mommy
the many names that she goes by
All quite fitting for the warrior inside
with the love giving and super healing ways
she never makes a mistake
Even when you thought she was wrong
give it a day and you'll realize exactly what she was trying to say all along ( you soon realize she was right all along)
She is the all knowing, all loving, super talented and magical gift from the God above

Copyright © Tora Simpson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
FRACTURED FAIRYTALE!

Chanced upon a book one day,
Bent, dog-eared, tattered and frayed,
Tale found within, read with a grin,
This fractured fairy tale,
Laughter did not fail......
Cinderella's real story,
Not such glory...
Ma woke up one fine morn,
"Cinders, Cinders!" Ma cried with such scorn.
"Cinders, you did what?
Cinders, you look such a grot!
Cinderella, are you on drugs?
What handsome prince gave you hugs?
Where is our pumpkin for tea?
Where's your pet mice, prithee?
Cinderella, Cinderella,
Where is this handsome fella?
Are you on drugs?
Handsome prince gave you hugs?
Did you forget the pill?
Why, you silly dill!!
Cinderella, Cinderella,
Listen to me, I'm your mother,
Not some fairy godmother!
What fairy godmother???
Cinderella, Cinderella.
What did you do with that handsome fella?"


Yes, that was the fractured fairytale,
Indeed, laughter did not fail.

Copyright © Julie Grenness | Year Posted 2015