Poetry Son Poems

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Details | Light Poetry |
Campfire And Tall Tails Friends and sons come walking into the campsite all dress in camo from their long day’s hunt Around the crackling campfire, they all gather and sat to warm their much-needed cold wet bodies Keeping warm with a bottle of Jack Daniels or Black Velvet, and a can of Mountain Dew being passed around Adding more wood to the campfire so it would last through the night With the sons poking sticks into the embers and watching the flame spark, pop, and dance in their sight, while others roast marshmallows at the end of their sticks The men are fixing their evening meal for all to feast on They all gather around the campfire and sit, Teasing and telling stories of their day’s adventure out in the woods, Of a long, exhausting hike around the mountain, With a vision of elk with a large crown of horns The stories are told big and small of the one they saw and had in their cross hairs, but a calf with its mother who walked in front spoiling their shot Or a bee that stung their hand when they were ready to pull the trigger When they‘re all done, they crawl into their sleeping bags so they can do it all over again the next day, Watching the campfire and teasing and telling their stories 10/29/2014

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014




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 | Light Poetry |
Como’ Si’ Yama’, Senor’
Como’ Si Yama’, Por Favor’…
… for Below That Embroidered Sombrero’
Shone Eyes Like El Dorado

He Was A Tall and Handsome Hombre’
Like The Range of Sierra Madre’
…Now, He Sat Center The Cantina
Surrounded by Bonita – Senhoritas

He Smiled, “Buenos-Dias Senora’”
Por Favor, Por Que’ El-Hora’ ?...
If So, Have A Seat, Mi- Amiga’
And Mercedes, Bring Over More Cerveza

He Was… Rodrigo Reyes-Pacheco’
Best - of The West, of Vaqueros’
He Came to Compete in The Rodeos
And Win Fame and Fortune in Pesos’

He Came Thru El Paso De’ Tejas
Thru Dusty Rancheros and Mesas
To Ride on El Toro Rojo
Who Has Never Been Ridden Befo’…

La Viva’… Arriva’  … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’ !... Rodrigo

Now, El Toro Rojo, Was Dangerous
For Killing Men, El Rojo, Was Infamous
His Horns Had Pierced Many A Corazon
Ripped Flesh, Like It Was Piñata’ Hung

I Informed All of This To Rodrigo
The Hombre, Was Bent on Being Macho’…
… He Would Ride Toro Rojo, Manyana’
Said “Gracias”… But My Cares Were Por Nada’ !

La Viva’… Arriva’… Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’!... Rodrigo

… Now, He Wasn’t Loco in La Cabeza’
I Just Didn’t Comprehende’ … “Que’ Pasa”
But I Saw Rodrigo Atop… El Rojo 
… ! He Rode Like A Latino – Tornado ! …

He Rode El Rojo, To The End…
Then, Turned ‘Round and Rode Him Again…
Rodrigo had Won… Just Like He Planned…
Because El Toro – Rojo …   …  Was Mexican !

La’ Viva’ … Arriva’ … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero
Champion Bull Rider from Old Mexico
Vaya’ … Con Dios ! … Rodrigo….
Vaya’ … Con Dios !... Rodrigo o o o o o


for Ruben Ortellao... 
I Don't Really Know 
What Your Branch of Humanity is... 
(Spanish, French or Other)
But I thought You Might Like 
This Whimsical Poem...  
Oh... And Thank You For Your 
Most Generous Comments... 
(Cause I Know You Are A Fantastic Poet... 
I've Read Several of Yours 
and I Love Them Too...)

 (P.S.  Excuse the Spelling... 
I'm Spanish Illiterate (Smile)
MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009




Details | Prose Poetry |
You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you 
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I 
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I 
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake 
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing 
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my 
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and 
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one 
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I 
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed 
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses 
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I 
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you, 
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad

Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008

Details | Classicism |
She should have been Hera, goddess queen of heaven, the sister-wife of 
Zeus, king of the gods; she would have caught him one Friday night tipping 
Out while she sleeps to visit one of his plumy wives and over 100 relations. 
She would have said, “Sit down Zeus; let me inform you about the laws of 
Property settlement and child support in heaven with a concrete poem.”

She would have straightened up Aphrodite, goddess of love and lust.
Especially when Aphrodite was caught red-handed making love to
Her son, Ares, the God of war, she probably would have said, “Now look 
Here woman, quit messing with my son and creating all this rumblings in
Heaven with the gods.” I could see some Lanturne poems floating

She would have acted as the sister of Demeter, goddess of fertility,
Agriculture, and harvest, a sister of Zeus. Because she would have 
Blessed women with children who need them, and also farmers
With great harvest and crops to feed their families and sustain the 
People across the land, by waving a haiku poem in her healing hands

She would have screamed as the sister of Hermes, the crooked cattle-rustling
God; son of Zeus and Maia, who stole his brother, Apollo’s cows, then
Lied, and swore before Zeus, their father, “That even if I knew who stole 
Apollo’s cattle, I would not even accept a reward for finding the thief.” 
She would have gave her crooked brother, and son of Zeus, a flying senryu

She would have been with Athena, the virgin goddess of wisdom, reason, and 
Heroic endeavors; the daughter of Zeus, and Titan goddess of wise counsel 
Métis, especially when Athena appeared onto Swift-footed demigod,
Achilles, and told him, “Sheathe your sword and defeat Agamemnon, the 
Greek king with words of wisdom.”  I could see some wise epigram poems 

She was probably counseled by Apollo, her brother, god of music, healing, and 
Poetry; the son of Zeus and the Titan goddess Leto. Because she has cared 
For the sick in hospital emergency rooms, and has also stimulated us for years 
With her poetic muse. She has counseled many along the way and has calmed
Many storms with loving charm. “Hail my sister in Christ—Karen O’Leary!”

Happy birthday angel and wishing you many more for years to come!





Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |
                             ~This Is The Day The Lord Gave.~
                 That July 7 2007 was supposed to be my Birthday
                     But it turned out to be a tragic sinister day.
           That same moment my son was supposed to come in a joyful way
                      But it turned out to be a devastation day.
                                           I Prayed 
                    What was supposed to be our celebration day
                           turned out to be our darkest Friday.
                     What was supposed to be an unforgettable day
                     turned out to be a wishful forgettable Tuesday.
                                         Obscure Days
                   What was supposed to be our family reunion day
              turned out to be the birth of a hideous cancerous malady                       
                   that destroyed all of my sons upcoming healthy days.
                That Monday instead became a wounded bleeding today
                       having to listen to what the doctor had to say.
             It turned out to be 5 months chemo therapy of shadowy days.
                                        Grace From Heaven
              My sons soul awakened his spirit one night on his hospital bed
                        sleeping felt a hand pat on his shoulders
                    heard a voice,my son you will not die have faith
                      your soul will awaken and you will be cured.
                                          Today 5 Years Later
                                     Is What The Lord Gave.
                     Mother & son are miraculously extremely happy 
                            out of the hospital he was flying away  
                     no more chemo therapy & cancer out of his way. 
                      Celebrating my sons healing soul will last Today 
                            Tomorrow And All His Upcoming Days. 
                                           Thank You Lord
                                     For Giving Us That Day.
                                            A Mother
                                         Therese Bacha.  
                                            

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Sometimes I am happy, sometimes I am sad.
Sometime I sing, sometimes I stammer

Sometimes I dance on the music of my soul, Sometimes I dance on the fingers of 
one single person
Sometimes I expect so much from others; sometime I myself can’t meet my own 
expectations.

Sometime I make fun of others and feel bad later, sometimes life makes fun of me 
and I smile
Sometime I win and sometimes I lose, sometimes I don’t even understand whether I 
won or lost.
 
Sometimes I laugh as if whole world is with me,
Sometimes I cry as if I am alone wandering in a strange land

Sometimes I give up so easily
Sometimes I work so hard that no one can stop me to achieve what I want

Sometimes I am dynamic person, who wants to change the world,
And sometimes I am a kid who expects anyone to embrace him tightly.

Sometimes I feel happy about the achievement of my enemy
Sometime I feel dejected with my own success.

Sometimes I help others and show them the right path
Sometimes I feel totally helpless and don’t know where to go

Sometimes I ask god to please give my past back
Sometimes I pray to show me the way forward


Life is composed of SOMETIMES and I just flow with that.
U admit or not but you are also sailing on the same boat.
So join me and enjoy it EVERYTIME as SOMETIMES life is very short!

Copyright © Rajat Singhal | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
            My Son Moon and Star ~

        Approaching the celebration of his Birth 
                cherishing the gift I received 
           within weeks of conception I knew
            something amazing was in Creation ~

            the Stars held a party
            sending me with one of their own  
    Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky   
       It was magic  It was destiny taking its flight.  

           In love with an October full moon 
               drawing and painting I liked 
             thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
                caught in a loss of time 

          Hours going by as choosing my color  
           a wittness to three falling stars 
             A clear night sky sparkle's
           A once Famous Star was sent 
            inspiring the tiny child inside ~ 

           Never a doubt in my mind at all     
       child bearing was worth any pain received
      yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
             one to cherish and hold
          My Son was born the following August ~

    working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year  
         as the set of Leverage for 3 years .

              Has done a Indie movie here  
             In Paris it was seen and honored
             coming soon filmed in Portland ~
                 "The House of Last Things "

        awaiting the credits , you will see
                        
    1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant 
   
                 My Young Lion Mans dream ~
        A proud mom I watch every show and the credits 

        as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
              My Son &  Moon and Star  
               A name you will all know ~

            Happy Birthday to my creative Son
             you will exist in my heart forever~
                        and thereafter               
                             Mom

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
       Chicken Head

       Your a bird, with no wings!
    Your soul is lost and lives in the streets.
     Why sell your body the way you do?
        you least can get your son some new shoes.
     If you going to sell your body,get what you can get.
         You have kids, you need to get a grip.
          Do you really want your daughter to grow up like you?
         To flag down cars for every man that comes threw!
           Why are you selling your last food stamps?
          To pay a cell phone bill that has laped.
      This is no debate, your son lips is cracked from being dehydarted.
     Why do you make them suffer for the things you do?
      Look into their eyes. thats the hatred for you!
         Your baby is crying tears, for you can hear.
               Crying to be loved by you,
            You can really fix the things you do!
   Each child is a gift from God, A bright shining star.
                 Look inside your heart,
    and ask your self is this is what you want to be.
          A chicken head that stay in the streets.
      Ask God for help, when you lay down to sleep.
            Pray the lord your soul to keep.
          If you should die before you wake,
       ask him to help take your kids pain away!
             Some one should decapitate you,
       for all the pain you put your kids threw.
      So stop having kids just for someone eles to raise them.
    I guess it's for the best, because you really don't deserve them!
           They cry for help, they beg of you!
     Your a lost soul, and only God can judge you!
    

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |
                               
                                  ~A Son Asked~

How can i give when i have nothing?
Because nobody has nothing you have 
everything but did not know 
you had everything.

How will i know if i am in love? 
Everything you do is richer and 
fuller when love is there only when 
you fall in love when you desire with 
passion when you miss the flame in 
her eyes when you envy the ground 
she walks on when you leave her and 
regret doing so when your dream is
all about her wanting her to be next to 
you now this moment this second that 
is called a dream come true! Love.

Is living a dream?
Only when you wake up in the morning 
full of love stay in love the whole day 
no matter what look at the twilight 
smelling the perfume from your balcony 
having a reason to get dressed to go out 
full of happiness energy plan an aim 
with a goal & success this is when you 
start living it becomes a dream come
true.

Is forgiving a dream?
Only when you regret if anybody was hurt 
if you stop judging & being resentful and 
you can sleep at night with no remorse it 
becomes a beautiful dream come true.

Is being human a dream? 
Only when you will feel other peoples pain
when you will open your heart and even 
shed a tear that is being human it becomes 
a dream come. 

Is sharing a dream?
Only when you start sharing even a piece
of bread give unconditionally listen to the
voice & respond feel the beating of a heart
be everywhere it becomes a dream.

Is friendship a dream?
Only when you become friends for
life it becomes a dream come true.

Is being compassionate a dream? 
Only when you love life when you
feel you can climb on top of the 
mountain and envy the beyond
& feel compassionate it becomes
a dream.

Is being intelligent a dream?
Only when you use your brain towards 
the right directions right decisions
be patient tolerant accept change
when needed proud of who you are
persistent succeed over the years it 
will become a dream come true.

Is having a mother a dream?
I can only think about this reply:
Since birth until the end a mother
is the shadow of each child its an 
everlasting love this is a dream 
come true.

How will you know if you are a writer:
Only when you never stop writing.
                                                                         Therese Bacha
Contest for PD  About inspirational poems.               6/3/2013

                                                                  Win as Honorable Mention.

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
I have a son
with more than his share of heart
and mindbody intelligence,
to comprehend vastness of Earth’s evolving history
and future demise,
to comprehend full emptiness of universes within
and without
co-arising nondual universes,
enough intelligence to become haunted
by our deep dualist dark insignificance
as a species,
and far less value even than this de-commodification
of AnthroCentric Futures,

His own autonomous Ego value so inconsequential
he doubts his worthiness of food he eats
of water he drinks
of air he breathes,
much less worthy of employment
or any developing sense of healthy vocation,
purpose
meaning midst his human comedic environment
at its best a good musical comedy cooperative network.

This, he can more or less actually find
on-line,
but not so much within his own family,
much less school.
Well, maybe there were a few exceptions
to the individual student competing against all other students rule,
everyone playing an absurd Win-Lose game,
with loser death the inevitable outcome for each and all.

In the meantime,
should we choose to fiddle while Earth prepares 
to burn in the middle
and flood on the shores,
why not orchestrate WinWin cooperatives
deep learning strategies,
more fun
more opportunity to improve interactive communication
and co-deductive dialectic analysis,
to live empirical-cooperative method
in an active healthy 
open communicative
mutual Win economic and political kind of Taoist way.

But, of course,
Taoism, in his expansive view,
hides in a Pandora box labeled “EXEGENESIS of RELIGION”
which is about a spirituality cat half dead
and unfortunately only at best half alive,
as if spirit is any other than eco-dynamic nature,
as if yin were other than absent reverse nondual inside 
yang’s revolving bilateral time;

Spirituality implying he walks through a divinely inspired comedy
with few speaking parts and no solos allowed,
which he knows could not be true
unless divine inspiration
is no more or less
than human natural regenerative DNA programming function,
developing form,
informational ergodic prime patterns and rhythms,
synergetic invitations toward gratitude,
integrative predestination of phylogenic bilateral form
revolving through Earth’s interdependent spaciated orbits of time.

To what end
could we possibly become
for one who is humanist musical comedy cooperative-preferred,
competition-averse,
with polyculturally inclined interests of rich dense fertile healthy sharing
this hour,
this game,
this day's plan,
but without actively articulating hope for any self support,
thrival nutrients for his body;
not just his mind.

Surprising to me
how my lovely son quickly learned to see
spiritual as natural nonduality,
but has yet to recover his embryonic mind
as body co-arising transparency,
much less divine as also humane 
musical comedic unity
without aspiring toward monolithic uniformity.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
                 

                                         My Son Kidnapped

                       My story is thee only one I needed to write  
                     one year In captivity underground me and my son
                    days passed by we were prevented of food & water
  bombardments outside were heard, suddenly a militia ran towards my son kidnapped him to be killed running after him screaming his name I knelt to pray
         Oh my God without him I will die show him the way to come back
   sleeping on the floor one night I heard him call my name I knew he came       
                     we held each other tight our tears had no end.                                                                        
                                              5/1/13
                                           Therese Bacha


Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
When are you coming home, son? I miss your smile, you've been gone for quite some time now we haven't talked for a while. When are you coming home, son? How are things, all right? I still have that picture you gave me I look at it every day and night. When are you coming home, son? I know this war's been hard on you, I still remember the day you left I said, I loved you. When are you coming home, son? I see the plane landing there, but it's a coffin draped with the flag 'tis something I can not bare. When are you coming home, son? I remember days gone past, I now stand, looking over your gravestone you were taken from me, your life went fast. Copyright © Cynthia Jones Nov.17/2005 Being a Canadian, writing this bothered me. Thinking about the American troops in Iraq and the Canadian troops in Afghanistan. When will our governments finally see what they are doing is wrong and send our troops home?

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one ambition

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right

Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight

Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010

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 | ABC |


I am blessed to have two wonderful sons that are very good to me

To say I am proud of them both is most definitely,

My eldest son is very independent

And my younger son is very driven to commitment,

They are both very Unique in their own ways

I am so lucky to have them both everyday,

Their futures are both very bright

And just knowing that I sleep very good at night.

Written By: Unique Poetry 2015

Copyright © Michelle Born | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
In a moment there was time a child could grasp corporeal and gracious
It stopped and I carefully gave non notice to educasees
that paused me to bleed blend assinine inaccurate aforementioneds
to preprocure a mule measured primrose pathos of interposes to analyze the ex ever jutaposes of irrevelant psuedo spawn spellings intrinsic of piss patterns nego 
nero nitro nuego of lunar literant intent grating gravity gunite givings presupposing cannon quantites quotient of add, substract, multiply, divide, die in my seat work consistent of soulservitude a prisoner of seatzenda, a great book read poised to a 
selling of elementary sealed solvent sedintary solices sleeveless saints of sanitary sectors sanctioning soulful sensibilities senitent of sailable sanities. Boys will be boys, ADD,ADHD a cool cover up for 80 % legis lay teachers to drugafy, deamplify, villify, castrate, humilitate, propogate the post predisposition of that which is normalcy to a degree of zombie cumulo butt compliance for the powers at be be-gone, biploar bulimec, blandering, blistering, bloging, bifurcating blog bog billows, stress all that is pharmacorelative with respect to the adultoparentive coaxial moneyisms that speaks to a bygone exoera of residio responsibile valiumviscous banailty. Cool calm creepy excel expenditures procede pre positive parental protocals procreating patterened presentials to predictive humo end hiatial hemorroids. In the end we prosperspire in pain pile potentials. Predictable predicates promise postmortem primal preordinates. Enjoy eating educational entrails!

Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013

Details | Diminished Hexaverse |
such atrocities subtract us humans irrespective of but then comes along, common sense approach decisions made find him alive, send this boy home mothers grieving combat found bridged safely firmly held Ryan freedom saved .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
My son is getting older, and he just went back to College, the other day.
But he had enjoyed the summer, by adding a new game to his daily play.
He called it Troll Tipping as daily he targeted another, and wore him out.
By dinner, the Troll would fall asleep, as my son claimed his dessert, so devout.

But wearing out a Troll, is not such an easy thing, so many a night, a Troll got his.
What a shame! But as a resourceful college man, at devising plans he was a whiz.
He offered them a Fun Filled Tip, yes, a way to get others, to do their daily chores.
The cost to each individual Troll, was their sweet dessert, that night, nothing more.

He was doing great, as he ran thru many a Troll, but then our suspicions did unfold.
You see, this bred unrest, as a number of fights started, amongst our beloved Trolls.
Scheming isn’t sharing, so Grandpa Troll had a TALK, life changing, or so it’s told.
But Boys are boys, and desserts were to be had, so he made a new plan, quite bold.

You might say he invented Granny Tipping, yes, now it was MY dessert, on the line.
Now this would be quite simple, for at my age, I can easily, become tiredly inclined.
But the one thing he’d forgot: is how crafty age had made this old one, in her efforts. 
As dinner wound down, I cued Grandpa Troll, to help deliver, those delicious desserts.

I told my son, that they were made to be his favorite, simply in honor, of his behalf.
Then I pretended to fall asleep, and he quickly took my dessert, with a joyous laugh.
Then suddenly his eyes grew big! And I awoke, looking him quite clearly, in the eye.
I lied that, I added laxatives and terrible cod liver oil, to my dessert nightly, yes, so sly. 

Making them easier to swallow, but if he wanted more dessert, he only had to ASK.
He quickly sped away, to wash that terrible taste, out of his mouth, a daunting task!
And we all had our chance to laugh at him… as the joke was finally on him, at last.
I call this, Bad Behavior Tipping, and from that day to this, he asks for more, at last!

The game seemed to lose its luster that day, yes, manners did a BIG, comeback.
The moral is to politely ask… Playing clever little games… is NEVER for the best!

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
That half grown chrysanthemums/
Stirring up like accuser's.
Life is compared with what two things ?
Which do you think is the richer more revealing comparison ?
Poets use many symbols/
Geese flying south can be a symbol,
Of that of approaching winter/
Heart's symbolize love,
In this brief expanse we call life,
One may want to cry out in a revolt ?
Other's simply take in a breathe of fresh air/
Ponder that many other's that don't even care ?
We all must become united in this great cause !
Not to use this concept loosely/
Yet to humbly ponder a thought,
What do you all think tells a more detailed story ?
The poem or the picture ?
Love can grow out of a billowing cry/
Perhaps a cut nor a mere stye in the eye ?
The seventies had embarked on this journey/
Not to mention that of Timothy Leary ?
This took us to a vast opened door !
To break on through to the other side/
Lest I emplore,
Still we have every bit of reason in which to grasp/
That lattice decor to that shine on the asp,
A sweet juice filled with fine honey nectar/
The future resources,
Allow the creative poet/
To begin to explore the valley of much more !
In gaining the proper word/
Fresh out of the Autumn air !

Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |
https://allpoetry.com/topic/show/269023028-Sonnet%201.%D0%A1%D0%BE%D0%BD%D0%B5%D1%82%201.

Copyright © Ivan Petryshyn | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
O Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, mine
Please say it isn’t so!
At school today we learned about sex---
But I didn’t want to know.

O Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, dear
Please say it isn’t true!
They taught us what erections are,
And all the girls said “ew!”

Mommy mine, you haven’t done it,
Have you, Mommy dear?
But wait---how else can I explain
The fact that I am here?

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
There’s a special whimsy place inside of each and every Troll.
And a rainbow will bring it out the best, if I may be so bold.
The Aurora Borealis makes them want to jump and sing.
But bring out a fancy rainbow, and they’re off, for it, to seek.

Apparently, it’s the colors that draw them to its beautiful lights.
So my son got out his prism, and played with the Trolls, late last night.
He had them hooping, and hollering, then scurrying across the floor.
Then he sent the prism to somewhere else, you can be, so sure.
Off they would go again, the winner bumping the others out of the way.

My cats couldn’t have done it better, but were smart and stayed away.
It’s not healthy to get in the middle, of a group of trolls found in play.
It didn’t seem to matter, that they couldn’t put it in their hands.
But they never gave up trying, to win the ultimate prize and upper hand.

Fortunately, they were in the barn with plenty of room to swing and fly.
Where walls can be replaced, and poles are easy, there, to mend and buy.
Of course, my son was in deep trouble, and would have to repair everything.
But the trolls didn’t seem to mind helping to put every thing back, again.

And the carpenter called to fix the posts was, you can guess, the football coach.
Apparently he thinks, they’d make great linebackers, to protect the quarter back.
All he seems to think they’ll need… is a little focus… I say good luck with that!
But he’ll have them working every day, till hell freezes over, before he gives up.

That does bid the question… Where did all those football players come from?
Could they be trolls, lumbering down those fields, in those professional teams?
Those fancy uniform colors, definitely, are like the prisms colors brought to life…
Could it be? Who would of thunk it? Yes, they are there… I certainly, Do Believe!

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
Going For A Job Interview

The moment of truth comes, when one comes face to face with a prospective boss…
Having secured an appointed date for interview, it is time to meet the boss…

This learned  young man is well prepared  in his spirits, mind and body…
For this day is the much  anticipated date to define his immediate  destiny…

Freshly minted and on the lookout for a dream job offer in his field of studies…
His hopes are high,  with a gamut of feelings of trepidation, anticipation and  anxiety …

Getting a job is a typical priority for many  a graduate after years of books and studies..
But the process of looking around for  a dream job and landing it is far from easy…

For a wholesome  week, this day has been crowding into his daily thoughts and routine….
Over and over again he has mentally run through his  expected replies to incoming queries..

Will this window of opportunity be in the right one for a youthful graduate  such as he…
Will his mannerism, answers and personality be up to the  expectations of the boss to be…

He is well dressed for the occasion, most appropriate for the formality of the occasion…
Textbooked details are well in place, looking sharp with not a hair or attire was out of place…

His newly bought tie is snuggly attached to his high collar, well he looks like an executive-to-be…
Looking smart and most presentable, document folder in his hand, he’s well and ready….

Grabbing the car keys , he gave a perfunctory goodbye wave as he strode to the family car …
With fingers crossed, the father wished  him the best of luck and whispered a silent prayer ….

There you go, son, you have to make your own way, may God bless you at the interview…
Have faith in yourself, you are well prepared and you are at your best as you can possibly be…

Waving goodbye and with a big smile of encouragement, he watched junior  drive away…
Stiffling the rising inner glow of pride that that young man is now big  enough to seek his way… 

The next few hours will be crucial, will the outcome of his  job interview be successful….
Will the call yet to come be one of jubilation or will it be one of deflated enthusiasm…?


Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Father God,
The Omnescient One,
The Alpha and The Omega.
Almighty, Powerful, Unfathomable Love.
The Head of The Holy Trinity.

Jesus, The Son,
Love Incarnate.
Son of God, Son of Man,
Savior and Friend.
The Lamb of God is He.

Holy Spirit,
The Light and the Essence,
Of God The Father, Himself.
Convictor, Teacher,
Seeker of Souls,
Sent to comfort you and me.

Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
There's three in one, you see,
And we are created in His image,
So again there's one in three.

Body, Soul and Spirit too,
Again there's three in one.
He said,"We'll make him in Our own image,
And to teach him I'll send My Son."


"I AM THE 'A' AND THE 'Z' , THE BEGINNING AND THE END OF ALL THINGS, SAYS GOD, WHO IS THE LORD. THE ALL POWERFUL ONE WHO IS AND WAS AND IS COMING AGAIN."
                                                                                                  Rev. 1:6

"ONE DAY AFTER THE CROWDS HAD BEEN BEEN BAPTIZED JESUS, HIMSELF WAS BAPTIZED AND AS HE WAS PRAYING THE HEAVENS OPENED AND THE HOLY SPIRIT IN THE FORM OF A DOVE SETTLED UPON HIM AND A VOICE FROM HEAVEN SAID,'YOU ARE MY BELOVED  SON IN WHOM I AM WELL PLEASED."
                                                      Luke 4:21-23

Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
He comes, a seaside golem,
walking like Frankenstein’s monster
because sand has filled the crack in his
behind, and his feet are shod in at least
two pounds of beach.
He carries his pail and shovel.

“Mommy, I have fun!” he chirps.

And I love him in spite of his sandy behind,
in spite of the leaden feet
and the grit in his hair,
in spite of the fact that I know who’ll be
removing the sand.

I love him because he’s my golem,
and, well, he had fun.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Feels like 1960, and none of us were formed yet, a spark on the verge of ignition, the movement primed with momentum. Kings, princes, boys, and adolescents waiting to take shape and achieve mastery. Right after civil rights, right before civil disobedience. We were just an idea. One man's interpretation of unity, now a burgeoning trilogy. We grow, sometimes crooked, sometimes broken and reset straight. We fall. We lend a hand. We pick each other up, together we stand. Sons should always surpass their fathers. Hopefully, I've shown them the sun's path revolves around disciplined  repetition and no matter how dark the night, trust in God and it'll be alright. I look at them and see light.

Copyright © TS Lewis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
As my baby boy walks home a single 
gunshot and god angels
calls him home. 
As he sit upon his throne, his angel wings 
laced in chrome. His spirit comforts me, 
as a moth in a cocoon. Taken away from 
me way to soon. At first touch, I'm my son 
first love. My son died without a chance to 
live, resting in heaven from
another man's sins. My son physical body 
might be gone, but his spirit will forever 
live on. Every time my son smiles the sun 
rays pour out. Sending love upon us, 
reminding us how much he loves us. Until 
the day we meet again, in God I trust.

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Fathers and Sons
A father is a hero to his little boy
The son is the world, dads pride and joy.
As the boy grows, he is sad to find,
His dad is not perfect, and to his faults he’s not blind.
Dads look around at this new man in the house,
Is there need for jealousy between him and his spouse?
This baby boy goes from boy to a half man,
The dad feel a bit threatened but does what he can.
This new birth of a man, he watches over,
He struggles with all the new things that seem to take over.
This baby boy, he can no more understand
Until his father reminds him of his own manly stand.
When he dyed his hair red, and bought cowboy boots.
From jumping canal locks, just for the hoots.
He takes stock of his memories, and looks at his son
With striped hair and rings in nose and ears - yes each one.
He pats him on the shoulder and says ‘Son I love you.’
I cannot wait for a grandson or two.
Just so you see what we dads have to go through,
So when you have sons of you own, I can help you.

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
Objet Trouve*

diverse assortment of art
on the stoop, enticing allure
bright clay pottery
welded lawn ornaments
photographs and paintings

             inside the gallery
             traveler's treasure trove
     
             time slows, snail-like
             eyes dining, sumptuous feed

walls, steps, tables
crowded with creations
eloquently speak
     the artist's message
snagging emotions
     louder than words

son's poetry penned
     honoring father's sketch
childhood memory
     treasured tree house

             Instant Sale!



*Found Object

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014