Can you recall the hush of Christmas past?
Think back to when you were a little child,
excited Santa Claus would come at last,
too young to even know you’d been beguiled.
In shadows of your quiet room you lay.
Then maybe to your window you’d tiptoe,
look out and search the sky for Santa’s sleigh.
But all you’d see were swirling flakes of snow,
And in that night, while all your family slept,
you tried to stay awake. Do you recall
the only thing you heard as Sandman crept
upon you was the clock upon the wall?
The hush of Christmas past is never gone.
As long as there are children, it lives on.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
Young and pretty, living a normal life
Suddenly her world would never be the same
Her lovely boy born with special needs
Her daily life now the toughest of games
She carries on with her head held high
Having a career, still being his mother
Constantly dealing with medical issues
Yet she would not change him for another
Nurses and doctors fill her daily life
Fighting for the services that he needs
Never one complaint does she voice
Knowing not where his path will lead
A special soul; accepting the hand dealt
My admiration for this woman so deeply felt…..
I am privileged to be one of his nurses...I have never seen a stronger
more dedicated mother..
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2014
Her big eyes shone while to her chest she clasped
the violin her dad worked hard to buy.
Delightedly that Christmas morn, she gasped
to see it; then she promised she would try
with all her might to learn to master it!
She practiced hard. The girl that they called Bright Eyes
would dedicate her all. She never quit.
Each day and night, she strove to memorize
the strings’ sweet notes, in love with allegretto!
How quickly she caught on, and one main goal
was in her offering of a vibrato,
which - when it filled the air - might touch one’s soul!
Today she casts such magic with her bow
that all who hear are warmed by Bright Eye’s glow.
written 12/29/14 by Andrea Dietrich
Now for the Trashed 4 Poetry Contest Sponsor: Broken Wings
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
Why does a child have to go to school?
Why do we have to spend so much time working?
This seems simply cruel.
Isn't it just irking?
Some people say school is important for learning
Couldn't a child learn on their own?
It would cause much less yearning,
After all, we can learn from our phones.
I can somewhat see a parents point in sending their child to school.
But why would you choose what we wear?
It just allows us to look like fools,
We may as well come to school bear.
As you can see school is not fair,
So please don’t force us to go if you care.
Copyright © Annika Johnson | Year Posted 2013
With laces tied, she is up and away
With the glint of the moon on her steel blades
The clink of metal as she leaves the ice
Pirouette of glee as her soul takes flight
Swirling and twirling, a bird on the wing
With her scarlet skirt flared out in a ring
Without any strings, she flies like a kite
A vision of grace on a windless night
Carving her masterpiece there on the lake
Gaining more power with each breath she takes
Joy beneath heaven on a starry night
In a world of white drenched in golden light
A girl with a dream and a pair of skates
Swan in a ballet on a frozen lake.
Author: Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014
A child needs a place where he can run
unhindered by some wooden fence or wire.
He needs a spot beneath the summer sun,
a peaceful breeze to soothe him should he tire.
He understands the time to pause in play;
to rest upon a hill and thus renew;
to study clouds that fleck the azure skyway
until they rearrange and pass from view.
A child wants to laugh and taste and see;
to hear a rushing stream; to twirl and leap;
to dip bare feet in mud; hide in a tree
and greet the stars before he has to sleep.
A child sheltered from the sun's caress
grows pale and little knows of happiness.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
Beneath the weeping willow
A gentle figure swings
Her dress of white a-billow
While soft and sweet she sings
She sang within this bower
What song I cannot tell
Her hair bedecked with flowers
Blue Canterbury bells
And on into the gloaming
Is heard this pleasant sound
When stars begin their roaming
She lets her hair unbound
Then o'er her form the willow weeps
The night is still -- the child sleeps
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013
I lived my best in season of the sun,
those yellow, mellow days when cares are flung
to June’s warm breeze, and childhood is begun,
a field to wander in, and all is young!
I lived my zenith in the summer heat.
Ah, zephyr of sublime and untried heights!
Blue sky, July, and taste of kisses sweet
still haunt my mind in cool midsummer nights.
In August came dry winds, and I was torn
from my adobe of early gleeful days.
My children both at summer’s end were born,
and now a grandchild in new sunlight plays.
When dusk, unhurried, comes, I live my best.
In Virgo’s sun may I be laid to rest.
For Brian Strand's ANY 2012 POEM any theme/
any form max of 18 lines Poetry Contest
and now for PD's Any Form Under 15 Lines Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
I swallowed my tears, as he walked away
I held on to life with a breath,
I crumbled like sand,swept away with the wind
Still, my body was too heavy to lift.
I took a deep breath, and listened with disbelief
As the tears bundled up in my throat.
I had a small tear, in the corner of my eye,
And on my tears began to choke.
I felt I could breath, no more from inside
And fell to my knees to pray,
I couldn't hold back these tears, I must cry,
As the doctor told me what he had to say.
Your wife styruggled hard, and the baby is here,
A new baby boy to call your own.
But your wife so fragile, fell so weak
Three strong breathes, and she passed on.
As she gasp one last breath, and
She spoke those words so clear,
Kiss daddy for me now, I love you both,
I'm sorry your mommy won't be here.
Copyright © Brandi Ketcherside | Year Posted 2016
Leilani was a little island child
as lovely as the bud that she first saw
in spring where it was growing in the wild.
She loved to visit it, and then with awe
she noted its unfolding day by day.
Nobody noticed that Leilani, though,
was growing smaller. Little did she weigh!
What grew inside her, nobody could know.
One day the flower that she loved so much
began to wilt. By summer it would die.
Leilani grew sick too, for it was such
a bad disease she had, her soul would fly
to heaven, where sweet girls like Leilani
are blossoming for an eternity.
*I have always loved the sound of Hawaiian names, so I wanted to show Leilani, which means Heavenly flower or garland.
written Aug. 30, 2016 for Casarah Nance's "And In Words She Blooms"
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
Growing up as a child I never wanted to sleep alone
In fear of the darkness and most of all the unknown
“Mommy is there monsters” I would commonly ask
Her reply was “only on Halloween, the ones we see in masks”
Still not satisfied with her answer and questioning her some more
Asking her the same old thing as I did the night before
Frustrated and exhausted she finally took me by the hand
Looking under my bed, in my closet and even inside my night-stand
“So see my daughter the monsters are only in your head”
“It’s time to get some sleep me dear, now do as I have said”
Respectfully obeying my mother; my little body trembling with fear
Wishing the hour was morning, praying for “him” not to appear
But as the darkness faded and uncomfortable silence came about
I could hear the monster stirring, getting ready to come out
Hoping the noises I heard were only my brothers messing around
Pulling the covers over my head, hoping and praying not to be found
The footsteps getting closer, the monster is almost to the foot of my bed
I now can hear his heavy breathing, oh God how I wished he was dead
Quietly he lifts my covers back and lays down in the bed beside me
Touching, groping and mauling, trying to cover my eyes so I cannot see
He took away my childhood and with that my trust and self-esteem
A pleading child without a voice, invisible as it would seem
So yes my daughters there are monsters, everywhere we look
Saying as I remember my childhood and everything he took
Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2007
Mother still round, in love with child anew
Easy to overlook the subtle hints
Of the fracture within, trained eye sees clue
Eighty-two shines your number, bluish tint.
Tearful farewell, fated day has arrived.
Pained mother’s face as we pass through the door
Invisible cord stretch, tense and alive
Umbilical phantom limb evermore.
With tubes, scalpel, we enter sacred space.
The threshold crossed, commitment becomes real
To hold numbers, sounds, instead of your face.
The care within transmutes into sharp steel
Foreshortened, stolen, your time may well be
Yet you touch the hearts of all who touch thee.
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
he seems dizzy and sometimes very still
yet she sees her father’s hand leave his will
and then connect the cheek of her mother
yet still her eyes lead back to her father
every night she sees her mother’s pain tear
it runs down and is wiped away in fear
her cries fade with the colour of her dress
the bruises on her mother signs of stress
every day a child errands to the fridge
the key never to spill even a smidge
her toil seeks to release his broken heart
and reveal to him his little sweetheart
nothing can change her one love endeavor
her daddy’s love her target forever
- inspired by Nicola's poem-
Copyright © Just James | Year Posted 2016
Magical Mountain Made Of Whitest Stone
Majestic mountain made of magic stone
I climbed every night as a lonely child.
Tall and regal, it stood there all alone
symbol of world so fantastic and wild!
Atop its peak in my racing night dreams
looking across earth's fantastic skies.
Resting below, forests and flowing streams
bright, magical realm where nobody dies.
Deep within each night's visionary quest
prayers for family, sleeping nearby.
Young, brave climber daring courageous best
with fantasy and thrills on each climb's try!
Magical mountain made of whitest stone.
Conquered by a child, made of flesh and bone!
R. J. Lindley
March 9th, 1971
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 94
(Old) Note: How I long again to be that innocent child from two years ago, living with warmest embrace of my father's love before his death...
Life just suxs and tries to destroy me...
New note: Life again sent its deepest blues, but old age has brought wisdom, those blues and accompanying depths of pain - that--
Can reach out to destroy,
yet only find a stronger heart
For this soul tis no longer an innocent boy
that had no well lit path to now chart.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
A child, a babe, taken from earth's plane
The songbirds envious of her angels
For the angels have taken her from them
Her body is reposed, but her soul soars
The pain is gone and so are the babe's tears
Replaced by none, but God's newly gained one
With Abba, Father, she does not sleep here
She's with Him being guided by the thrones
The sun, the sun shining through the stained glass
Reflects colors too numerous to count
The quiet, hushed weeping blends with the song
The song of the Lord receiving her in
A brilliance so bright that the mourners gasped
The child, a babe, now in our Lord's grasp.
Copyright © Regina Elliott | Year Posted 2017
My whinny,crabby, hungry teen
Your stinky,spoiled and quite mean
You want, you need, you have to have
The latest,newest, modern fad
Your greasy, grimy, hands smear
My wall, light switches, and the mirror
Empty snack bags,with sweet and sour
Create tall,extensive buildings that tower
Your messy,your dirty,in need of a shower
Please make it quick,not loiter an hour
Your smelly,nasty, disgusting shoes
Are slowly poisoning every room
Even with big mouth,rolling eyes and sighs
I would not trade you, I surmise
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Patrick Star is quite an odd ole starfish.
Considering he’s a star, pointy, and bright pink.
The Krabby Patty is one of his favorite dish.
Bikini Bottom know that Patrick stink.
Only a job at the Chum Bucket and Krusty Krab.
Patrick loves to be with his friend SpongeBob.
He always go to Sandy’s to destroy her lab.
Patrick eat and chews on nasty pink gum blob.
Run to Squidward who despises yellow.
Patrick loves to fish at Jellyfish Fields.
Plankton find Patrick to be extremely slow.
Secretes from SpongeBob was very concealed.
Patrick Star does live under a brown rock.
Patrick Star will always give you an shock.
Copyright © Briana Williams | Year Posted 2015
My First Hex Sonnetta
Sweet Angel Jessica
Sonnetta the Witch
She lived far away from the village below
Deep in the woods, high up in the sky
Where mountain mists flutter on by
She was an old skinny lady of a strange persona
There were rumors in the village center
That she was witch who called herself Sonnetta
The children all cowered around mother’s legs
When Sonnetta would come to trade her herbal dregs
It was said she could turn people to frogs
Her brews could make men tremble and shiver like dogs
She carried a wand disguised as cane
Her wrinkled old nose told you she was surely not vain
She cooked her potions in pots, as some have said
Shed wasn’t afraid to cook a poor child’s head
Smiles were never seen on the old witches face
Villagers looked at her in utter disgrace
So when a child of tiny proportions
Was born with life threatening ill distortions
They hid her from the witch and her evil spells
Need be they’d hide the poor child in the village well
Sadly the child was slipping away
The underworld was preparing her a bed
The villagers and family, distraught and with dread
The tears of a mother flowed thinking child was dead
Sonnetta was in the forest so deep,
Contemplating life’s horrors and secretly she’d weep
For no child should leave the world this way
What could she do, with the villagers she held no sway
So she focused her herbs and potions and spells
To inspire her mind to conquer and quell
Her heart was bleeding for the child so blue
She knew that her magic this time might not do
In the black of night, as the clock struck twelve
She recited a hex and hoped, time would tell
By the morning of sun rise, the old witch new
In her dreams the child thanked her, and blessed her too
Child's health restored, her smile so new
This little girl saw the light and she knew
The villagers had no idea the hex that cured
This little girl one day, would tell her tail
High in the black forest, where miracles grow
Dedicated to Jessica, her sister and brother, three angels with smiles that reach to the heavens.
Today they sang me a song; tomorrow I am sure they will change the world.
A controversial topic for sure, however I will post a link, and regardless of your views, any time we save a child, well, I hope tiss not only I with tears.
Thank you Dr Sabba
scroll down to youtube video
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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,
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,
Copyright © John Hembree | Year Posted 2013
Within life's cesspool, captives held for trade,
along infested ways where young-child rape
is glorified by twisted souls who gape
and for the purity of babes are paid.
In dim, demonic dwellings are they laid
and sold to loathsome loves who drape
stolen innocence in sin's evil curse--
beyond protection or rescuing raid;
the shadowy officials turn the head
to wink or sometimes join the savage curse.
Somewhere sad, broken parents, sobbing, lie,
tortured days and nights saturate with dread
while ever fuller grows the sex trade's purse:
the victims cry alone and ask God why.
Copyright, May 3, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
Precious little princess,
with eyes of royal blue,
and hair of golden hue,
which tends to be a mess,
but I could not care less,
'cause I'm in love with you.
You may not act the part,
of royalty defined,
but in my biased mind,
you are a work of art,
I cherish in my heart,
for you are God-designed.
With sticky face and hands,
your wish is my command.
For Andrea's Hex-Sonetta contest
Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2015
A child's beauty contest I watched in such awe;
young girl in a wheelchair to her father, his all.
Escorting her on stage with such grace and pride;
each so blessed to be at the others' side.
A fragile princess in a purple pageant dress;
twirling her first in her chair then lifting her to his chest.
Their dance so inspiring; such an enchanting sight;
so gently he lifted her high up to the sky.
Sparkling, bright eyes and the most beautiful smile;
none deserving of a crown more than this precious child.
An imperfect body, viewed as a gift from above;
her beauty matched only by a father's boundless love.
Beauty in my eyes is not found in perfection;
but in acceptance, uniqueness, love and dedication.
June 29, 2014
Contest: Encore-anonymous positive new sonnet
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014
On fringes of shadow, charred black of burnt night,
she limps through the dimmest and cruelest of streets.
Huddled with her loss, body bruised and beat,
Mama’s caked makeup tries hiding her fright.
Little girl of twelve pretends to be grown;
with tomorrow gone, she paints on red smile.
Bright lights flash cold eyes, wicked hearts defile;
all star-struck fresh thoughts are buried in moans.
An evil descends from man’s greed and scorn;
In dark suit and tie, an average, white face,
money for Mama, from far, west world place.
Screams pierce soiled mattress on hot, red-smeared morn.
From under tight ropes her stripped body bleeds;
recoiled in dried tears, she silently pleads.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
A SONNET OF LIFE
(Apropos The Children I Know)
Act your age my darling little child;
Take care not to go about in blinded haste.
Enjoy this lovely life for a while;
Time is elusive and you have none to waste.
Listen, candy does not always last very long;
Can be as hard as rock, yet melts as easy as ice:
Teases your tongue with sweetness and then its gone;
Leaving you wading the emptiness of something once nice.
Yes, when you are young, innocent and very sweet,
This old life can throw many enticing things you way:
Making you think that it’s all good and life is always neat;
But be aware my child, life has her debts we all are bound to pay.
For just as the night must surly turn into another day;
You my child, like me, will eventually grow old and gray.
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015
Juvenescence shines like the sun's slow climb,
and I see a bird not yet flown its cage;
I hear the footsteps in the march of time -
a journey of self, a coming of age!
For you, Peter Pan on wings of an elf
who the power of eternal youth seeks,
must fly its limits lest your second self
hidden from you conceal your own mystiques!
So seek not Neverland - not yours or mine,
and love your God with all your heart and soul,
nor misspeak and cast your pearls before swine
for all that you do bears a living toll.
And son, in your shared purpose be like them
whoso rise above the hubris of men.
Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2015
Saturday mornings my list was quite clear,
Pull out the comet and toilet bowl brush.
Windex, perfect to polish the mirror,
Finish the toilet with one final flush.
Scrubbing the sink till faucets do glisten,
Empty the countertop, free from clutter.
Scour the bathtub, with so much ambition,
While under my breath, complaints I utter.
Our shower the biggest job of them all,
With its showerhead and sliding glass doors.
Standing inside to scrub ceramic walls,
Finally finished by washing the floors.
Child labor I’d cry when I was not paid,
When I grow up, I am getting a maid.
10 syllables per line
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
I smile and shake your hand, dear Sir
It’s just a part of my profession’s code
I’d rather pound you down, you worthless cur
Even the kindest of us could explode
“Suspected Non-Accidental Trauma”
So says the overcautious rhetoric
Traumatized terror of baby’s mama
Plastic smile hides a wide-eyed lunatic
I will take amazing care of her child,
Father protector flaming in full force
But don't mistake my demeanor for mild,
Recognize the obligatory farce
The neurosurgeon will save her son’s brain
If only your hard heart could hear his pain
For contest: It Shouldn’t Hurt to Be a Child
Sponsor: Becca Tegan
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
Mayte, Autumn Child
She'd rather when the season changes
from humidity to serendipity
to make discoveries at a turn
when the autumn leaves
fall to the ground
creating a tapestry of colors
in an unbroken sequence
A chorus of red, green and browns
blending together in natures song
as in a round
to greet the new weathers chill
She is galvanized by the change
of gaiety and glee
but it's not just for her
it's also for me.
written for Maria's love of Fall
(c) Ralph Sergi
Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2013
CHILD IN ME
The child in me, still leading in my dance,
yet willing, after years of life's great stings,
still shines out of these eyes of circumstance,
no matter what in life, my living brings.
To smile from all I've done, my pride reveals
how much in love with living I have been,
and through it all, the best, how good it feels
to know the best is showing, now and then.
Perhaps I've loved too deeply for a friend,
but who are friends, without our love to share?
And so I let it show, without an end,
much more than love, is really what is there.
The child in me, still smiles in my blue eyes,
more than you'll ever come to realize.
© ron Wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown PoeT.
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015
Deserve the world my child,my son
If I could give, with heart I'd run
Pray instead, I must for you
Placed many tools to get you through
Life ahead unknown my son
So much I wish, your dreams ignite
Strive for all, please shine that light
Become the man I know you'll be
But please for you and not just me
Dig deep inside with every might
Strive for all thats due, you'll see
Deserving much from world, not me
Kindness, compassion, intelligence too
Owning these gifts, build confidence in you
By example, trust, live life for thee
Accept these words I give from me
My child, a man will come to be
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013