Why do we do what we do?
Writing words day after day
Unsure if anyone will read them
If they will get the message we tried to say
A million words with many meanings
Thrown together in our language
How will we know the right ones?
They ones which say what we want to say
Just one word, one syllable, one letter
Out of the place where it should be
The meaning could be lost
We struggle through endless hours
Wondering and writing
Cutting and pasting words and lines
Then in a miraculous moment
The words are right
The syllables are right
Each and every letter is right
After all the pain and stress
Our child is born
We post in on-line
Publish it in a book
We send our child out into the world
And no one reads it
Copyright © R. e. taylor | Year Posted 2010
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
unruly spoiled child
remained up past eight tonight...
giving parents hugs
Copyright © 2008 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2009
In its quiver,
WHISPERS OF A MUSE - Poetry Contest
24 Nov 2014
Copyright © david mohn | Year Posted 2014
Kids go down
The slide…they head toward the swings
TIME TO SCREAM!
Free time ends
Their parents want to go home
Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013
Its feet are tiny dimeter,
Body, spirit, soul, trimeter,
Would you look at those ears and eyes
Whose tetrameter rhyme defies
Its foot with pentameter toes,
Smelled by monometer nose!
Don’t fret when its iamb voice speaks
Cheerful quatrains for days and weeks.
Stand still while it jabbers spondee,
In stanzas of metered trochee.
Well, my friend, please do not pretend,
Or you’ll cause more stress at the end.
Each verse it speaks is oh, so sweet
For it’s growing Longfellow feet!
Sit back, relax, put on a smile,
You’ve been zapped by a poet’s grandchild!
Copyright © James Tate | Year Posted 2011
As the darkness yields to the dawn
to deliver the heart from any storm
Of the blackness of the night so long
Where my fears and sorrows do belong
The new morn is a sigh of a brilliant song
The child awakens with the light
Ready to believe in the day’s warming sight
To live and love with open arms
And have no fear of any harms
There is hope and charity in the new day
Dreams and innocence are here to stay
Sun sweet sun
Come on, have some fun
Chase the night away
so the child can learn to play!
Copyright © Karen Dominick | Year Posted 2010
I wrapped all my tears, to see you smile.
you are the best, always by my side.
I tell you my feelings will get you crying,
you must think I’m out of my mind.
You don’t know, what I know,
all the angels let me go.
We were born to teethe and die,
you will grow to be so fine.
Fall in love, feel your softer side,
Remember me when life is kind.
When you go, let me know,
don’t walk away like the world and go.
Life is rough and the world unkind,
fight them down and you will be fine.
The truth of live is a brutal sight,
make no mistakes, you can learn from mine.
You have a strong heart, you are unique
I treasure times when you smile at me.
Live the life, I could not find,
be there for me, when I say goodbye.
Copyright © Karan Patade | Year Posted 2013
The raw delight and
wonder of an eager
child-poet lay scattered
across the floor.
A baby's coo squeals from
the aging pages babbling
forth childish nonsense while
tired cliches wind lazily through
trite rhymes lacking lyrical luster.
Still, each precious verse endears
me to the memory of a precocious
youth when poetry was simple
and an unspoiled world
lay bare age old secrets
calling out to be discovered.
I don't remember what inspired me to write my first poems, but there was always something about
language. Something profound, something powerful, something pure.
I had no natural talent, and thankfully I didn't know it for I might have given up.
But eventually, and by sheer accident, I pieced together something that worked proving
poetry is not reserved solely for those with the predisposition but is also born of
passion, study, and discipline.
It was 15 years of frustration and tears as poem after bad poem was ripped to shreds by
seasoned writers with invaluable, albeit sometimes harsh, advice before I created anything
worthy of being read. But I am in love with poetic art so have persevered with humility
and gratitude in the face of rejection until finding a rhythm of my own. And though a bit
of time may sometimes pass before I am moved to write again, the words eventually spill
forth, and with a bit of luck and ingenuity, I will write a profound piece of insightful
prose stirring pride in the hearts of my mentors whose opinions I hold so dear.
For me, it has never come easy but with a deep-rooted love for the art and an obsession
for one day authoring a single, perfect verse, I hope to be unified in spirit with the
ghosts of poets past inspiring and encouraging others to keep the craft alive.
Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2010
Visual # 3
So much to learn, so much I don’t know
Thoughts tumble about in my head
Not having much luck putting them down
Perhaps I’ll try to write a poem instead..
I love the ones my mother reads to me
Although many I don’t quite understand
I want to write one like The Jabberwocky
Silly and wonderful and yet oh so grand
So here I sit in the window, looking out
And dream until the right words come to light
Perhaps one day someone will remember
A small boy and the poem I shall write
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015
There are four seasons in a year. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. In the Spring time, you can enjoy the outdoors and go for a walk. And look at the trees turning beautiful colors, you can also enjoy raking the leaves into a big pile and jump into them. We also know the New Year is coming with Winter. Winter is a cold month with snow, now the children can play outside in the snow. And everyone else can enjoy the snow also.
Copyright © Frances Roberts | Year Posted 2013
Yeah I can get so hyped up with life so high I'm so freaking verbally drunk like a psycho,
Mind so wrong nothing in my vocabulary at that time in my mind can get right though,
A piece of this hate cake in this corrupt dictionary I'm going to have to take a bite though,
Whether the answer is written in hell yeah or heck no,
Im going to shoot through your deer less body like a scoped out rifle,
You just another liar if you say my words aint make your mind shake and awake with a stifle,
Im shooting sideways, up, down, so much I get high low,
I could be telling true lies when you see my fake gun ridden smiles,
I might just shoot self in head because Im getting a little too suicidal,
Im in need of God because I keep skipping planned revivals,
Im reading the rhyme master Shakespeare I aint reading the Bible,
Im playing with word bullets shiny as a burning star struggling for simple survival,
I want people to tell the truth but cant help but keep telling themselves lies though,
Hiidden demons in the book of lifes closet dont tell me how it is because I know,
I too onced played with life like a toy plastic as Tyco,
Im going to stand out in this world like the tower of Eifel,
Im going to bring out all my freaking hidden poetic files,
Im putting word ryhme puzzles together like floor tiles
Im going to do it now not later gator or after while crocodile,
I got little time in life left on the sun dial,
I got but few years or even months left before I face my ultimate trial,
But first Im going to have some fun into the night sun until I get riled,
But family comes first I must start to think of my own seed, my very own child,
I got to stop the ways of living stupid like Im out of hand so wild,
I must drink from the fountain of life like the Egyptians do from the Nile,
Pull my own way out this ****ing trash, this bull *****pile,
I got to stay strong in the mean time because everything in life takes a little while,
Sometimes I dont give a **** about nobody because it feels as if I have nothing to live for, but now I got a child I would die for
So now I must keep living because if I die I know I would leave behind a child behind that I would cry for,
I must walk that road less traveled like a car breaking down on the open road still trying to idle,
Walking amongst greats is going to be my own personal hypo,
I will walk strong in the days that I die in my last UNSEEN MILES......
Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
Hand in hand we walked
together into Reception
Nothing could stop us and
together we were three
James and I LARP-ed Doctor
Who for fun
We talked and laughed for
Because no stress was in our
Anna and I smiled and laughed
And jumped on our bouncy
With nothing dividing us.
Side by side we walked
together into Year 6
Some stranger stopped them to
talk and broken we were alone
James and I talked about
Doctor Who for fun
And we talked and kissed for
But misunderstanding broke us
Anna and I still smiled and
And joked about our bouncy
But secondary school was going
to divide us.
With no one there I walked
alone into Year 7
And a stranger became my
friend and together we were
Violet and I both loved Doctor
And James found Dominic
So James and I talked for mere
And school started pulling us
Anna and I still laughed and
Still promising to be friends
Never letting it divide us
Suffocating and drowning I
walked into Year 9
Hating how I was and feeling
Katie and Chloe were so pretty
And Violet so funny and all
were better than me
James and I hardly talked or
saw each other
But we still made the most of
As we were like family, stress
couldn’t break us apart
Anna and I laughed but I did
not smile genuinely
Because the bouncy castle was
And our schools were beginning
to divide us
Dead yet breathing I stand
And I hate who am I and every
Fights broke us up and pulled
So I can feel Katie, Violet and
Falling further out my reach
James moved house to a place
And blamed me for never
talking to him
But really it was because of my
ex who was a girl
It was for something beyond
Anna and I were still friends;
only by a thread
As she did not know about me
And how school broke me apart
So this is me now; I’m all alone
No longer the smiling young girl
The only person talking to me
And the voice in side my head
You see; they all left me and
So now the only call I answer
Is that of my blades
And the darkness
That is constantly
Copyright © Teenage Frustrations | Year Posted 2013
A child goes to bed at night
and has trouble falling asleep,
tears flow from her blue eyes
she tries not to make a peep.
Her mother and father argue
each and every day,
this child has a nightly wish
she makes it every time she prays.
"God bless mommy and daddy
but, please, help them see,
I cry every night
because they fight over me."
"Please here my prayers God
help my mommy and daddy,
I feel so sad inside
they don't know the pain they cause me."
"I'm not a bad little girl
they keep arguing every day,
God, I now ask of you this
make my hurt go away."
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
I give up
this is not happening
no matter what I do you--
that's just perfect
lets blame it all on me then shell we?
oh I need to calm down
I'm over reacting?
I'm not even raising my voice and I need to calm down
of Course because you are so---
no I'm not being mean
no this is not negotiable
I am not being mean
I can not handle stupid, oblivious,----
oh because I have learning issues I'm the one at fault?
that makes perfect since,
I just went up, and asked for them in the line at the super market did i?
umm...Mr. God sir can I have an ADHD apple and some anger issue socked berries?
don't do that,
Put the book away,
get off that tablet.
like I can really control it.
I'm not doing it on purpose
I do not wake up in the morning as say alright witch teacher can I piss off to day and what kid am I going to make cry?
hmm...lets see I pick Issac and Johnny-boy
Copyright © Rayne Thomas | Year Posted 2013
Sweet Child Of Mine
Forbid that sweet child such a long cold view.
Winter delivers weeping deep chills,
upon our careless children right on cue.
Let household joy and warmth provide her thrills!
Nay! Her wants are all bright colors in red
pleasures that intrigues her aspiring mind.
She will not find her future love if dead
or in bad, ailing health and frozen blind!
Show her Nature's soft glory in mild Spring.
Then dawn's splendor can warm her needing heart
with soft colors that inspire her to sing,
knowing clear wits are what sets us apart!
Dear child, wait for future promise, your due.
When life blesses, you'll find love which is true!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-10-2016
Painting number eight
Poem number eight, Ekphrasis (sonnet)
Inspired by - the painting
(L'Enfant au Tablier Rouge, 1886 by Berthe Morisot)
and Debbie Guzzi's 10 for 10 challenge.
Ekphrastic: Writing on Art and Art on Writing [this site ACCEPTS reprints] http://www.ekphrastic.net/submissions.html
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 110
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
The night air made her feel tired
As she looked out side all the fences were wired
In the distance she hears crowds yelling
As she was to young to know they were rebelling
Father she asked where are we going?
Mother said to keep quiet and keep walking
Mother yelled in the night air
Father gave out a blank stare
They yelled run my princess run as far as you can
As that moment past her little feet pushed off and she ran
She ran to the nearest bushes and crawled into it to hide
She never smelled the air before as if someone just had died
As she lay on the ground under a bush she heard
A loud yell in the distance almost to absurd
My name is Angelica, I am just a young girl who does not know
Angelica just wants to live her life with help to grow
Angelica did not know what just happened she notice a figure in the distance
A little person just like her, a strong but gentle presence
Angelica saw the people who were shouting run off toward the voice
She was scared and she knew that she had to make a choice
Angelica fragile state was so confused and lost
She knew it will take burden on her at a cost
But in that moment of quietness a young but strong voice called out
Can you trust me just because? will you come with me with no doubt
My Story Telling Together In A Strange World
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
It hurts all the time
This pain in me never stops
I want to cry for you
I want to scream for you
I want to beg for you
I want you to be here
This cant be fair
This cant be real
But I smile and I laugh
I get up every morning to go to work
Throw on a happy face and make some jokes
I come home and enjoy my day
I have fun
And I continue on
But I’m so hurt
I’m so lost
Seeing you in there killed me
I could never get the phone call out my head
The screams from my mom
The walk up there to see if it was true
But most of all I wont forget you
In the casket
Touching your hand
You were so cold
You didn’t belong there
Seeing you go into the ground
Seeing them fall apart
Feeling my heart break into pieces
When all I could do is scream
I will never forget that day
And every time I smile I want to cry
Every time I laugh I want to cry
Every time I think I want to cry
Every breath I take takes a little bit out of me
Because I want to cry
I want this to not be real
I want to had spend more time with you
I want to hug you
Laugh with you
Tell you I love you
That I was always there
That I am still always here
I am so broken
But I continue on with life
Because God took you and not me
He wanted me here for a reason
So ill continue on for
I will laugh
Anything to make it to the end
To see you
I miss you just isn’t enough
It doesn’t mean enough
What heals a broken heart?
Time they say
But time wont bring you back
So my heart stays broken
As I pretend to smile
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
As I’m falling apart
My mask then goes on
RIP Bebo... 17 was to young
Copyright © Taina Rodriguez | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
It came as a surprise when she found
she was with child, carrying with in her
was the boy child who would save us all.
Wonder what she thought back then when
she found out that she was going to give
birth to the boy child who would be the
Savior of the world and then be taken
away on a wooden cross on a hill side?
Never once did she complain but embraced
the life growing inside her all the time knowing
that the day would come when she would be
taught all about her son who came to us on Christmas.
Was he a good baby I wonder some times?
Did he ever have his days and nights mixed up?
Was he ever fussy and cranky as normal kids?
When he was older did he play marbles, or at
least games with the other kids his age, did he
know he was different the night he came to us?
When he grew to teen age hood I am sure he had
a sense of understanding of what his purpose was,
and why he had been given to this woman and man.
Was he ever discouraged, having second thoughts on
things, laying awake worrying where would the next
days food come from? Of course I am sure there
were many days he lost faith, felt let down by his
Father above asking the questions Why?
Thank you Mary and Joseph for sharing your beloved
baby boy with us because with out him we would be
nothing. Thank you God for loving us enough to give
us your only son. I am sure it was painful to watch him
DIE on that cross but I am so glad he did.
Copyright © Author Rhonda Kay Hero | Year Posted 2009
that soft sail
and the wind looks as if
it’s trying hard to breathe
i have elements in me
a compass borrowed, for some sorrow i assuaged
my eyes upward and unfolding
over some wave i might beach
my cuffs are turned up
and arms are a reelin’, in that wind I know
is my kite yet to a’sail on this sea
coming for me
Copyright © Gerry Mattia | Year Posted 2013
Will I have been standing on the sidelines, watching everyone go after their goals. I been missing out on the finer things that life has to offer. Seeing you there reminds me of brighter days. Hearing your laughter, reminds me of the day my dreams all changed.
‘Cause, I been blessed, wouldn’t change it for the world. Nothing sweeter than you. You’re that shining star, the beacon at sea. I thank the good lord for giving me you, nothing can change the love I have for you.
Will I have been standing on the sidelines, watching everyone have their fun. Now its later, you can see them down an out.
‘Cause, I been blessed, with having you as a daughter. You lifted my heart higher, each day I see you. You’re that shining star, the beacon at sea.
If I was a sailor, I would hurry home to you. Can’t get enough of that laughter, don’t like seeing a frown on your face.
Will I been standing on the sidelines, watching everyone reach to the stars. When I have one right here. Yes, I been standing on the sidelines.
I look at this world, and nothing can change my mind. There be trouble on the horizon, terrible times ahead. People getting hurt, always sad an blue. I put them in prayer as with everyone.
‘Cause, I been blessed, with writing these words. A pure melody, straight an narrow, they are flowing like a stream. Nine in the morning, an everything is going to be alright.
‘Cause, I been blessed, with this life. Wouldn’t to change it, wouldn’t to lose it. I would love to share, so here I sit writing these words.
Oh, I got a melody running through my head, as I write these words. Sounding like country, maybe its an oldie. But none the less, its pure straight from the heart.
Flowing like a river, steady as a stream. Let it span out there, like the clouds in the sky. Showing everyone in the world, that I got this love for them. My heart is being true, it is solid. This thing is flowing like a river, steady as a stream. Nothing rocky bout this love of mine.
‘Cause, I been blessed, with having a daughter - who is just like you…
‘Cause, I been blessed.
‘Cause, I been blessed..
‘Cause, I been blessed…
Copyright © Kenneth Fielder | Year Posted 2013
There was a girl so free and young;
untouched by the darkness she was yet to become.
Not yet grown up but wishing she would.
She didn’t realise it would make her numb
There was a girl who dreamed of the future,
who wished of being smart, pretty and free.
She told herself it take years to understand,
When it actually only took three.
There was a girl who became obsessed
with things such as looks and grades.
Every time she ‘messed up’ her confidence slipped:
until someone told her about a blade
There was a girl who was once so innocent,
never before heard of self-harm,
but suddenly she knew how to cope!
All she had to do was cut her arm.
There was a girl who was dead inside-
Not understanding the darkness she had become.
She grew up too fast just like she wished:
Now she’s dead because she felt too numb.
Copyright © Teenage Frustrations | Year Posted 2013
Each poem I birth
Is a child of my heart
Flesh of my flesh
Bone of my bone
Word of my soul
Conveyor of my emotions
Each one is unique
One is always happy
And sees the bright side of life
The eternal optimist
With not a care in the world
With a song on her lips
She traipses about and everywhere she goes
And the sun peeks out
To welcome her
The other is intimately acquainted
With her mother’s world
Of suffocating despair
She sees the tear behind the smile
The insecurity behind the laugh
This child of my is consumed by worry
That Mama may go through with it this time
And no longer be there to love her
She quietly watches
Her daily fight for survival
From the demons that haunt her life
And so…she bears her sorrow
Trying to be strong for MAMA
Her tears she hides as she cries in the closet
Knowing its Mama’s tears in her eyes
And Mama’s pain in her heart
I love this child of mine, for she sees what no one else sees
One of my children was conceived in frenzied passion
And she is its embodiment
She devours life
Her passion relishes
She is intense to the point of insanity
Those who know her are electrified by her presence
For she is….
Always in love
Always passionate….to the point of losing herself
In the moment
My little one….ah, my little one is a romantic dreamer
Her eyes never focus on the here and now
She perches on the windowsill
Seeing her castle in the distance
Waiting for her knight in shining army
To sweep her away on his gallant steed
With flowing mane
And thundering hoofs
Matching the thundering beat of her heart
She waits to be whisked to
A forever land of dreams
Of flowers and sunshine
Of birds chirping by streams
And love better than in the world she’s seen
Oh, but my eldest
How my heart bleeds
For my child of wrath
Born of my affair with Zeus
Sending out thunderbolts
Livid by injustice
Seething with anger
At all that is inhumane
Welding his sword
Eager for revenge
I fear for this my child
Who often is about to draw blood
In mortal combat with the enemy
Ever at the point of death...
(End of Part I)
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Salt soaked eyelids sagging
Unceasing streams of liquid
Tears stained the silk face
Painting the terrors of the day
Hush my child, I'll sing you a lullaby
Caressing you with the heavenly chorus
The ground does not desire anymore sorrow
But the stars crave your twinkle
Steadily, curtains of skin descend
Masking the pain etched into the eyes
Lips tremble, uneasy slumber
No more teddies, no more light
Hush, I'll bathe your dreams in white
Let the skin slide from your shoulders
Ease the suffering of physical wounds
I'll mend your broken winged heart to fly.
Tranquility overtakes the mind
Scattered breaths steady to an even beat
A rare peacefulness discovered
Yet the burning sun shall overtake the night
Hush, I'll cradle your bare heart
And fly you to the heaven of stars
Laugh as though you've never uttered a breath
For this shall not last
The morning blaze arises chasing the night
Ashes of humans piled up into mounds
The remains of dreams and lives broken
And one little child
Hush, my child Hush.
Copyright © Senait Mohammed | Year Posted 2005
A Child's Imagination Glows
The sky burst into a solid glow
Clouds danced, raced to and fro
A castle next appeared up there
At the far end of a golden stair
Trumpets blasted out a shout
stars sparkled brightly about
Voices sang a very sweet song
Angels sang right on along
Ground, grass and trees shook
Water danced in a fairies brook
Sprites flew very far overhead
Lights spun the little boy's head
Asked another story soon to be read
As Dad tucked him into his little bed!
Robert J. Lindley 08-19-2014
Inspired by a poem I wrote long ago and
read to my son last night. I wrote this
about 25 minutes after midnight last night..
It is dedicated to my 7 year old son, Justin,
the joy of my life!
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014
Simple things like love arent easy to understand
My pen trembles, my thoughts scramble
All my monsters are weak in her presence
Its sad how they no longer seem ugly
she says I do not write poetry for her no more
I found simple pleasure in her presence
Thieving a man from his madness
Like a candle forcing the darkness to speak
We still play but no longer keep score
She is my poetry but...
But she says I dont write poetry for her no more
I left that role to my daughter sitting in her womb
Her tiny fingers like thunderbolts and tornadoes
She catches placental waters like raindrops
And scribbles like her father
Silent as the night before a revolution
At a bonfire listening to insects recite their stories
About their evolution and our revolution
She says I dont write poetry for her no more
In a world full of fury, sin and silence
Choices choose us. We got nothing to lose except strangers
I live poetry through her beautiful life
The beautiful matrix of our creation embedded in her belly
She says I dont write poetry for her no more
I let my faber castell assault the paper
I write about non existent revolutions
Spread propaganda like a library of lovers
No full stop to my literary nonsense
I m like tepid pause in a witch's cauldron
I m a poetry proctor peddling my stories to wishing wells
I m a failing bridge giving her away to the chasm below
In one life there is a trillion choices
But in two lives there is none
She says I dont write poetry for her no more
Her feet burden with the weight of my world
My secrets and sins between her toes
I rub them off whenever I get a chance
Her legs long and divine like the history of my lineage
They follow behind the absence of my steps
She says I never write poetry for her no more
In my head I found answers, tenfolds of answers
Answers too complex to pronounce
So I decided to scribble this love poem on her maternity dress
She says I dont write poetry for her no more
Copyright © Prince Katlholo | Year Posted 2013
Let's reminisce of time long ago.
When a young child of only four years old.
She would walk through the path between the two houses.
Sent there as she scurried like a mouse.
She was so very young.
Anxiously awaiting the cookies that would come.
Freshly baked, oh so yum!
No understanding of the games he wanted to play.
She still can't understand why, even this day.
She wore the dresses her mother had made.
A fashion show in his basement. At times afraid.
But those cookies waited, so the child stayed.
She spun around and she would sing.
A child's innocent voice would ring.
She never cried, his hands would move her long hair.
Her neck now bare.
He would slowly run a finger along her skin.
Lifting her dress wanting to penetrate therein.
She did not know anything different.
She was important to him, she was significant.
Her sisters were far to old,
Had the child known, she would have told. But not a squeak,
"our secret" he would say,
Her parents never stopped her from going, they would always say go.
This little girl, if only she could have said no.
Up onto his lap she would sit.
After the dances she performed, she was a hit.
He would hug her and kiss her upon her cheek.
His hands would wander, she'd never speak.
She didn't know at age of four.
That as she grew, his desires would soar.
At ages five and six.
He would find new tricks.
These games became more and more.
Her secret, their secret, this child bore.
His fingers always playing in her hair.
He would look at her, in his basement. He would look.... there.
She did not know.....
She had nowhere to go...
She carried this secret all alone.
Whilst at the table with her family at home.
Her own father wouldn't touch her at all.
His baby she was afterall.But to her mother, she was her doll.
Being groomed and shown things she shouldn't have seen.
Memories of these times in childhood flash. Always obscene.
Seeing the blue headed snake.
The girl, age of eight.
She began to realize something wasn't right.
She was still to small, groomed, she couldn't fight.
Copyright © Manon peel | Year Posted 2017
As potential grew, a desire to write, disclosed to few
Imagination immerse, but yet to thirst for knowledge, accrued ambition address
All aboard the express, thoughts of Harry, a plot to marry
From fanciful flights to greater heights
Capturing such visualisation, twas the formation
Characterisation, of wings to soar, with metaphor
From Dumbledore, yet taking shape
Professor Snape, assume the plot, lest thoughts forgot
A forest to roam, a philosophical stone
Such creative flair of which to share
Joining of the dotted line, artistic mind
Transporting train, journeyed acclaim
Of whom to impede, the will to succeed
The ability to write, the capacity to teach, the desire to reach
An impetus for change, a literary role, a priority
Of which to seek with tenacity
Beyond horizons, beyond confines, stand undefined
Awe-inspire, great readership, a due reply
To simplify, a noble shift, outstanding writer in the midst
Dynamic plot from pen to page, persistence through to published stage
A realised dream, challenge overcome
A victory won definably, stocked supplies to library
Broomstick flight phenomenon, a mystical tale was to become
Would generate, the bus of Knight, to render right
A rebuilt life, a legacy made
From chosen craft to final draft, a world of creativity
The right to type, to innovate, an intriguing wait
A shining star that would liberate
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Copyright © Geraldine Taylor | Year Posted 2017
I do not know?
A child is born
all loving, forgiving, honest,
a special child of the light,
eyes wide open, awake,
the wolves are happy,
to feast at the table of its suffering.
Feed it just enough love to survive,
milk it of its light, little by little
suckling its love, its forgiveness,
a sweet delicacy for a vampiric world.
The child becomes a young adult...
control, conformity, submission,
no freedom, no love, no peace,
a barrage of others suffering,
cant get it off me, out of my head!
out of my heart, it hurts!
Its all too much!
Why do they all hurt me?
Why are they not honest like me?
How can they be so mean to me?
What is wrong with me?
I just want a taste of love,
to remind me why I am alive!!
Copyright © Michael Harman | Year Posted 2009
The teachers and staff at the special school, Graysmill,
Did what they could to give the severes a life afterwards,
And they presumed I would be accepted to work,
At the CALL Centre of Edinburgh University, for a long time to lurk.
It’s now CALL Scotland, and researches special tech,
Develops assistive software, devices, and communication aids;
It digitalise written exams energetically and with voice,
For disabled kids who need to have their own writing choice.
But I went to Daniel Stewarts nursery, was well accepted, superior,
As I came top of the class for both words and numbers,
And as it is a top private school near Edinburgh’s city centre,
I found the sympathy hard at Graysmill ‘cos I was not inferior.
In the 70s and 80s they thought the special pupils couldn’t interact,
In mainstream schools where the able-bodied were understood;
Most of my friends had a dislike of normal, ordinary kids,
And didn’t understand my perceptions of relationality and brotherhood.
So as it was sometimes an effort for me to be part of the school,
And I just wanted to walk away from all things disabled or impaired,
The moment I started university where opportunity beckoned,
Where my intentions and abilities could be so aired.
I wanted to maybe be a software engineer for organisations,
But knew I couldn’t type all day every day with my foot,
So after uni got a part-time job at the CALL Centre, but felt self-defeated,
‘Cos I'd had blows with my parents about my own mechanism of input.
I did home computing growing up using my hands on the keyboard,
But did my school and homework with my foot, not good,
And since they wanted me to go to university, no big deal,
They forced me to keep using the faster mechanism, the switch for my foot.
So I resented the CALL Centre right throughout my young years,
For not believing or ingratiating me when I told them of my hand dexterity,
And as a graduate able to deliberate upon my case of disrespect,
I can say that my parents should have certainly been certified for neglect.
I did not renew my contract with the Call, was only for four months,
As I didn’t want to put myself through that close contact and innocence assumption,
But think that they do an note-worthy job for severely disabled kids,
And that my case was an exception to their loving, kind gumption.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015