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Best Baby Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Baby poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of baby poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Baby Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Baby poems are below this new poems list.

BABY AXEL by Enriquez, Leon
On Small Baby or Child Rain Must Fall by Horn, James
THE BABY OF THE EARTH by CHAKRABARTY, RAJAT KANTI
You baby Leo Mbalamana by Mbalamana , Leo
Baby Blue-13 by Loo, Laura
Baby Woodpecker by Sands, Heidi
SENRYU20180615 - O Baby by Deo, Anil
Baby This Life Is A Journey Of Five Miles by Mishra, Sabita
Baby Who Has Seen Tomorrow by Mishra, Sabita
Baby This Life Is A Huge Puzzle by Mishra, Sabita

View all new Baby Poems

The Best Baby Poems

Details | Baby Poem |

What I Have Done

A heart filled with nothing
A mind that thinks not much
A soul that runs on empty
A body that craves no touch


Is just an empty walking shell
With an attitude that cares less
Is just a person with no will left
And a life she's made a mess

Details | Baby Poem |

Regret

Born out of wedlock
she gave up her baby girl
for quick adoption.

Twice married since, old and frail,
she laments her childless life.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Regret
Sponsor: Frank Herrera

Chosen POTD-1st Oct 2016

Details | Baby Poem |

Her Son Nathaniel

She is searching for the son taken from her arms
simply because she was believed to be a child herself.
She was unable to stand up to her parents’ wishes -
those GOD fearing upright Christians whose pride mattered
more than their daughter’s feelings.

Her son’s pink-cheeked newborn face, chubby and cute,
haunts her waking moments.
But in dreams, she sees him tall, athletic and so beautiful.
Beautiful like her Johnny, the boy with whom she’d conceived her son
all those years ago.

Nathaniel she had named him, Nathan for short!
Shortly thereafter, she’d accidentally but happily been given to know
that the adoptive parents were honoring the wish of the biological mother.
They’d kept his name Nathaniel. Though she knew not their surname,
his name was her glittering hope. It IS her hope today,
for this one piece of knowledge has sustained her through
the eighteen long years that were to follow
that long sweltering summer before her child’s birth.

That summer so long ago, when she'd been made to stay at her aunt’s house
in a little town far away from her city and out of sight of her parents’ friends.
As her belly grew larger, she would bide her time, sometimes taking walks.
Past a rusty gate that led into an old graveyard,
she would seek shelter from the sun,
along a green shady path meandering past headstones
headstones with names of souls who once inhabited this strange little town
where she was spending the fifteen summer of her lifetime.

She'd never been the child her parents believed her to be; she was an old soul.
She could have been a good mother. If only Johnny had not deserted her.
Oh, beautiful Johnny, the father of her Nathan! Surely she'll see her son soon,
and surely he will resemble the love of her youth.

She has returned to this little town where she’d felt her Nathan’s tiny fingers
wrap around hers that last day she held him - as if imploring her to stay.
But obedient daughter that she was, she gave her son away.
Today her Nathan turns eighteen. Born August 28th, he can’t be hard to find.
How many Nathan’s with that same birth date could exist in this little town?
She has kept the vow she made to herself all those years ago -
to not try to see her son until he became an adult.
Now she is finished visiting the town’s two schools.
There is no record of a Nathan, Nate or Nathaniel born Aug. 28th.
All these years clinging to her hope. Had the adoptive parents left town?
Had her son never grown up in the little town at all?
With dismal thoughts swirling in her mind, she finds herself walking. . .
walking like she did in the summer of her tribulation.
Past a rusty gate is that old graveyard she remembered from before.
Here she is again on another sweltering August day walking
along a green shady path meandering past headstones.
Almost instantly, her eyes are drawn to a small mound and a stone
overgrown with vines.
A strange dread has come upon her. As if compelled by some strange force,
she finds herself yanking the vines off the tiny headstone!

Tears well up in her eyes as she reads the birth date on the stone
and sees the very short span of life revealed by the date of death of
her son Nathaniel.

Written 10/1/16 for the Overgrown With Vines Poetry Contest of Broken Wings which was judged First place along with some other first place beautiful poems, 10/8/2016

Details | Baby Poem |

Choosing Grace


her first cry

never   teared your eyes


her first smile

never   dimpled your cheeks


her first giggle

of joyous recognition

never   mothered your heart


her first word

never   tickled your ears


her first step

never   reached your arms



almost

	

a prayerful pause ~ spindles time

through its aperture ~ she has your eyes ! 

‘tho a minutest inflection ~ you see your face ! 

what joyous recognition ~ self ~ in-dwelt

her flutter ~ divinely felt



She named her   Grace



gv 18.29.3  18a

Details | Baby Poem |

A Wish -re-post-

A WISH -- In Memory Of 

"I Wish"

I wish I could blow air into your little lungs, 
The day my daughter brought your stillborn body into this world. 
Hold your little body warm, 
And tell my little girl you have her cute little nose....
Count your little fingers, and kiss your little toes....

I wish, 
I could look into your daring eyes, 
Facing a little boy, who's ready for this world
I wish,
I could tell my daughter you have her beautiful brown eyes...
Sadly, it’s not like that.
How can I tell my daughter everything will be all right?
When a piece of my heart was stolen with her's,
When giving birth to her son, my grandson 
March 25, 2013---- How it Hurts! 
~~~
O’ how I wish, you entered this world crying
Instead, we're the ones left in tears of sorrow
~~~
How I wish you could be, 
And not this feeling you left inside
How I wish, God could explain why o' why o' why?

Mostly, I WISH grandma could fix this and make 
your mommy feel, the joy she was robbed of.

In memory of my grandson: ---Bael Lesley G.
Born March 25, 2013  ---   RIP March 25, 2013

----------
by;PD  :-(

Details | Baby Poem |

The Worm Poem

A Certain Kind Of Death 

She was in love 
Their expression of it 
Was the perfection of it 
The way they shared 
What they had 
Was beyond compare
Today is the culmination 
Of their dedication 
Today she is pregnant 
Overwhelmed 
Overjoyed
Her heart sings 
Then the phone rings 

At the hospital 
Next to her dead husband 
How is this possible 
Why did this happen 
Grief stricken
But not heartbroken 
She still had a piece of him 
She had to be strong 
For their child
Even though he was gone 
She had to find a way 
To march on 

Pain and spot bleeding
At the hospital again
Getting ready for birthing 
No rhyme or reason 
For complication 
She took care of her body
Took care of her baby 
Its two months too soon
For the child to leave the womb 
Lacking strength and power 
It only lived an hour 
She could only scream 
She could only scream 

No strength to go through the motions
She hasn’t seen family or friends
Trying to find something within
nothing left to give 
No reason to live 
Her mind is out of reasons
she is dead inside
Her memories fading away
She’s doesn’t want to lose them
Tries to hold on to them 
She racks her brain all day 
Trying to find a way 
To keep them fresh and vibrant 

It came to her at a convenience store
A fisherman was buying some worms
She saw them wiggling 
Saw them moving 
She bought all they had 
And took them home 
She knew she had gone mad
But she didn’t want to be alone
Lying in her bed 
Longing for the dead 
She put the worms in her womb 
And pretended her baby was alive

Her days were filled with joy 
They were going to have a boy
Her husband would stay home
He could finally feel him kick and move 
His happiness was there only wish
They would love and cherish 
Every moment of everyday 
The perfect family 
For everyone to envy 
She wasn’t alone anymore 
She didn’t have to cry 
She was no longer ripped and torn 

Her evenings were horrifying 
She wasn’t taking worms out
She was reliving her baby dying 
She never once heard it crying 
Never got to hold it in her arms 
Failed to keep it from harm 
She was useless 
She was helpless
She was hopeless
She should have died too 
She should have kept him inside her
Even if it had killed her 

She decided one day 
To keep her baby 
Decided not to let the doctors take it away
She started to feel some pain 
She decided on a name 
She can barely move now 
She would keep David safe somehow
She’s constantly bleeding and convulsing 
She can feel his life pulsating 
She gave birth before she died
With the worms pouring out 
and of one thing there is no doubt

There is a certain kind of death 
Waiting, for some of us

Details | Baby Poem |

Beginnings And Endings

Birth was suppose to come easier than this.
I pant quickly as I was taught, 
but pain evaporates my gallant front
and tears have come from eyes squeezed shut

I hear a voice unlike my own
The room is filled with some concern
I groan, the doctor takes a turn
Quick-fire decision, a swift incision

... a tug, a void,...a cry...  a babe..

The next several hours are a bit of a blur
until everything clears, alone in my room
on sterilized sheets, too stiff,  too sleek, 
too fragrant of bleach, to think about sleep.

Suddenly, all I can think about is mother
and how different it was for her, 
especially, since her young husband was so far away

This miracle I bore, as soft as fine silk, 
with tiny closed fists, rose-petal nails
fills me with joy, with relief, I am filled
 with a deep pang of grief
for a long ago thief
I can feel the connection, mixed joy, and compassion 

I bathe in the scent of my brand new beginning ......
But my thoughts stream behind me,...... to a hope that had ended
My mother in bed, after losing her first....
So young, in her bed, without child,........ bleeding red
from the war that she fought, while my Dad fought his own

I cry tears all alone.... for the grief that she owned
I so cherish the breath.....of this babe on my breast

The circle of life, starts with birth .....sometimes, death




_________________________________________________________
3/14/14
Contest: A Hundred In a Row
Sponsor: PD

Details | Baby Poem |

the worm poem

A Certain Kind Of Death 

She was in love 
Their expression of it 
Was the perfection of it 
The way they shared  
Was beyond compare
Today is the culmination 
Of their dedication 
Today she is pregnant 
Overwhelmed overjoyed
Her heart sings 
Then the phone rings 

At the hospital 
Next to her dead husband 
How is the possible 
Why did this happen 
Grief stricken
But not heartbroken 
She still had a piece of him 
She had to be strong 
For their child
Even though he was gone 
She had to march on 

Pain and spot bleeding
Getting ready for birthing 
No rhyme or reason 
For complication 
She took care of her body
Took care of her baby 
Its two months too soon
For the child to leave the womb 
Lacking strength and power 
It only lived an hour 
She could only scream  

No strength to go through the motions
She hasn’t seen family or friends
Trying to find something within
nothing left to give 
No reason to live 
she is dead inside
Her memories fading away
She’s doesn’t want to lose them
Tries to hold on to them 
She racks her brain all day 
Trying to find a way 
To keep them fresh and vibrant 

It came to her at a convenience store
A fisherman was buying some worms
She saw them wiggling 
Saw them moving 
So she bought all they had  
She knew she had gone mad
But she didn’t want to be alone
Lying in her bed 
Longing for the dead 
She put the worms in her womb 
And pretended her baby was alive

Her days where filled with joy 
They where going to have a boy
Her husband would stay home
He could finally feel it kick and move 
His happiness was there only wish
They would love and cherish 
Every moment of everyday 
A happy family 
For everyone to envy 
She wasn’t alone anymore  
She was no longer ripped and torn 

Her evenings were horrifying 
She wasn’t just taking worms out
She was reliving her baby dying 
She never once heard it crying 
Never got to hold it in her arms 
Failed to keep it from harm 
She was useless 
She was helpless
She should have died too 
She should have kept inside her
Even if it had killed her 

She decided one day 
To keep her baby 
Decided not let the doctors take it away
She started to feel some pain 
She decided on a name 
She can barely move now 
She would keep David safe somehow
She’s constantly bleeding and convulsing 
She can feel his life pulsating 
She gave birth before she died 
And David was the only one that cried

Details | Baby Poem |

Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse

Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
are painted on walls of green.
A maple crib stands in the corner.
It's a picture perfect scene.

There is only one thing missing
in this room so perfectly designed.
The baby was never to take a breath.
You have to wonder what God had in mind.

Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
live behind an ever closed door.
To look at the would-be parents
you couldn't tell who was grieving more.

Not all plans have happy endings;
some endings never seem to end.
How much sadness can two people take
before they break instead of bend.

Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse
are painted on walls of green
in a room now shrouded in sadness
where no child will ever be seen.




~~~ 03/01/2013 ~~~
     Francine Roberts

Details | Baby Poem |

The Enemy's Child : collab with Carolyn D


The battles on the field are harsh and tough
The looting in their wake engorged with greed
Abundant spoils of war are not enough.
 
Atrocious in their acts that make no sense
The women and the girls are taken slaves
Abusing them with lust and violence.                        
 
Unable to resist the touch of shame
The captive females cry in pain and fear
Their lives will never be again the same.
 
And when the dust of war has blown away
The children of the foe get born to those
Who months before fell prey and ravaged lay.
 
Unwanted children still need loving care
Mothers find it hard to nurture such babes
Shame is endured by children in despair.
 
Their lives are defined by horrid attacks
Evil men who satisfied selfish needs
Indignities make them fall through the cracks.
 
Who loves a child rejected by its kin?
Society offers them no solace 
The “enemy’s child”, created by sin;
 
But all these children still have hearts and souls
Rejection renews the cycle of pain
When there is no one who cares or consoles.

-----------------------------------------------------
Co-write: Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
@ March 2015

Details | Baby Poem |

Celebrating A Birth

Isn't life a joy beyond imagining 
When a child is born to us?
Can there be any greater happening 
When families become a chorus?
Oh sweet melody of life's golden symphony 
Pregnant seasons birthing spring 
Nothing can compare to the cacophony 
Of a baby when first she sings.
Look: she smiles, she beams,
Her eyes seraphic twinkle, deep blue-green,
Enchanting, magically enticing, endearing, 
Urging her mother to a hug, a kiss
Soft as the early sun on her puffy cheeks.
Captivating, she melts the heart,
Then strikes, straight at the delicious milk 
Of her mother's full sweet breast.

Details | Baby Poem |

OOPS - PLEASE JOIN IN THE COLLABORATION

Sue dated an old bloke called Darren
He said surgery'd made him barren
But one errant sperm
Escaped from his ‘worm’
Now Sue’s had a baby named Sharon!

05~24~17

WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON

For his sins he surely will pay
Strong little swimmer went astray
There's tears in his eyes
No nights with the guys
And Susan turned out to be gay!

05~25~17


WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH

Darren went to the doc to get snipped
The doctor was drunk and he slipped
He was seeing double
And that spelled trouble
Poor Darren got his wiener clipped.

05~24~17


WRITTEN BY JAMES ANDERSEN


Darren wasn't really a talker; 
He spent all his time in a rocker. 
"But don't worry, Dear," 
He'd said without fear, 
Knowing that his sperm used a walker. 

05~24~17


WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART


Darren told Jane the same story
She gave birth to a son named Rory 
He thinks he's slick
he's really a prick
And deserves his own category!

05~25~17

WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER


Sue told Darren she was on the pill 
But she managed to get pregnant still 
It would have been better 
If he "wrote" a french letter 
Now they have a baby boy named Bill! 

05~25~17

WRITTEN BY JOSEPH MAY

Young Rick peed on a stick. 
The result made him feel sick. 
His emotions went wild. 
How could he be with child. 
Impregnated by his own seed.

05~25~17

WRITTEN BY RICHARD LAMOUREUX

So Darren was over the hill
Said Susie'd no need for the pill
One old guy
One old lie
Easily told for the thrill!

05~25~17

WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS

Jan that's not what I find
I disagree if you don't mind
Over sixty they droop
When I take a look
His number if you would be so kind?


WRITTEN BY JEAN MURRAY

Poor Darren developed a cough
Sue put him to bed in a trough
While discussing his manhood.
Sue said, this is no good
I'd feel safer if you had it off.


WRITTEN BY JONATHAN FRENCH

Details | Baby Poem |

Angel of Mine


You are mine ~ I am yours ~ in this together
Your heart and mine in synchrony they beat
Bequeathed One with thoughts that sync mine
Enlightened Souls in love ~ a conjoined feat

Overwhelmed with the throb of your heartbeat
A subtle flutter like a butterfly’s touch within
That stirs the very essence of my soul
and tickles goose bumps that creep upon my skin

In anticipation for your fingers to hold mine
Proclaim your entry with your first lusty cry
I’ll weep a mother’s tears of soulful joy
Soothing you with my own sweet lullaby

Till then ~ for now we bond as one to the other
An affinity in the unity of a child to its Mother
He cradles us in his arms ~ you respond to his touch
The completed circle with you ~ me ~ and your father

My poem is written to celebrate the coming event for a very special couple who are excitedly expecting their first little girl. 

Video clip and music by - Colbie Caillat

Details | Baby Poem |

Lullaby in the Sunset

It’s time for the daytime to dance into night,
Its tangerine taffeta dress a delight,
Where is it going? Coloured so bright?
Sleep now my sunshine, you’ll dance til the light.

It’s time for the day to lay down for a doze,
It’s flushed with a blush as its eyes slowly close,
What does it dream of? Nobody knows,
So sleep now my sunshine, you’ll go where it goes.

Now darkness will conquer and day is disarmed,
Its last ruby red like a danger alarm,
Do not fear darkness, cherish the calm,
And sleep now my sunshine, I’ll keep you from harm.


30 March 2018
For “Lullaby in the sunset” contest
Sponsored by Vermillion Scythe (not placed)
And placed 7th in Brian Strand’s premiere contest 140

Details | Baby Poem |

Security Blanket

Security Blanket 

No chance of rain tonight,
No bogeyman, when I turn off the lights.
A phrase I found and adore with the warmth of your security.
You are the reason I attain true maturity.

I love when you lay down next to me,
Like the high tide of the sea,
You move all the warm emotions inside.
My arms are the comfort you use to seek and hide.

Your nestle holds a true rhythm that hums its own song~
Nothing comes close to breaking this precious bond~
A sweet cradle-song only I hear,
You play my grin, without the strings of a puppeteer.

My heartbeat needs its fix and drug,
Your sweet, charming smiles and hug, 
Is all I need to succeed, 
You are, my only creed!

A kiss, I give on your forehead,
Into a poet’s world where your blanket a dulcet lullaby, 
my arms are your bed.

“Goodnight Sweet Child, Sweet Child of Mine!”

By; pd

Details | Baby Poem |

Mother and Child

 and she said
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
but today I live in my daughter's happiness
All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own
All my friends I do not see,to stay with her at home
Money might get tight,but what is money
compared to pure joy of a child
What is money compared to her  almond eyes

Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come
But what is success compared to first giggles
to first steps, first mouthfuls and her little grabs
Compared to gurgles and babbles
to first time she calls me mama
and hold on to my hands
What is beauty in the world compared to a pearl
This innocent child,a coloured coral petite pretty girl

Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
But today I live in my daughter's happiness
I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires
roses on doorstep,unsigned love letters
with spiced cologne and enticing words
Today I live in my daughter's shadow
To watch her live her own dream
I watch her bloom in autumn gardens
from princess of hearts become queen

Tomorrow I will not be here
She might not get to see the white of my hair
the wrinkle in my smile
But,today she knows I love her
long more after petals wither
long more after a mother's hug fades
long after I shine from the sky.

Dedicated to my beloved Christina with love
Happy first birthday wrapped with barney hugs
and Winnie the pooh kisses :-$:-|B-)

Details | Baby Poem |

A Good News Story

Cesarean birth

a newborn hugs his mom's face -

his cheek pressed to hers. . . 

pulled away from her, he screams

some bonds cannot be broken

Details | Baby Poem |

Natural Born Dreamers

"Still Born"

Shh!! Mommy, quiet, quiet she is still sleeping
Shh!! Mommy, quiet, quiet she is off dreaming
Shh!! Mommy, before you wake her: “My baby sister!”

Now look what you have done, you gone and woke her!
Please, mommy do not tell her what you expect and will concur. 
She is silently listening to the unique secret found in every waking minute.   
Making movements, imposing that her dreams come with no limit.

Shh!! Mommy, she is dreaming again,
Waiting for another day to end,
Hasting the way you count every minute before she arrives.

Shh!! Mommy, she is not ready yet.
She told me a secret when I press my ear near your nest.
She is hesitating the moment for you to hear her newborn cries.
She is not ready for you to count her fingers and look into her eyes.
She likes it in your womb where it is nice and warm.
She is in a dream protected by a place where angels swarm.
~
Dear:
Mommy I fell asleep when you sang that beautiful lullaby..
Mommy, mommy, I’m ready to see her: “My baby sister!”
I want to play with her- Is she everything we dreamed of.
~

I’m sorry mommy, I do not understand why you cry!
I was not there when the angels woke her without saying goodbye.
Mommy, why did God call and take her home? 
Mommy, I am still here, please do not feel alone.
 

Shh!! Mommy, do not cry no more.
Mommy, please wipe those tears and show me how to be brave.
Mommy, stop, listen, and feel her smile and wave.
She will always listen, when you visit her grave.

Hi, mommy, why don't you stand by her grave anymore?
Mommy, I see you weep no more.
Mommy is she no longer asleep nor in dreams?
Is she in a better land with no trials and deems?

Mommy, now I see everyone’s heart is clear, and no longer stillborn.
Mommy, now life must go on, and in it, we will always have time to mourn. 
**
One more thing, mommy thank you for holding my hand,
I am just a sibling, who needed time to understand.

by;PD

((for contest))

Details | Baby Poem |

The Cuddling Cricket

It’s not enough to have a Dragon plus his penguins and pigeons, too?
Darn it! I had a limit, until a cute Cuddling Cricket found my shoe.
He was just a little baby, who saw the pigeons and decided to hide.
Now, he won’t let go of my pants leg; he’s definitely along for the ride.

The first time I saw him, I Eeekk’ed and I jumped, yep, about to pounce.
But at my response he sighed, and slumped, and he began to cry, at once!
At first I couldn’t believe it, so I pulled out my magnifying glass.
What I found were soulful eyes, and a face, so very cute, but sad.

So now when I stand, A Cuddling Cricket, comes along for the ride.
Yeah, he’s now part of the family… Well, of course! Sigh! I replied…
He sleeps in a cute little plastic bug box, with a matchbox for a bed.
But it’s hard to explain, to others found, in my life, which have fled.

I bring a magnifying glass, so they can see him bow so proper and nice.
But carrying my Cuddling Cricket around, does have a certain price!
Food stores aren’t very understanding, and restaurants, Not At All! Truly!
But the paparazzi seem to understand a Cuddling Cricket, completely!

He does have his own type of novelty as he carries around his blankie!
And he’s just a baby, who needs a Mom, and of course, his little binkie!
Honestly, I’m not kidding! There’ve been a few, strange turns, in my life.
But, if I have Trolls and Dragon, then a Cuddling Cricket seems, so right!

Details | Baby Poem |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Details | Baby Poem |

When Love Creates


Eyes to eyes now meet
Tenderly our lips touch
We, adventurous
Rhythmic vibrations rejoice
When love creates little ones




.

Details | Baby Poem |

Confessions of a Baby Snatcher

This is my last confession; there will be no more.

I am impercipient and slow from last night's sleeping pill,
wincing away from the harshness of day.
Kitchen cold, the room tear-splintered,
sunlight striking a watery rainbow in my eyes;
air smothering-stale from my hopeless coffee-cup crying,
whilst life outside the window ticks on relentlessly.
Seconds turn into minutes turn into hours...

When you plashed your pearlescence over my pale skin
I never guessed the inner ugliness of those seascape pearls
encircling each ovary, stubbornly adhesive, leaching new life.
The scanner's screen sizzling static, darkening to nightshade depth,
its impersonal probe trailing damp viscosity over my belly;
shockingly sticky as the first time you came on me
but lacking the warmth.
Puppetted by pity, you brought me pink carnations,
crushed their bright, baby-frail faces into a tacky hospital vase.

I am weighted with a multitude of baby-frail faces.

Indifference cold-eyed me at the hospital: histrionic, hysterical,
a blubbing huddle of neuroses - "Doctor will I conceive again?" -
a collocation of surgical steel and wonder drugs.
Drugs to inflate the ovaries with a Botox bloat.
Drugs to wipe clean the scribbled slate of the mind.
You left me to weep amongst white hospital sheets,
coffin-cold, my hands folded on emptiness,
a paint palette of blood inks seeping from me.

Brushed by the soft wing of silence, what was being concealed?
The products of conception, screened from view?
The unseen dead, faceless and nameless,
trundling on trolleys through sterile corridors
to the eager heat blast of the incinerator - their crematorium.

They said I could try again
but barrenness occupies my bed;
it is a womb-burrower, fattening stealthily on menstrual blood.
The claw of infertility is clamped on my shoulder:
torturous flesh-hooks digging at my skin.
I ache all day from blanched almond ovaries;
fragile finger-fronds stilled to nothingness...

I find myself miraculously in the shopping mall;
my feet have no memory of the pavement that brought me here.
Fruit machines flicker and wince like migraine.
I circle the shop floor, keeping a safe distance.
I am not dangerous. I am not predatory.
I only seek to protect the meek;
to shield them from the vodka bottle,
the beatings, the needle in the arm.
Beneath the strip light's dizzying glare,
tenderly fingering bootees soft as puppies, mittens like kittens,
the meek sweet sleep smell pulling me in.
My purchases earn me a benevolent smile
from pretty Pollyanna at the cash till.

The tapestries of faces at school gate gatherings -
faces daffodil-bright, sunstruck and open with joy;
the happy heaving hordes.
I am not dangerous. I am not predatory.
I only yearn to merge with the scenery of domesticity,
immersing myself in routine and normality.

Noticing individuality,
the way it blossoms in every pram,
hazed by the human differences.
Vertiginous spinning of kaleidoscope and rainbow;
the park a synaesthetic playground:
blood bursts of poppy, fire flames of freesia.
My audible emptiness clattering; a hollow pod rattling
amongst bud bursts of green, fruiting trees, flowers heavy with pollen.
A sickly size six drifting diaphanously;
the scenery of pregnancy swelling around me.
Encircled by circularity: round bellies, round faces,
roundabouts spinning, globular beach balls and balloons,
blossom spheres shaken from trees shivering to the ground.

Awake again last night in smothering, starless dark,
that tiny bloodied form beating like a trapped butterfly inside my head;
face pressed into a tear-damp pillow,
recalling the bathroom's midnight chill
as I knelt in raw ruby carnage on the floor.

This is my last confession; there will be no more.

Details | Baby Poem |

A Home With Two Cats

These are two etherees that will be put together side by side to form ONE complete poem having 11 syllables per line, so I thought i would show how it is done. It's like fitting two puzzle pieces together to form the poem for the contest at the bottom!

(Etheree #1)
Two
cats now
occupy 
a space that is
my home, their kingdom,
with beds to hide beneath,
and with closets, stairs and chairs
small pets like to explore and where
comfy, side by side, they doze.  Two cats,
now a part of me, show me daily. . .  love

(etheree #2)
Cute new friends, no longer foes, but sister
companions, share common spaces and
a place even more important:
the heart I give, along with
the place they frolic in,
with sofas they climb
and desktops where
they perch.  Here
my joy
lives.

(I have put the lines of the top etheree in parentheses so you can see how neatly they fit together with the reverse etheree #2)

A Home with Two Cats

(Two) cute new friends, no longer foes, but sister
(cats now) companions, share common spaces and 
(occupy) a place even more important:
(a space that is) the heart I give, along with
(my home, their kingdom), the place they frolic in,
(with beds to hide beneath), with sofas they climb
(and with closets, stairs and chairs) and desktops where
(small pets like to explore and where) they perch. Here 
(comfy, side by side, they doze.  Two cats,) my joy
(now a part of me, show me daily. . .  love) lives.


Hope I explained it so it was understood how I did it!!
For the Pet Contest of Francine Roberts

Details | Baby Poem |

Through the Door

Can you see them run to me – arms wide and laughing,
calling me, Mama: keeper of the stars, moon and hearts?
Can you see them kiss away my pain, healing every hurt
that’s ever marked me broken, dead or dying?

Can you see them hurt me? When they curse me, flay me; 
ground me with their unformed anger and bravado-uncertainty
until they fly behind doors, crying over what they’ve said – 
wishing they could take it back? 

O’, does that pride HURT! 
It stabs the chest and holds…holds…holds.
Can you see them behind doors and feel their wishful hearts burn? 
Can you feel them loving me through it all?
Love is not something easily hidden. Love like that breaks down doors – 
                                    sees through them. 
Can you see my tears; feel the weight of them on your cheeks? 
They are yours. 
Where you are (past the furthest/closest door) can you see me in them? 
Can you see the love I kept hidden in my dark and painful dungeon? 
You never knew what he did to me – but deep down, I blamed you anyway. 
There was only you left, you see; always you.
Can you see, I'm just like you?

If you can see me, you know. 
And if you can hear me crying through this God Damned pen (all those notes – 
all those written sorry’s slipped beneath doors - you must have known that
even at 37, I’d write you my heart in a note!)

You, Gran/Mother, are my one and only regret. 
That for 7 years, I treated you like a burden, a bother, and a barrier. 
I treated you like you should have treated me – an unintentional intruder;
like something taken, not given. 
But worse than that, I treated you like an acquaintance. 
Knowing how badly that must have hurt you, makes me want to be kicked in the face 
until I am unrecognizable; to the rest of the world, and myself. 

But life’s not like that, is it? No. You knew that, too. 

My baby boy has your nose, ears, and eyes. 
Do you think that if I whisper in his ear tonight while he sleeps (between you and me – 
at the doorway), you could hear me?
Tonight, I will whisper love in his perfect ear (pressed up against heaven’s door) -
maybe you will hear me say,

“Indy…Gran, I’m so sorry. If you can hear me, please give me a sign so I will know 
you’ve heard me. I want to see you smile again – just one more time…please…
let me know that somewhere, behind the door, you forgive me…”

And in the darkness of his bedroom; the moonlight covering his small face
like an angel’s kiss, the baby boy in her likeness, smiled.

Details | Baby Poem |

I Am A Gerber Baby

I am a super duper Gerber Baby
all I love to do is wee- wee
winning all the attention of my mommy
so that all day long, she’ll stay beside me

I love to loudly fart and burp
after taking my Gerber Baby Foods  prepared by dad
all my tiny fingers in  my mouth as I give them a crunchy baby’s laugh
they both run to give me their sweetest kisses and hugs

Oh, how I love to wear my soft baby’s diaper 
I walk around my crib producing sounds, “ mmma pppa brrrr brrrrrr”
please bathe me in my lovely little bath tub or wash
the smudges of my “ poop” now I feel them on my ass

How I love to be an adorable baby
no problem yet nor worry
all I have to do is drink milk  and sleep the whole night or day
cuddled in the loving arms of my mommy and daddy

In my cozy crib are colorful toys
feeling like sitting over the rainbow with so much joy
my picture books are scattered all around
I pretend to read them smartly as I look at the picture of a clown


Jan. 27, 2012


First Place
Contest: Gerber Baby (poem contest)
Judged: 2/1/2013
Sponsor: Greatest Poet, Linda/PD

First Place
Contest: #1 Poem Only
Judged: 17/13/13
Sponsor: My dearest Poet sis, Linda