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 owl
by Black, Augustus
I still got it, baby
by Adams, PAT
Thy Beautiful Heart: The Blue Faerie's Baby
by Lovejoy-Burton, Leanne
My baby behind
by Hopper, Anna
BABY IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND
by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
BABY BLISS
by ALLISON, JAN
Happy baby
by Schoeman, Sheree
BABY LETS REBUILD
by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
A Mother's and Father's Love for Their Baby
by Roper, Eve
Don't Crush The Baby
by Schumacker, Earl
View all new Baby Poems
The Best Baby Poems
Details |
Baby Poem
|
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
Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2016
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Word Hobo | Year Posted 2018
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Baby Poem
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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 :-(
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Nathan D. | Year Posted 2013
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Nate D. | Year Posted 2010
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2013
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Baby Poem
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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.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2018
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
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Baby Poem
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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-)
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2013
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
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Baby Poem
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"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))
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
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Baby Poem
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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!
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014
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Baby Poem
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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
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
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Baby Poem
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Eyes to eyes now meet
Tenderly our lips touch
We, adventurous
Rhythmic vibrations rejoice
When love creates little ones
.
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014
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Baby Poem
|
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.
Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2014
Details |
Baby Poem
|
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
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
Details |
Baby Poem
|
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.
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009
Details |
Baby Poem
|
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 ***
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
Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013