Best Baby Poems
I took a walk with God today,
His pace far more casual than
mine. His voice a bit softer,
calmer. His visions, far more
loftier, but not views to impress
me...more like, to bless me. Not
stepping to me out-stride – more like,
to lovingly guide. His tone to instill in me
self confidence, and not His awesome
dominance. I took a walk with
God today...met Christ along
the way – and together we made a turn
toward Home....
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
i’m vinyl baby,
easy to scratch,
easy to gouge,
prone to warping.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
dot dot dot
from the seventies!
you know there’s
my black side,
my dark side.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
you,
you’re my diamond needle.
i'm your music,
you know me,
you play me.
you,
you’re my diamond needle.
gets under my skin
rides my
grooves
you.
still,
even pass these years,
still,
when my time comes,
pack me in my jacket
bury me in your closet.
you know i’m still
your song,
your tune,
dot dot dot
you make my life neat.
spin
like a circle
i’m the black vinyl
on the roundabout
you,
your still
the only
turntable
for me.
you.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
play me!
14~12~2015
Maurice Yvonne
Mama don't take my breath away
My only chance to love and play
I know you're hurting I can tell
Mama don't give up on me as well
Mama I long to touch your face
Feel the beauty of your grace
I dream one day to see you smile
Mama don't ever say Goodbye
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
Alone the bones of the room
bear no weight of responsibility
nor does it bare its breast of secrets
a broken pane
provides a breath with a pang of lavender
a wistful inhale
inhabits the lungs of this space
as the room tries to embrace...
oh embrace the breathing breeze
to squeeze a semblance of life into this place
but the breeze— a gypsy whisper-warm
needs freedom to come through and sweep-swirl
sun-dust into whirls of pinprick-stars...
then leave softly recede not beholden to bones
stoic and standing still
not beholden to dust stranded midair
only to fall in despair— abandoned
with less a good-bye
as bygone laughter and lullabies
are held on lath-tongues
behind horsehair plaster walls
but mute memories linger
they mingle in fairy dust like fireflies in dusk;
her May-time suckling coos and her mama’s ooohs
the woes and throes of Winter’s rocking chair nights
a weep of April tears and seep of mud puddles thawed
the reborn dust lifted with green summer breezes
—a colored canvas that minions of time
would rather gesso white
in its bones the room
remembers its worth as a womb
nurturing a baby’s breath
beneath blue-skin-skies
where rows of purple spires grow
till Mistral winds blew hard and cold
and flew her lavender soul
far from her earthly home
oh the loss of life
wind-crashing-seas-onto-rocks
loss of life
skeleton-ribs-of-the-crib-stripped
of-her-lavender-sprig
loss of life
If I were a baby’s breath
I’d be the sigh
that bends the wheat as dawn slips by
a gentle chinook that softly speaks
a river’s pause….. before it breaks
the soulful love itself remakes.
If I were the moment
I'd be the one
star that pierces through the dark
where moons align and two hearts become
a place thoughts dissolve where time suspends
a love too vast for fate to end.
If I were a dream catcher I’d kiss your sleep
with shades of joy too rich to keep
reality more radiant than you'd dare.
and when you wake upon your skin
my breath would rise dew drops within.
If I had an enchanted touch
I’d be the artist
of tides that sculpt the cliffs in full
a warmth that lingers on your breasts
a caress that cradles slow and deep
like roots that drink where my love sleeps.
If I were a sacred covenant
I’d be the mark
that binds your soul where comets arc
not lost to time, nor dimmed by space
but carved in light-faith’s endless place.
forever locked in my loves’ divine celestial lace.
But I am just myself
imperfect true
yes, I am only flesh and bone
no myth no spark no sculpted stone—
but in your arms, I burn, I shine
a zephyrus breath where earth meets sky.
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 :-(
"Thy Beautiful Heart : The Blue Faery’s Baby"
'Tis brave the heart
of a lionhearted cub
When Butterflies
aren’t pretty
Aren’t all what they seem
Monsters that do steal teeth
from the Blue Faery's Baby
A glass jar full of
plundered
precious Pearls
of White Ivory,
not sweet honey bees
The cub
must remember
the power asleep
in thy magic, the
strength of pure
LOVE
Stand firm clasping it to
thy beautiful heart,
thy beautiful heart -
that was borne
from pure love
all of thy
beautiful dreams
to believe
to dream
red life rosy and real
“Walk with courage”,
she heard her say,
"Soft footsteps always follow,
They’ve never walked away,"
"In thy dreams
I guard thee still,
from wolves
and monks
all monsters -
men and women
gone astray"
In that strange
contained place
that place of the Fey,
both are walking
side by side
together
in pure Light,
a strong power,
in conversation
they hold,
deep of the mind,
the two from the Fey
"All will come good
on the morrow
For the
Blue Faery’s Baby,
there is to be
no more bleeding
Black Sorrow
Love, hear me now,
Time is tumbling
Love - pure and strong,
with all of thy
beautiful heart
Time,
tis no more time,
to be borrowed.
Love's kiss
from a mother's
pure heart
breaks forever and now
the Papillon Spell".
(Lovejoy-Burton, August 2018)
for my daughter,
Georgia -
Close your eyes
when you listen to the music...
it adds more power to the spell.
I am always with you. Always.
ALL my Love - Always.
The Blue Faery.
"Conjunto", Symphony for 8 Cellos
PeterRudolfi, Youtube
https://youtu.be/cKEq56mDLg4
I am with you all the way.
Love, Mum.
We hadn't planned his birth like this...
Taking breaths as I was taught,
the pain dissolved my gallant front
and tears have come from eyes squeezed shut
I heard 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 baby born..
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'm bathed in the scent of my brand new beginning ......
But my thoughts stream back to a time long ago
to a hope that ended that I've been told
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
as I 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
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
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
The story of life from young to old is the same old story told over and over.
We start out and end in diapers.
We start out and end with no teeth.
We start out and end eating soft foods we do not like the taste of.
We start out and end falling down.
We start out and end needing care.
We start out and end crying day and night.
We start out with nothing and end taking nothing with us.
We only have the precious time between young and old to live a life of love to others.
The story of life is the story we leave behind.
Date Written: 6/7/2019
A contest on aging Poetry Contest sponsored by Emile Pinet
Breathe my love, for I breathe for you
Thru cyan skies and oceans bathing blue
Speak my love, for I lonely listen for you
Vivacious vivid voices of a sensuous spew
Dream my love, for I only dream of you
Lavish green meadows in the morning dew
Sing my love, for I symphonically sing for you
With Angelic ambiance within heavens view
Cry my love, for I calamitously cry for you
Lachrymal layers of our binding brew
Dance my love, so I may dance with you
In melodic moonlight that I may woo
Love, my love, so I may love with you
Through echoing eternity just the two.
June.23.2017
Trust Me Baby This Is Love - Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose
Note: In 1976, Richard Clayderman (real name Philippe Pagès) received a telephone call from a well-known French record producer, who was looking for a pianist to record a gentle piano ballad. Paul had composed this ballad as a tribute to his newborn second daughter “Adeline”. The 23-year-old Philippe Pagès was auditioned along with 20 other hopefuls and, to his amazement, he got the job.
O sweet Adeline, born eyes open
And a smile on her small lips.
O delicious child I heard her gurgle
As if she had heeded a joke.
A tune raced in his mind and
He knew it was urgent to put it on paper.
The babe made noises of joy
And the music echoed its tune,
At times it was repetitive
At times it sounded soft and sweet.
But soon the babe raised her voice
A repetitive mellifluous melody
Lulling the babe to sleep.
Dream little child, dream on
Would that you have pleasant dreams,
And may the Good God bless you forever.