Best Custody Poems
No one wins in custody battles,
The children get shuffled back and forth
like cattle,
It's bad enough their family life has come
to a halt,
They have to keep reliving the horrors,
thinking it's their fault,
The feelings of wounds being aggravated by salt,
The partnership of parents may end,
but the children don't have to lose
their stable lives and friends,
All that will happen is they will become
transient people, who shun attachment,
not knowing whether to believe in God or the devil,
It's never a win-win situation when children have to choose,
in the long run everyone looses.....,
They internalize all the hate,
and begin viewing the world as evil........
Love, these days were so dark
Frequently rain kissed the ground
This is the moment when mellow tries to embark
Right after the thunder shouts, echoing its mighty sound
Love, these days I sink into numbness
Blank pages haunt my enthusiasm
Chasing days without any sense, am I getting dumb?
Or is it just reality which tried to sabotage the poet's paradigm?
Love, these days I sit behind the rain
My mind was occupied but remaining behind a closed curtain
I forget how to start, hypnotized by haze
Insight in custody, I trapped within this phase
Special thank's to Debbie Guzzi :D
IN THE CUSTODY OF HIS HOPE
The common denominator of human life
Rode his pale horse past our house today;
And our lessened numbers paid the price—
God had chosen—His will had been sent our way.
Grief, the child of love, came and prayed with us;
With shared emotions, we gathered in the relief of peace;
Consoled souls sang songs praising our friend, Jesus;
His loving care and glorious wonders never cease.
Our grief having had its appointed moment, we recalled
A childhood prayer that was once nightly prayed by us all:
“Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord, my soul to keep;
And if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord, my soul to take.”
Tomorrow we will light candle flames of hope in a glorious resurrection;
Despite detours along the way, we never lost sight of God’s revelation!
LUCIFER STARED HARD AT ME,FUMING:
INCISORS GLEAMING HOT,MENACING-
BLACK BLOOD CRAWLING FROM THE RIGHT EYE
WHICH MADE ME GO TREMBLE .
"THOU RENDETH MY GARMENT-
AN ENJOYED THE EXERCISE-
HI! HA! WHERE NOW ART THOU?
THAN AT HOME AND LAMENT."
MY SOUL STARED,SHOCKED AND 'FRAID-
"WHERE STANDS HE THAT YOU WORSHIPPED?
WON'T HE COME SAVE THEE?
THOU CURSED ME TO PRAISE 'IM.
"NOW I SHALL ENJOY THY TRUST,
HYPOCRITE FROM THE EARTH-
AND MY BOWL OF BROTH BE SWEET
WHILE MY FURNACE SHALL ROAST THEE IN IT.
BLACK LIVES
i
My friend bridles. Huh! All lives matter. Is she is being
deliberately obtuse? Should I add ‘’too’’ or ‘’do?’’
She adds, I’ve blacks in my family. We had
indigenous girls in nursing school. Never
treated them any differently. U.S. blacks
are lucky not to be back in Africa.
I feign agreement. How right you are. African Americans
must be grateful, living in that land of the free.
I’m sure George Floyd felt overjoyed to have such
good fortune. A cop’s knee on his carotid. Hands
in pockets. The killer whistling, while his victim choked
to death…
ii
Whites rarely experience racial slurs. Get shot in the back.
Suffer unlawful arrest. People of colour endure such abuses every day.
US parents drill kids, on strategies to survive.
Be invisible. Don’t answer back, even if the cop is wrong.
Never argue with a white. Keep car radio down. Blacks
are stopped for loud music. Or shot reaching for their
license. ‘’Illegal’’ U.S. kids, from babies to teens, are locked in cages.
So much for a country founded on immigration.
iii
Colonial settlers in both countries stole indigenous land. Gifted themselves black
house slaves. Cattle-yard slaves. Money never seen.
And what sort of men shot innocent blacks after church?
Set fire to their circular homes. Poisoned wells.
Rigid in the belief of white superiority, they denied tribal links to country.
Ignored their knowledge of survival.
But sorry began our crucial journey of healing .
iiii
Don’t close your eyes to acts of violence.
Hundreds of Australians and Americans have
died in police custody.
And - oh yes - they were black.
Let’s step forward in unison, kin under the skin.
Protect police whistle blowers.
Hear them speak the truth. Get rid of crooked cops.
Educate and create an honorable force.
And, yes: Black lives do matter.
Decima Wraxall
Jesus was a patristic carpenter,
a non-nationalistic builder
of goodnews communal structure,
a nonviolent communicating leader,
a multispirit-natural facilitator,
divinely humane bilateral
spiritual health is natural wealth
facilitator of recreative green
and blue
and red-blooded sensory communion.
I am a mere custodian
of messianic intention,
practice,
discipline,
caring for co-empowerment,
vocational integrity,
ecopolitical EarthHealth and Safety
re-enlightenment,
A custodial health care giver
and wealth sensational receiver,
practicing this sacred vocation
of proactive kindness
for improving health sensory outcomes,
scouring systematic memories
and green clean freeing imagination
of multiculturally furnished resonance,
harmonically polishing resilient gleaming finishes
Of climaxing compassion
recreating passionate
yet safe
incomes extending polycultural communion
more free of risking segregated collapse
of healthy form
with wealthy functions.
Cooperative custody of wide spatial
and deep tempered
resonant wellbeing,
integral systemic order,
therapeutic win/win cleanliness
for organic peace
through interdependently cooperative custody,
Physical sensory longevity care
for stable healthy spaces
and metaphysically safe, dust-free mental wealth
neuro-healing traumatized at risk places.
Custodians can integrate daily mindbody life
and EarthMaintenance sensory work
as occupational
sacred vocational
prayer.
Earth's custodians
mediate regenerative compassion,
meditate in practical
mindful
actively evolving revolving
inter-flowing sensory spiritual/natural
interdependent/integral custody practice
Humble custodians
of healthy natural green mind
and wealthy sensory-spiritual
red-blooded healthcare
of EarthPatriotic
wondrously awesome
resiliently resonant hearts
with wholesome healing minds
embodying sacredly cooperative life.
Little people, funny creatures
Once so fragile now so strong
Little people, who are you now?
To me no more do you belong.
I wait so fearful, apprehensive
Who am I to be?
Was once their world, their eager faces
Eternally turned to me.
I doubt, I fear, I do not believe
And thoroughly distrust
The bond of motherhood so strong
Find strength for them, I must.
What cannot be broken, has changed forever
A ghostly reminder it did not last
Our fortress of love soon to crumble
We are but memories , fading fast.
So here I stand an empty vessel
Who am I to be?
Those little people, funny creatures
What do they want from me?
The custody evaluator’s
Grand plan,
Playing God with
Other people’s lives,
What could
Possibly go wrong.
Aquamarine waves
lap pristine rugged shorelines
casting call for beat
bohemic coral ballets
hip sandy beach applause
(This poem made the first PS Anthology, but disappeared
from my list.)
His point-blank, most promising laurel lost
Long, long his e'er-lasting longing lingers
His muse becomes bedridden under freezy frost
Yet his nikhedonic mindscape ne'er malingers
Surging from mood's winters and merging its splinters
Ramrodding illusion-edified effulgences into his emulous edacity
Without knowing whether with reluctance or with alacrity
Family unity, ties bound with conditions
Cult peoples kept from alternate climates
Narrow track administered to every woman
Mother of two, Jerusha determined to fight it
Prospect of allowed departure non existant
Packed full backpacks for herself, Cain, Ismail
Heart racingly taken, stealth taxi whisked them
Latitude of escape seeped freedom's keen prevail
Struggle of forging a semblance in society
Paled compared with Jerusha' s jubilation
Diversified choice shone a light on prior piety
Ripened reap of fertile fields found by escaping
Six months settling into life saw boys blossom
School begun by bandaid kneed lads excited
Sad to have severed contact, Dad lost to them
Replaced by opportunities they were entitled
An impartial education incorporated science
In its teaching of evolving technology's input
Explanations purely made in Creation reliance
Promote terror of broken Eden original sin took
Short lived richness enjoyed by dear Jerusha
Boys' kidnap had spurred a furious response
Their father oversaw their screamed removal
Assisted by six men of member prominence
Strongest longing held her swayed relentlessly
Rainbow arranged Hot Wheels remained parked
Displayed in Ismail's obsessive pattern tendency
Teddy bear choir piled on bed, Cain's care harked
Oh God! What had she done...
Surely this was not His Way...
Jerusha's stupid decision to run
Put her heart in harpoon hooked pain
24th August
For Rob Carmack's
Cold - Quiet Now Song Poetry Contest
It isn't just incompetence
That leads a custody evaluator
To to clean up messes
For bad actors,
To justify
The unjustifiable,
To gloss over
The vital,
It isn’t just incompetence,
It's the rotten system
That the custody evaluator
Has been marinating in.
Silently...
broken
fingers
court the notion,
painfully
embracing
the very fabric of your
dreams
once hopelessly lost,
now...
perhaps to find
solace in those ghostly
arms,
enshrouding some
misguided love,
a marriage
undertaken
in the
worlds
between
the waking and the
midnight hour,
you strain to see yourself
pronouncing
the sweetest of sacraments,
a ring around the body
brightens,
unspoken testaments
to purify the air,
and you are there,
tucked between
a custody
of
ghosts.
The Environment of Prosody
Suits not ‘Courts’ stand on Child custody,
Silly scratching up some melody
For what to a party is bloody
And might only excuse Threnody…
Its pains to father losers much stiff,
Court rooms they leave like some Child Thief
For - yes - a child is its mum’s fat hope
For Alimony - its dad’s steep slope;
Ex-wife for New Lover and mattress,
Alimony-Paying Guy for stress,
As long waiting for Child’s Eighteen Years
Better done in a mourner’s wear…
s
Not always nice story: bank account
And courts do not seem to this count;
All about a man honoring
But, sure, the woman, coloring…
Oftenest child custody women’s
Till date what a compassionate law means.
I was born with the meaning of home
running through my veins,
like sunlight weaving
through branches,
casting warmth on cold earth.
In shadows, I gathered light,
each ray a promise,
each beam a whisper
filling spaces of despair.
With hands outstretched,
I became a gardener,
planting seeds of love
in the soil of his heart,
tending to wounds like petals.
The forest listened,
its soft sighs a chorus,
as I sought the truth
beneath layers of leaves,
light revealing paths to safety.
In the courtroom’s embrace,
I stood tall, a lighthouse,
shining bright for him,
a beacon guiding him home,
where love flows like a river.