Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.



Best My Children Poems

Below are the all-time best My Children poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of my children poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for My Children poems, articles about My Children poems, poetry blogs, or anything else My Children poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...


New My Children Poems

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

Beloved Children by Wood, Dean
The Forgotten Children of God by Wielgus, Art
Mystery children of South Sudan by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
Another List Didactic For Children of All Ages by Schumacker, Earl
Love Those Children by Duggan, Peter
Many Children by Pekrul, David
Things People Say To Women Who Don't Want Children by Fording, Molly
American Innocence, Our Children Now and Then by Mahoney, Donal
What Children Need by Canerdy, Janice
to the games the children play by lowe, millard

View all new My Children Poems

The Best My Children Poems

 
Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tranquility

Oh little one, how soon you'll be
In turbulence of puberty.

I will hold tight your days of youth 
And share with you my honest truth 

That innocence ingrained at birth,
Precious childhood days filled with mirth,

Will be so fleeting... you will see
The need for God's  tranquility.

How grandma's age is redefined
When your teen years become aligned

With thoughts of struggles I go through,
The many shades in every hue,

That colors life for me today.
In these sweet days I watch you play

As I instill the grains of hope,
An inner strength to help you cope

With all the changes life will bring.
The ups and downs from early spring

Throughout your life in winter years
When you, like me, through joys and tears

Have lived a life you feel has worth;
Have given back to better earth.

When you have children of your own
And you too, see how they have grown,

My hope is that you let them know
That through their life where e'er they go

They carry with them bits of me,
Please share with them, tranquility.

© Connie Marcum Wong
Poem of the Day May 11, 2017

Note:
The teenage years and the golden years are 
the most difficult to endure. Both are fraught 
with emotions...of facing life...of facing death.

The metaphors in this poem are meant to teach:
"that if you seek tranquil moments, that 
connection with God, life is much easier to 
live. The tranquility of becoming close to 
divine spirit will help...will heal...will bring a 
peaceful calm to abate chaos. That love is the
antithesis of selfishness, and we must all strive
to give back a gift of value to Mother Earth."

A very Happy Mother's Day to all. 

March 26th in the UK and May 14th in North and most of South America, India and more.
Click on the link to see Mother's Day around the world.

http://chartsbin.com/view/jqg



Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Concrete Snowman

                                                    THE BLACK
                                                    SATIN HAT
                                                    SAT TIGHT
                                        ON THE YOUNG MANS BALD
                                                    HEAD. HIS 
                                                EYES BLACK AS 
                                            NIGHT STARED INTO
                                              NOTHINGNESS. IN 
                                                 FRONT OF HIM
                                                      WERE 3
                                              PATHS WHERE THE
                                           CHILDREN HAD ROLLED 
                     THREE BALLS OF SNOW MUCH EALIER THAT VERY DAY. 
                                         PATCHES OF GREEN GRASS 
                                          STUCK THROUGH PACKED
                                                FREEZING SNOW.
                                        IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS FACE
                                A CROOKED CARROT POINTED TOWARD 
                            THE HOUSE WHERE CHILDREN SAT LOOKING
                             OUT THEIR WINDOW AT THEIR NEW FOUND
                              FRIEND. HIS BUTTON MOUTH SHAPED FOR
                                HIM TO LOOK HAPPY SEEMED TO SMILE 
                                  AT THEM AS THEY STARTED TO BLOW
                                       KISSES AT THEIR WONDERFUL 
                                                  NEW SNOWMAN.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.27.2014


Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Your Child's Eyes

The innocence lost so long ago
The undying faith we used to know
The gentle rain of a summer's skies
You can find it all in your child's eyes.

The world was right one time it seems
And we could reach beyond our dreams
To meet a challenge of any size
That fire still burns in your child's eyes.

In a world of anger and miscontent
And the frustrations of a life misspent
And you wait in fear as the storms arise
You can still find peace in your child's eyes.

Take the time for all those things
Hear his words: feel the joy he brings
There is no hate; there are no lies
There is only love in your child's eyes.


Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2006

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Big Poo, Small Poo, Yellow Poo, Blue Poo

Big poo

        small poo

  yellow poo

           blue poo.


There are so many different kinds of poo,
it's amazing to see what passes through.


Square poo

               round poo

skinny poo

               fat poo.


Making poo-poo
is something everyone has to do.
Yes. It's true!
I do too!

Look at this poo all covered in nuts.
It stinks far worse than rotten fish guts.
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
It stinks so bad,
it caused that fly to die.

So some poo is quite smelly.
      Some poo looks like jelly.
Some poo is very icky,
      especially when it comes out sticky.

Some poo smells high.
       Some poo smells low.
Some poo slides out fast,
        and some poo comes out slow.


Big poo

        small poo

  yellow poo

           blue poo.

         

What kind of poo is your favourite to do?
Hard poo? 
        Soft poo? 
               Loud poo? 
                       Quiet poo?
Maybe an in-between sort of doo-doo?


The smelliest poo is made by the razor-backed Zonkzifferack.
Boy, when the razor-backed Zonkzifferack decides to drop a mighty stack....
....stand back! Yes. Please stand back!
There is nothing worse than the poo attack of a razor-backed Zonkzifferack.

Then there are the infamous Knack-a-croodle Crows.
Their poo smells like that of a Summer rose.
Not at all unpleasant to the nose.
Nothing wrong with those Knack-a-croodle Crows.

Look! Over here.
That poo is making a quick dash.
Oh! What a huge splash!

Now look at the poo over there.
It's all covered in hair.

There's also poo that floats like a boat,
or sinks very quickly in the drink.

Poo shaped liked cats,
poo shaped liked rats,
poo marching along wearing fat hats!


Remember children,
the next time there arrives a choo-choo,
making poo is something everyone has to do.
Nothing to be ashamed of through and through.

Whether it's new
             whether it's blue
or possibly a bit old
             even covered in mold....

....everyone has to make poo.

  It's true!

Even Ms. Brown, the teacher,
and Mr. Collins, the Preacher.
Your Mommy makes poo.
Your Granny makes poo.

      I do too!

                
                  Yes I do.










*R.I.P. Dr. Seuss

Written: January 28th, 2012



Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Screaming at the Sky


Screaming at the Sky
Mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky holding their heads helplessly as they cry pitiful tears for innocent, defenseless children slaughtered in fatal cross fires, deadly drug wars drive-by shootings, and cases of mistaken identity on blood-splattered streets, senseless endless violence; but who really gives a damn, only grief-stricken mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky.
(Form – Enjambment posted as Verse – 8 lines with 7 words in each line. The 1st line and the 8th line are the same) 10-21-2014


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Seb's I Love You Eyes

Seb's young fertile face beamed African royalty
even in the penury of this Nigerian refugee camp.
Her mother's downcast eyes shunned the camera's querying lens,
while Seb's, "I-love-you", eyes were welcoming. 

Seb's eyes were as blossom-petaled obsidian pools,
each pierced by the light of a distant star.
Her blackness did not succumb to woeful displacement,
but shone with the promise of an overcoming spirit;
for a Mother's prayers were writ in the marrow of her bones.

Born with a tenacity to love,
her young heart leaped out through trusting inquisitive eyes.
Her tongue, budding out of rich dark faced soil, seemed eager
to taste the sweet juices that her spirited-eyes promised;
smiling, "l love you", behind barbed wired love-me-nots.

Seb was a child . . . full of joyful expectations.
A child who did not choose this world;
'tho born of a Spirit conceived to love . . . 
to love the . . . hell . . . out from her world.


gv 4.2015

			~~~~~~

(Note: This piece came out of seeing this fascinating photograph
by Sebastian Rich,  of Seb clinging to her Mother in a camp for displaced Nigerians.)

Caption  :  A Nigerian child in a UNICEF clinic, who was finally on the road to a full recovery after suffering from severe acute malnutrition. Her unprompted smile filled my lens.

I would encourage everyone to visit the website of Sebastian Rich.  His heart-gripping photography is incredibly moving and of great importance. 


Copyright © george v. | Year Posted 2017

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Newton's Law

I was inattentive in Science class one day
When the teacher at random looked my way
I didn't look up, I wouldn't dare
There's no escaping that intense glare.

Asked me to explain to the class
Newton's Law of Gravity and mass
My mind was a blank, heartbeats louder
For an answer I started to flounder.

I stood before the class trembling with fear
"Gravity" I said...and then oh dear!!!
I fell off the stage on to the floor
How the class with laughter did roar.

The children tittered in great amusement
They didn't know my sad predicament
The teacher said, "You've demonstrated gravity"
"Although you did it with much levity".

At length I returned to my seat
With many applause did they greet
Now I look back upon this and ponder
I decide to listen and not let my mind wander.


Copyright © Nandita Das | Year Posted 2015

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Little Snowflake

There once was a little snowflake
that was beautiful, cold and white
He was created up high within the clouds
during a storm one winters night

There were millions and millions of other flakes
but, no two that look alike
So, every snowflake received a name
and, his given name was Mike

Now as long as the wind was blowing hard
the more Mike hung around
But, it made him large and heavy
For, now he's heading towards the ground

There was Susan, Steven, Jimmy and Kyle
There was Sally, Kim and bill
They all came down together with Mike
as they landed on a sill

Of a cold and frosty window
on that stormy winters night
They gathered all together 
as they waited for morning light

The sun then rose above the horizon
it's light...lit up every flake
The colors that came from all Mike's friends
a rainbow it did make

The beautiful snow lit morning
left Mike nowhere else to roam
But, he was happy to be there with all his friends
as he made that sill his home


Copyright © Roger Horsch | Year Posted 2013

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Halloween's Headless Horseman

One Halloween night when I was five
Rain pelted city streets, we stayed inside

Dad lit the Jack-o-lantern candle
Told us the tale of a famous vandal

One “Headless Horseman” in Sleepy Hollow
‘Twas Ichabod Crane he chose to follow

Crane ran breathlessly, was terrorized
(At this point my father’s eyes looked wild)

Thundering behind him through the forest
The hooves of a horse and a rider headless

Carrying a sword to strike Ichabod
(Dad grabbed a spatula, swung it like a rod)

Not just we children but our mother too
Gasped at the thought of Ichabod pursued

High winds cut off our electrical power
As in our kitchen three children cowered

Orange light from the pumpkin’s evil eyes
Showed Dad seemed to have dematerialized

The youngest, I felt something run through my hair
I screamed aloud in horror and despair

The lit pumpkin fell from table to floor
Darkness as I ran through the kitchen door

Leaping into bed, pulling up the sheets
Dad snuck into my room, whispered, “Trick or treat”

So if you think I am a drama queen
Please realize that it’s all in my genes



Happy Halloween!


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Flight of Bebo

Bebo was a bird
who could not fly
He kept flapping his wings 
'cause he knew he must try

There were two other birds 
that were laughing at him
As he was jumping and flapping
up high on a limb

It must be so hard 
to be stuck in a tree
Said, those two silly birds
That were laughing at me

I do not like you
get out of my tree
Don't you have somewhere to go?
Don't you have somewhere to be?

Bebo then said
let me get back to my endeavor 
Or, I'll be stuck in this tree
forever and ever

He knows he's a bird
he eats worms and sings
He just needs a good breeze
to get under his wings

Bebo worked hard all week 
to get into the air
Then he started to cry
Yelling, this isn't fair

With tears down his cheeks
Bebo looked at the sky
He said, I know I'm a bird
so why can't I fly?

The wind then spoke out
and said, It's not how you try
You must climb to the top
You must get really high

Then open your wings
and face into me
I will help you find flight 
just get up there, you'll see

Bebo went to the top
of his lonely old tree
He opened his wings
and, waited to see

The wind then picked up
and, carried him high
Bebo was laughing with joy
'cause now he could fly

From that day on
Bebo was happy with flight 
He said goodbye to his tree
and, then he flew out of sight


Copyright © Roger Horsch | Year Posted 2013

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

We are the Children

We are the Children

Bombs fall from the sky
The little children wonder why?
The night is mixed with blood and tears
Screams that deafen the little ones ears

In the name of what God or religion?
Is this killing seen to serve a mission?
In the name of what Tribe or Country?
We the children ask you humbly

We used to play and run all day
Now we hide fearing bombs come our way
The days we wander in search of foods
Hiding from soldiers intent on blood feuds

Bombs still falling from the sky
The pain and terror, when shall we die?
There is a gun on top a dead soldier there
I myself ended this pain that I could not bear

The bullet saved me from more despair   


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

- SWEET DANCE -


                                               Dance with me
                                I have borrowed mum`s summer hat
                            Dressed up with lipstick and pearl necklace
                    The good smell....do not say it but it`s mum`s perfume
                          The high heel red shoes are mum`s and they fits
                         me almost I`m nearly four years old and a big girl
                                   I have dressed up so nice just for you
                         Dance with me dad, I`m your little princess tonight













27.03.2012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2012

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Butterfly

I pursued a butterfly through the woods.
It fluttered, just always beyond my reach.
The more I pursued, the more it teased.
Stalking it, like prey, it just fluttered away.
I found  a moss covered log to rest,
Sitting in a serene, secluded spot.
A butterfly came ,sat upon the log.
I caught it in the palm of my hands.
It's wings became a rapid flutter,
Trying to escape my grasp.
I opened my hands , freeing it.
If we pursued things in life,
They become unattainable.
If we sit quietly and reflect,
they become attainable.
Chasing our dreams may be
as allusive as the butterfly.
Finding them as beautiful as the butterfly.


Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2011

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Disney Tale

You say you're Cinderella,
Or would you like to be. 
Does this mean that you've found, 
Your Prince charming in me? 

You also say you're Jasmine,
So, Princess, please be mine.
A whole new world I'll show you,
A world of love divine.

Your favorite is Tinkerbell,
So I'll be Peter Pan.
Together we can fly away,
Off to Netherland.

And if you're Sleeping Beauty,
Then i will be the one.
To kiss your lips, open your eyes,
And fill your life with sun.

And if I was the Beast,
And your name was bell.
I know that I could count on you,
To free me from my spell.

And if I was Prince Eric,
Would you come with me?
As my Ariel I'd show you,
A lover deeper than the sea.

Just like a disney tale,
Filled all with love and laughter.
You and I will be together,
Happily ever after.


Copyright © Michelle Micek | Year Posted 2005

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Angel Butterfly

When Angie was a little girl, so cute and very sweet,
She tried to talk with strangers and wander in the street.
She loved to play with dollies, teddy bears and kitties.
She’d put her clothes on backwards and would still look pretty.
Problems of this harried world were farthest from her mind.
Full of love and innocence, she always was so kind.

The years passed by so quickly. Angela went to school.
She learned the world, which can be great, also can be cruel.
She went from dancing lessons, fun sleepovers and zoos
to make-up, phone calls, shopping, and wearing size 9 shoes.
In sunny California, she learned to cherish friends.
Then back again to Utah, she had to start again.

She then came to the threshold of a bright new world.
When she became a woman, butterfly wings unfurled.
She’s leaned life’s little secret, what makes life worth living:
To honor God and family. She’s loving and so giving.
She listens to her conscience and tries to do what’s right.
My angel butterfly one day to heaven will take flight.



Feb 24, 2016 for Lovely Children Poetry Contest of Laura Loo


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Word Squirrel

Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal

Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see

But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day

Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural

The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground

The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery, quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon

All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, two laggards and a lout

To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole

Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile

What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task

The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash

In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech

No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!

_________________________________

by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016


Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016


Copyright © Brian McClain | Year Posted 2016

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning
I try not to wake him, though he stirs slightly
As I crawl out from the warmth of the covers.
I'm tempted to change my mind, and stay awhile longer,
But a glint of sunlight peeks through the blind and calls to me.
If I burrow down again, and drowse too long, 
This glorious time of day will be gone...until it comes again tomorrow.

I tiptoe quietly and begin the morning ritual.
The splashing of water on my face, of letting the dog out,
Of brewing the dark, hot liquid that will help to
Open my eyes and recharge my reluctant brain.

The inviting aroma finally wakes my senses, and after
The first sip, I begin to feel the desire to join the world again.
I go outside, step onto the weathered porch, down the steps,
Onto the wet grass to retrieve today's bundled news.
Within it comes a page-by-page account of disasters, obituaries and comics...
I decide to forego all that gloom, and lay the paper beside the front door.

Instead, I drink in the morning air.
The new day is slowly coming alive.  There's a slight chill.
This coolness will be baked away later, when the sun is high.
I pull my robe around me tightly, and sit down on the stoop.
Birds are chirping, and soon, I see that neighbors are beginning to embrace the 
day.
House by house, there is evidence that awakening has occurred.

A car is cruising by our  house.  The occupants, wearing their
Sunday best, and on their way to an early service to praise the Lord.
While some are sitting in pews, singing Alleluia,
A man down the street is starting his lawnmower.
Not mindful that the Sabbath is a day of rest,
Or that he may wake a late sleeper.

Inside my house, I hear the sounds of water running and dishes rattling.
Then someone calling my name.  In a moment he appears
Carrying two steaming mugs of black coffee, one for him, and another for me.
He's come to see what this new day has offered, and sits down beside me.

We sit together quietly, and soak up the morning sun.
It wraps its warmth around us, like the bedcovers we had abandoned.
No words are needed to enjoy this moment.
However, toast and jam, and bacon await us.  So we turn and go inside.


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sleep My Lovely Lady, PD

Sleep my lovely baby/PD/lady
Although I am so far away
Listen to the sweet song I sing
Feel in your heart I’m not leaving

Soft wind cuddles you in my arms of love
My warm embrace never makes you sad
Before you close your diamond eyes
Make a wish I am with you tonight

All  dreams that you dream here or afar
Will be answered by those bright stars
As the moon smiles sweetly in your sight
Giving an assurance that you’ll be alright

Sleep my lovely baby/ PD/lady
Sweet lullaby I sing as I fervently  pray
May God keep  you safe while I’m away
In this world you’re so special in His way

Oct. 25,2012

This can be sung in a tune of a lullaby song which my teacher had taught me when I was still in Grade 4,  I remember more vividly but not exactly the tune and the title and lyrics not anymore.


First Place Winner
Contest: Send Me To Sleep Poem
Judged: 10/26/2012
Poet Sponsor: Greatest Poet, Poet-Destroyer


Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2012

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Coffee Lady

I sit and watch her from my corner booth,
and I wonder what her life is like.

She flits from table to table offering
refills to all who wish it.  Her hips are
thick as tree trunks, her painted-on smile 
neon red, the lines on her forehead clearly 
visible as she draws closer.  What I notice most
is the hollow sadness in her eyes, deeper than 
any wishing well.  Even when she puts on
that phony smile the eyes remain the same. 

I look out the dirty window of the cafe
and drift off into a dream.  It's as though 
I can see her life flashing before my eyes.

A scruffy little girl with crooked teeth and
a soiled dress.  Mommy yelling, yelling
about something.  Always something.  
Daddy loves his little one, in ways that no
daddy has the right to.  She never cries, 
sucks it up, puts on a brave face at school.
Never gets above a C in any of her classes.

I see her now at 14 year with braces
and a baby bump.  Her boyfriend is 12, not
even old enough to be called a teenager much
less a man.  Still, they love each other in their
own strange sort of way.  Daddy won't love
her anymore.  She doesn't mind. 

At 16 she leaves home, baby in tow, boyfriend
long since moved on.  For a time she lives from
one house of benevolence to the next, until the
charity runs dry.  I espy her and the baby in the
alley that runs behind the cafe, both crying and 
alone.  Finally, she can cry.  The cafe owner
hears a noise out back and decides to investigate,
gun in hand.  When he sees what he sees he
is moved with pity.  He stretches out his hand
and says to her,

"Come."  

She follows him inside to a room above 
the little cafe and to her surprise there is a 
made bed, a crib, and other items suitable 
for a night's stay.  He says to her,

"This room used to be my daughter's.  Like 
you, she had a little one to care for.  Now they are
no more."  

He stops there.  Not another word as he leaves
the room and closes the door.  For now, she feels safe.

There she is at 18, working at the little cafe for
going on 2 years.  Baby is three now, strong and 
healthy, a spitting image of her mommy.  The owner
of the little cafe loves his coffee lady, in ways that
perhaps a boss shouldn't...


"Sir, would you like a refresh?" 

Suddenly I find myself back to reality.  I look up
at her - that forced smile, the lines on her forehead
more deeply etched than I imagined, and those
sad, sad eyes.  I've never seen such beautiful blues
as hers.  A deep ocean they are, two seas existing
side by side.  I'm guessing that she's 30, though
 she looks much older.

I stutter, "Uh, yes ma'am, please.  And thanks."

I watch her walk away, and as I sip on
the best cup of coffee I've ever had, 
I wonder what her life is like.




Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2017

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Hunger in the Cradle

Written May '85 when I was 14

It's truly a shame in our day and time
that a child goes hungry: it should be a crime.
We say look ahead to a bright new dawn,
but tell that to a mother when her child is gone.

The baby died in her arms - she fell fast asleep.
They're used to it now and don't even weep.
The sickness, the death, it's not in a dream.
It's so close to home, but it's not even seen.

The cities, the slums, the famine, the drought -
we've got to do something. It won't work itself out.
There's food in the world, let's show that we care.
The children are dying - it's so hard to bare.

Many are dying and many more dead.
No food, no clothes, cold ground for a bed.
It's a serious thing, and oh it's so fatal.
LISTEN TO ME WORLD!
There's hunger in the cradle.


Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Button Poem

Buttons for game pieces, buttons on totes,
Buttons on toys, shoes, sweaters and coats.

Buttons that open and buttons that close
On pockets and purses and edges of clothes.

Buttons that decorate; buttons that don’t.
Buttons I'm sure to lose; buttons I won’t.

Buttons as filler for bean bags and such.
Buttons collected are not used so much!

Buttons on greeting cards and on jewelry!
Thousands of buttons adorning a tree!

Buttons to reset , to turn on a light.
There’s “Cute as a button” and also as “bright“!

Button up (but not down); push them “hot” (but not cold);
“Button your lip” and do as your told!

Though buttons may vanish one day from earth,
We'll wear on our bellies - buttons since birth!


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

UNSELFISH LOVE

I was blessed to know a woman in my life
Who faced hard times, struggle, and strife.
A Chinese immigrant, she came from a poor town
Lost her husband, was kept from her daughter, but not kept down.

She had three other children who were born here
Getting them a better life was her biggest fear.
She had to fend for herself and them alone you see,
Speaking little of the language in this foreign country.

But, she had always lived a determined life
So she fought back...with a fork and a knife.
She opened a restaurant in a small community
Where her gracious manner made her friends instantly.

Her children would grow up in town with new friends
The restaurant she opened was the mean to her ends.
She worked very hard...sometimes eighteen hours a day
She never complained because that was her way.

Her life's expectations knew more successes sublime
The restaurant grew...one egg roll at a time.
She once told me of the anxiety she felt at the money she'd spent...
Laughing said, "My uncle said sell 2 qts of Chop Suey/Day...you've got the rent."

She was a woman who chose kindness as she felt had to her been shown
To people far and near her generosity was known.
She was thankful that she had the opportunity
To give back with love rather than animosity.

I first met her over some 30 years back
She struck me from the that moment as a person who had the knack
To make others feel at home though strangers they be
She certainly did, because she did it to me.

I still remember her caring for me...it was shown
Once caught in a blizzard, she opened her home.
So often was there a path to this woman's door
Though she stood, less than 5 foot 4.

Her heart was as big and wonderful as one would want
An earthly angel, she was heaven sent.
Though her health began to wane later in life
She never gave in to that world of strife.

Her eyesight began to fail and it was difficult for her to see
But that didn't stop her or her generosity.
She loved people and filled everyone with cheer
Ever thankful that she had had a life here.

Though she is gone I'll never forget her face
Or her love of life, devotion to family, and unstoppable pace.
To me I'll ever be thankful to have had the joy
Of calling her "Ma" ... ONE IN A MILLION~was Connie Moy!

1st Place Winner - "One in a Million" Poetry Contest



Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

1 Cherry blossom haiku

Sakura breathing...
along an old stone footpath
children are laughing


Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

From a Hospital Bed

 FROM A HOSPITAL BED
Wordancer

Even if I’m dizzy with an aching head, 
I must not disturb the others in the beds
In this hospital ward where not much is said
For fear of making a fuss.

It’s not much fun with nothing to do 
Can’t even get up to go to the Loo
The doctors come, and ask, ‘How are you?’
It’s hard to tell them which is worse 

Visiting hours and here’s Dad and Mum
Who immediately asks me why I’m so glum.
I tell them, ‘The others had ice-cream, but I got none,
And, if it was you Dad; you’d curse!’

Patting my hand, Mum says, ‘It’s all right,’
And Dad says, ‘You might get some tonight,
Cos you’re looking better, you’re not so white, 
I’ll go over and ask that nurse.’

Back he comes grinning down the ward,
And sits back in the chair without a word,
To Mum he whispers so he can’t be heard
Then his eyes meet mine, his lips are pursed. 

The doors swing open; a nurse comes through,
Carrying a tray and says, ‘This is for you,
You can have some now you are healing like new,
To Mum, Dad says, ‘We’ll cancel the hearse!’

I’ve broken no bones, the x-rays prove, 
But there’ll be a scar and a slight groove
Left from the fencepost that failed to move
When I fell on it, off my horse

With an arm in a sling and one foot on the ground,
The other in plaster and my head bandaged round,
I’m going home soon, and my horse has been found
Across the river, but he’s none the worst.

It’s easy to laugh with no aching head
And it doesn’t disturb the others in beds
‘There is no need to fear,’ as everyone says,
‘Just ring the bell for the nurse!’ 


Copyright © J Eliza JAMES | Year Posted 2012

Details | My Children Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I am the Grinch

I am the Grinch

I am I am, you know that I am
The Grinch of Grinch's and so
Don’t call me Sam
For Sam I not am
I am the grouch of this festive season
I take what yours; I need not but one single reason
I will steal all the presents
Every one under the tree
Why chocolates
And toys
And Barbie’s
And shoes
Mummies make up
The golf clubs
And the tickets to the zoo
Why when I leave up that chimney
You can be assured of one fact
I am leaving with full red bag, upon my huge back
I am leaving with gifts that were given with care
I am stealing your presents, and no I won’t ever share
Mine mine mine
All the presents are mine!
All these toys and gifts are all just for me
While I look down at you with nothing under the tree

Oh yes I stole Christmas and turkey and even the lights
You all slept so innocent while I robbed you at night
So I chuckle and laugh, for its a given I have won
I have all the loot and you have but none!

Now the dawn is rising and why I will take a wee peek
To gloat over all the sadness that for sure I have reeked!
Seeing you all sad, and crying with despair
Surely that will make me so happy as to declare
I have won, I have won! I have all that you could ever desire
Why you have not even a log to start up the fire!

Well Timmy and Maya woke up to a surprise
For its true there was nothing under their tree
Why I stole even the tree from those children you see!
I laughed at the expressions I saw on their face
I did so while gloating and without any disgrace

Confused and distraught, I am sure of the state
Mummy and Daddy earlier had seen their robbed fate
They rushed to the village, on their big Swiss sled
With all the villagers shouting!!!!
We’ve been robbed of Christmas; we might as well be dead!

That was not the story to be so you see
For Timmy and Maya came along on that sled
When they saw all the snow and children playing so free
They laughed and danced and said to Papa with such glee
Christmas is here and we have all of our gifts
The laughter and love is what you have smothered us with
Why this is truly the most wonderful of gifts
So the children all danced and played in the snow
The parents so proud has huge smiles aglow
For Christmas was saved but by one small little factor
A child’s love for his parents and his most joyous laughter


The poor old Grinch in his mountain abode
Looking down, he realized he'd been oversold
Why he saw that all the gifts he had cached in his barn
Could not undo the telling of Christmas with all of it generosity and charm




Note: Timmy an Maya being of Swiss decent later scaled the south face of the mountain, with excellent climbing gear, and in co-ordination with Spider Man and James Bond, stormed the Grinch’s castle, tossed him into a Polar Bear pit, and then descended the mountain on Canadian built Bombardier skidoo with a  Rolls Royce quit motor and returned all the gifts to the village. Including a huge huge huge bottle of Rum and Postage Stamps.


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015