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Parents Poem
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Their lives begin, that special day
Your hardest job, is on the way.
Walking and pacing, all night long
Knowing that one day, they’ll be strong.
Watching them crawl, then walk and run
Treasure each moment, share their fun.
They grow so fast, enjoy each day
For sometime soon, they’ll move away.
Years of school, sometimes they will drag
We’re filled with pride, we parents brag.
Teaching our kids, always be kind
Lasting friendships, many will find.
Do as I say, not as I do
We all have said, our parents too.
The truth comes out, don’t cheat or lie
Don’t try and skimp, to just get by.
Take the right path, we try to guide
Sometimes they don’t, we let it slide.
Knowing they must, find their own way
Life is tough, on track they must stay.
Bumps in the road, many will hit
We as parents, just have to sit.
Learn from mistakes, it takes its’ toll
Their independence, that’s our goal.
The hardest part, is yet to come
When high school years, are said and done.
We’ve done our jobs, as best we could
We must let go, or so we should.
Give them their wings, and let them fly
As we sit back, and often cry.
Turning the page, is hard to do
Wondering if, they listened to you.
Reach for the stars, follow your dreams
It takes time, forever it seems.
Your heart will break, can’t let it show
It’s so difficult, letting go.
Copyright © Kelly Zakerski | Year Posted 2009
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Parents Poem
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I paint your beauty in my heart and mind
in swirling strokes of wind squalls and light;
the youthful lift of limbs of early spring,
with summer’s joyful red, with fall's surprise.
I paint you in wonder of winter’s white
through snow storm's chill and my loving eyes.
I paint you beyond the blue pain of the past
with the gray of fear the future hides.
Jealous of luring space and power of time,
yet, with all the hope, the joy, the ache
as seen in the strength of my trembling hand;
I’ll paint you again my child, mesmerized.
After: L'Enfant au Tablier Rouge, 1886 by Berthe Morisot
For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 8
Kim Patrice Nunez
17 January 2016
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016
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Parents Poem
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Father’s of sky blue
mother’s of deep hazel brown
a blend of the two
sunlight on dew in meadow
or moss clinging to the stone
© Harry J Horsman 2016
Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2016
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Parents Poem
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I’m tired
I’m Physically and Emotionally tired
I don’t want to be the strong one anymore
I can’t this time
I don’t know what to do Daddy
I need your help down here
I can’t get back in control of my emotions
I’m having a hard time dealing with your absence
I’m having a hard time standing by myself
I need your help Daddy
I’m broken and lost without you Daddy
I need your will to want to carry on
I need your strength to over come this
I need your strength to stay standing
Your courage to fight back again
I need your help
Please Daddy I’m at a loss
How am I suppose to do this
I need your guidance
I need you to guide me back
To whom I was before
I need your help Daddy
I need your help
Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013
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Thousands of gentle caresses, soft touch,
From the potter’s hands to properly guide
Tenuously stretching sides he might crush,
If too much pressure his fingers provide.
Young heart made of clay, forming on the wheel.
To guide your unfolding, our sacred charge.
Push we must, yet your own shape you reveal.
A careful balance, an impact so large.
Kiln’s searing flame awaits, the piece’s trial.
But before, time drying, forming in place.
Away from well meaning hands and anxious smiles.
Then ceremonial paint brushed on face.
Tempered by scorching waves of heat, the bowl
Gleams triumphant, a grail to hold the soul.
3/5/16
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
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Parents Poem
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Our parents chose to join a cult
Nobody asked us
We went along with what they chose
Too small to make a fuss
Indoctrinated,we believed
This life was the norm,
We were fed on 'comic books'
Taught to worship porn.
While still children we became
'Flirty Fish for God'
We wore bright make up
Wore bright clothes
Walked dark streets alone.
We searched for men and sold them 'love'
They paid with souls and money.
We took them to 'church' convinced that we'd
Fulfilled all Gods wishes.
In innocence we walked the streets
We knew not what we did
Our parents were so proud of us
We were Gods'good fishes
.
Now this sect has all but gone
What's become of us?
Are we your neighbours or your friend
Maybe someone on a bus!
Are we filling up the jails ?
Or selling sex for pennies?
Are we shooting up with drugs
To blot out all our memories?
Are we alcoholics,drowning out our sorrow,
Pity the poor 'Flirty Fish
Fulfilling someone elses' wish
For them no bright tomorrow.
Copyright © elsie haslett | Year Posted 2006
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FICTIONAL EMOTIVE WRITE
Since I was a tiny baby I was brought up by my grandparents and had a very happy childhood. I knew that they were not my real parents but they gave me such love that I didn’t ask any questions for fear of upsetting them. Grandma’s eyes would mist over any time anyone mentioned my parents so I knew something bad had happened to them
Whispers in the hall
The child is too young to know
They passed so quickly
I left home at 20, married and moved to a small town about 50 miles from where I grew up. I was always in touch with my grandparents, but over time old age crept upon them and I recently cleared the family home when grandma passed away. I discovered yellowing newspaper cuttings, which told of how my parents had been killed in a horrific car crash, it also detailed their final resting place in the local cemetery.
Family secrets
Scrapbook of old photographs
My parents smiling
Dawn is breaking and dappled sunlight streams through the trees. A veil of grey swirling mist shrouds the cemetery. I pull my shawl closely around my shoulders and begin my search. Strands of ivy hang down from the towering yew trees, its dark green tendrils wrapped around the grey granite graves clinging so tightly as if it was trying to hold up the graves like a puppet on a string. The fallen gravestones remind me of decaying teeth with many gaps where stones had crumbled with age and neglect. I walk slowly, reading the names of those who now had eternal rest. Eventually I found their grave at plot 142, where a marble angel watches over them sleeping. I scrape off the thick lichen, which obscures their names. Tears fall and I hug the gravestone wishing I could embrace my parents for real.
I greet my parents
Stone cold grave gives me closure
Heartbroken child cries
09~26~16
Contest Overgrown With Vines Sponsored by Broken Wings
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
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Parents Poem
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There has to be another way
cause I fear staying will only break me quicker
I'll snap like a twig
therefore I'm consumed by my meds
Doctors think i'm crazy
Just cause i'm sad
A kid is supposed to be happy
Atleast that's what they keep telling me
my parents lose sleep cause I won't just pretend
Their so stuck being normal
that they never realized they made me this way
So they should stop alienating me
Cause genetics is genetics
I heard my mom was strung out on weed
before she even knew I was developing in her belly
Dad was a young Alchoholic
yet he doesn't understand why I get thirsty
Now i'm not tryna be like them so don't get me wrong
It's just that they try to cover it up like they were perfect
Cleaned their act up before I was old enough to understand
So now I take this pill
Doctors claim it will heal me
It'll destroy everything that's consuming me
Will it make my parents accept me?
Will it make them finally take some of the blame?
Will it make them tell me they love me?
I doubt it.
Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2006
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Dear beloved
I close my eyes and whisper to the breeze
That wherever you are, you be in so much ease
And that eternal joy, and a good rest, you they give a kiss
Dear kids
Here I kneel
In the middle of the empty forest, accompanied only by bushes and trees
And I pray, that you get all big round juicy bliss to keep
Dear friend
I open my arm on the silent beach
And hope that the ocean accompany with wails of prayers for thee
In all my wish, of the body, heart, and mind, with smiles I call for you to heal
Dear siblings
Here I always pray, as for mother and father, so for thee
An auspicious fulfilments for your dreams
With many such happy years for you to see
Dear reader
I pray for you the best, as you read
And for you a share of luxuries and bliss
Coupled with sweet vanilla flavoured peace
Copyright © white sage | Year Posted 2015
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Coach Dad
It is a magic time when a child ventures
Into the world, spreading wings,
Beginning the oft painful process
of moving from the nest to the sky.
And it is a fragile time, where first experiences
Weigh heavily on shaping the direction
In which young life begins to move
And often whether it moves at all
It is a trying time, of fear and nervousness
One little step out on their own
The start of something bold and beautiful
The molding of a young child's eye
Much is made of parents and peers,
Oft unaddressed is the role of others
Teachers and coaches, a collective entity
Not dissimilar from fathers and mothers
The torch of responsibility being passed
If only for a brief moment
No more clinging to the safety and comfort
of what is already a norm and known
Encouragement or unkind words
So often a matter of chance and moods
Have mighty impacts on growing hearts
Precious opportunities to help a growing life
Young minds and hearts right on the surface
We remember our coaches, good and bad
Caring or not, patience or none,
The struggles, thin times and thick
A team of seven year olds
Is not unlike a litter of unruly puppies
How will they ever pay attention?
Give them a ball, a glove, and a game!
Pride, courage, athleticism, self-confidence
All showcased for the world to see
Taking turns and building bonds
Grasping much more than a newfound skill
If you can stand to be measured,
and fail by that measure, even repeatedly
But come back from it, you'll forever have
One more vital skill in life’s toolbox
One youngster will not win the game alone
But the team can, and its joy
Is multiplied many times over.
All these things and more can be taught.
Whether it be on the field or off
Teamwork, respect and camaraderie
Will forever be entrenched in the mind
Of a well instructed boy or girl
5/4/16
© Tom Quigley and Tim Smith
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
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Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013
I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over
Taught me to fight back
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over
He gave me my stubbornness
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over
How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over
Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on
I may stumble I may fall
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over
Sabrina Niday Hansel
Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013
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We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost half of how we came to be
We lost we four girls first love
We lost our Best Friend
We lost more than just a Dad that day
Our Mom lost her Soul Mate, Her other half
Our children lost their Papaw
We lost our family’s foundation
We lost the glue that held us together
We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost the Strongest man we ever knew
We lost the man we looked up too
We lost we four girls Teacher of many things
We lost more than just a Dad that day
We four girls lost our Hero
We lost some of our Light
We lost part of our Heart
We lost part of our Soul
We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost some of our Courage
We lost some of our Strength
We lost some of our will to fight back
We lost some of our will to carry on
We four girls lost more than a Dad
We lost more than just a Dad that day
Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013
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You were so tired
You couldn’t wait to go lay down
Mom was standing in the kitchen
I was outside locking things up
As you went through the back door
You hollered, See you soon
Moments later the air began to fill with Dread
Getting thicker with each second of Mom's screams
By the time I got to your side
You laid unmoving, straight as board in your bed
I could hardly bear.. Seeing you that way
As your Grandson dialed 911
My vision blurred and the world disappeared
All I could see and hear were you
Twenty three Chest compression's, Six breaths later
You opened your eyes and looked into mine
I could hardly bear.. Seeing you so helpless
As I held you in my arms
Mom and others began to Pray
I felt each word spoken go through me to you
Flowing through your nephew's Hand that laid upon my shoulder
I couldn’t help but to hold my breath
And wrap myself around you even tighter than before
I could hardly bear... Seeing you struggle
No one had to tell us how bad you were
To life-flight you to St. Jose’s was the only chance you had
I tried to climbed in with you, but they wouldn’t let me
I knew how terrified of heights you were
As they closed those doors I hollered... See you there
See you there Daddy, I’ll see you there
There were lines and tubes and doctors everywhere
I stayed up for day’s right beside you in a chair
Mom sat across from me and held your hand
The others were circled around us in your room
We could hardly bear... Seeing you that way Daddy
Alyssa sang "Jesus Loves Me" for you in your little Church
There must have been over a mile of cars parked
Family and Friends coming to say Goodbye
You'd think after almost 3 years it wouldn't make me cry
It’s almost like you must’ve known
The night you spoke those words to me
That you’d be heading up to Heaven soon
Not to take a nap
When you closed that door and hollered... See you soon
We'll meet again at those Pearly Gates, Daddy
You have our word..
We'll see you there.. We'll see you there
Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2016
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“Apple of his eyes, yes that’s me. Can’t you see?"
Name brand bags
Toys galore
Outfits like crazy ONLY Hanna Montanna got more.
Check out the pony he brought me last month
Check out the mini diamond bracket and check out my bank account.
Daddy’s little princess, yes, that’s me.
Daddy says he will take me to Paris as soon as he closes the deal.
“Apple of his eyes, yes that’s me. Can’t you see?"
Copyright © Anoush Harrison-Jackson | Year Posted 2015
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Simple Poverty
I think that I was maybe three
When memories started following me
They called us poor and, I guess, we were -
These things will tell if you concur.
Birthday cakes with not enough candles –
Coffee cups with broken handles -
Flat irons on a cast iron stove -
Mama’s button jar – a treasure trove.
Watching Daddy choppin’ wood -
Workin’ as hard as any man could -
Times were hard, but it was said -
We kids were never underfed.
Daddy was an honest, hard workin’ man -
When there was no work we lived off the land.
Seven children were spread o’er a twenty year span –
Hard work and love walked hand in hand.
Mondays were the wash days
That kept our clothes so clean
To see them drying in a summer breeze
Was such an awesome scene.
Working in the sunshine was, sometimes, a real chore
And hands that used a rub board often became sore.
Mama made all our own Lye soap
And against that stuff no germ could cope.
And Mama was a seamstress,
The best I’ve ever seen
She would fashion all our clothing
On that pedal sewing machine.
Many things were always there
With which we had to cope
But with hard work and a faith in God
There was always hope.
Mama and Daddy didn’t have much
So, when I write my song
I’ll tell of their priceless legacy –
To know what’s right and what is wrong.
Written by John Posey
10/30/13
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013
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L-iving in a world of vast
souls formed from
another voided world,
E-ntering thru portals
from their world to earth.
O-ozing spetacular smell
and wail when the chips
are down.
N-urtured from cradle to
adulthood-independent
entity with a new world
to face.
O-rganizes oneself for the
task ahead,passing thru
hurdles of life unabased
and unabashed.
R-eaps the fruit of labor
with joy or heavy heart.
A-ge sets in,mission
accomplished or not will
dawn on the entity.
I-n retrospect,he thinks
about his childhood and
how life was to him.
L-iving in confidence or
shame,he bows his head
in victory or defeat.
O-nly the taste of time
will tell the durability of
his achievements.
V-oid of preference the
aim result bears the
foundation for his lineage.
E-njoyment or lack lies
with the works of the
man,for there is no food
for the slothful.
Y-oung ones,a stitch in
time saves nine,make
haste while the sun
shines.
O-iling your lamb always
like the ten virgins is the
key to success.
U-rging you to shun peer
pressure and focus on
the course marked out
for you by fate,so a
fulfilled life you shall live.
An acrostic for you
Leonora Galinita.
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013
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Mummay Mummay
Tucked up in bed so nice and neat
A little girl so very sweet
But all is not quite what it seems
She can’t find sleep because of dreams
Her mother sitting down the stair
Enjoying rest in comfy chair
A tiny voice comes to her ear
The story of her small girls fear
“Mummay mummay”, she faintly sings
“I am afraid of these dark things
Please come quickly my mummay
And chase these frightful dreams away”
Upon the stair a foot does tread
Then she’s beside her daughters bed
Away from eyes her hair she brushes
Red lips kisses, whispers hushes
“Now worry not you are secure
All your bad dreams I’ll endure
Come to me and let us cuddle”
Between the sheets the pair a huddle
Where golden locks begin to mingle
Faces touch and soft cheeks tingle
Hands caress to sooth away
The troubles that upon her prey
Feeling warmth of mothers breast
Against her lightly beating chest
Her eyes they flicker into schemes
Pleasantness pervades her dreams
The demons of her mind withdrawn
She’s free to slumber till the dawn
Soon from the child comes no peep
At last, she finds, her perfect sleep
Mother sees her laying there
With smile beset in golden hair
And wonders in a future day
Her little one will have to say
Now worry not you are secure
All your bad dreams I’ll endure
When in a time far away
Her babe becomes, mummay mummay
R D Seal 18 April 2013
Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013
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Parents Poem
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When oppositional cognitive dissonance deflects focus,
it tends to go back to when I deflected focus from her.
She sends me passive-aggressive messages,
bread crumbs leading back in time
to where she began to feel alone,
marginalized,
siloed,
anxious.
If you don't want a sopping wet tile bathroom floor
because I have thrown all my naked Barbie and Ken parts,
especially their water-filled hollow insides,
and the five saturated pools of stained white washcloths
I took out of that drawer just like you said not to,
and the nice sudsy soft bar of soap,
then you might want to reconsider leaving the bathroom
during my bath.
You might want to think of telling a story
or imagining with my behavioral lectures
I so mercilessly inflict
on the shattered heads of my daughters,
oops,
I mean dolls.
Perhaps oppositional cognitive dissonance
is what Republicans have about Democrats.
If you folks would be so kind as to return to cooperative civic and civil discussion,
about my intrinsic dignity, royalty perhaps,
sense of anthrocentric entitlement,
immaculate integrity as a permacultured Orthodox Tradition,
utterly necessary to optimize sustainable and resilient health
for All Americans,
(although perhaps not quite sufficient),
including those who happen to have become embarrassed
by their unhealthy wealth and extravagant disregard
for undercommodified values,
like caring and nurturing, loving and therapeutic
mentoring relationships and trees of life, and economic
and eco-logical environ-mental (0)-sum cooperative networks,
like the synergy of all natural systems,
most especially religious cultures
delivering a united and interdependent positive teleology
that we all created this rapacious, extractive mess together.
So, please stop leaving the bathroom of discourse,
regardless of how rhetorically insane and polemic,
every time we complain about your shitty attitudes
about wealthy compost and sustainable,
resilient,
optimized economic growth.
Then you democratically complain,
by voting for the one you hate the least,
as we go right on doing
what we intended to do
while we were throwing water
on your slippery-floor economics
of radical,
reverse-hierarchical interdependence and mutual subsidiarity.
Much too "solidarity" for Republican taste as True,
much less Just to those who prefer their
economically entrenched competitive silos.
And,
our Democratic family value parents
hear their oppositionally disordered Republicans
as if they were bionically alien unitarian utilitarians,
like honey bees and ant hives,
devoid of deductive rational accessibility,
of even one of four dimensions of truth,
and without capacity to empathize with their well-mentored praxis,
of continually forgetting you could not climb a higher priority
right now
than telling your oppositional daughter Dr. Seuss's The Lorax,
interpreting each voice as your own Lorax Logos,
wondering why you continue competing
to reach a Win-Win Cooperative Game,
and political
and economic
and ecological
and cultural
and biological karmic finish line,
alone in your Permaculture Designed polycultural PolyLife Tree Paradise.
When you think about it,
you can see that your competitive political
and economic assumption,
that Win-Win cooperation will not have our final say,
is not ecologically, scientifically,
or even permaculturally, metaphysically
sound, rational, integrated,
sustainably designed to benefit future generations,
much less synergetic or holonically comprehensive.
You can't win a P=NP,
4-fractal/spiral (0)-sum
cooperative economic logistical plan
until everyone else has the freedom
and integrity
and ecotherapeutic orthopraxis comprehension,
intention,
to win-win with you, coincidentally.
With this perhaps un-Christian,
and vaguely irreligious perspective
that Democratic mutual-redeemer culture
is closer to (0) sum Core Value Balanced Heaven
rationality, and intuition,
than appears to be the case
for our benighted Republican
wealthy fat-cat anthro-supremacist residents of Earth,
we have turned rather too far
our spinning cultural revolution pendulum
away from the racist sin of monocultural monotheism,
poverty and the overpowering commodification of human lives,
and the commodification of other species,
and the commodification of Earth's fire, water,
soil and sky,
Her capacity to regenerate fertile seeds,
turning away from sin as sterile insanity,
disability and absence,
to now prophecy the sins of monopolistic wealth,
and power;
to notice challenging, dissonant tipping points
within monocultural,
monochromatic,
monopolistic
bicamerally competing economic uncertainty
and ecological dysfunction for all consciousness
all nations,
reconnecting our more humane DNA-informed
bicameral information processor branch of EcoTribe,
RNA-inscribed,
transliterate,
multisystemic and polycultural Climax Community,
diastatically
interdependently
coincidentally straining and stressing to comprehend
Polynomial SpaceTime = Not-Not Polynomial Open Systemic Binomial Prime Relationship Temporal "Now"
as Yang-convex/positive = Yin-concave/negative,
as +1.00% QBit = +/-(0)% Soul Core-emergent universal Vertex/Dark Recessional Vortex (Perelman, 1993)
So, yes, maybe somewhat closer,
but closer doesn't count
when playing Win-Win economic ecotherapy.
Horseshoes don't fit elephants.
Speaking of elephants in too-narrow-minded oppositional spaces,
where was I?
Oh, yes, she’s in the bathtub again,
better watch that floor.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
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Where do I come from? Well we all come
from somewhere. I was born in a small
town, here in in good old U S of A. South
to the border, by the Rio Grand. Mission
Texas is the town's name.
My real parents came from Mexico. My
grandmother, it was said - she came from
Spain. My grandfather was indian. He fought
in the Revolution. Both were on my mother's
side.
On my father's side, never knew too much,
only that the grandmother died kind of
young. The grandfather died years later, but
I never got to know them.
My father left my mom, when I was only three.
He never came back. My mother gave away my
sisters, than later she gave me. She only kept
my brother, maybe she couldn't keep me.
I was raised with a nice lady and her husband.
I learned to call her mom. That title she had
earned and my respect most of all. My parents
that raised me were poor, but made sure I had
something to eat. My mother made my dresses
so that I could go to school.
I learned to read and write and enjoyed school
very much, but I had to quit at fifteen to help my
parents out. Years later I went back and finished
my High School.
I did not go to college , or mastered in any degree.
I am what you might call self taught. For about thirty
years I worked with electronics and did my job well.
I gained respect from my bosses and high top
engineers.
My parents taught me good values that have helped
me through out life. I am not ashamed of my
origin, of Mexican Heritage I came. I am what you
would call a TEX. MEX. and I live up to my name...
Just a little about myself. Hope
you enjoy it.
written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo | Year Posted 2012
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Pyramus was the handsome young man
Thisbe the fair maiden of Babylon.
The houses of their parents did adjoin
Neighborhood brought the two in relation.
And the acquaintance ripened into love
And the fire within them burnt with bright glow.
Would have married, but their parents forbid
Ardor in hearts of both they couldn’t forbid
They did converse by signs, one can think of
The fire within them burnt like glow covered
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.
They found crack in wall that parted the houses
In spared passage for tender messages
Caused by fault in the wall of the mansion
What will not love find for satisfaction!
They passed the tender messages of love
As the night fell they said farewell with awe
Moving backward and forward through the gap
She on her side, he on his, kissed the gap.
One morn the sun put out the stars above
From the watchful eyes, they tried to slip up
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.
Then Thisbe stole forth as agreed upon
Unobserved, her head covered with a veil
Out of city’s bounds edifice well known
Waited for Pyramus near a fountain trail.
In the dim light she descried a lioness
Nearing the fountain with blood reeking jaws
With a recent slaughter to slake her thirst.
She fled dropping her veil out of fright.
After quenching thirst turned back for her cove
Renting the veil in bloody mouth on her retreat
But Venus won’t always befriend true love.
Having delayed Pyramus arrived there
Saw footsteps of the lioness in the sand
And found the veil all bloody over there
Crying picked up the rent veil in his hand.
Thought himself to be the cause of her death
Covering the veil with kiss and with tear
And said, come ye lioness tear with your teeth
Let my blood also shall stain your texture.
He plunged sword into his heart with a shove
Blood spurted, tingling the tree with red color
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.
Thisbe stepped out not to disappoint him
She noticed the change in the tree’s color
In the agonies of death she saw him.
A shudder ran as ripple in still water.
She saw her veil and his scabbard empty.
He has slain himself for her sake only.
She said, “I could be brave and follow thee
Death alone couldn’t prevent my joining thee
Love and death join us, one tomb be our grove”
She plunged the sword in her breast near the tree
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.
Envoi
Such tale of the self-less love presented
The two bodies in one tomb were buried
Pyramus-Thisbe tale our hearts do move
Berries serve memorials of their blood
But Venus doesn’t always befriend true love.
+++
Dr. Ram Mehta
Second Place win
Contest: Your favourite poem by Giorgio Veneto
**Chant royal [shahn rwa-yal],
A French verse form normally consisting of five stanzas of eleven 10-syllable lines
rhyming ababccddede, followed by an envoi (or half-stanza) rhyming ddede. The last
line of the first stanza is repeated as a refrain at the end of the succeeding stanzas and
of the envoi. The pattern is similar to that of the ballade, but even more demanding. 88
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2011
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Parents Poem
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My abiding memory of 2015 is of events that are so sad
With my father’s death, it’s the worst year I’ve ever had
It has been the most challenging year for me
But with amazing support I remain pretty happy
I don’t want to dwell on events that have past
My memories of the year 2015 will always last
I want to leave the year on a humourous note
With a true tale of a gift that didn’t get my vote!
Mum and I went out to a local church fete
It’s very well attended and the raffle is great
We perused all the stalls and brought a few things
I got some lemon cake and some brand new earrings
The raffle stall bulged with wonderful prizes
With boxes that ranged in all shapes and sizes
One pretty white gift box really caught my eye
Four ‘Dior’ perfume miniatures for a lady to try
We brought some tickets then sat and drank tea
I said to mum, I’ve seen just the prize for me
The raffle got drawn and mum’s ticket was pulled out
I collected the prize of Dior perfume without a doubt
Mum told me I could have it as a Christmas gift
I was overjoyed and it gave my heart a huge lift
The gift box was placed under our little tree
Its pretty gold ribbon was there for all to see
I didn’t open the box on Christmas Day
Until Boxing Day the pretty box did stay
We were going out to friends later that night
I thought my new perfume would be just right
Taking the pretty white box from under the tree
I pondered which scent would be perfect for me
Upon lifting the lid of the perfume box
I returned to the school of hard knocks
To my consternation and my deep chagrin
There was a void where the perfume once had been
An empty box was my only present from my mum
My gift is that I still have mum, so my poem is done.
This is a true story - someone had put an empty box as a raffle prize!
Contest: My abiding Memory
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
9th January 2016
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
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Parents Poem
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No mother would fill up her eyes with tears of woman...
if it weren't for God performing a miracle at dawn,
as she cried out in joy and held her baby in trembling arms
but shed many sweet tears hearing his laughter so loud;
oh, he couldn't see her mommy's face through his tiny eyes,
and it will be long before he'll will utter the first word, " Mom."
Now that baby sleeps under the attentive look of his mom,
who's too young to become a mature woman;
many visions of this birth crossed her gleeful eyes
she dreamed of the very same words whispered at each dawn,
repeating them in her silly head as if they sounded too loud...
while cradling a pretty doll in her folded arms.
Will she be welcomed home by her parents opening their arms?
Will they reprimand her and not consider her a legal mom?
Perhaps they will not be angry and speak not so loud:
girls are supposed to be girls, not suddenly turn into woman...
So this innocent girl, deceived by a bad boy, must wake up at dawn
when her baby cries and feed him with scary, childish eyes?
Nights seem longer for her, trying to stay awake rubbing her eyes,
what she beheld in those exciting eyes, now it's a burden in her weary arms;
she remembers that pain was too unbearable, but joy more sublime at dawn...
how will she learn how to care for the infant by watching her mom?
She must have seen a nursery or read a book how to think like a real woman,
and can anyone imagine how she keeps that secret instead of revealing it loud?
She must gather enough courage inside to feed her baby who can't cry loud,
but for now she must carry that baby without sighs of distress into her bright eyes;
and her parents can see the changes making her a loving person already woman;
they may ask questions to why she has gained weight and holds dolls in her arms...
no, they aren't anticipating great news and in doubt, they await a splendid dawn.
Mother and daughter closely together amazed by the coming dawn,
any concealed secret can be easily spoken...somewhat joyful and loud;
they imagine the infant's futures will be part of grandma and mom!
Their reunited hearts come together to show love in their delighted eyes,
and they'll take turns feeding the new-born, tenderly lulling him in their arms;
what if forgiveness hadn't been there to deny her all of the joys of woman?
Would a mother deny her daughter compassion as a good woman?
Even God hurried dawn to offer that gift into her gracious, tender arms...
and those arms accepted it with the gentleness and kindness of mom.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
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Parents Poem
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"Looking Into the Mirror"
Sudden realizations iced up his core
To form the frozen image of a man
He who stared in reflected embarrassment
While sobering silence takes over the room
As this was not the person he was to become
But for childish dreams that stuck with him
Fantastic machinations that warped a man's mind
So he'd remain a child who never grew up
And had to face his parents on occasions
The adult to them is just on the exterior
Because he made a living selling his voice
Though in using it to say I'm sorry
His parents would have to wait
Just like the forever he has waited
To hear them say we love you for what you are
A child never grows too old
For their parents open arms
Copyright © karl marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011
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Parents Poem
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My mother believed kids should be seen and not heard
And that teens have no right to be sad
They contribute nothing, everything is done for them
What reason to be upset could they have?
She didn't seem to get that kids have feelings
And teenagers have more than most
It's no wonder I grew up emotion with no meaning
It's no wonder I grew up morose
Every day there was something else
Something that she would nit pick
Never could I do the right thing
I could never gain her acceptance
I was never pretty, smart or good enough
There was always someone better
And that is why I put her down
In the written form of a letter
"Dear Mother, you have never loved me
And I needed a mother's love
But it's too late now, don't even bother
You were no mother to speak of."
And with that I walked out of her life
With absolutely no regret
Now I am happier than I've ever been
But sadly motherless
Unlike mostly all of my poems, this is based on real life. 'Nuff said about that, the poem says all that needs to be said.
Copyright © April Gabriella | Year Posted 2013
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Parents Poem
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Small babies are unpredictable just like the weather
Often wet; with sudden outbreaks of terrible wind
But would I have altered anything, no never …
Being a parent, you become very thick skinned!
Contest: Grook
Sponsor: Silent One
02~14~16
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
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