Best Parents Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Parents poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of parents poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for Parents poems, articles about Parents poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Parents poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
See Also:
New Parents Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Parents poems are below this new poems list.
Parents Set The Tone
by Krutsinger, Caren
Honor Your Parents
by Missing, Roof
Raising Your New Parents
by Johnston, Brian
Responsibility of Parents
by Mendoza, Jacqueline R.
RESPONSIBLE PARENTS
by MAKHAKHA, MOSES KISIANG'ANI
Memories of Our Parents' House
by Schuetz, Gwen
My parents
by Ajmal, Faraz
Parents favorite
by Flaherty, Christopher
How much my parents mean to me
by Wolf, Gershon
What my parents mean to me
by Ajmal, Faraz
View all new Parents Poems
The Best Parents Poems
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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 ****.
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
When I got home from camp today,
My parents almost died.
They asked me how I got this way,
And here's what I replied:
"This little cast from heel to hip
Is nothing much at all.
Some broken shingles made me slip
From off the dining hall.
"The poison ivy's not so bad.
It missed my back and chest.
Of course, I guess I oughta add
Mosquitoes got the rest.
"I tried to eat some hick'ry nuts
And cracked a tooth or two.
And all these bruises, scabs, and cuts?
I haven't got a clue.
"I got the lump that's on my head
From diving in the lake.
I should have watched for rocks, instead
Of grabbing for the snake.
"That leaves this bandage on my chin
And these three finger sprains,
Along with lots of sunburned skin
And sniffles from the rains.
"And oh, I got a muscle cramp
And very nearly drowned.
It's some terrific summer camp,
The coolest one around."
Copyright © Richard Thomas | Year Posted 2018
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
Think twice this world can be such a wicked place my sweet child.
It's all coming back to me now, the memories we shared.
Goodbyes the saddest word, be careful in a world so wild.
You used to tell me I'm your angel and how much you cared.
It's all coming back to me now, the memories we shared,
I was the proudest parent, because you loved me so strong.
You used to tell me I'm your angel and how much you cared.
You talk about taking chances, but don't see what is wrong.
I was the proudest parent, because you loved me so strong.
You insist a new day has come and I should call the man.
You talk about taking chances, but don't see what is wrong.
You say that's the way it is and one night you made a plan.
You insist a new day has come and I should call the man,
but I'll tell him all I see is a beauty and a beast.
You say that's the way it is and one night you made a plan,
but I worry if he'll treat her like a lady at least.
But I'll tell him all I see is a beauty and a beast.
He'll claim it's the power of love and he's not misled her,
but I worry if he'll treat her like a lady at least.
He'll say I'm alive around her and his love won't deter.
He'll claim it's the power of love and he's not misled her,
she is the reason for his smile and he'll treat her with care.
He'll say I'm alive around her and his love won't deter,
she's his immortality and the answer to his prayer.
She is the reason for his smile and he'll treat her with care,
promises there is not only one road that will lead her home,
she's his immortality and the answer to his prayer.
You'll always be my baby, although I'm left all alone.
Promises there is not only one road that will lead her home,
I don't want to be all by myself as your thoughts persist,
you'll always be my baby, although I'm left all alone.
My heart will go on, but my sweet child you'll always be missed.
I don't want to be all by myself as your thoughts persist,
goodbyes the saddest word, be careful in a world so wild.
My heart will go on, but my sweet child you'll always be missed.
Think twice this world can be such a wicked place my sweet child.
Silent One
3 April 2018
Challenged by Akkina Downing to do a pantoum with song titles from Celine Dion. I must admit, I do not listen to her music, it would have been easy to do a soppy romantic one, but I wrote about the feelings some parents feel when losing their child to another. Some parents struggle to let go, especially when they think the person they are with is not good for them and if they move far far away.
The pantoum has 24 titles by Celine Dion
14 syllables per line with rhymes.
Because you loved me
All by myself
It's all coming back to me now
Think twice
My heart will go on
Immortality
Falling into you
Power of love
Tell him
Beauty and the beast
I'm your angel
A new day has come
The reason
Thats the way it is
Only one road
I'm alive
Call the man
Misled
Treat her like a lady
Taking chances
All alone
Goodbyes the saddest word
The prayer
One night
Pantoum
A rare form of poetry. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and
fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the
next. This pattern continues for any number of stanzas, except for the final
stanza, which differs in the repeating pattern. The first and third lines of
the last stanza are the second and fourth of the penultimate; the first line of
the poem is the last line of the final stanza, and the third line of the first
stanza is the second of the final. Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when
they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done
by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing.
It does not have to rhyme nor have a syllable restriction.
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
Details |
Parents Poem
|
On that day many years ago, we took the kids on a trip
to the national cemetery on the Presidio. Our hope-
to give our children a different perspective
besides picnics, hamburgers and hot dogs. The weather
was windy but pleasant as we pulled up to our destination. We
stood together near the entrance looking out over rows and
rows of decorated tombstones. Gazing at my young son,
I observed a look of reverential awe on his face. Suddenly with
no prompting, he ran toward a tombstone where a flag and
flowers had been blown over and gently
put them back in place. To our amazement, this act was repeated
again and again and again as we made our way through
the grounds. A profound thankfulness filled my bosom, leapt up
and shouted, “Yes, he has it for himself now!”
I have never forgotten that day when among the dead,
something noble was born in
the heart of our son.
5/25/18
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2018
Details |
Parents Poem
|
We need a revival of parents
who aren’t afraid to say no,
keep tabs on where their kids go,
around discipline, do not tiptoe.
We need a revival of parents
not failing to enforce restrictions
not living full of contradictions
but having backbone and convictions.
We need a revival of parents
who of self-interest alone have lack,
will watch out for their children’s back,
and in doing, keep them on the right track.
We need a revival of parents
that during times when they falter and bumble,
have an attitude that is humble,
say, “I’m sorry.” and let their pride crumble.
We need a revival of parents
knowing kids are a God given loan,
they can’t possibly raise them alone,
so for wisdom, they seek Heaven’s throne.
We need a revival of parents
who are able to truly rejoice
because they made the right choice
of in their child’s life being a voice.
5/19/18
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2018
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
“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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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 daughter
dolls.
Perhaps oppositional cognitive dissonance
is what Republicans have about Democrats,
and vice versa.
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 Sacred 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 humane 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
soils
souls.
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,
or son,
Dr. Seuss's The Lorax,
Interpreting each voice as your own Lorax Ego-EcoLogos,
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 polycultural
PolyLife
Yum-Yum 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,
Under-producing her capacity to regenerate fertile maturing seeds,
turning away from sin as sterile insanity,
disability and absence of healthy love,
to now prophecy the sins of monopolistic drenching wealth,
and overly ballistic power;
to notice challenging, dissonant tipping points
within monocultural,
monochromatic,
monopolistic
bicamerally competing ecopolitical uncertainty
and ecological dysfunction for all consciousness
all nations,
All extending families
reconnecting our more humane DNA-informed
bicameral information processor branch of EcoTribe,
RNA-inscribed,
transliterate,
multisystemic and polyculturally Climaxing Community,
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, Democrats, not Plutocrats, maybe somewhat closer,
but closer doesn't count
when playing Win-Win economic ecotherapy.
Donkey clown shoes might also 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 wet wild floor.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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
Details |
Parents Poem
|
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