Best Stepson Poems
A wilted violet bows its pretty purple head,
Like me it has no energy as sorrow pleads.
My love, once so pure and vibrant now is dead.
My heart filled with passion, stilled, it bleeds.
I cannot bring him back though it would seem
I sometimes find him young and happy still,
So alive and handsome in a treasured dream.
If only I could conjure those dreams at will.
I often think that I can feel his spirit near,
With knocking sounds and blinking lights.
Late eves or early morn I hear his voice so clear.
I try so hard to connect with him those nights.
Sometimes I hold his watch and other things
I feel they retain vibrations of his energy.
I think of him surrounded by angel wings
And I know he is at peace with family.
10-07-21
This poem is about my husband Michael who passed away July 29, 2020
My son Robby passed away recently May 29, 2021 he was 44
I wrote a blog about my stepson Michael Jr. who is now in a nursing home slowly getting better thanks to all of your prayers. I know it seems confusing.
**Thank you very much Team Poetry Soup for the honor of POTD
Oct. 9, 2021**
Categories:
stepson, angel, bereavement, husband, longing,
Form:
Rhyme
I had wanted to celebrate Andrea Dietrich’s special birthday with a tribute poem. She celebrated reaching that age of retirement many long for. At the time I was dealing with the loss of my son and the hospitalization of my stepson who was gravely ill and her birthday, September 5th, passed me by. Now that I am in a much better place I wrote this sonnet to give her a belated birthday gift. We have been friends for over twenty years. We met through our love of poetry.
Happy Belated Birthday dear Andrea.
Andrea Sonneteer
Poetess, your light shines brighter each year.
You teach your students with a stellar touch
With pride in your profession it is clear.
In their minds you instill and inspire much.
As an editor and author you give
Generously of your wisdom and time,
Sharing your knowledge in ways that you live.
Your gourmet delights you share are sublime.
Your love of traveling always shines through
Exquisite imagery, your creations
Are romantic and dreamy it is true,
Your poetry exceeds expectations.
This humble sonnet I’ve written for you
To wish you the best of birthdays come true.
1-24-22
Categories:
stepson, birthday, poetess, poetry,
Form:
Sonnet
A cousin named Chaos have I (he’s not actually my cousin. He’s like my aunt’s stepson, but I guess I can still call him a cousin, right?)
There’s nothing that he will not try (like the day he let all the chickens loose from the coop and they were running like chickens with their heads cut off. Isn’t that an expression or something? Chaos is crazy like those chickens were)
Since he follows no rule (He laughs at me because I try to write perfectly metered limericks and he thinks everyone should just write free and BE free in all they do.)
He got kicked out of school (it was so funny. He set off the fire alarm and all the kids were running every which way, much like those chickens he let loose in his barnyard. Now he is saying he wants to become an anarchist.)
So to anarchy school he’ll apply!
Gosh, he’s right. This limerick sucks. It’s much more fun having no restrictions, just letting my thoughts go anywhere I want them to take me, kind of like stream of consciousness writing or something. Too bad I can’t be all surreal-like, then I might make it into the newfangled modern poetry magazines. Most people don’t even consider limericks to be real poems. DANG it, I feel another one coming on.
Cousin Chaos, I now do hear tell
That you’ve found a new school, so learn well
Your anarchy ways.
In limerick phase
I’ll be stuck while you give people hell.
Crap. Even trying to write like Chaos, I just can’t do it. I just keep conforming to rules of poetry forms like limerick. I just know my cousin will be laughing his chicken head off when he reads this. Yeah, the old chicken motif again. Always relating things together. So much for Chaos! I’m outta here.
Written chaotically last week sometime for contest of same name
Categories:
stepson, writing,
Form:
Limerick
There we sat, a sunny afternoon
The barbie lit, not quite enough flame
Her father fans it, wife tries to explain
Happy families. Two language game
I’ve nothing in common, forgotten their name.
I let myself go, release my sarcastic mood
We’re all inane smiles personified polite
He’s waving at the barbie dust on the food
My wife hangs on to her rage a soaring kite
Mother and son know not the time to be rude
Daughter-in-law’s parents, peasants afar
My stepson, squirming, cursing his luck
New allies for her, from now on life will suck
Mum kisses his head, he’s her pride and joy
His life’s anonymous, she cuddles her boy.
Categories:
stepson, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
(This is a fictional poem)
I bought my rotten stepson a Nintendo Wii.
But then the jerk also wanted me to buy him a Playstation 3.
I told him that money doesn't grow on trees.
When I didn't buy it, he decided to do something bad to me.
He broke all of my records and he smashed my big screen TV.
That pissed me off so I returned his Nintendo Wii.
He's bawling his eyes out, it's a sight that you should see.
I told him if he breaks anything else, I'll put him over my knee.
Categories:
stepson, family, children, funny, me,
Form:
My adopted son Michael
Left Sunday to go fight this war
I'm wrapping up some loose ends
There's so much more
Mike owes his step dad money
for a car in which the engine is now blown
I can't keep it here with me
So I asked Ed to pick up what he rightfully owns
The swearing came
Full blast over my phone
Unbelievable profanity
From this mans heartless tone
Where is that a--hole!
He still owes $900 dollars!
I don't need the f---ing car!
He just kept up the hollers
Sir, please pick up your car
You have the title from what I know
I don't know when Mike is coming back
If you don't, it will have to be towed
I'll ring his lieing F---ing neck
A--hole owes me, I want the s--t when he gets out
I'm not f---ing taking a f---ing car
He was just a solid continuous shout
This is why Mike
Is my stepson I do believe
And now he's fighting for my right
To kick his step dads a-- if him I see
I said "I know it's not right
But the car belongs to you.
Thank you for your time.
I'm sure he hates you too"
That is why he is MY son!
Categories:
stepson, family, father, love, mother,
Form:
Rhyme
IM SORRY YOU HAD TO GO
I CANT UNDERSTAND WHY
I KNEW THAT SOMEDAY YOU HAD TO DIE
BUT WHY IN THIS WAY I DONT UNDERSTAND
A GOD FEARING ,GOOD MAN
ONLY YOUR CLOSEST FAMILY MOURNS YOUR DEATH
THE ONES WHO WERE THERE WITH YOU JUST UP AND LEFT
GOD GOT YOU BACK NOW AND HE DO UNDERSTAND
THE ONES WHO TOOK YOUR LIFE A STEPSON,MAN
WHAT COULD HAVE WENT SO WRONG IN YOU"RE LIFE TO SEE
YOUR STEPSON SHOOT YOU IN YOUR BACK AND WALK AWAY FREELY
Categories:
stepson, lost love, sorry, sympathy,
Form:
Honest
Wrestler, self-taught lawyer, eloquent writer/orator, and man of integrity.
Son of Nancy Hank and Thomas Lincoln; beloved stepson of Sarah Bush.
Lover of books, animals and a good joke!
He felt empathy for the downtrodden and sadness, yet the need to persevere.
He feared slavery’s expansion, the collapse of democracy and failed leadership.
He wanted feedom for the slaves, freedom for women and a better world.
Born in Kentucky, he gained experience in IL., and fulfilled his destiny in D.C.
Abe
(Dedicated to my Hero, Abraham Lincoln. He also wrote a little poetry!)
Categories:
stepson, leadership,
Form:
Bio
a nurse,4kids and a stepson,
then came the crystal meth.
she used it and liked it,
men beat her bloody and they loved it.
the highs helped the lows,
the lows of a drunken husband of 14 yrs
and a father doing 60 yrs in prison
for rape of his younger daughter.
3 months in jail with women just like her,
3months in jail with women worse then her.
the tattoo behind her leg said it all
"TAINTED".
Categories:
stepson, familywomen, women,
Form:
Free verse
Though you might think I seem country
And there's a lot of that in my roots
I was raised metropolitan,
Not much on plows, guns and boots!
Once when my stepson came over
To cut up a fallen tree for wood
I happened to see a dead mole
Right next to my feet, where I stood
My wife said, "Just get rid of it!"
I asked, "Is there a bag around?",
"Maybe some gloves or a tissue?"
About then my stepson looked down
He suddenly picked up that mole
And then tossed it into the trees
That gave me a chill all over,
Without even having a breeze!
My wife laughing, didn't really help
My known lowest of self esteems
Showing that in no uncertain terms
I'm not the mole tosser of her dreams!
Categories:
stepson, humorous, imagery, marriage, nature,
Form:
Quatrain
A poet of the troubled soul
A life on who the devil took his toll
A happy bouncing bundle of joy
Who turned into an angry stepson boy
Dear Boddah, will you be my friend?
And always will until the end?
Ma hates pa and pa hates ma
Everyone's sad, nobody calls
I don't know why I like to cry
Where do people go when they die?
I've been to church
I've been to school
Nobody obeys the golden rule
I can hear you when you laugh
My dear turtle friend
Is on his back
Nobody wants to help him out
All I can do is scream and shout
If empathy is my best gift
I'll use it wise and hold my lip
But I'm only human
Stuck in a rut
Now I string my guitar with catgut
A generation new to earth
Longs for heaven since their birth
Boys and girls stand in line
To hear Kurt sing, moan, and cry
Why was I born in a world so cruel?
I feel so stupid
Am I a fool?
I went out back one April day
To lay myself in my grave
One last shout out for my best friend
Boddah, will your wisdom lend?
Should I live or should I die?
Or Boddah is your knowledge dry?
One last chance to save my life
I turn on the tube and see Barney Fief
He says that life is one big joke
And all I can do is on a shotgun choke
Some say he was selfish
And selfishness was his final act
He served himself
And his heart was black
But I don't want to blame Kurt Cobain
I don't know if I'd do the same
Cause I don't know what I would do
If I had walked in his shoes
The first time I saw Kurt Cobain
I got up to dance but didn't get the chance
To tell him I loved him
And to throw down his guns
Now he's gone
Life goes on
Little darlin', here comes the sun
As for me I don't know what happened to Kurt Cobain
Where does he go when it rains?
But I know if he doesn't have faith on Judgment Day
He will meet with a gloomy fate
For the rest of us
Who live on earth
Who are drafted into this war
By our birth
We must fight on
And throw down our guns
And give our lives to the One
Who died to set the captives free
And if we believe, eternity
This life is war
And not pretend
Come as you are
And get cleansed from sin
Jesus is the only way
We are mere jars of clay
Who need salvation
Free and clean
There is more to life
Than what is seen
I hope to see you there one fine day
Now come to life
And let us pray
Categories:
stepson, anxiety, art,
Form:
Free verse
My stepson was doing Meth and had red dots on his face.
I told him that I don't allow drug users to live at my place.
I immediately knew he was doing Meth because of the red dots.
He lied when he said that he had the measles, I knew he did not.
My ex-wife said if her son wasn't welcome in my home, neither was she.
She thought that her son's drug use wasn't a big deal and she left me.
But now she agrees that it was stupid when her son did Meth.
Last month, he overdosed and it caused his untimely death.
What I'm about to say isn't a lie, it is real.
Please say no to drugs because drugs kill.
Categories:
stepson, addiction, death, drug,
Form:
Rhyme
Shimmy was startled to see her son Will at noon.
I thought you started your new job today, she said.
I packed you a lunch.
I got so nervous, I left it there, he replied.
Can you make me a grilled cheese sandwich?
Her husband, Jake, started to speak, but her look quelled him.
After lunch she offered to drive Will back to his job site.
I don’t have one he admitted. I kind of walked out.
Jake’s face steamed over; he left the room.
I lied to my brother; I told him that Will would make a good employee.
“Is there anyone else who would hire him?” she asked.
Will had already walked off five jobs and been fired from six more.
No, Jake replied. “Nobody”.
Shimmy had spoiled her son so hard, that he was not employable.
Jake would not have married her if he had met Will first.
Will, it is time you grew up, Jake said to Will that night.
Will began to cry; Shimmy patted his back, glaring at Jake.
Jake went to his friend Fred’s house.
“Stepson again?” Fred asked.
Jake nodded.
“Daddy, I want some milk,” Fred’s daughter Monica whined.
As Fred poured it, Jake wondered if they should introduce Will and Monica.
They were both forty-two.
Categories:
stepson, parents,
Form:
Prose
Three preteen girls tried to be friends with each other
They will never be able to do it, says Dorthea’s brother
Never say never, warns his savvy sage stepmother.
Wisely saying nothing, is David, Dorthea’s brother.
David has noted that girls do not get along in threes.
They want a bestie, and one is always feeling left out.
He waits for the fireworks, which happens with these.
One of the girls storms out of the house, with an angry shout.
What happened to her? Asks the stepmother, truly confused.
David keeps his mouth shut, but he understands the shout.
The fact that he is smarter than her, makes him feel amused.
She is one of three, says the stepson, it never works out.
Boys can get along fine in three; they never stomp out.
That is true of boys, but not of girls, David said.
Girls pair off in twos, and one is always feeling left out.
His stepmother decided to put this new knowledge into her head.
Categories:
stepson, girl,
Form:
Rhyme
The silence presses heavy, thick,
Like walls that close with every tick.
I walk through days, but none I own,
A shadow lost, a heart unknown.
My family’s gone, my friends are far,
The distance stretches like a scar.
I reach for hands that never grasp,
I chase the echoes of the past.
I sit alone, a guest in life,
A presence, but not worth the strife.
My spouse sees me, but not as friend,
I’m just a face they must defend.
A duty more than anything—
A weight to carry, just to cling.
In this house, I stand, unseen,
A fixture fading in between.
I never knew the father’s touch,
The warmth of love that means so much.
My children far, four days a month,
A parent, but not quite enough.
My adopted daughter, distant still,
I wonder if she’d feel the thrill
Of a life without my face,
If I could vanish without trace.
My stepson looks, but never sees,
I’m just a blur, a passing breeze,
Except when I’m beside his mother,
Then I’m there—but still, no other.
The pain sits heavy, deep inside,
An ache I can’t escape or hide.
Each breath a burden, each step a lie,
I’m not forgotten, but not alive.
I fear that death might set me free,
To end the ache, the endless sea
Of loneliness that chokes my chest,
That makes me wonder if I’m blessed.
But even then, I’ll fade alone,
A ghost with no one to atone,
No voice to mourn, no eyes to see,
A life that was and ceases to be.
No one to sit and shed a tear,
No one to whisper, “I was here.”
I’ll slip away and not a soul
Will mark the absence, not a toll.
Just quiet earth, a final rest,
In a world where I was never blessed.
But in this life, I wait in vain,
For someone who can ease the pain.
I fear that I was born to be
A solitary soul, unseen, unfree.
Categories:
stepson, anxiety, death, love,
Form:
Rhyme