In the wind the Holy Spirit
Has turned and twirled
He has orchestrated conception
To all the Mary's around the world
One Mary she stands alone
The mother of our Savior
Blessed among women
Still in need of saving
Another Mary stands alone
The first to the risen Christ
As we all need to witness to
The Resurrection and The Life
But we are all broken vessels
Our fractures need repair
His Way, His Truth, His Life (and kintsugi)
Will help us, to get us there
So not every Mary will birth a Messiah
Or will see Him with their eyes
But every Mary who is able
will be blessed to be with child
the splinter in her
index finger sprouted to
a tiny green tree
plucked and replanted until
milled to embed a finger
Time cannot lessen the joy from fun and family vacations
that ended in September for a new year of education.
At each age, September meant I would get pretty new clothes.
I would shop with Mama who had me try them on and pose.
I liked school's first day until high school fueled a need to preen.
September’s meanings ended when I graduated at seventeen.
Change can be so cruel
Especially during the real
Period of shredding childhood
To embrace the hug of adulthood
There is nothing more interesting
Like shaving beards
Becoming a father
Raising a child.
Change can be unkind
When childhood tears away
And the weight of adulthood
Wraps itself around your shoulders
Yet these are interesting times
The first shave of a stubborn beard
The trembling joy of fatherhood
The tender art of raising a child
Perhaps, I were your wife,
Would you have made me a paper tiger,
one that looks fierce but cannot bite?
Perhaps, I were your husband,
Would you have used feminism to emasculate me,
turning me into a yo-yo at your whim?
Perhaps, I were your friend,
Would you have made me a clown,
one who makes you laugh but lives in sorrow?
Perhaps, I were your servant,
Would you have made me a sea squirt,
eating his own brain just to serve you?
Perhaps, I were your parent,
Would you have made me a burden,
one who bends his back to feed your pride?
Perhaps, I were your child,
Would you have made me subservient to your greed,
one who loses his future to your ego?
Perhaps, I weren’t yet born,
Would you have been proud to weave me in your DNA,
one you breathe life into to erase your doubts?
Perhaps, this were only a poem,
Would you have thought of it a classic,
one that would stand the firm test of time?
Spinning, a horse of gold,
I am four, a princess bold,
My first time on this magical ride,
With a giant, toothless, happy stride.
The music hums, a carousel tune,
I rise and fall beneath the afternoon moon.
The painted pony gallops fast,
A happy feeling that's made to last.
The world outside is a colorful blur,
My little heart gives a happy purr.
Around and around, the wind in my hair,
I'm flying high, without a care.
The ride slows down, the song is done,
A perfect end to a day of fun.
I step off the horse, a little sad to leave,
But I'll be back, I truly believe.
Five days late…
His birthday almost forgot-
but not quite…
The hurt lingered deep.
A small package arrived
addressed to him--
Special
from Dad.
Inside: a watch.
A big boy gift,
for sure.
Gold and bright,
crystal light,
backstamped RollX--
a boy’s treasure,
for sure
Too large for his wrist.
No matter.
He would grow tall,
just like his Dad.
The watch was perfect,
just like it was,
Worn each day with pride--
a symbol
of genuine love and dedication…
How priceless
he was in Dad’s eyes…
Proof.
Scratches
and a flaking finish
didn’t matter.
Neither did
the crack across the face,
or the fact
that it always read
a bit after two.
A good polish--
and it was
good as new.
Like the day
he got it.
Five days late.
Within a tree awash with song,
the branches tremble, bright and strong.
Each bird proclaims its radiant verse,
in a soaring chorale, the winds disperse.
You answer back; your voice takes flight.
A child again, in humbled light.
The chains of age fall loose, unbound.
Play returns with a joy profound.
A child’s world is tame with acclaim.
For everything there is a joyful game.
Imagination ignites and flies.
A world reborn through child-like eyes.
A stick becomes a gleaming sword,
a castle in the sand much adored.
A box, a ship with sails unfurled,
Has pirates laughing in jolly roger world.
A puddle swells to oceans wide.
A feather drifts where dreams abide.
Each pebble hums; each breeze takes wing.
As laughter crowns the Earth in flight.
Imagination is what turns the key,
opening doors to pure simplicity.
It calls the child to rise and show,
the joy that makes our spirits glow.
Summon the child within by name.
To dream, to sing, to rekindle the flame,
in a way, that you'll never be the same.
Becoming a child again, at play in the frame.
Yes, I invented “trick or treat”
so you could fill your mouth with sweets.
Candy bars and lemon drops,
marshmallows and Tootsie Pops,
butterscotch and bubble gum —
hold out your hand, they’ll give you some.
Chocolate kisses, Jujubes too,
sourballs and jellybeans for you.
Have a cake, some cookies too —
take a couple, grab a few.
Peppermint sticks and Mary Janes,
licorice whips and candy canes.
Slurp some soda, munch some pie,
don’t let those M&Ms go by.
Chew that toffee, munch those treats,
get that caramel in your teeth.
Then come see me, I’ll be near —
I’m your friendly dentist, dear.
Midnight Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch
I.
A measureless rhythm rules the night—
few have heard it,
but I have shared it,
and its secret is mine.
To put it into words
is as to extract the sweetness from honey
and must be done as gently
as a butterfly cleans its wings.
But when it is captured, it is gone again;
its usefulness is only
that it lulls to sleep.
II.
So sleep, my love, to the cadence of night,
to the moans of the moonlit hills'
bass chorus of frogs, while the deep valleys fill
with the nightjar’s shrill, cryptic trills.
But I will not sleep this night, nor any …
how can I—when my dreams
are always of your perfect face
ringed by soft whorls of fretted lace,
framed by your tear-drenched pillowcase?
"Midnight Lullaby" has been set to music by the award-winning New Zealand composer David Hamilton.
Keywords/Tags: lullaby, lullabies, music, musical, song, child, children, childhood, baby, babies, midnight, night, rhythm, sleep
A syllable count
holds no doubts
the green leaf,
will turn to red
and then to brown
and crispy
in just one hand
gets crushed
released
and its then
the beauty
of something
becomes
nothing.....
We never
appreciated
the it....
Something
more than we
saw as
shining
a path founded
and gently
holding hands
kindly
of your castle
left in the sands.
My inner child
I hate the trembling
of this conscious
of my young cheeks
I wish suffered
the least.
But I swallow this
of the harrowing
of no built of bliss
but
how I came to miss....
Days I didn't sleep
for most of the days
of built we are of clay
and knocked of hay
I know my ways,
the scars I caused
I am a garden hose,
a killing
of a baby
as I sleep
in my dreams.
I hate
the welcoming
to this
reality,
scars
are harrowing
and I do not believe
you too
are over this.
Try not to get scared, scariest stories
I was just in my room, socking it. That’s when Larry and the creature, and they pickled my chilli dog, and that’s when Larry. I was driving in my Bergen truck, drunk, that’s when I saw a deer, I was later pulled over for DUI and killing a deer. Asgore. Once Diddy diddled my diddle he did. James?
It seems like yesterday.
When you were to be our first born
We waited for your birth
Two brand new grandmothers that morn.
You took your time, but then we knew.
You had arrived safely and sound
We each held you our precious girl.
Our smiles and joy they knew no bound.
You are our great delight.
We’ve watched you grow up through the years.
A woman you’ve become.
Our love shines brightly through our tears.
With tears of happiness
Congratulations we both say!
Now Twenty-One, how can that be.
It seems like Yesterday.
I'm a child in awe ~
what are you doing with my legacy
what hope do I have?
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Those thugs, that try to teach tiny tots, to taut taunting tautogram tales, to tiny, terrified toddlers.
They think that telling tales to toddlers through tautogram tales, teaches them to trust tormenting teasing troublesome thugs. That's truly traumatizing to those tiny toddlers.
Specific Types of Child Poems
Read wonderful child poetry on the following sub-topics:
beautiful, educate, family, father, funny, halloween, life, love, lyric, monster, mother, parents, scary, song, toys
and more.
Definition | What is Child in Poetry?
Poems Related to Child
adolescent, baby, brat, children, infant, innocent, juvenile, kid, kiddie, kids, minor, newborn, nursery rhymes, offspring, preteen, teen, teenager, teenybopper, toddler, whippersnapper, youngster, youth