Family Child Poems | Examples
These Family Child poems are examples of Child poems about Family. These are the best examples of Child Family poems written by international poets.
I gained my sanity.
And lost my family.
They can't understand
Where or who I am
Why I begin and when I end
The price is paid
Sour taste? No.
Just serenity. It may look
like insanity,
but is not.
I am.
I am in love.
I'm with God.
I saw you for the first time today as a lady.
You were sitting in the sand in the late day sun,
Your face framed by the broad-brimmed hat.
You smiled so beautifully under that,
That even your father could see the lady inside.
I saw you for the first time on your birth day.
And I thought I’d never seen a song til then.
But angels whispered and parents prayed
So fervently that angst was stayed.
And the Father blessed the lady inside.
I saw you for the first time as a woman.
It had somehow not occurred to me til then.
That you could have a life apart from me
Or anything other than this family.
But even fathers, someday, must see the lady inside.
My conscience was most harried,
I tried to make it work but tarried.
For ten years I stayed married -
our boy was so meek and mild -
saying, I'll do it for the child.
Our family home was filled with stress,
professionals tried to find redress,
but this silent, hostile mess,
wasn't good for our son,
but I stuck with what I'd begun.
The counselor said that I should stay,
stick to it, don't throw it away,
it's better for the child that way,
and because of these fears,
I stayed for ten long years,
but I couldn't finish what I did begin.
I was too weak and I gave in,
and because of this awful sin,
later, we all smiled.
It was better for the child.
Kay wanted a hippopotamus
for Christmas,
nothing else would do,
her family bore the witness.
She did not want a fancy doll
or a fuzzy teddy bear,
She did not want a frilly dress
or sparkles for her hair.
Santa crossed the isthmus
with water on both sides,
he found the mighty river horse*
and shrank it down in size.
Santa made his run
on snowy Christmas Eve,
Placed the beast below the tree
and turned around to leave.
Little Kay was standing there
wiping sleep away,
She hugged pink hippo very tight and knew
her life would once again be gay**
* "hippopotamus" comes from Greek words meaning "river horse".
**”gay” meaning “lighthearted and carefree”.
Here we G O again!
O F F to the Christmas H O U S E…
the tradition at least five years old
and not an official tour spot,
just some ‘hood nearby.
Its bright lights of merry
drew us for the first time.
People would pull over, get out
of their cars, walk on the grass.
We were told the family set it up
to invite all - a home away from
the N O R T H PO L E…
The decoration has changed a bit.
When first we went, the singing flowers
would freak out my grandson - the boy
would want to punch it. There was a Teddy bear
whose arms would hug you and S N O W.
This night, I told my grand I would take his pic.
He says, “No, let me,” and pulls out his phone
to video the eye-popping display.
Kids today! Traditions! I believe!
We were not so poor
To be ungrateful
For what we lacked.
Full plates in a heated house
Made it seem undue to complain
For lack of poetry or a candy cane.
Ne’er a penny in a bush
Nor gift under the tree was for us
With corn, milk and eggs a plenty.
We dared not wish for more.
Each night we knelt in thanks
Before dreaming of a hotdog,
Birthday cake, Christmas
Gift, or a dime to buy
An ice cream cone.
The weeds we kept at bay
The trees chopped expertly
Our toil stayed the rest.
We were not so poor
To be unthankful
For what we lacked
As we hoed the corn
Milked the cows
Feed the chickens.
Starved of play we were
too busy making hay
To be ungrateful.
“He’s the black sheep of our family,”
Said Father speaking of his son
Before him to the Watkins man
Who no doubt forgot it
Before his next customer.
Father liked the line
Repeated it to his son’s favorite uncle,
His mother and a few friends.
Their laughter stung.
Still none seemed to remember.
Father got bored—dropped the line.
Twenty years later denied
He’d said it.
The son, poor fellow, never forgot—
Told me the story as he expired.
You might not like me
after you read this—
but this poem has been
simmering in my soul for years.
If what I say
doesn’t sit well with you,
please know:
I’m just a girl who loves Jesus,
and a girl with a pen.
They come first—
this little soul.
They come before
the teacher’s job,
the nursing degree,
before the sales assistant role,
or the receptionist desk.
If you would go hungry,
or be left without shelter,
then this poem
is not for you.
But if you can survive
without the pay—
then could you dare to say:
I can…
but I chose not to.
Because, instead—
I chose you,
little one.
My parents said I could not keep the black, stray cat.
They explained our canary would not survive that.
Parents out, a sitter, and my four-year-old mind
let the cat in while hoping birds were numb designed.
I am ashamed to have plotted murder when four,
sad an innocent bird died cause I liked cats more.
The whole family loved that sweet cat, “Little Bit”,
plus, I swear, I never planned another death hit.
At twenty-two, I confessed to my family.
Shocked, they did say my child-self deserved a grammy.
Will I ever be “normal” or will affection always be so hard to express?
But really, what is “normal”?
Is “normal” the forced show that people see on the outside?
Hugging, kissing, compliments, or praise feels so hard to express.
Was it the lack of it as a child?
Was it the past trauma?
I don’t want my kids to look back and think I wasn’t loving or they weren’t enough.
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.
My first steps, a shock,
bare feet on the cold white ground.
Soft powder covers
the world, a blanket of quiet.
My breath, a small cloud,
hovers in the frosty air.
I hear my sister's gasp,
my brother's shout of joy.
The cold stings my soles,
a thousand small needles.
I feel the small sting
and I want to run back,
back to the warm place.
But my mother smiles,
her hand warm in the cold air,
and my father laughs,
his voice a low rumble.
I keep on walking,
brave in the strange new cold.
My toes turn a pale blue,
a small person in a great world.
And the snow, a white whisper,
surrounds us all in silence,
a memory, a feeling, a dream.
I will never forget this
my first walk in the snow,
a white world I found
with my family, with love,
and my little blue toes.
More than a pet, Raja is our sweet child.
He fills all family hearts with true joy.
His luxurious fur is softly styled.
More than a pet, Raja is our sweet child.
A true sidekick, his help may get me riled.
Our love keeps growing for our sweet boy.
More than a pet, Raja is our sweet child.
He fills all family hearts with true joy
Wherever we are Raja wants to be.
He is quite verbal and smart as a whip.
Our family life is his true glee.
Wherever we are Raja wants to be.
Being a cat is truth he cannot see.
Raja heels so no problems on a trip.
Wherever we are Raja wants to be.
He is quite verbal and smart as a whip.
Falling in between family cracks
Only with shirt on your back
Sometimes life is incredibly wacked
The adults mistakes mean life is bad
Even though it’s not your fault
Racking brain with what you said
Keeping hope seems a lost cause
In time so angry you see red
Defying the odds determined to be
Someone powerful when grown and free
Watching the "Mary Poppins" movie,
her outfit sure was Good and goofy.
There were Wonderful children singing,
started from the very beginning.
Movie with popcorn is forever,
goofy honey is Great for pleasure.
Singing Extraordinary to hear,
beginning with the kids not a bear.
Some movies are timeless like this one.