Long Child Poems
Long Child Poems. Below are the most popular long Child by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Child poems by poem length and keyword.
What child within us has not searched
The heavenly expanse
And felt utterly alone
In the face of its vastness?
Each heart beats alone
To the rhythm of its streams,
Yet each is connected in
The consciousness of dreams.
Seraphs stretch their wings to aching,
But knowing all the while,
It's not the wings or wind that lifts life higher
But love freely given in celestial smiles.
So smile they all upon lost children who are
Blindly searching, hands clutching in our dreams,
To briefly touch the wispy softness
Of shining saffron, angelic wings.
We need not wings to navigate the motif,
For we soar upon the rays of love
And by universal love manifest all things,
As below, so it is above.
Oh, tender child, don't fear the night,
Or too reverently hold to the pattern,
All things change with focused thought,
No need for a heavenly lantern.
Your light shines brighter than you know.
Reflect upon the gentle faces,
Not Seraphs or the heavenly host,
But wounded children lost in frightening places.
These little ones whose darkened eyes
Are now awakened by your touch,
Can see your own path clearer than you.
Relax and learn to trust.
Copyright © Chula Fleming | Year Posted 2012
Hi, my name is Ollyver, and here’s my doggie view:
You could call me simply “Boo” and I’d still come to you!
I’m fluffy white, the mini version of an Eskimo.
My human lady makes me go out back and then yells, “GO!”
Sometimes she says more than that. She adds the small word, “pee.”
“Ollyver, go pee,” she cries. “Just pee. Go pee for me!”
Often times I’ll run about or try to dig a hole.
Apparently my digging in the yard is not her goal!
She calls me back and if I do not come, she chases me.
Her voice bears a question and again, that dang word PEE.
Inside the house, I sit near her - unless I hear strange noise,
and often at the window, I’ll look out and see some boys.
I start to yap. I HAVE to yap! I yap, yap, yap, yap, YAP.
And when they leave, I run with glee back to my lady’s lap.
I love to feel her scratch my ears and smooth my pretty fur.
If someone comes too near the house, I’ll yap, protecting her.
She doesn’t often give me yummy food right off her plate,
but sometimes she might give me some, so anxiously I wait.
I make my eyes get big and sad and whimper like a child.
I can’t go too far overboard or else she will get riled!
If food remains upon her plate, she scrapes it in my bowl.
That’s even better than when I go out and dig a hole!
There’s one thing I can’t figure out. She saw me tinkle once
nearby a wall, then yelled about me pulling stupid stunts.
She and her man get crazy when I do that, so I try
to only tinkle in the house when it is on the sly!
She takes me out to that back yard quite an awful lot.
Sometimes I’ll tinkle and I always poo poo like I ought.
More kids outside the window! Must I always have to beg
for them to leave? I yap, and near the wall I lift my leg.
Written June 24, 2012
For Tanya Harrington's "Dog Gone Tales" Poetry Contest
fallen leaves
whose veins etch the ground
in shapes
silent
stirred only by the wind
the gentle nudge of autumn
cool air slides into my soul
a blessed ghost
that dances me like candy in a child's bag
costume urgency of late October
when tradition is the healing floss of fall
as Halloween branches into mini goblins
and witches with bright eyes
a wispy wish for sweets folded into masks
playing tricks of disguise
child creatures trek to lighted houses
that rock 'n roll with treats
no lost sense of direction in springy strides
a jauntiness capped by glee
for childhood in mind uncages sun
warming in nomadic time
to scrub away the paint of age
Written October 14, 2022
“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how”
How to make your toes tingle inspire a smile
Someone who loves you with all their heart
With a red hot passion that lights up the dark
Someone whose laugh you can’t live without
Someone whose past despite shadows of doubt
Time and time again in big and small ways
Proving their worth as just for what you pray
Someone who matches your energy and style
With whom you can be meek as well as wild
Someone who you can play with like a child
But when adult needed they are warm mild
A love like that is worthy and true blue
I wish such a lavender love for yellow you
Lavender Love- G
A small child sits in the corner
As the shadows of evening
Play across the room.
The small, round, tear-streaked face
And big eyes red with pain.
The quivering lips whispering
A barely audible "Jesus loves me".
A slight rocking as knees
Are hugged to the chest with frail, delicate arms.
The tale-tell signs of trust broken.
Thoughts play tag inside a child's brain
As one feeling brings up the memory
Of another time which triggers
Another painful feeling.
Please someone reach out.
Someone touch.
Someone help take away the pain.
Don't let that precious little person die.
Let the child experience happiness
And freedom.
Show the child that it is good
To be a child.
Their grinning heads cover the fields for acres
A sea of happy mini suns, welcoming us to Kansas.
We stare, amazed, having no idea this was possible.
There are photo moments and we take them all.
A gift shop sports stuffed dogs and cats,
With sunflower headbands and kerchiefs.
Everywhere we look a plate, cup, tumbler,
letter opener, Christmas ornament with a sunflower
This is sunflower hell my husband observes, so I send him to the car.
He can wait for me. I pile sunflower notepads and pens into a basket.
A lady wearing a sunflower apron, hat and socks smiles at me.
She gets closer and whispers. “Be sure and look in the bathroom.
Of course, I do and am not disappointed. Everything fancy.
Sunflower rug, sunflower chair, sunflower faucets.
I have to admit I was very disappointed by the plain white toilets.
Until I saw the sunflower toilet paper.
A woman carrying a child wearing a sunflower bib walks past.
“Where did you get it?” I ask her. She points.
Good! Sale rack! A manager comes over and offers to hold my basket.
When I get home with the bib I remember my youngest grandchild is five.
"What all charms and secrets reside in the mysterious depths of nature! To enjoy them, one should have a child's curiosity and the inquisitiveness of an environmentalist." --- By Poet
When heart bleeds from unseen wounds, I wish to roam,
Through dense and lush green woodlands wild
Where leaves whisper and insects chant in rhythmic form.
Holding my breath, with prancing steps, like a child,
I walk watching trees loaded with colorful blooms
And enjoy the scented breeze, sweet and mild.
As I move on, vast and varied vista zooms,
And I behold the wonders nature keeps.
Watch macaws and peacocks in colorful plumes.
There's no time the woodland fully sleeps.
Making pulsating and swooshing sounds,
A cataract from a nearby mound leaps.
As nature in her magical beauty surrounds,
I feel, my heart with sweet sensations abounds.
My son, my sweet dear child,
You will never understand
How important you are to me.
It is a difficult situation I know.
But you should not have escaped from me.
I am still your mother.
I love you with all my heart.
You have to understand that.
Believe me I would have told you
When you attained maturity.
Yes, you are my adoptive child.
Have I ever shown you lack of respect?
Where your three brothers ever gain
A greater favour than you?
I treated you all the same.
Yet your adoption was necessary.
It was the advice of a doctor
That made us adopt you.
I had no children of my own
And was very depressed.
I needed a child of my own.
You were chosen not left on a doorstep.
And suddenly I conceived.
I was not expecting it.
I have treated you all the same level.
You will not suffer for it.
Please come back home.
Even your father is worried.
You are our first born no matter what.
Your real parents were accidentally dead.
So now this is your true family.
Please, please come home.
I love you too much to lose you.
I had a niece named Karen who
at twenty has mapped out a plan
for a 'strong, independent life',
she’d be 'dependent on no man.'
And, oh, she took such pride in that,
her college had made her this way,
but badmouthing men for the past
seems quite dumb, so I had my say:
“While I cannot disagree that
women once needed men to survive,
or even that it was dependence,
but with perspective you will find
“that woman may have needed men
to have a good supply of cash,
if you look closer at marriage,
it’s far more complicated than that.
“While the women back then had to
be quite dependent on their men,
the man then were dependent too,
quite dependent on their women.
“If a man want to have a home
that was even worth inhabiting,
he could not do this on his own
when out for twelve hours working.
“There simple wasn’t time enough
when out all day plowing things up,
if a man didn’t have a wife
he’d have little more than a hut.
“And then there also are children,
the only way most men live on,
few are writers or geniuses,
so who recalls us when we’re gone?
“They were dependent on women
not just to make the kid exist,
but to mold that man’s dear child,
to teach them to live and persist.
“To take the soul you value most,
then entrust it to another…
Men were totally dependent on
the woman they chose as mother.
“Also consider the fact that men
are wired to show love through sex,
just like romance is for women,
and though this leaves some ladies vexed,
“it’s how men are put together,
for guys to give and receive love
they again rely on women,
without them their emotions get rough.
“In nations where men can’t get this
their aggression will destabilize
the society around them,
they depend on women to survive.
“So don’t say this goes all one way
when you whine about dependence,
honestly, is seems that we are
engineered to be compliments.”
I hoped she’d find some use for this,
but I guess, for now, I was wrong,
she huffed and stormed out of the room,
the indoctrination is strong.
Within the weighty door, weary souls went;
as did I as a child of eight, to the silent sentience within…
Upon the stoutest oak they sat, worrying beads.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,”
The penitants, the prayerfull, the pitiful, rock.
The innocent observations of childhood.
Inward stares, upcaste eyes, open hearts, rock.
“Blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…”
Beside masterpieces of goldleaf raised plaster pain,
they walk, worrying, burnished beads;
mindful of His journey “…Jesus.”
Each has a path they walk, weighted weary souls.
Yet, they remember in their hearts
His path and it’s toll.
The child in me remembers this in wonder.
Besceeching Mother Mary
to lift their weight, their toll. The Child in me
knows Mary.