Long Foster home Poems
Long Foster home Poems. Below are the most popular long Foster home by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Foster home poems by poem length and keyword.
I hadn’t seen a house for an hour ; talking to a social worker, is pretty short
I’m off to a new Foster home; the Courtermarshe’s, a new Big Sister; Brenda
How much longer, Mr. Hodges I have to pee, so do I ; Behind a Mighty Oak
Harry we have to talk, I have bologna sandwiches, the family your going to today:
The Courtermarshe’s, can not have Children of there own Brenda is a foster child also
She’s going to have a hard time being a big Sister, after Alice Loved me so much
Alice and me still write back and forth, She is the Very Best “BIG SISTER”
Little did I know, how close Brenda and me would become as Black Clouds Weep
Blocking the smile of the Sun, closing the door to reality for two and a half Years
Harry, wake up there it is your New Home; Wow It’s a farm, cows, pigs, and chickens
The happiest nine year old, bolted out of the car zipping towards the Big, Red barn
Harry! Harry!! Yes Sir, Come over here and meet your Mom and Dad, Phoebe and Dan
Time for the (speech): Thank-you Mr. and Mrs. Courtermarshe, I'll try to be a good son
To be Cont.
Collaboration with Marcello Eans
Often thought it, never said it.
I’m an heir to Earth, by birth, a world I inherit.
24 hours to live, do I cherish?
Man without vision, a man who’ll soon perish.
Life is my fetish, no worries, no eyes reddish,
Problems & concerns, lightweight like iceberg lettuce.
Do I worry about the weather, whether hot or numb cold?
Rain, sleet, or snow, things out of one’s control.
Career amongst peers, fame, and fortune.
Your name for 15 seconds & you claim your portion.
Mishap in the abortion, escaped with a chance.
A date with destiny, it’s mandatory I dance.
I spent my early years with no parents or family,
Always bouncing from one foster home to another.
Discipline came from movies, that was my reality.
I never knew what it was like to have a mother.
I was never no good in school, often failing.
I didn’t have no friends ‘cause people just hated me.
I didn’t graduate with everyone else in the spring.
I never got no diploma, had to get my G.E.D.
Holding a job for more than a year wasn’t easy.
Robbing banks was the best way for me to survive.
Despite what the jury said, I never killed nobody.
On death row, I spend my days in my new 9 to 5.
Be fine if I die, a candle with a wick that won’t burn.
Naked I came & naked I’m gon’ return.
In my faith, I stand firm, grace freely received.
All things are possible to him who believes.
There's one thing about being a Policeman that I don't like.
Several months ago I had to break the hearts of two tykes.
Their parents had a car wreck and died.
After I told them, all three of us cried.
It broke my heart to see their sad faces when I gave them the bad news.
It's painful when people learn that their parents are what they're destined to lose.
They were going to be put in a foster home because they have no other relatives.
But my wife and I have a big house so we invited them to come here and live.
My wife and I were childless before.
But we're sure not childless anymore.
We petitioned the court for custody and won.
My wife is barren but now we have two sons.
(This is a fictional poem)
If only you knew…
the anguish that gripped my heart
trying to fathom
midst clemency’s understanding
justification for your juvenile
freedom-driven departure…
If only you knew…
the fervent supplication of my soul
beseeching the Lord
after learning of your accident
causing you to forget… yet uttering “Mommy”*
when you gained consciousness**…
If only you knew…
the elated spirit
I now possess
when days ago, you called
yearning along prayer request:
“I want to go back home.”***
… then you would thank God****
for mother’s love and faith.
*I became his Mommy in the orphanage for more than a decade before he was placed in his foster home.
**He had a motorcycle accident on June 24, 2020.
***He personally called me on October 21, 2020, informing that he's well.
****1Thessalonians 5:18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
October 26, 2020
Gina, the girl next door, was the most lovable person one ever knew;
she always listened to those in distress,
and they all were moved by her kindness...
didn't she offer them comforting words that even time couldn't undue?
For years she was in a Foster Home, her mom loved her,
but was unable to care for her from a rocking chair;
how could a teenager so bright become a mature woman
by chasing dreams after they had faded into the dawn?
Somehow on the way to school she thought of success,
since she was taken away, she had lost all interest
in memorable events such as Birthdays and Mother's Day...
she felt very sad, but couldn't forget them by looking away.
Browsing Job Wanted ads, she applied as a teller at TD Bank,
" I am almost eighteen and I can be on my own and buy me lots of clothes. "
she thought to herself hating unnecessary discipline and boring chores...
on that revealing moment, luck smiled on her and guys began to wink.
Before the bank closed, the General Manager approached her
with a smile of admiration and congratulated her for a job well-done;
" Congratulations, Gina...you're being promoted to Assistant Manager! "
And all she could think of was to give him the biggest hug in front of everyone.
As a child in days gone by
Mother’s rod was swift but sure
Many a weal as time went by
Scarred my skin an ugly blue.
Nagging was the way of life
My mother used to lay the rule
Not a day did I cry
Child abuse, nor reported it at school.
Father’s hands lay thick and strong
A whopping blow upon my hide
On the day I failed at sums
That slap brought answers quick to mind.
Even when I pouted and sulked
Cups or shoes came flying high
Never ever missed the target
That mother’s aim intended to strike.
No words were kind
When I did wrong
No sparing the rod to spoil the child
Discipline the child was a daily song.
Today the cry is child abuse
For which society has no use
Put the child in a foster home
To grow up to be another deviant one.
Is it wise to spare the rod?
Or better yet to talk with the child?
Still mother’s way did well for me
To talk and live like a Jesus child.
Building of dread.Building of fear. Cries in the night are all I hear.
High green fence with razors sharp they cut deep into your heart.
Don't scream out please don't shout just close your eyes don't move about.
Here she comes stick in hand looking for another lamb.
I'm so scared where can I run, O God she see me my life is done.
I close my eyes as I'm held tight she beats me again tonight.
I'm placed in the bed I have been used my legs are all bloody and bruised.
Bring me peace O Lord I pray take my life from me this day.
JSergi
...I feel I need to explain my motivation for writing this poem. As a child I spent some
time in a foster home as you can tell it was not a pleasant place.
A frightened boy struggles to cope,
filtering tears real life contains.
And scavenging for scraps of hope,
he slowly sifts through love's remains.
Fetal alcohol syndrome
warped the mind of this loving soul.
And placed within a foster home,
he paid an exorbitant toll.
He sorts lies from half-truths each day,
but he still manages to have fun.
For scary thoughts are wished away,
moving past what can't be undone.
Because his darting eyes offend,
he tries to avoid anger's gaze.
And reaffirming, you're his friend,
tests his welcome, a thousand ways.
The mind of a child guides this man,
and emotional pains stay fresh.
But, striving to be all he can,
scars of yesterday fade on flesh.
Often abused for fun and gain,
facing fears, he rises above.
And despite his anger and pain,
his lonely soul searches for love.
He's a ray of light in my heart,
he only wants to be my friend.
And close to me, yet worlds apart,
asks "How you doing?" without end.
(Quatrain)
3/1/2017
Children growing old and fading
innocence shattered with the curse of abandon
frozen between the first stage
of a baby's breath and navel,
desperate to live in real homes
after years of return and exchange
thrown from garbage to luggage…
foster home mother,
unit mother,
nun mother,
volunteer mother…
what’s a mother?
And I watch broken toddlers come and go
some small, a few tall, others weak,
most climbing inside tears or curling inside fire
nonetheless, they are all the same...
they just want to be loved as normal kids;
and I feel how they crave to belong
in a nest of stars without love’s regret.
I cradle their dreams with healing balm
pouring grains of future's summer dreams,
as I watch them come and go:
these, my “children” fly with kindling hope
playing as if to forget the numbness of dragged pain
steady still in the passing of riddled uncertainty…
"When will you come back?"
"Am I pretty or not?"
"Will my nightmares stop?"
And I watch broken toddlers come and go
changing, always changing my own truth…
Oh there’s so much more I need to accept,
for I can never have one of them as mine
being single and mostly alone ,
like these children... wanting a family.
.........................
For the toddlers of an orphanage where
I volunteer as a counselor.
...............................
The Poet's Ache Contest / Sponsor: Greg Barden
Re- submitted 8/1/2017
I go to classes and everybody cheers.
The teacher is cheering the loudest of all, the kids laugh at this.
I am her thirty minute break, and it is a time for me to play with
children who needed one also.
You are funny! They tell me. We love you, one says.
Some run to me and hug my butt, and stuff.
I do not k now about funny, but I get to know them now
so when their grandma dies, or their cat spits up a mouse in front of them
and they cry uncontrollably, I can lead them away, to a safe place to
show their feelings.
I went to check in with my gangster six-year-old yesterday. We will call
him Tony. I have been checking in with him on a regular basis, as he
is sometimes in trouble, at home, in a bad place. In my twenty-three
years as a school counselor I had never picked up a kindergartener who
said this to me:
“I do not want to go with you.” Eyes glaring.
“Come on,” I coaxed him. “We will play a game or something.”
When we approached my office door he turned and warned me. “Why do you want to know about my business?”
I was shocked. Savvy at five; wow!
“I don’t,” I replied, “I want to learn about you.”
Our conversations after a week led the authorities to his house. They rescued him from a bad dad,
and a stand-by-and-watch-mom. He was given to grandma that night, which NEVER happens.
I went to get him yesterday. He refused to come. This surprised me. On his way out, he
gave the teacher and I his saddest, maddest, most angry face.
Two seconds before we reached the door, I turned to see him
pull another child out of his chair and throw him into a wall.
He is back with dad.
Thank you Social Services.
Great job.