Long Newborn Poems
Long Newborn Poems. Below are the most popular long Newborn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Newborn poems by poem length and keyword.
Hold the space around you
lie to the ground beneath you
sing to the woods your best friend
out of the woods can heal the wounds.
I will bend your words
my visions tragic end
what can hold me up can take me down
fertility of newborn story
but you see, I can't take my destiny
I won't divide my feelings
to make your misery shine.
Fly into the limited imaginations
see the unthinkable dreams
believe your physical being
before you there was no you
what were the questions
where are the answers.
Christ, the newborn King of Glory,
Born in a stable, bound for the throne,
Come and worship, come and adore the
Almighty Rock, the cornerstone.
Lift your hands to Him in worship; lift your voice to Him and sing,
"Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna to the King!"
Christ, the living King of Glory,
Never changing, ever the same,
Yesterday, today, and forever,
Constant love, unchanging name.
Lift your hands to Him in worship; lift your voice to Him and sing,
"Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna to the King!"
Christ, the risen King of Glory;
Saints acclaim him, angels sing,
Where, O grave is now thy vict'ry,
Where, O death is now thy sting?
Lift your hands to Him in worship; lift your voice to Him and sing,
"Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna to the King!"
Christ, the coming King of Glory,
Gone to prepare a place for his own,
All creation bows before the
Unblemished Lamb upon His throne.
Lift your hands to Him in worship; lift your voice to Him and sing,
"Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna to the King!"
I found a picture of you
From years ago
Sitting in my desk in a drawer.
I looked into the photo’s eyes
So young and innocent
So eager and bright.
Those eyes carried no burden
From paying monthly bills
When the money ran out.
Those eyes showed no pain
From burying your father last spring.
But those eyes also carried no excitement
And anxiety of caring
For our young children,
The burden of bandaging their knees,
Holding them when they cried,
And the pride of teaching
Them to read.
Your eyes in the photo
Were neither filled
With the joy
Of holding our newborn
Granddaughter.
Another little person to love,
Another reason to serve our son
And daughter-in-law.
Your real eyes shine with
Radiance, a completeness
Only formed from years
Of overcoming the ups and downs of life.
Experience and shared wisdom
Look great in your eyes.
First published in Big Question Literary Arts Magazine, 2026, all rights reserved
They say the house where dawn was born
still stirs in the early shimmer of day
a quiet so tender
it feels like the world remembering
how to open its eyes.
I walk its threshold
where the walls glow with a warmth
older than fire,
and the floorboards carry
the faint pulse of beginnings
still learning how to rise.
The air is soft,
woven from the breath
of newborn radiance,
and each room holds a shimmer
of something half-formed~
a thought the cosmos once whispered
but never finished.
In the chamber of earliest brightness,
the windows bloom
with pale gold murmurs,
and the shadows kneel
as though listening
to the first syllable
light ever spoke.
A stairway turning like thought toward the upper air
leads to a landing where the hours gather,
not in silence exactly,
but in that faint, early brightness
that feels as if the day is remembering
how to begin.
There,
in the attic where morning was molded,
I find the cradle
where the sky once slept~
a curve of soft brilliance
still holding the shape
of its earliest dream.
And when the world grows dim,
the house exhales,
letting dawn rise again~
a soft, opal-bright promise
that every darkness
still carries the memory
of light learning
to live.
With the dawning of the day
like a fertile vine
which creeps amidst
the purple hue
of Tuscan fields
I yield my fruit
Before first autumn rain
I wait for you
Starved like a harvest moon
you come to me
Silk honey of dusk
A shadow,descending
in the cradle of my arms
feeding nectar from my lips
repeaning my soul
with blazing fire
amuzing my solitude
On scarlet foliage-your kiss
In sleep your breath within me
~Dolce Vino~
Your fingers on my neck's nape
~Viola in concerto~
In sleep,once again in sleep
where eyelids close
to the bliss of twilight dew
I see you
Dedicated to a great dad to our newborn...my husband
Lifted lightly from familiarity
Sleep's gesture caresses cells
Taken to nearby bewilderment
Where stagnancy busily dwells
Liquid lambent shooting star forms fragment
Vapid vexations vanquished in fantasy's fire
Mist masked span transcends measurement
Vision's fusion surpasses language quagmire
Imprisoned waking cognition
held in category's secure structure
Dispelled impediments crash cascade
preceding sleep's redeeming tenure
Ignited sizzling spiral whimsical continuum
Themes undulate with kiss and chase thrill
Trauma's feather sinks, treasure 's stone floats
Detached components reconcile at will
Dream chariot leaps easily
Obliges unassuming passenger
uncover unique anecdote
Intriguing as a stranger
Driven chivalrously soaring splendidly, lured enticingly
Revelling in brain' s carried captivation sole function
Travelling happens spontaneously without momentum
Contented centre offers converging clock hands junction
Revelations ripple, expanding truth
Roller coaster riding outside reality
Symbol's eventual meaningful messages
rise as a halo, impartial to gravity
Reason's region, sensible staid evades taboo
Indetectibly dilating pineal stillness vibrates
Untouched pastures in sleep domain permit oblivious
From fences of accepted, dream's newborn liberates
Catapulted!
Conscious corners sent as envelope ratified
deliver obvious, wafting surreal's torment
Clumsy clambering of mind identified
hankers for hibernation's brief dormant
Sonnet: Second Sight (II)
by Michael R. Burch
(Newborns see best at a distance of 8 to 14 inches.)
Wiser than we know, the newborn screams,
red-faced from breath, and wonders what life means
this close to death, amid the arctic glare
of warmthless lights above.
Beware! Beware!—
encrypted signals, codes? Or ciphers, noughts?
Interpretless, almost, as his own thoughts—
the brilliant lights, the brilliant lights exist.
Intruding faces ogle, gape, insist—
this madness, this soft-hissing breath, makes sense.
Why can he not float on, in dark suspense,
and dream of life? Why did they rip him out?
He frowns at them—small gnomish frowns, all doubt—
and with an ancient mien, O sorrowful!,
re-closes eyes that saw in darkness null
ecstatic sights, exceeding beautiful.
Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea. Keywords/Tags: sonnet, newborn, baby, birth, kid, child, childhood, mother, labor, slap, breath, screams, life, light, sight, vision
I fell ill.
My heart dilated.
I had a pain on Christmas Eve
where my heart should be.
I remember because my sister
called me from Australia.
I said "I have a pain in my chest Teresa."
I had dissolved my marriage and
my mother was recently dead.
My work as a midwife on night duty
was too stressful.
The doctor refused to come to
the too hot, too heavy,
newborn December baby.
Like a turkey out of the oven.
I fell ill.
The heartless cardiologist insinuated
I had four years to live.
My heart had dilated.
Teresa whispered in my ear on leaving
for Australia again after Mum's funeral.
"I will come home to nurse you."
I got a second opinion.
I told him "My heart is broken".
He treated me with respect
until I got better again.
My heart has healed.
My heart had to break
for me to break free from you.
I survived against all odds.
I almost ended it all. How foolish.
My heart has healed.
My future car from sealed.
"If you desire healing,
let yourself fall ill
let yourself fall ill."
- Jalaluddin Rumi
29/11/2016
Sense altering fertility:
a stoic female falters
Seven consecutive avid hours in each four weeks
I mull over mitigating my chosen ongoing celibacy
Primitive drive permeates realms where pleasure peaks
Stomach burgeoning coersion detects digital delicacy
Needy as a newborn, abdomen aches, resonates reason
Discarded inhibition of prudence pursues resolution, swollen
Tulip bulb split, affliction's blister is conceived procreation
Stupendous scenarios sordid, fluent imagination draws on
Widened with aspiration, desire requires instant unbridling
Materialising gluttony beckons with incandescent distress
Moans cryptic as ocean speak, freed from concious conspiring
Unboxed frolicked fathomings become loitering brain's duress
Why should
or would
or could authority of competing violent colonizing pasts
outweigh responsibility for our cooperative co-arising futures?
People with disabling histories
seem to be more honest,
transparent,
to speak thirsty truth
to disintegrities of egocentric abilities
practiced to disempower others,
stalking chronic vulnerability to WinLose ZeroSum enculturation.
Sometimes candid integrity,
honesty,
if not dismissed as pie in sky mysticism,
ignored as a not fully developed fool's errand,
denies BusinessAsUsual WinLose ecopolitical camouflage,
Mendacity hidden behind stalking
competing white lies don't publicly or privately matter
as much as white male privileged
Western historical enculturation capacities
control
colonizing toward SuperElite
stalking LeftBrain-languaged
deductive/reductive supremacy
Stalking privileges over heart-mind RightBrain disabilities
retaining newborn faith
about our shared abilities
to love all Sacred EarthTribe
With a love preferring non-violent revolutions
working around
and through
and against further patriarchal dominant evolutions,
devolutions stalking remaining undervalued pockets,
populations
nature/spirit populace
resilient residents
of health/wealth co-resonant integrity,
humane/divine trans-physical
omnipresent ability
to love future/past fully
Committed to climate health/wealth,
inside egos and outside ecological poly-theologies
Truth within BeautyGrace
Why should
or would
or could authority of competing violent competing missionary pasts
outweigh responsibility for our cooperative co-arising
secular/sacred
physical/metaphysical
outside/inside
healthy/wealthy
eco/ego-
futures?