Long Parent Poems
Long Parent Poems. Below are the most popular long Parent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parent poems by poem length and keyword.
What Is Happiness
Happiness is
staying away from addictions
that put you into debt
Happiness is
education that opens doors
you haven’t walked through yet.
A movie star earns more than a doctor,
a doctor earns more than a cleaner,
a cleaner more than the unemployed
every step of success built on learning.
Spend less, need less.
Money in the bank
softens the rainy days.
Be nice.
Nice people
make a better world.
Learn to be quiet in class;
smart kids learn,
education builds success.
Even a movie star
learned to act,
every musician
learned to make music.
Be firm
be a parent,
not a puppet
but also learn to play.
Kids learn best
from adults they like.
Happiness lives where the quiet minds grow,
where you walk past the traps
that would swallow you whole.
Where the bottle stays shut
and the debts stay small,
and you stand on your feet,
not waiting to fall.
It lives in the classrooms
where focus begins,
where the loud learn to listen
and the shy learn to win.
For every great actor
learned line after line,
and every musician
kept time after time.
It lives in the choices
to spend a bit less,
to need a bit little,
to clean up the mess.
A cushion of savings
for life’s rainy days
a soft place to land
when the storm has its say.
It lives in the kindness
we offer each day,
in the tone that we set,
in the words that we say.
Nice people build worlds
that are safer to stand,
and children grow strong
when the adults are standing.
It lives in the parents
who guide with a spine,
not puppets who fold
at the very first sign.
Yet laughter still matters
go play in the sun;
kids learn from the grown-ups
who know how to have fun.
Happiness isn’t a mystery’s art
it’s habits and choices
that strengthen the heart.
A life built with wisdom,
with courage and care,
and joy in the simple things
always right there.
He sat alone in his own little chair
Twiddling thumbs, matted, greased hair
Child with kind eyes, a gentle being
Of his life, still clearly it was in the Spring.
A single parent, no Dad to lead
Alone was the lad, to dress and to feed
Most days she labored, six until six
The TV his parent, his life in those pics.
He grew into anger, direction so muddled
Missing a touch, or a warm gentle cuddle
What will become of such a sad life
So empty of love, abundant with strife.
He sat alone in his own little chair
Twiddling thumbs, matted, greased hair
The boy with wild eyes, a violent being
Of his life, still clearly it was in the Spring.
For his arrival, another chair's ringing.
Into Young Womanhood
this glorious role, sans
helping beget and nurture thine first born
three day shy of Christmas 1996,
fills thy being
with joie de vivre and doth add dorn
more resplendent than any horn
of plenty, and aye can only imagine
more precious than fine spun gold
ah...how this papa doth recall,
when he didst hold
and/or swaddle his edenic bundle of joy
and taking stock,
how she (christened
Eden Liat) didst mold
herself into an autonomous offspring,
rarely receiving a scold
cuz, she most times seemed well mannered
and infrequently told,
and thus said benevolent prized progeny
required no special programming nor app
even when a child, adolescent or,
latte (sipping) teen,
this genetic bounty evinced
laser like thinking
with a custom made thinking cap
although...yes, (there erupted a verbal flap
toward the missus or me,
(the latter and former
markedly differed asper child rearing,
which unseen rift
engendered a figurative gap
mollycoddling, holding, consoling,
et cetera distraught daughter on me lap
which cradling, fas incubating, rocking...,
which oft found
this biomedically cherished baby taking her nap
twas at such poignant bonding moments,
aye DID NOT decry the parent trap,
thus now, special "gifts"
with bittersweet motions bespeak
as tears (viz - ode to joy)
stream down each stubbled cheek
this middle aged grown man,
doth recollect with embarrassment
how as a teen thyself as classic "geek"
whereat mine demeanor extremely meek
AND let NO chanced avail
for one to take a peak
and now...unstoppable
grievousness awoke,
oh no...nothing un speak
or print able did occur only a human weak
ness, when thine voice
un-necessarily raised yet,
blink back moistened
slightly crowsfeet darkened eyes set
tills within this intelligent
well read and let
hard bloke accepts the "circle game of life"
...listening to thee
beautiful, charming, exemplary dulcet
an em ma nant treasured
valuable accouterment tummy life...
YOU BET!
Mr. President:
Please! Hear the cries of the little children. Please! See the tears of unfathomable terror streaming down the small faces. Please! See the small eyes widened by a fear no child should ever know hiding under the desks and in the bathrooms of the one place, they should always feel safe. Please! Feel the rapid beat of tiny hearts stricken by a level of terror and abject fear that would rock the very core of a seasoned combat veteran. Please! See the distraught terrorized faces of the teachers desperately trying, under a hail of gunfire, to preserve their lives and all the small souls entrusted to them. Please! See the stunned faces of the first responders and feel the sickening gut wrenching feeling they felt when they first walked in on this brutally violent scene. Please! Feel the heart wrenching horror of a parent or grandparent getting this news and not knowing whether the child they sent off to school is ever coming home again. Please! Feel the inconsolable grief and unfettered anger when they find out that their little Johnny or Sara are not among the children who survived this unspeakable act of violence.
Please! Stop and consider the little people that will never again feel the warmth of the sun on their face, feel the loving kiss or the secure embrace of a loved one's arms, feel the pride of learning something the first time, or feel the surprise of seeing something the very first time. Please! Stop and consider a child never playing their first league sports game, never going to their first dance or prom, or never experiencing their first date or kiss from a special someone. Please! Hear the screams of innocence slaughtered these attacks on the soul of America must cease.
Thank You
Kim Morrison aka Mr. Kim or Mr. "K"
Bus Driver.
This is a piece of prose I wrote right after the school shooting in Connecticut that I turned into a letter and sent off to the President. I never did receive any response back from him or his office.
Ralph Waldo Emerson : "The one thing in the world, of value, is the active Soul. This, every man is entitled to, this, every man contains within him, although in almost all men it is obstructed and unborn...it is not the privilege of a favorite, but the sound estate of every man, and in it's principal, progressive."
In front of me, on Judgment Day,
my children stand.
My spouse and I are asked to determine
where our two children should end up.
Of course, we will not send them to
a place of burning fire.
This place I cannot even believe exists.
Will they go to Heaven then?
Neither of them is perfect;
however, my husband and I are far from perfect!
Our children are the reflection of us.
What they became was due, in part,
to how my husband and I raised them.
We gave our children a safe place to live,
love and happiness (I like to think),
and rules to follow.
One child broke many rules,
but in his heart is love
despite it all.
He loves us; we love him.
Neither he nor his sister deserves
an eternity of hell.
What parent would condemn his children,
(even one a little naughty)
to live in scorching agony forevermore?
I cannot comprehend this kind of thinking.
Neither can I define what Heaven really is,
but I believe that everyone
has a spirit self,
and where the spirit goes
after this mortality
remains a mystery to the living.
If it be that I should stand
with my mate to give a final judgment
of our children, I would say
they shall go where we go,
and we will all be going
to a place
of love.
June 27, 2018 for Catie Lindsey's
Active Soul And Mankind's Self-Righteousness Poetry Contest
Melanie, where is she ???
September 2nd, 2016
Melanie, found herself !!!
Twenty plus years !!!, in a fog.
Many drugs, drug induced stupors
made up most hours of her life !!!
The loss of an appendage
became a door opening,
letting in the long lost light.
My belief is in these words she writes,
“ new life, new hair, back to being me! ”
This, this parent cannot wait to see.
Will she stand tall and strong ???, be free
of all in her life that brought her to be
a drug addict, making wrong choices !!!
Wrong males to become involved with.
Listening to theirs and the drugs voices.
I cannot wait for these voices to dim !!!
To become inaudible whispers upon the wind,
a wind that will carry these destructive voices,
males, drugs, inner, out into a silent universe.
B. J. “ A ” 2
January 16th 2017
A big-blue-eyed Ralphie Parker, coveting a Red Ryder Air Rifle,
So that he can defend himself against Scut Farkus, that would be a feat.
Beautiful Betty Boop lamp in the window with the fringe skirt, you know
That is probably going to cause car wrecks up and down the street.
The yelling and screaming of the wild next door neighbor children
and their tongue-lolling hound dogs, for no apparent good reason.
Christmas spirit, coming through loud and clear, in spite of the
hilarity of this show that I cannot wait to see each season.
It all adds humor and fun to 1983’s big hit, A Christmas Story.
Randy Parker stuffed into his red snow suit by a disheveled mommy,
and then saying he had to go, leaves me in hilarity glory!
“I’ve shot my eye out!” which should terrorize me as a parent,
keeps me laughing in my recliner in case that is not apparent.
Out of all the Christmas shows, Jean Shepherd’s is my favorite one.
Maybe because when it came out my children were this much fun.
Spank your children, spank them good.
Spank them as you know a good parent should.
"Wait until your father gets home," is a phrase I'll never forget.
I was spanked as a child and it taught me respect.
Never ever feel guilty for spanking your children.
You're not being cruel, you're enforcing discipline.
When you spank your children they will end up better for it...
.. although many also go on to live their lives awfully traumatic.
The truth is that whenever any parent spanks their children
they do so for only one specific reason
and it has absolutly nothing at all to do with enforcing discipline.
That is simply an excuse for justification.
Parents spank their children not as a disciplinarian pretense.
Parents spank their children because they lose their patience
but cannot admit to that moment of weakness,
because it's easier to spank them and silence their protests.
The absurdity of the lies you convince yourself of
The lies that we are the problem and your not
But your envy betrays you
The one thing that you want But can't have
Our blackness
Your colonisation skills have failed you
After all its the one thing you can't take from us
You're so full of hatred
You erupt like a volcano
Except its hatred you spill
Trying to burn of our skin
It's why you try so hard to instill
Inferiority in us
Something you have always felt within
Don't force your insecurities onto us
We are not placeholders
For your hurt egos
We will not carry the weight of your burdens
We are not your slaves
It's why you feel threatened
When we stand up for ourselves
Because you don't have us to parent you
To be slaves to your supposed superiority
Because deep down you feel inferior to us
And even deeper down you see us a superior
Because no matter what you throw at us
We end up victorious
Because we will never back down
And that is our power
It was a wonderful afternoon…one that would make any parent glad…
We spent it with our grandson Damien, his wife Trista,
our great-granddaughter Violet and Trista’s mom and dad.
They came to the cabin for a visit…yes, including their dog Ghost, the entire bunch
and to make things even more special…they brought along pizzas for lunch.
Adding to this beautiful afternoon…again I must assert…
Deborah made a salad to go with the pizzas and and eclair cake for dessert.
Getting a chance to know Trista’s parents was awesome…one we won’t forget
and one of the highlights for the old folks…was getting to hold Violet.
Holding Violet in our arms…we all felt energized, exhilarated and inspired…
I was blessed to walk around holding her for so long…my arms got tired.
She would cry and I’d walk and rock her to and fro…it’s a memory I shall keep
as she gazed up at me with her wide eyes, then slowly close them and fell asleep.
How we love moments like this…a moment when two people blend…
and how we wish we could stop time…so that moment would never end.
We have such a short time to hold our children, grandchildren
and great-grandchildren safe within our arms…
A short time when they are with us every minute
and we can keep them safe from harm.
So we learn to cherish these moments…
while we can still hold them in our arms
where, in the intimacy of the moment, we can enjoy their beauty and their charms.
There will come a day when Violet will be too big to carry in my arms…
when I’ll wish in the course of a rhyme
That, for a moment, just for a moment, we could go back in time…
To this particular day…when I was energized and inspired…
the day I walked and rocked and cradled my great-granddaughter
for so long
my arms got tired.