Long Parenting Poems
Long Parenting Poems. Below are the most popular long Parenting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parenting poems by poem length and keyword.
Sometimes being dad is tough
And parenting can be mighty rough
When I have to say no and they think it’s not fair
They stomp away screaming that I don’t care
It wrenches my heart that I have to conflict
It hurts so bad that it makes me sick
But if I don’t intervene
And fight my way through their screams
The choices they make may condemn us all
Them, for what they do and I for letting them fall
I love them dearly I know this is true
Because of the pain that we all go through
If I did not love them and it were all a lie
I would not hold them when they cry
I would not care about their accomplishments
I wouldn’t cherish all the time we’ve spent
But I do love them and I do care
I would fight for them, anything, anyone, anywhere
And through my love I understand
That they're growing and they need my hand
Sometimes friendly soft and gentle
Sometimes steady and firm and parental
Life on Purpose Live it before you lose it! ©2009
#Sacrifice_puked_upon
There's a voice, so loud in my neighbors house, I peep to see whats happening, a lad is the source of it, projected at parents. Wish to shut my ears and close my eyes, so not to hear and listen but my inner being abducts me into it.
Broken, mothers special mug, I see the broken pieces scattering also in her eyes, her body taking badly the shot of the sound the mug makes when hitting the floor. I realize indeed, such was a special mug, her womb fruit. A child mushrooming amorphously, out and wild of her mothers hands and side.
There she remain numb and demented, only tears speaking on her behalf, through falling, on the very floor the mug has fallen. In those tears, its not only pain coated but hope and her only wishes to this world and life.
This is a taking moment, the least and last of what was left of this mother. If life is not choked out of her body, this moment, Heaven clock must had not clocked upon her soul.
I see her reconnecting back with her strength, trying to sit herself down, with her hand on her mouth, words not audible breathed out from the uncovered part of her mouth.
Like any parent, she never imagined that one day her womb fruit, would too grow thorns and start preakling her. Her mistake was saying "not my child" forgetting that on this temporary world, no one live without discovering for themelves the true meaning of "never say never" proverb.
In her mind, all her starving days, her efforts, sacrifices and investment in this lad, pilling into stacks of pain, she wanna shout and burst her pain out but her voice dries out, for the pain having spread like venom upon her body, all she can and left with, are tears that run so trespassing upon her every pore of her eyes,
she realize to herself that these are her sacrifices puked upon, I pray this to be not the last she could realize and take as her last discovery to her creator. Parenting gone south, like a lab experiment unconvincing its scientists, while children turning opposite to what every parent wishes, parents sacrifice puked upon
#Poetic_Ink
Starla and Jasper have been living together for seven years
They never got married, she did not like him that much
He is running out of money, and his family is horrible
In particular his son, Bubba, who is a loser.
Starla is making plans to get rid of Jasper
They have not gotten along well for six months
Jasper’s son Bubba has moved in
He is a hoarder and a pig, and does not work
I cannot put up with the two of them she tells me
It is bad enough that Jasper does nothing
but he has enabled Bubba to be a grown leech
Bubba is fifty-six, and has never held a job
Bubba’s parents have supported him since birth
He almost trained for a couple of jobs
but they fell through, and he kept running home
I cannot wait to make my escape! Starla tells me.
She has mentioned to Jasper that she is moving in July.
Jasper seemed okay with it. She thought it might be a clean break.
Yesterday he said he wants to move with me, she told me.
Not with Bubba I told him.
Starla’s parenting was spot on.even though she was a single mother.
Both of her children are responsible with careers.
Bubba brags about “being a retired fire fighter”
In actuality, he trained two weeks to become one and quit.
Jasper and his wife have created Bubba.
They deserve to spend the rest of their lives with him.
Never expecting him to grow up or be responsible.
I said to Starla, “maybe those two should get back together.”
All is quiet
as I exit through the Emergency Entrance
at the local hospital.
I notice a black T-shirt
with a pink ribbon logo
announcing in bold green script
"No one fights alone"
Due to context
I'm guessing we're talking about fighting cancer;
harm taking us away
from health care giving and receiving
we would all prefer
while walking out of,
rather than lying in,
any Emergency Entrance.
But, I am a theologian
by training
and practical parenting experience,
so I'm thinking,
Why do we not also wear T-shirts
reminding each other
"No one loves alone"
Or even
"No one loves to fight alone"
or even just among ourselves,
within our own households
and habitats.
I ponder my way back to humble Yaris,
with automatic electronic nothing,
and on the radio I hear clusters of fighting themes:
mental illness
domestic violence
gun violence
automated weaponry
military fear and threat stress-testing, enduring, stretching, growing
hazing as baptism through alcohol
depression and repression and suppression
acclimation to chronic climates of terror
and quiet climates of ever more dissonance
lack of healing sleep
anger management
fear mismanagement
mutual assured destruction (MADness)
diplomacy by threat and RightWing arms sales
military industries
applied increasingly to personal and domestic disarray,
local terrors,
households
and habitats
going up in flames
flowing under floods...
No one fights alone
just as no one loves peace alone,
and health
and ecological wealth
and ego-resilience
and eco-systemic balance,
harmony,
synergy.
No one can sustain love
while violently fighting
just as no one can sustain this fight
for climates
and cultures
and ecologies
and theologies of health
by thinking we are
admirable
or somehow credible
or even possible
sorting through
and choosing Love alone.
As I exit my car,
now home,
I think
My T-shirt would probably be too wordy,
No one loves to fight disease
and unease
alone.
Especially not God
or Allah
or Patriotic Loyalty to Earth
or wherever we find our
remember to Love messages.
All is quiet
as I re-enter our home.
I seem to be,
in this moment,
alone.
Happy homes are filled with the noise of
children;
Unhappy homes the noise of their parents--
Parents who want to have children
But don't want their children to have parents.
In vain their children search them for the
image of a parent,
Longing to see in their beloved frame
Someone patient,
Someone caring,
Someone tolerant,
And ready for sacrifice.
But such a one they scorn to be lest they
lose their chance for fun
Which they both have each day parenting
their secret inner child--
That little child in some parents embedded
To whom the outward child is a great rival.
What patience they show this inward child!
And what care, tolerance, & sacrifice too!
At them no angry voice is raised nor a stern
finger wagged
And not once--never--are they urged to
adulthood.
So upwards now I cast my words
To firmly perch on the winds that come
So when far and wide they blow this night
This tip they'll bear to every little child:
"Of such parents are unhappy homes made:
Parents obsessed with their inward child,
The secret child that so fills their hands
Leaving no space for the outward one."
Carry the light as best you can.
Whether at home or a foreign land.
But teach your children while you may.
To read the Bible and what to say.
You feed your children and watch them grow.
You send them to school, this we all know.
But teach them to live in the way that is best.
To walk in the way of those who are blessed.
To always be true and know right from wrong,
To remain productive long after you're gone.
Raising your children is a difficult task.
But it's so important and they grow up so fast.
Don't live willy-nilly, watch what you do.
You'll be very happy after you're through.
Someone is watching who hears what you say.
You have to be careful how you live day by day.
For children are born we know that is true.
But that's the beginning the rest is on you.
Babies are sweet, their skin soft as silk.
Babies are born but leaders are built
A tale of meraki
Overcome by the burden she sat teary eyed
Holding closely her two little boys by her side
Immersed in sorrow they had endlessly cried
After her loving husband had suddenly died.
Soaring from her seat elated with newfound joy,
Making herself a promise with an assured ploy,
She picked up her two boys holding them high
Shedding ambivalence boldly with assertive sigh.
Dedicating bravely to parenting with rigor,
Fighting ingress of despair with almighty vigor,
She crushed hindrances powered by love alone,
Aiming meraki resolutely to reach her throne.
As the boys grew older she faced new struggle
With eagle-eyes she kept them out of trouble,
Enamored in plans for sending them to college,
Guiding them to yearn for power of knowledge.
Not retreating when incurable illness struck,
Refusing to surrender to randomness of luck,
Amid doctor's visits she kept working at her job
As if nothing sublunary would cause her to stop.
Her kids grew up to be intelligent young men
Finding success in college with power of pen,
Earning scholarships for duration of all terms,
Getting job offers from many reputable firms.
Having reached destination of her ardent trip
She embraced her kids with a joyous firm grip,
Longing to hold fervently till they reach their prime,
Knowing well she'll be dead in a very short time.
December 15, 2017
Meraki
Sponsor: Silent One
Placed 2nd
You say you don’t know what abuse I’m talking about.
Like your hands are clean,
like your words were water and not gasoline on my skin.
Stop.
You know.
You were there.
You built the cage and then called it a home.
You called it “discipline.”
You called it “parenting.”
But I called it nights with my heart in my throat,
waiting for the next explosion from the man who taught me fear before he ever taught me love.
You say you don’t know.
I think you don’t want to.
Because if you name it,
then you own it.
If you own it,
then you’re guilty.
And guilt is heavy.
but not as heavy as the years you left on my shoulders.
Don’t act like memory is a trick.
I was there too.
I remember the slammed doors,
the insults flung like stones,
the way I swallowed my voice
because every word I spoke
was another target on my back.
You want me to doubt myself.
You want me to shrink again.
But I’m not small anymore.
I’ve grown around the burn marks.
I’ve learned to spit fire back.
So hear me now:
Your silence doesn’t erase what happened.
Your denial doesn’t scrub the blood from the floor.
You don’t get to gaslight me out of my own childhood.
You say you don’t know.
I say you do.
And I’m done carrying your secrets.
I’m done wearing your shame.
I’m calling it by its name
abuse
and I’m saying it loud enough that even you can’t pretend not to hear it.
There once was a girl who had simplicity.
Her life seemed full of everlasting sunshine.
Then came the dreaded day when
Purity disappears from inside
As the truth comes crashing in
Realization becomes her curse
Her mommy had become a complexity.
And daddy, her once superman...
Well, apparently he no longer seemed to care.
As she watched him walk away
Her innocence was purged.
As she watched him walk away
Her fantasy life burned.
Parenting herself through the pain
She had the world to blame
Answers were distant
Her mind in solitary confinement
Somebody had to see
Somebody had to care
Ultimately she had to come to understand
That’s life and there’s no one, but herself.
As she began to walk away
Her strength emerged
As she began to walk away
Her prevailing life endured.
Of all the compassionate but feeble words I could list to help make one’s apprehension stop…I believe I’d have to place ‘Don’t Worry’ at or near the top.
For whenever love opens a door into our heart…how often do we find…
as joy and happiness enter…worry isn’t far behind.
Take parenting for instance…we worry when our babies are sleeping
we worry when they crawl…we worry if they’ll ever walk…
then we worry they might fall.
From here our worry never stops…
no matter how old they are…how independent…how strong…
wherever they choose to go in life…our worry tags along.
And the more we love…the more we worry…
of this I have no doubt…
children, grandchildren, friends, pets…our Earth
these are all things we worry about.
How is it possible, you ask, to worry about so many things at the same time…
this is the answer I have found:
When t comes to worry…it’s a lot like love…there’s more than enough to go around.
It’s not that we worry all the time…we don’t
It’s just once love has entered in…
It doesn’t take a whole lot…for our worry to begin…
Worry is like a dolphin…it never really sleeps or takes a break…
Even when one eyes is sleeping…the other one’s awake…
So keep in mind when you tell someone, ‘Don’t Worry’
These words…most likely…they will shun…
Because when it comes to those we love…
‘Don’t Worry’
will always be easier said…than done.