Family Sonnet Poems | Examples
These Family Sonnet poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Family. These are the best examples of Sonnet Family poems written by international poets.
I miss the haven of my youth long past
when melancholy melted in the mirth
of sharing time with siblings. What a blast
we used to have. No memories are worth
as much as those when life was still carefree.
If there were worries, they were shouldered by
two parents who looked after family
and did their best to make sure to supply
their kids with the necessities to thrive.
We were not rich, but we were clothed and fed,
and from our parents, we learned how to strive
to meet our goals in future lives we led.
No home is perfect, but I can be glad
as havens go, a great one I sure had!
“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
— Thomas Gray, Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
Well known or not, we write our poetry
Our inner souls reflected in our ink
Also influenced by our family tree
We every now and then cause some to think
The years pass by and then away we go
Well known are some, but others not so much
‘Tis easier to honor those we know
While unknowns by the wayside fall as such
Each unknown poet lived a real life too
Their love of verse sprang from their dear hearts’ wells
Their memory forgotten, but still true
For remembrance and respect we ring the bells
This tribute to an unknown poet’s life
Shows that we care and mitigates our strife
“To ponder is to wander-
midst memories and yonder.”
__by Poet
I oft ride down my dear memory lane-
recalling those that filled up special years,
to ponder, safeguard those which I retain-
that show my smiles still winning over tears.
I do remember childhood days with joy,
and, reminiscing on my family,
I recollect the ways they helped employ
to shape my life- then pass to me the key.
Nostalgically, I search in retrospect
and call to mind the gifts I leave behind
reflecting all the ways I could connect
accepting strength to foster peace of mind.
I ponder life as I look through this scope-
expand their gifts of love, with faith, and hope.
With fingers crossed, I live most every day
by thoughts, most often of my family.
With fingers crossed, along with how I pray,
have fervent hope they'll all live happily.
With fingers crossed, beseech unsteady fate
which often does what it thinks it should do,
and hope the chance that it will deviate
from bad decisions, planning to be true.
Therefore, I must rely on prayers to God
Who listens to us all, each one by one-
reshaping futures, often seen as flawed
to grant our wishes and declare them done.
With fingers crossed? Or hands held tight in prayer?
I do believe from fate, God's prayers will spare.
I’m more inclined to write of shoveling snow
As I like to write about the things I know
Yet will reflect upon the dazzling flakes
Depending on how long the shoveling takes
For children wait with snowmen on their minds
And mother peeks from behind venetian blinds
While I the roller of “snowmanic” orbs
Must protect my snowball fight reserves
Snow angels hover o’er the battlefield
To see if age or youth is first to “yield”
Surrend’ring to the call to outside lunch
Hot chocolate and the sound of snowy crunch
Thus does the chill of winter thrill us all
Whether we be snowmen short or tall
They filed his blood beneath a numbered case—
the marrow went to war without a call.
The VA counted cells, not what took place
in basements where his stare could split the wall.
The cancer knew his secrets—mutiny
against Guam’s humid silence, its red debt
claimed as the twenty-one guns thoomed in key.
We stood. We nodded. No one cried. Not yet.
There’s money now, for toxin’s wrongful death,
Agent Orange crusading through his bones.
But not for years of learning that a breath
is held—not for the legacy of tones.
They pay for what his blood became, not how
it taught us all to disappear. Lie down.
"Etched in stone- names of honored souls-
remembering their roles and goals."
_by Poet
Oh, cemetery- at your rusted gate,
I stand before it for a while and wait
to gather thoughts of those I know are here-
both family and friends, to me, so dear
beneath the velvet blanket of spring grass,
embraced forever from their earthly pass;
with monuments above etched with a name
and span of life on Earth, we can acclaim.
The cemetery grants me space to think
of my connections- how they interlink
with kin and classmates resting here right now-
and hope they feel I'm missing them somehow.
I walk in slowly, shut the gate behind-
to visit those where I feel love enshrined.
My sibling sister and friend without spite
or rivalry, I loved beyond compare;
Athena-like and lovely as the night,
your soul, a brilliant flame that burned with flair,
gave light to me and soothed my manic fears;
maternal saint and healer, you alone
have cared for me these dark, life-threatening years:
you rose as I declined—who might have known?
What genius I was you chose to forswear;
I still loved you more and not any less,
for I recalled childhood moments we shared,
of former times that gave us happiness.
Always loyal and by your side, I remained:
your brother, steadfast, sure, and wholly trained.
The love that knows no boundary set by clan;
The clans that know no love except for war;
The flower that dares to bloom, but never can;
This then the story Shakespeare told, in core.
And what the nature of a petty feud?
Where pride replaces peaceful, prosperous life;
Where little things as mountains are construed,
And things far greater die within its strife.
How might a lesser quill have writ the tale?
One family good, the other dripping ill;
The timeless lie, the righteous must prevail;
And happiness the final act to fill.
But not these things, you had much more to say:
And that is why we think of you today.
Memories lost within a frozen mist
And dangling in the static atmosphere
Of muddled recollection of things dear
Haunt the backwoods of the years she has missed.
Through foggy glances, blurred thoughts that persist
In the dim haze, shapes of the past, appear;
These flittering figures, some far, some near,
Skitter through her mind, meek and shadow-kissed.
But soon they drift to a fathomless past,
A time she can no longer touch, just hear.
Rocking mechanically, her face austere,
She searches, brow stuck in a furrowed twist.
As I watch her eyes wander vacant space,
I wonder, “Will she still recall my face?”
My deepest fantasies to introspect :
From where I have come ? Why and where to reach ?
It’s beyond perception and intellect !
Who has the supreme knowledge ? Who will teach ?
Leading life honouring moral values.
Performed duties, being compassionate.
To know my identity, got no clues.
Is Death my end ? Or to re -incarnate !
With much devotion pursued my career.
Accessed success, also failure endured.
With happy family, built emperor.
But in last phase feeling most unsecured.
Achievements, Involvements turned obsolete.
My activities remained incomplete.
The 20-pound butterball turkey rests
On a table laden with condiments;
We bow our heads, reach out our hands and bless
And say grace which presupposes our content.
But as we eat, the elephant harrumphs
To lead our banter and wordplay astray,
We assert on Gaza or butterball Trump
Or some other donnybrook of the day.
Alas, the turkey is now quite slighted
And acrimony stuffs the upper hand;
Our argued points are skewed with gestured knife,
Though not a one convinced to alter stand.
Afterward, leftovers are jammed into
Vacuum bags should we choose to someday use.
A lot of life I’ve lived; in all these years
some attitudes and thoughts of mine have changed.
Here’s one example: I’ve got fewer fears,
but one thing mainly I have re-arranged.
I’ve switched around the way I used to feel
about possessions. Now that I’ve grown old,
It’s so much easier for me to deal
with quitting seeing things like they were gold.
I realize the many things that I’ve
been spending money on mean so little.
Simple joys are the real gold; I’m alive!
The many things my kids would belittle -
my records, knickknacks, clothes and lovely rings.
Time with family is much more worthwhile.
I’m followed by two eyes that gaze out from
the picture on the parlor wall. Those eyes!
If they were real, I think I would feel numb
to know from nowhere I had seen arise
a monster from the dirt that was the grave
of my great-grandfather; his photograph
conveys he was a Scrooge that barely gave
a care for family or for his staff.
Infamous was he; arrogant as well
(as we’ve been told by Grandma). She would know!
His eldest, she will swear he’s gone to hell.
Her reasons she recites to us blow-by-blow.
The picture won’t come down, for in his will,
that was his requirement. He rules her still!
Hold my hand and let me guide you through life,
Kiss you full on your lips make you my wife,
shower of petals, blessings down the aisle,
each step we take be full of love each mile!
beginnings beautiful, freshness of morn,
new hopes and wishes for each life new born,
meadows are green and bird nests twitter cheer,
happy faces, whistles from all so dear.
bells bring blessings from high heavens above,
turning treadmill of life for some more love,
rivers flow new with greater zest today,
each heart has a wish, every lip shall pray.
blessings from all your family and friends,
your love journey begins to stay all ends.