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Grandfathers Love, Poetry by Sherille Williams

Who do u you call when your heart is broken. Where does love begin to form. Is it through a simple touch? My grandpa said “it’s in the hands my grandchild that holds us together.”

Genre:Funeral, Family

Grandfathers Love

Who do u you call when your heart is broken. Where does love begin to form. Is it through a simple touch? My grandpa said “it’s in the hands my grandchild that holds us together.”

We must not cherish the most costly items and we must not bury the future. True love lasted through my grandpa’s hands. He knew what it took to love his best friend; his lady and put God first when there are failed moments. He knew that keeping his wife with God as his robe kept them alive; but today is the day we mourn having lost him, and rejoice at the fact he was reunited with his long lost love.

My heart ached when he asked me “should he too go” when my grandmother left. Are materials and unforgivable arguments worth losing your right hand? My grandpa held her right hand whenever they traversed the Coney Island boardwalk. Bought her a hot dog to share and spare his last twenty five cents to keep her happy.

He always confided in The Good Book most deny. However he always reminds me a man isn’t a man until he’s met with God. Forgiving is rejecting all feelings of your own not because the persons right, but because he too has forgiving you. During this time, I’m starting to find my grandfather held all the keys to my grandma’s heart. Love God first, your spouse second and everything else will fall in its place.

What I’m trying to say is our generation no longer knows what love is. It’s not the status on social media, nor is it lusting after someone new – it’s through our hands. These life lines carry our tears and secrets but when held with someone, really anyone that you love, we can all agree we’ve experienced my grandpa’s kind of love he spoke of.

Rest in peace Grandpa I love you

Sherille Williams

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Evils Deception, Poetry by Barbara Hunt

Shadows fooling all trying to help the situation hid as a facade of stability and love was all that could be seen as no one suspected the plot that was forming

Whispers in the night became louder as her lies and deception grew

Genre: Dark, Family, Evil, and Hurt

Evils Deception by Barbara Hunt

Shadows fooling all trying to help the situation hid as a facade of stability and love as no one suspected the plot that was forming

Whispers in the night became louder as her lies and deception grew

Darkness soon surrounded all involved as they became engulfed slowly losing pieces of there soul in the warm silence

Her tendrils erupted as the air thinned and a deafening cry was heard as anger and realization reared there heads ready to end all plots

Betrayal stung as bile grew in there throats as there hatred almost as black as the tendrils consumed them freezing the warmth of there blood

No one knew what would happen so as they took a shallow breathe they looked into the face of evil and smiled ready for the fight to the death

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The Ultimate Misunderstanding, Poetry by Stephanie Marie

Genre: Family, Life, Pain

The Ultimate Misunderstanding
by Stephanie Marie

I could never seem to grasp the concept of a parent disregarding the life of their very offspring. What could possibly be so enticing that one feels the need to abandon such a personal creation of art? Imagine the very moment when unconditional love is full of conditions. The emptiness, the guilt, the fault that fills within the innocence. Something like the very laws of physics losing its credibility. Tell me how one isn’t to change when the very being who is appointed your love source, your example, your creator, resigns the position. When the responsibility of love vanishes, so do the generations to follow. A world where one gives up their life to a worthy being . . only, the being is pushing you into death’s arms willingly. Damage, baffling. Repair, resistant. Like a bird nursed to health and having its wings clipped off during their very first flight. You left me injured.

I forgive mistakes. I forgive failed attempts. An absence is something I will not condone. I made a promise to myself ages ago that I would not accept such a lack of presence. As nothing more that a person, I am deserving. One could say it’s my fault for expecting you to remain the same person. So forgive me for not finding it in my heart to forgive you, or don’t. My life shall carry on without the weight.

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THE GOSSIPING TREE, Poetry by Darren Finlinson

Genre: Family, Rhyme

Taken from Tales Of Hickety Plop. Children’s rhyme written by B.B. Sommers (twitter @TiddleyPump)

THE GOSSIPING TREE
by Darren Finlinson

Right in the centre of Hickety Plop,

Surrounded by every fantastical shop,

A magical wonder for all to see,

Is the one and only gossiping tree.

With bright gold leaves and age unknown,

The silver trunk in time has grown,

From all the tales it’s ever heard,

No matter how strange or even absurd.

With all the news it hears each day,

From all the folks who pass it’s way,

It often likes to talk and rant,

It surely is a nosey plant.

It likes to moan, it likes to tutt,

It never keeps it’s big mouth shut,

No matter who will walk it’s way,

It always has something to say.

When Mrs. Toodle once went by,

The tree had tried to catch her eye,

And laughed at her enormous hat,

And that her bottom was so fat.

Some people smiled at what it said,

Some people scolded it instead.

Now, maybe what it said was true,

But would you like it said to you?

No matter if it’s fake or real,

How does it make the others feel?

A bluebird flying overhead,

Was shocked at all the things it said,

it flew quite fast around the town,

And gathered every bird it found,

The giant flock began to fly,

Way up high into the sky,

And then upon the count of three,

Dropped lots of presents on the tree,

They hit the leaves with such a clatter,

None of them escaped the splatter,

So now the tree avoids such drama,

And understands that it was karma,

it learned that if you can’t be nice,

Be silent or at least think twice,

You never know who may pass by,

And it’s just lucky cows can’t fly.

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Family Destruction, Poetry by Barbara Hunt

She stared at it a carbon copy of herself stared back smiling exposing it’s horrible jagged teeth and a dead expression

Genre: Dark, Depression, Scary, and Family

Family Destruction
by Barbara Hunt

Dark and sinister it was as it stared down at her a devilish smile played on its lips as amusement raised in its eyes

She stared at it a carbon copy of herself stared back smiling exposing it’s horrible jagged teeth and a dead expression

This monster was of the worst in nature and as she stared at it she became cornered as it pulled her down into the depths of the underworld
Sealing her fate as no cries would ever be heard she closed her eyes delving further into the abyss she uttered it’s name in the eternal silence mourning the loss of peace

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Missing Pieces, Poetry by Barbara Hunt

Despair and longing shredded his soul as he silently gazed upon the family he once had

Pain smoldered and cut through his heart like a knife causing an ache as rememberance flung him into a dark hole cold to the touch shuddering as if very sad

Genre: family, dark, sad, and lost

Missing Pieces
by Barbara Hunt

Despair and longing shredded his soul as he silently gazed upon the family he once had

Pain smoldered and cut through his heart like a knife causing an ache as rememberance flung him into a dark hole cold to the touch shuddering as if very sad

Nothing could be done he had to save his brothers soul even if it was black and deep as rocks of coal

The small window of family closed never to be forgotten as he said a silent goodbye he turned wishing things were different but alas this was his choice and these sacred pieces would have to continue to be lost

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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LETTER FROM A SYRIAN CHILD TO HIS MOTHER, Poetry by Valentina Meloni

Mom, you never told me

that you can die even breathing

I believed that to die

it would take a wound,

a crack from which life

Genre: Kids, Life,Death, Family, Fear, War

LETTER FROM A SYRIAN CHILD TO HIS MOTHER
by Valentina Meloni

Mom, you never told me

that you can die even breathing

I believed that to die

it would take a wound,

a crack from which life

could come out along with the blood …

Mom, you never told me

that you can die playing

among the stones and the dust

of the road who saw me run.

You never told me

you’d greeted me from so far away

and that, crying, your soul

would come to claim me.

Mom, you never told me

that you can die breathing in a dream,

that the air can also be a poison.

You told me not

I’d be an angel of glass,

asleep, in a white shroud.

Mom you never told me

the death would make me bright and beautiful

sweeping away the fear of bombs.

Mom … however,

I could not tell you yesterday,

while I was playing with the death

how much I loved you and wanted you well.

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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What My Parent’s Gave Me, Poetry by Ada Castle

My mother was born a cherry blossom.
full of little budding flowers with the scent of heaven swirling around her space.
The same way a tea light flickers in a power starved bedroom.
Her glow enchanting, inviting, promising warmth but watch out or she will burn you,
striking you with her heat so quickly you will not be able to get away before she consumes you body and soul.

Genre: Family, Love, Relationship

What My Parent’s Gave Me

by Ada Castle

My mother charmed the branches of many plants not just trees,
her magic crossed borders,
she loved and loves freely,
not in a closet or a box with a lid.
she taught me to love the same way.

No tree caught my mother’s eye more than my father’s rough bark and smooth cracks upon the strength of his oakness.
The glow of her seduction made his thick sprigs sway towards her and he drank her heavenly scent in,
the same way you may enjoy a drink of wine,
a fruity intoxication of natural liquid made by the hands of those created to press out golden juices of something already,
miraculous, grandiose, tart but slightly addictive the more you brush your lips against it.

When you see me in my large frame that my father passed on to me,
know that underneath my mother’s little budding flowers are planted inside the place most people are hollow.
I enjoy the surprise in your eyes when you thought you had destroyed me by peeling away my tough layers,
while I just swirled the scent of heaven all around you.

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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Heredity, Poetry by Grecia Albornoz

You’re the son of wrath
conceived with rage
weakly loved
abandoned
sheltered by pride
raised

Genre: FAMILY, LIFE, PAINFUL, SOCIETY, LEGACY.

Heredity
A poem by Grecia Albornoz

You’re the son of wrath
conceived with rage
weakly loved
abandoned
sheltered by pride
raised
reassured
in a world full of ill conceived people
abandoned
reassured
wanting to repeat cycles.

You’re the daughter of complaisance
conceived with insecurity
life-long abused
you raise mistreated sons
that mistreat
and damaged daughters
that allow for mistreatment.
Your heredity.
© 2016 Grecia Albornoz

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You’re Not the Boss of Me!, Poetry by Cindi Walton

“You’re not the boss of me!” the kindergartner said
When his mommy told him, “Son, now it’s time for bed!”
“Wait till I turn 18, I’ll do just as I please”
Said the boy to his father as he took away his keys
“I’m 21 and DRINK; stop me if you dare!”

Genre: Family

You’re Not the Boss of Me!By Cindi Walton

“You’re not the boss of me!” the kindergartner said
When his mommy told him, “Son, now it’s time for bed!”
“Wait till I turn 18, I’ll do just as I please”
Said the boy to his father as he took away his keys
“I’m 21 and DRINK; stop me if you dare!”
His folks were concerned, but he didn’t really care
College came and went, and a job he did procure
Found a pretty brunette and asked to marry her
Bought a house in “Newville” where everything was new
The boss of his own destiny, to do as he would do
The years went by and children came, one, then two, then three
He had it all, life was grand, and this was his decree
“Look Mom and Dad” I did succeed, I knew it all along
You didn’t have to ride my butt and tell me right from wrong!”
The seasons changed, his kids grew up and then they started school
“You’re not our boss!” his children cried, he knew he’d been a fool
He saw now as a parent sees, through eyes just like his own
He knew he had a call to make, pulling out his phone
And when his parents answered, he said between his tears
You’re the “best boss” a kid could have; I thank you for the years
You never walked away and let me run amuck
The things you meant to teach, I DO BELIEVE they’ve stuck
Until we are a parent and see what parents’ see
We never can appreciate just how we came to be
Thank you to my Mom and Dad, who led, and did not fold
And made me see the value of ….Do as you are told!

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