Most Liked Family Poems (502)

Sparkling, long, and flowing soft, and shimmering through a comb,
A little hand ,with love,caressed each strand and knew a home.
Her eyes alight with awe to see the splendour falling there
in the magic that was moonbeams, that was grandma's silver hair.

A web of love she wove in it when plaiting it each day
and trapped the little heart that had no other place to stay.
Grandma lent her patience to the comfort of the child
and just let the little fingers roam about at eventide.

Then when the mane of moonbeams had been prettied for the night,
the child would hold that rope that led her safely to the light
of a heart that filled to bursting, and a safety so rare,
in a world that was upended, save for touching grandma's hair.

The years flew past, as swifts in flight to greet a summer's day.
The little child grew up and left the nest to fly away
to do great deeds of courage, and to plant some seeds of care,
letting other little fingers weave their patterns in her hair,

just like grandma, now long gone , had done so many years ago,
she helped them braid their patterns, and encouraged them to grow
to be full and loving people, and to laugh and share and play.
So the lesson of her grandma's mane of moonbeams lives today.

She walked with beauty and elegant grace,
but sadness worn on her lovely face.
The years had passed that brought her joy.
And a glow that burnt so long ago.
A memory so dim, of how her heart was won.

He was always full of joy,
A joke and a laugh,
And hands that knew a metals worth and how to bend it to his will.
I knew him not but in stories only,
of how he spoke in earnest with rare and even temperament.
Who knew his time was short?
That time would come and go
And leave only scars and distant laughter spent.

But this was a love story true and real,
I know because she told me.
She was the storyteller, the one who cried the tears.
Who told of listening to the music he would play and tell me of how she danced with him.
Though the years have past and so has she, I remember and so must we.

Yes it's my birthday,what a great day,

Every year different and this is no play

I invited close friends and cooked up a feast

The talk was good as it should be music by Karen Carpenter

The mood was set friends my boys and good cheer

The one thing missing is you my sweet dear

All have gone now except my dreams

The day when we have no fears just you and I

My brain explodes!it fills with fluids that I don't know
My body wilts my heart it tilts,a blackness an episode.

YOU STUPID STUPID STUPID MAN I SAY,WHY DON'T YOU EXIST TODAY
YOU WERE MY HERO, I HATE YOU,I HATE YOU,YOU DID NOT STAY

I love you as today,I was bad no need to say
My son, my son the time has come,I must leave to join the Son!

MY DAD, MY DAD, I WAS SAD,YOU KNOW YOU WEREN'T SO BAD
I TOLD MY BOYS YOU WERE MAD,JUST LIKE ME AND THEY ARE GLAD!

"Do What Makes Your Heart Sing" - Jan 17, 2010
Jim Magee - Poet of the "Common" Man
Dedicated to Gina Lake

I was reading a book from a downloaded site
And a phrase jumped in front of my eyes
Nothing like this ever happens by chance
And that's something you must realize
The phrase of which I'm speaking about is
"Do what makes your heart sing"
It struck me as odd but just temporarily so
And I wrote a poem that said the same thing

But then I thought to myself - that's not really so strange
But it is something most folks never get
That they could make a living doing something they love
And not have even one ounce of regret
Kids never get that thought taught to them
It's "Go out and find a real job!"
And I thought the fact they paid money to you
Was proof enough, you didn't rob

It's hard changing peoples perception of things
That's been drilled into them most of their life
Even the fact of you're free to choose
Will fill many souls up with strife
They can't believe it's as easy as that
There's got to be some part that's missing
It might be the part with you and your love
Locked together out back, madly kissing

Just do what you want and don't worry about planning
Planning's when #1 doesn't work
And #1 always works just the way that it should
It isn't just some lucky quirk
Always remember to teach - Teach your kids to be proud
Be proud of what-ever they bring
And the thing you should stress from the day that their born, is to
"Do What Makes Your Heart Sing"

Despondent, she creaks to and
fro, to and fro, upon the
porch, her bony hands stroking

the tomcat curled in sleep on
her lap. Hours it's been since
he left. Stealing under the

branches, dark with bats, rowing
across the river, its cold
surface flecked with scum, he'll

be in the city while she, creaking
to and fro, to and fro, beholds
the raw red face of dawn.

Do you miss me through the shadow of darkness, I can see you but i'm blinded by our love, things that i do take for granted by one should always be appreciated.

Our love was strong but now that we're apart all the memories are always there, locked up inside of deep emotion i wonder what will happen to us. I've been hurt so who do i learn to no and trust, draws like a magnet to each of us deviding two worlds apart through the power and strength of love.

What direction shall i follow will it be the right or wrong there is only one past way to choose.

When you are annoyed, or cry, or have a row…..
It Laughs!
When you have loads of energy, want to do something big,
It Sleeps!
When you are laughing, very happy…..
It Cries!
When you are exhausted at the end of your day,
It wants to play!
When you are on cloud nine……
It brings you back down to earth!
In the future, it will stretch your bank account and your credit,
It will show you new boundaries of pride, happiness and grief!

For now though, it’s quiet in it’s cot…..
You just sit mesmerised, watching it breathing,
The most wonderful thing in your life……
Sleeping at last…..To your relief!

“…if only you knew who you were, if only you knew what was in store for you, you would smile a lot more…”
Anonymous guru

Part I

The shamanic traditions are very clear on a very real paradox,
Unless the shaman is wounded in some serious way, how can he find the empathy within him/her to offer true guidance and reveal the path of healing to the sufferer?
David Cumes, is a beloved physician, in his writings, he vividly explores and explains the paradox of ‘the wounded healer’, how that most medical doctors are ‘wounded healers’ due to their rigorous and inhuman training, in order to qualify.

I am not a medical doctor, I hold a Ph.D. in Holistic Nutrition, but, I must confess, I too am I ‘wounded healer’. Oh, my odyssey gets better and better with time, as time is sometimes, not always, a great healer, but, being a perfectionist, I still feel I have a looooooong way to go…, a very, very long way… One day many years ago, I was counseling a 16-year old young woman who had just tragically lost her father. She listened respectfully to my erudite prating, but, suddenly, she asked me:
“Doctor, did you loose your father when you were 16, and were you a girl at the time?”
The stunning, but very profound question, humbled me, brought a few tears to my visage and shut me up. Why? Because, of course, I had not walked a mile in her shoes, and never would. Oh, my training had provided me with all the ‘right’ and ‘clever’ answers, and yes, they are, of course, academically correct, and valid, but, how, how, could I possibly look into the eyes of that child and candidly tell her she should listen to me, as I knew the way out… Hogwash!

Continued in part II

“…if only you knew who you were, if only you knew what was in store for you, you would smile a lot more…”
Anonymous guru

Flash-forward many more years to a suburb of Johannesburg, South Africa… I was walking along a dusty road with one of my six precious daughters, who, will, of course, remain anonymous. She had just lost her precious and wonderfully-healthy 32-day old baby girl to murder at the hands of our little angel’s biological father, a psychopath, who, in their right minds, would, after all, kill their own baby with their own hands? We had done our very unpleasant duty and finished with the 2-year court case, which sentenced the boy to 30 years in prison, and we had decided to go home to Africa, to, if at all possible, heal and find some meaning and hope to go on, though none of us felt like going on, we just wanted to join our celestial lost baby girl…

My very special and very gifted and talented and much beloved young daughter, was at last at the end of her tether, as she was torn in a gazillion different pieces from her fiery trial…, sans hope, sans feeling… At that point we were in a field, suddenly, she just sat down… The field was a typical African field, I noticed, peripherally, broken glass everywhere, empty soda bottles, wrappers of all kinds, some blobs of human excrement here and there and the nauseating stench of human urine permeated the hot summer air…

I knew what was coming, devastated, I sat down with her, with a finality that alarmed my academic mind to say the least… we both just burst out in loud tears and inconsolable wailing, the great drops of our life force falling on the African soil upon which we were both born, and love so much… Luckily, the field was out of the way and no passers-by noted our rite of passage… No words were exchanged, we just emptied ourselves of the pent-up agony of our souls for the day, as it is not possible to gain total catharsis in a day, or a year or a life-time or two…, no, rather, like a volcano, you release what you can for the day, till the next eruption… incoherent phrases, like:
“Go on without me, please, Dad, just leave me here to die, I am not getting up again…”
“Never, my daughter, I will perish here with you…”
“Why Dad, why…”
“I have no idea, my daughter, none, whatsoever…”
“Am I such a great sinner Dad, that God had to take my baby away…”
“Of course not, my angel, you’re still a babe yourself…”

Continued in Part III