Poems about born



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№ 1209620

Born Again

And when there is nothing left but the ashes, the sun will shine upon a flower in the dark, and love, ever so giving, will prosper once more.


born.

Author: BГњG
+0-
Date: 06/04/2020


№ 1207988

The Bandit Has Been Born.

From Discoveries; my high school journal.
Entries from February of 2009.

February 12th: Even in good company I still feel alone.

February 13th:
I can't paint & I can't draw either.
But with my words,
I can paint a paper-back
That will give
Even
Andy Warhol, a run for his $.

Three Months ago:
I took a look
In the honesty window's
Reflection
And I began to loathe what I saw.
& I began to mend my mold
To make this work.
WIthout resorting to stripping or suicide,

That's when Bandit came out to play.

"Everything I say is said in blue ink and heard on lined paper. Chemical and herbal experimentation have changed me. Oh high, I'm Bandit. & It is nice to meet you. "


bandit,  born.

Author: Haunter
+0-
Date: 05/04/2020

№ 1203061

Born To It

Jellied life held together with skeletal marrow memories
Stuck hard and fast fired in a kiln lump of clay with needs
While wanting and wants plague already muddy waters
The demanding tone of a telephone is now a chosen flagellation
Keeps on ringing your number tattooed into your mind
And somewhere deep there is a poem waiting to be born
The last text message was from God according to modern terrorists
Chomping at the bit to blow their sorry selves to kingdom come
The poets keep on singing because they were born to it
And history would never forgive them if they abandoned their song.


born.

Author: nivek
+0-
Date: 31/03/2020

№ 1202085

A star is born

He stretched wearing his mothers sunglasses on a pool chair, the warmth of the late summer morning shun on his pale skin, like millions of flashes from thousands of adoring fans, snapping photos of a breathless man.


born,  star.

Author: Grant Baldwin
+0-
Date: 30/03/2020


№ 1200821

Winter born

The skin of morning heavy
On windows, floors & mugs
Blue-eyed wolves trace the scent
The fragility of life in indifferent forests
Uncovered shoulders near the wind
Slowly absorb the horizon, the new common sense
Dozens killed killed killed
Killed by bombs, cars, trucks, guns, knives
Hatred grows like mislettoe
The sky an endless empty whole
The same heresy errected with fresh blood

A winter born forgetting
Some hands without fingers
Some children cry
Some wounds have no cover
The blanket of darkness sweet
Hate grows like mislettoe, remember

It must be that
I woke up on the wrong side of the
Moon hide tonight


born,  winter.

Author: irinia
+0-
Date: 29/03/2020

№ 1198677

Born to Quest

It's paramount the notion
That men are born to grow,
Extend their creativity,
Expand the very best they know.
Explore the realm unseen before
Beyond their very reach,
Inflate the mind's potential
To absorb and grasp and preach.
To plunder flair unrealized
Extend skills unperceived,
To craft a very masterpiece
Of magnificence, unbelieved.
To raise the spire of excellence
To sculpt a work of art,
Compose a peice which scintillates
And moves the very heart.
To reach beyond the mortal
And let the spirit free
To pen a Michelangelo
And have God sit with me.


Marshalg
@the Coalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
30 April 2010


born,  quest.

Author: Marshal Gebbie
+0-
Date: 27/03/2020


№ 1196110

Born a new day

The sky shone of a morning song
Colour's that showed earths delight
Red and yellows be
Sky's inferno
Born a new day of delight

Fresh is the air that waits
For all to breath
Cleansed by darkness
Fazed by dreams
Dreamy eyes awaken
To unknown

Woken from a deepened lull
Woken into mornings glow
Woken from a place
Called home

Sky so wanted
So i could see
A mornings glow
A love complete

Look up high as stars
Do fade
See inferno
See the blaze
Bow to the birth
A day on planet earth


born,  day.

Author: andy fardell
+0-
Date: 25/03/2020

№ 1195816

A Child is Born

He came, reluctantly pulled by his head
At the hands of a masked man,
Using large metal,
Salad Tong appearing forceps,
Rudely, crudely yanked from his mother's
Cervical embrace, into the glaring,
First Light of intended living and breathing.
His head now misshapen,
(To return to normal they assured, )
His little body more blue than pink,
Umbilical cord around his neck,

Absolutely ridged, not moving,
No sound did he make,
Appearing more gone than here.

My own breath did cease until to my relief,
His tiny arms and hands did give notice
Of life, followed soon after by a fitting
Shrill scream of rebuttal, a rebuke to
The light, the air, the rude process
That had brought him there.

One moment at peace, safe and warm
Within his womb of tranquility, dreaming
Whatever dreams the pure and innocent's
Do dream, then abruptly ripped from
All that peace, out into all this!

At that moment I too wanted to join in,
Echo his howl, his guttural protestation,
I too swept up by that ethereal wave of disturbance
Feeling his struggle as if he was drowning in new found air.
For me, as if at this moment of his birth,
I too was being reborn.

My knees grew weak, I was for a instant dizzy,
I struggled to regain my own lost breathing.
Restart my own heart, fight back the water in my eyes.

I let go of his mother's hand, she with eyes closed,
As if sleeping, exhausted from too many hours of labor,
My respect and love for her and her magnificent efforts,
Expanded then to boundless.

The tender masked women in white,
They with shining, smiling eyes,
Quickly cleaned, and wiped him dry,
Swaddled him in a tiny blanket and laid him into
My unaccustomed arms, and for the very first time
In our lives, I looked upon the face of my son.

At that precise moment, some purposeful mental,
Primordial emotional switch, was indeed flipped,
And I, WE would never be the same again.


born,  child.

Author: Stephen E Yocum
+0-
Date: 25/03/2020

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