Poetry For Our Children

Childhood Memories Sung to the Tune of Shawnee West Franklin Bison Blues
 

Some people have a childhood garden
Filled with green and growing things
Some people have a childhood garden
Filled with purple peonies
Mine is sere
Throughout the year
Nothing grows here

Some people have a childhood rainbow
A sea of colors all aglow
Some people have a childhood rainbow
Red to violet in a row
Mine is gray
Bow of clay
Without a ray

Some people have a childhood temple
Covered with a million treasured dreams
Some people have a childhood temple
A sunny Wat of Gods and kings
Mine is plain
Squats in the rain
Functional 'n sane

Where childhood memories abound
Life flows vividly around
Where childhood memories have fled
Hearts lie dead

Tim Bovee

The Cries of Today's Children
 


I hear the cries of children,
Of children of the world;
The unwanted and unlucky,
The orphans and of streets!

I hear the cries of children,
Of children who want love;
The illiterate, sick, handicapped;
Poor, without any sheets!

I hear the cries of children,
Of children that must work;
To earn while young for family,
Have no place, time to play!

I hear the cries of children,
Of children war-ravaged;
Who know not what is joy in life,
Living in squalor, strife!

Let's make this world for children,
A better place to live;
With encouragement, dignity,
And all love, we can give.


Dr John Celes

THE QUEST


A THANKSGIVING POEM
by Eudora S. Bumstead




THERE once was a restless boy
Who dwelt in a home by the sea,
Where the water danced for joy
And the wind was glad and free:
But he said, "Good mother, oh! let me go;
For the dullest place in the world, I know,
Is this little brown house,
Under the apple-tree.



"I will travel east and west;
The loveliest homes I'll see;
And when I have found the best,
Dear mother, I'll come for thee.
I'll come for thee in a year and a day,
And joyfully then we'll hasten away
From this little brown house,
This little old brown house,
Under the apple-tree."


So he traveled here and there,
But never content was he,
Though he saw in lands most fair
The costliest homes there be.
Till he turned again with a wistful sigh
To the little brown house,
Under the apple-tree.


Then the mother saw and smiled,
While her heart grew glad and free,
"Hast thou chosen a home, my child?
Ah, where shall we dwell?" quoth she,
And he said, "Sweet mother, from east to west,
The loveliest home, and the dearest and best,
Is a little brown house,
Under an apple-tree."

Prayer Before Birth. I Love that poem. i had to write an essay on it a while ago and i had never heard it before then. but now it's one of my favourites.

Did you know that my father wrote this when he was younger? He's different now... my parents (solomon and his wife) are gettin divorced. Im staying with my mom..