child

There's holes everywhere.

Folder: 
Children's Poetry
 
There's holes in your blanket,
holes between your toes,
Holes in your ears 
And holes up your nose
 
Holes in the ceiling and 
Holes in the floor
Holes that you never knew were there before...
 
Holes that are big
and holes that are small,
holes that you've never seen at all
 
Now who puts all those holes there?
A small mouse under the chair?
Who knows, they're just there. 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

I just told this randomly to my son while putting him to bed. He seemed to like it & I hope you & your families do too. 

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BO The President

Folder: 
Poetry

At the end of the conference,

In my jealousy, I sat there.

And saw BO from a distance,

Between the stage at its end.

 

He came walking my direction,

And I thought he passed me by.

In fact, enclosure, standing in front of my sight,

And gave me pegs, 'cause I had to be a child.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A dream I had.

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Black & White: The First Dream

Folder: 
Poetry

The first dream with the most strange colors,

Which are no colors: black and white.

Why they erased the colors in my dream?

On this I had no answer.

 

Surrounded in the most bright white,

Was I, cloaked in positivity.

Pure and perfected,

As the most innocent child.

 

Cloaked in shadow, blackened,

Was the halo of Nyarlathotep.

The unknown, the mysterious;

Being stuck in His web...

 

Being together the Yin & Yang,

One in darkness, the other bright in light.

O, Nug and Yeb together,

The inseparable twins alive!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Some thoughts about a dream I had.

Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born;

But I was repelled.

 

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

 

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

 

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

 

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

 

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I run away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

 

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

 

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.

 

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

 

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

 

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

 

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

 

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much overall...

 

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I was buying a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my autobiography.

A Little Child

Folder: 
Poetry

Have to be a little child from my father,

Have to obey Cthulhu evermore.

And all bad things turned into dust,

By my evil and good Father.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Some thoughts.

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A Little Child

Folder: 
Poetry

Have to be a little child from my father,

Have to obey Cthulhu evermore.

And all bad things turned into dust,

By my evil and good Father.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Some thoughts about Father Cthulhu.

View yshotha's Full Portfolio

Child of Cost

I cried out to you as a loving father would his own daughter, I begged you to turn back, to come back.
In darkness she did wonder, escaping the grip of my hands to slip away into the pull of the currents that brought her under.
Swept a far beyond my eyes, there she lye covered in flies.
The first pitch of dirt shoveled did no trouble to the face it capped,
Her naked body lay still beneath the weight of the earth,
never to be seen again in the way she was perched .
Though we search, their wicked deed was well hid,
 so also were the shameful schemes she often did.
Oh my precious child, I would never have considered to put a price on you,
Because your soul you did bother to sell,
you were bought at the very expense of your life.
Oh now how I wish you would tell,
What it is that you gained at the end of his knife?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Please if you will, any comments you have on my poem are welcomed. I hope this is a good peom, but if you will let me know what you think about it. thank you for reading :)

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Parents Prayer

Long are the days when a parent waits and prays
Prays for their children to live a joyful life
Prays that their days are full of enjoyment not strife
Yet here we all stand
Afraid of every woman and man
Who do we trust and how can we know
if they will be safe when we let them go?
My heart is heavy with sadness and worry
For there are dangerous people
filled with evil and fury

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The events from Dec 14, 2012 are weighing heavily on my mind and sometimes poetry helps me let it out.

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The Invisible Stranger

The Invisible Stranger

A stranger has been sharing my bed
A stranger whose face I can’t see, nor can he see me
He hears me. I speak to him. But I hesitate
She moves/he moves, not to copy, but out of necessity
She says: sing to the stranger, which is odd (most ladies wouldn’t welcome a stranger in their bed) Yet I sing. But I hesitate.
…this stranger will soon be very familiar.
Familial familiarity.
And suddenly…
…I don’t hesitate. I can’t wait to welcome the stranger. Excited that soon, 9 months after appearing invisible in my bed, there will be nothing strange about him.