My Testimony
I was born once.
Then I was born again.
I was adopted into a new family once.
Then I was adopted into God's family.
I AM
Now a child of God.
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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What Kind of Monsters
The Billings a Family who adopted twelve children and had four natural children were murdered, many of the adopted Children are severely delayed and it is believed that at least three of the Children saw what happened.
What kind of monster
Strips that kind of love from
A Child?
What kind of monster
Does something so
Heinous
To a family who opened
Up home and heart.
I wonder what kind of monster
Takes the security of a loving
Family away
From Children
Who need love?
What kind of monster?
I really can not even begin
To say/
Copyright Michelle R Kidwell
July.13.09
7: 17 P.M PST
poem by Michelle Kidwell
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Adopted Sisters
This goes out to my two adopted sisters
JoAnn and Meggie
I love you both
I have two adopted sisters
and write with both of them.
One lives in America
and the other in the Philippines.
I worry about them all the time
like a big brother would do.
I talk to both whenever I can.
The difficulty I have
is the time difference
between us all.
One is five hours behind my time
and the other is seven hours ahead.
I have even known them
to be online at the same time
and I have had to talk
to both at the same time.
My fingers were working
overtime that night.
The sad part of my story is
that I have a real sister
who never talks to me,
but my adopted sisters
are more I feel like my family.
Although I have never met them,
I feel I know both of them so well.
They are always there for me
whenever I am down
as I am there for the both of them,
my lovely adopted sisters
Meggie and JoAnn.
12 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Ticking Time Bomb
a box was discarded
in a dark empty field
sometime during the night
sometime before
early dawn hours
in a suburb discretely
a box left
innocently
in the middle
of a field
by the hand
of who?
dawn came
people passed by
some noticed
an abandoned
box in an empty field
after many hours
became suspicious
called head of community
bomb squad was called
standard procedure
approached with care
approached with caution
approached with fear
fear of threat unknown
fear of danger unknown
this was several months
ago near my home close by
before neighour journalist
was shot dead in the chest
just outside his driveway
no warning shot was fired
thief executioner awaited
journalists days end return
home plan steal brand new
motorcycle belonging to
his happy son's friend
they were both safe inside
what did bomb squad find
abandoned in box of cardboard
abandoned in an empty field?
a new born baby girl discarded
born this very day thrown away
Java Indonesia common this happens
in my daughter Kayla's class
there are two adopted abandoned
children who were left discarded
at birth on doorsteps
during night dark hours
adopted by a very good
Islamic woman
adopted by a very good
Islamic family
both these babies
were luckily adopted
this also is common
others less lucky
litter many orphanages
why abandoned?
perhaps
born out
of wedlock?
illegitimate
babies
are social stigma
still in Islamic societies
by mean hearts persecuted
but not never mass murdered
in mass abortion programs
common in Western Societies
advertised called family planning
your western contribution
to abortion crime solution?
paid for with your tax dollars
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The birth Identity.
It is my native place,
Where I was not born
And where my father came
As an adopted child.
I studied somewhere,
Worked and lived somewhere.
I have not settled there
Where I was born and hence
Would be cremated somewhere.
Still I call it as my native place
Where alone I still keep
Some sort of birth identity.
30.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Way Of Life
Birth is to Death
Like East is to West
Pain is to Love
Like Greed is to Wealth
A family mourn
A child is born
The child is taught
This child cannot be Bought
The child grows
His words flow
His eyes wander
As his mind ponders
The teen grows
His legacy grows
His career escalates
His family evacuates
The Man grows
The family, frighten
The noose tightens
A family mourn
poem by Corey Fauchon
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Sonnet- A Most Wonderful Christmas
This Christmas brings with it especial joy,
Not all can get even in their lifetime;
Like Jesus Christ, is born a baby-boy;
To make your family-life, still more sublime.
0 thank the Lord, the child was born alright;
0 thank the Lord, the child was born with ease;
0 thank the Lord, the child has senses right;
O thank the Lord, the child has no disease.
If boy or girl, it does not matter much;
God's gift of yet another child is great;
On mother's birthday born- what magic touch?
Miraculous, an event until date.
Maybe, God plans to give you one more try!
So make merry but never must you cry.
poem by John Celes
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Family vs. Friends
Friends come in your life as ocean waves come and go.
You friends may be there one day and be gone the next.
Family is like blood, you need it to survive and it will always be there.
Family is there the day you are born and will be until the day you die.
Friends may be there for the short term, it is your family that will
remain by your side.
Always put your family first, friends should go second.
Family will be there to support you and catch you when you fall.
Friends may be good to talk to when you are feeling down,
but they might not be there when you need someone the most.
Family will be there to laugh and they will be there to cry.
Family will be there through the good and bad.
Family is always there.
poem by Nina Grobe
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A Child Is Sweet Any Day Of The Week
A child that's born on a Monday
holds beauty in sight and mind.
A child that's born on a Tuesday
is graceful, sweet and kind.
A child that's born on a Wednesday
is a treasure, so they say.
A child that 's born on a Thursday
sees a quest with each new day.
A child that's born on a Friday
is loving and freely gives.
A child that's born on a Saturday
shows great work through how they live.
A child that's born on a Sunday
is happy, carefree and gay.
I guess you could say that a child is
special, no matter what the day.
poem by Christine K. Trease
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Meanwhile I married and I adopted three kids who were all from one family and then later I was divorced.
quote by Betty Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Hearts
For JoAnn and Meggie
My adopted sisters and partners in poems
When you take partners
in whatever you do,
they become extra close,
becoming an extended family.
They bring an inner joy
that is sometimes hard to find.
They share a special place
deep within your heart.
If you write together
as I do with my adopted sisters,
you like to compliment each other
with every line you write.
A special bond is formed,
not only with the friendship
that grows on a daily basis.
You care about them
always trying to ensure
that they feel no hurt,
and if they do,
your arms are always there to comfort them.
My adopted sisters have that bond
deep within my heart
and we have become
three hearts beating as one.
Though we may live
thousands of miles away from each other,
I have become richer from their friendship.
There is one thing that I have promised myself to do,
that is to visit each of them
and give them a big, big hugs
that are well over do.
I love you Lil sis’s.
Love and hugs from your Big Bruv.
13 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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I don't understand people whose gratification is a BMW. You don't know what joy is until you see a kid who was tortured get adopted by a family.
quote by Andrew Vachss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have a family! !
I have a family
My ancestry a mystery
I was abandoned as a child.
I had no family history.
To which I am now reconciled.
From nursery to children’s home
Until I was adopted by
A couple who made me welcome
With whom I lived quite happily.
They had three children of their own
Who readily accepted me?
An orphan parentage unknown
Addition to their family.
I had three sisters instantly
And better still a mum and Dad.
Who had especially chosen me
to be their only little lad.
I vowed to make them proud of me
I studied hard did well at school.
Then on to university.
I showed the world I was no fool.
I’m a successful businessman
My Family is quite proud of me
which only goes to show you can
overcome successfully.
With the support of family
the problems which you have to face.
To become what you want to
and be a winner in life’s race.
My mum and dad mean more to me
than accolade I may earn.
They fed and clothed and nurtured me
now I support them in my turn
An orphan boy who they took in.
They raised me as their only son
with loving care and discipline
I think I was the lucky one.
They say success is down to me
That I worked to make my way
but we agree to disagree
I love them more than I can say.
4-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Brothers And Sisters
For my adopted sisters
Brothers and sisters
do not always have to be kin
we can make them sometimes
from very close friends.
Someone we want within our family
to share with us
our successes and our triumphs.
We take them because we care
more than friendship grows.
We want them in our lives
for now and evermore,
until the day we die.
We want them close
as kin folk should be,
so we adopt them into our family
as a brother or a sister
which ever it may be.
24 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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Permanent Tears
On the day of her arrival
No one is there to meet her
Something of a sad one
A girl with permanent tears
Born without a family
Born without a name
All she ever wanted
Was to wipe her tears away
Wipe her tears away....away
Away........away
If someone came to love her
And if someone came to be
The one that will protect her
Be a family
Now we will see a smile again
And tears like dreams can be
Something we will never see
Lost in her memory
Wipe her tears away
Away.........away
Wipe her tears away
Tears away......away......away
Shes something of a tragedy
Stands in the shade of despair
I want to cast some light onto her world
A world of permanent tears
Born without a family
Born without a name
Free this weeping willow
>from drowning in a flood of tears
Wipe her tears away
Tears away......away......away (repeat)
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Steve Jobs being adopted
Steve Jobs being adopted had a great affect on him. It is no accident that he made the computer and later the smart phone irresistible. As an infant he had to sell himself, make something that was potentially great yet rejected acceptable, similar to what he did with the computer. No matter how good of adopted parent you have or are, there is always Miss-attunement. Good adoptive parent’s face it, except it and deal with it thus allowing their child to except this reality so they could cope with it in their own way. Most parents from the sixties and prior were like mine, they told their child that they were lucky they did not end up in an orphanage; most adopted children do not have a chance to sublimate their miss-attunement the way Steve Jobs did. He used his skills to transform the inaccessible and incomprehensible computer of his time into an instrument of freedom, of happiness, of creativity. Something as a child he could not experience directly from his parents.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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Welcomed Into the Family of Comprehension
Everything has a reason.
Everything.
With a purpose to ponder.
And a place for that purpose,
To find reason at that time.
Everything has a reason.
Everything,
In a thinking mind!
Any thought adopted...
Is welcomed into the family,
Of comprehension.
And attempts to understand,
Is supported.
Everything has a reason.
Everything.
With a purpose to ponder.
And a place for that purpose,
To find reason at that time.
Everything has a reason.
Everything,
In a thinking mind!
Any thought adopted...
Is welcomed into the family,
Of comprehension.
And attempts to understand,
Is supported.
What hand reaching out to shake,
Does not support that?
What prolonged heartbreak,
Would stay wallowing in sorrow?
To borrow an excuse,
Or a chance not to view agony?
Close up and into a tear stained face.
You should not want that reflecting...
Everywhere,
And in every face you see.
Denial is the most contagious disease!
Everywhere,
And in every face you see.
Denial is the most contagious disease!
No thing is detached,
That keeps an attraction from coming back.
Something is attached to that.
And seriously repeated.
When done,
The meaning of that purpose...
Should not go misunderstood!
Like selling one 'pot' who requested 'crack'.
An end should come to that.
When the mind gets that whacked out.
And chained to keep one remaining unchanged.
If it does because of ignorance declared delicious?
That can be forgiven, allowed and forgotten.
We all have had our cravings.
However...
If it does come from an intention reeking in deceit?
That can be considered a good cause,
Some some severe cussing out!
And some folks have earned their cussing out,
Those deserving it...
Rights!
And some folks can be sadistic about it!
You can not cuss them out enough!
There are a number of them to unionize.
Everything has a reason.
Everything.
With a purpose to ponder.
And a place for that purpose,
To find reason at that time.
Everything has a reason.
Everything,
In a thinking mind!
Any thought adopted...
Is welcomed into the family,
Of comprehension.
And attempts to understand,
Is supported.
If it does come from an intention meant?
That can be shallow, obvious...
And an absence of common sense.
And an absence of it is more common than not!
If one ain't got it!
And an intention done lacking sense,
Wastes too much time.
Everything has a reason.
Everything.
With a purpose to ponder.
And a place for that purpose,
To find reason at that time.
Everything has a reason.
Everything,
In a thinking mind!
Any thought adopted...
Is welcomed into the family,
Of comprehension.
And attempts to understand,
Is supported.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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That child
Eight years old and already hate life
Abused by her adopted mother
Raped by her adopted brother
She is just a child and she cant be more.
The bruises on her back keeps her silent
She cries at night till the pain is numb
And when he is on top of her she drifts away
Away from body away from spirit.
Nine years old and it continues
To protect her blood brother from the same
She pretends nothing is wrong
For him, trying so hard to be strong.
She cared so much for her blood brother
She took his bruises upon her self
And he was only a year younger
And they both were just kids.
Ten years old and he still knows nothing
She must be the best secret keeper
Or just a scarred girl who doesnt want her brother to know
Either way she is just a child.
Eleven years old nothing changes
Twelve years old she is getting fed up
The nights when he would come in and do what ever
Forced to mature before her time.
Fourteen she tells her adopted mother
And adopted mother beats her and the girl knows not why
Is it because the mother doesn't believe her
Or does not care enough for her feelings
Sixteen she tries to runaway
Her aunt talks to her so she goes back
Seventeen she moves out and graduate high school
What do you know she graduate with honors.
Eighteen she joins the military
Her blood brother still knows nothing
He see her for her success and not her struggle
That is how she want to keep it.
Her childhood was taking
She just met her birth father
Knows not her birth mother
Her biological brother is all she has
At Nineteen she wrote this poem.
And still remembers that child.
poem by Tressa Carliss
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“My Family”
My family is very strong like me
My family is actually very sweet
My family can be a little strict
My family always acts like this
My family is not always boring
When my family has things to do their flying and soaring
My family is actually sometimes crazy
Their even sometimes very lazy
Me trying to think about the facts of my family
Makes me laugh because I know I have a great family highly
poem by Va Rockeya Foy
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Although all new ideas are born in France, they are not readily adopted there. It seems that they must first commence to prosper in a foreign country.
quote by Sarah Bernhardt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Adopted Home
A northern town of character
I bravely left, to southward roam;
To relocate my family
In Dunster, my adopted home.
It's medieval majesty
And beauty far beyond compare;
A slice of rural Somerset
This Dunster that we came to share.
An ancient tiny hamlet
Recorded in the Domesday tome;
The river Avill winding through
This Dunster, my adopted home.
Resplendent in it's castle tall
Beside the working water-mill;
A piece of perfect England
Where time is still a standing still.
Oh Dunster, should I love you so?
Your streets by cobbled workers wrought;
My guilty love is yours to keep
As well as Lancashire I ought.
Written 1996
poem by John Carter Brown
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