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“Make the child fear you. Some people like to say respect is important, but nothing is more respectful than a well-trained child who fears you.”

Ask him how well that turned out.
All cold and alone, while three humans—half of him—walk the earth without a shred of regret
that we will never exchange something as simple as hello again.
It’s a true story. He told that to my aunt when she was about to have her first child.
Aaron Beedle Mar 18
They think it's love, until the lust fades,
thing it's good, until the looks fade,
Think it's smart, until it hurts,
Think it's broke, until it works.

Don't begrudge children where they were born.
They don't make em the same anymore.
The curse of the new slave, wrapped around their mind,
loyal to the poison that degenerates their mind.
About: How many parents fail to pass on wisdom to their children, instead opting to let them 'do what they want' and learn for themselves excessively, and the resulting egotism and self destruction this can lead to.
Ross J Porter Mar 12
Feet firm on earth,
still chasing dreams
in a world now his own.

Sweat spills from strong pores,
forging currents of futures
he now shapes.

Tight embraces,
arms steady and sure,
a father’s pride made strong.

Wood and leather,
worked to tough threads—
faith stitched into his resolve.

Grass stains on knees,
still bending the world
to his will,
moved by purpose.

Anthems of hope
rise in his voice,
lifting his father’s soul
to love’s high planes.

The quiet secrets
of love and compassion,
once hidden by modesty,
are now lived out loud.

He follows his path
through shifting fields,
where once slick frogs slipped
through eager hands—

A world he builds,
a world he claims,
a world his father
now trusts to his hands.
A follow up to "Son"
Ross J Porter Mar 12
Soft hands once held tight,
small fingers grasping
strings of laughter—
bubbles of wonder.

Now, steady hands weave
threads of her own,
spinning life’s fabric
with quiet resolve.

Footsteps that still dance
through sunlit sand
also press firm paths
of wisdom and grace.

Her voice, still a song
belting with fervor,
speaks with echoes
of strength and love.

Mischievous smiles remain,
tempered by time,
yet still lighting the room
with their knowing glow.

Bright eyes, still seeking,
but also seeing—
a future shaped
by hands once guided.

Trusting, complete love—
a father watches,
holding tight to pride,
as she floats beyond—
on threads of time.
Ross J Porter Mar 12
Small hands clutching tight,
strings of laughter tethered
to floating dreams—
bubbles of wonder.

Sand-filled toes in shoes,
quick feet dancing
through my greatest dreams
of who she will be.

Soft kisses from lips
formed from my own heart,
melting into a
stream to her future.

Sweet songs of her love,
belted with fervor
from within the small,
light-flowered sundress.

Mischievous smiles,
doll-filled hands spinning
games that fill the day
with her glow of joy.

Bright eyes signaling
a future, brilliant
as the twinkle
of stolen stars.

Trusting, complete love,
holding tight to life
as it drifts beyond,
on bubbles of wonder
Adjusted line breaks and reworded some phrases to enhance readability and meaning (e.g., "as the twinkle of stolen stars" instead of "the stars they've stolen").

"as it drifts beyond, on bubbles of wonder" subtly reinforces the bittersweet nature of time passing, without losing the lightness.

"Mischievous" is kept intact for readability, and "light-flowered sundress" smooths out that phrase.
Ross J Porter Mar 12
Feet shod in mud,
chasing frogs and dreams
in a world all his own.

Sweat spills from young pores,
racing currents of futures
not yet known.

Tight embraces,
soon-to-be strong arms,
swelling pride in a father's heart.

Wood and leather,
worked to tough threads—
faith stitched into his aspirations.

Grass stains on knees,
bending the world to his will,
moved by dreams.

Anthems of hope
rise in his heart,
lifting his father’s soul
to love’s high planes.

The quiet secrets
of love and compassion,
hidden by modesty,
are known to all.

He follows his dreams
through mud-soaked fields,
where slick frogs slip
through eager hands—

A world he shapes,
a world he claims,
a world his father
once called his own.
neth jones Feb 3
i tell myself not to chide you child  
not to berate you into a convenient obedience
yet....

just last Monday eve
i told your voice that it was shrill   like a hurt bird
(that cuts a career as Singer out of your future)

just yesterday
i told you graphically and with crazed gestures
about the dangers of the open upstairs window
(a future fear of heights may well be on its way)

and i remember once
i told your body that society frowns upon ******
(that'll ensure future embarrassment  shame
and ****** awkwardness)

i chide myself now
   these practices must cease
“May you never be the reason why someone who loved to sing, doesn't anymore. Or why someone who dressed so uniquely, now wears plain clothing. Or why someone who always spoke so excitedly about their dreams, is now silent about them.”

In a world where you can be anything be kind.
Quote by Sharouk Mustafa Ibrahim
Sara Barrett Jan 11
The nights belonged to me alone,
the lullabies, the worries, the dreams.
I learned to hold the weight of two,
a love fierce enough to carry us.
A glimpse into the solitude of the military lifestyle and motherhood, shaped by distance from family and the absence of a partner. This poem captures quiet nights filled with love, worry, and dreams, as the mother carries the weight of raising a child alone, her strength powered by fierce love in an unfamiliar place.
neth jones Nov 2024
'the kid' leaps  sudden  from bed                    
points  in fright  toward the 'hippy' curtains
                      "i'm scared of ghosts in pyjamas"
11/2024
actual event - credit goes to my five year old
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