See for more themes.

Poetry prayers written by a child, poems written by a child

Q43: Poetry prayers by a "babe"..

Poetry prayers written as a very young lad.

(8/10/1975) Age 16. In my diary vol 1:

Our Father,

I try to answer the questions,

About You with my earthly ignorance.

How can I ever, Father,

Be what you want me to be?

Forgive me Father,

I know thou can do anything.

My doubts of You,

Only keep us apart.

But I am thankful, so grateful,

That the Lord Jesus Christ,

Holds us together.

Please don't ever let go,

I want to be with Thee forever.

Lord, I want to love you,

And believe in Thee,

But You know the powers,

For the Evil One on me,

Please Lord, I know you will send,

Indeed I ask, for Your strength,

To believe confidently in You,

To chase the Evil One away.

My heart, my love to Thee. Amen

Through the precious Name,

of Jesus Christ.

The young lad sees "Faith" as a "belief" concept, rather than "supporting GOD".

However, notice the child like salvation flowing from this young lad, with an innocent love for Jesus.

Our Father in heaven, thank you for Jesus, who accepts us as babes, who allows us to grow up under the Holy Spirit, may we bring forth your fruits of character in their season, we support Jesus words. Amen

Poetry written as a child:

(From 1970 to 1973) Age 11 to 13. In my book of poetry: The first poem ever preserved by the Author over 49 years ago walking down the road:

The silvery Mirror

The moon, as a watched it,

In all her glory,

Shines everlastingly,

With it's one round eye,

And a face of crystals,

She tells a story,

About a shimmering lake,

That's very nigh.

As the moon glows down,

Upon the still like lake,

A beauty like a silvery mirror,

And as I looked,

Not a wave began to quake,

Nor even the wind,

Begining to quiver.

Here is a poem that can be sung as a song:

Memorial to my Dad

Now there was born to the world,

A funny looking bloke,

Who was a mere six inches,

And started off broke;

He grew up among his brothers,

Sisters and me,

All in a large family,

As poor as can be.

Ar'h we can't help it mate,

I'm only man;

We live in Australia,

It's a bloody, nice land;

To live here, well,

I'll tell you it's hard;

You have to be an Abbo,

And only eat lard.

Well Kev grew up,

In the dusty outback,

He was wild as an Aussie,

And lived in a shack;

With a rifle on his hips,

He was after the follies,

And when married one,

He'd shoot off her poppies.

Blow me down Kev,

You did pretty well;

You got yourself a wife,

And a home you can sell;

While one day I'll tell you,

He was born to a son;

I bet he liked children,

'Cause he had more than one!

Times were hard,

An' sweat marks the blows,

But the Tomo's were famous,

Where-ever they goes;

And we can say mate,

Us Tomo's are all true blue,

We lived as a family,

With love and fights too.

So goodbye to a family,

Where Kev started all..

A man of will power,

Who gave his life all;

To care for his children,

And to love his own wife;

See ya later Kev,

In the next Godly life.

Here is a poem that is funny with rthymn:

Living in Time

A tic, a tac, a tock,

A clock sleeps through the night;

Bones start a creaking,

Owls are a shrieking,

At the streaking sight.

Sleeping one,

Time rolls on,

tic, a tac, a tock;

Their they sleep,

Slowly counting sheep,

Eyes soon start to flop.

A wind blows,

Where sin goes,

Moving in a calm;

The star night yawns,

Sunlight dawns,

Bang goes the alarm.

Roll out, come shout,

He's still in the bed,

Eat fast, you're last,

Another ache in the head;

Out you go, what a blow,

The bus is on it's way;

O' well, one can tell,

He's had to walk today.

Home again, reach for a can,

Your mind in the set;

Mum's been home, all alone,

Working to a fret;

Both look had it,

Now both are at it,

A fight is on it's way;

Neighbour's looking,

Gossip's cooking,

What is there more to say?

They soon pull through,

It's dad's home brew,

They become an ungly sight,

Until a tic, a tac, a tock;

A clock sleeps though the night.

Here is another poem:


There is a home of babbling brats,

A place of dogs, cats and rats;

In a time when things go bad,

When all get angry or go mad;

Was one such day,

Mr Dog crawled back,

And as you know,

Dogs "hate" cats,

So Dog bashed in ,

He was shouting,

Cat was complaining,

Reddening, maddening,

She was so mad,

Her face fell flat,

And as you know,

Cats "hate" rats,

So she screamed,

At those bawling brats,

In the home,

Of dog's, cat's and rat's.

Later in Grade 6 from age 11, the "babe in Jesus" wrote poems that have other pictures paralleling certain scripture themes:

Here is a poem of a tree, which is a simile of how Christians grow, and the most important Person who became a tree for us, was Jesus, this is a prayer poem hinting at Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, as a "tree":

The Ax-man

Morning mist dew drops,

Fills the air, drops like

Long watery crystals,

Clinging to sleeping leaves,

Soft spiraling arms of light,

Twisted its way through,

Blue steel boughs,

And microscopic mirrors,

Reflect watery images,

Of the beauty in the bush.

Slowly, silently, the tall

Sleeping giants awake,

The Sun relaxes her green gowns,

The noisey bush comes to life,

The animals off to work,

The factories churn,

And catepillars burn,

The food within,

While birds eat her produce,

The provider of life,

Stands alone.

A growing thump, stops all work,

Distress fills the air,

The wailing waxes in her veins,

Agony tembles up her spine,

The blows are hit,

She feels each rusty edge,

Piercing her heart,

Deep into her bones,

The tears from the wound,

Red running, her body

Shrinks slowly up

As death drains her veins.

Her friends fill the bush, with

Cries, hopeless, horrifying,

Silent cries, her tall beautiful

Blue like trunk quivers,

As each blow is sounded,

Each time a pitiful, agonizing

Cry wrings out, long and hopeless ..

As she screams a long last

Plea, she ends with a crash,

And left in tortured state,

To die among her friends.

Here is another the Author chooses to publish. It is about free will and choice, where there is no Hebrew word for this theme. Really we have no alterative choice, hence the word "not bound". Our only life of freedom is bounded in the arms of the Divine Family in heaven.


What am I? A person?

A slave, who is a slave to the world,

Doing my best to please it,

In, like a sheep following,

Not myself.

I am not myself.

I long to be freed.

Not bound.

And yet where am I?

Not free, a job to do;

Where work never ends,

The world bears down on you;

To be myself.

Alone with a smiling face,

Not a husband, nor a kid,

Or a teacher,

But just a man.

Not bound.

Next we consider more poetry prayer.

Poetry Prayer theme

Created by Rob Thompson. Hosted since 10/01/2012.

Visitors ISP GoDaddy. A thin website for browsers.