“Being Brave At Night” – A Poem for Children, Written by Edgar Albert Guest

It’s always a great feeling to discover poets whom I have never heard of, and reading some of their fascinating poetry. This poem kinda reminds me of myself growing up.  Sometimes I would be afraid of the things that went bump in the night.

Here’s a little background on this great Poet:

Edgar Guest (1881-1959) began his career at the Detroit Free Press in 1895, where he first worked as a copyboy. In 1904 he began writing poems for the Free Press under the heading “Chaff.” Those columns evolved into an immensely popular daily feature entitled “Breakfast Table Chat,” which, at the height of its popularity, was syndicated in about three hundred other newspapers.

For 30 years Guest published a new poem every single day in the Detroit Free Press. More than 11,000 poems! His poems were extremely popular at the time. He was known as The People’s Poet of his age for his easy-to-read poems about family, work, children, and God which upheld the values of the typical American in the first half of the 20th century.

In 1916 Guest published A Heap O’ Livin’, a collection of verse that eventually sold more than one million copies. That work was followed by Just Folks (1918), Rhythms of Childhood (1924), Life’s Highway (1933), and Living the Years (1949).

Guest was appointed Poet Laureate for the State of Michigan in 1952. The text of the resolution includes:
Thousands of people in the State of Michigan throughout the years have looked to the poems of Edgar A. Guest for moral support in times of stress and have enjoyed his subtle humor and homespun philosophy.


                        “Being Brave At Night”

The other night ’bout two o’clock, or maybe it was three,
An elephant with shining tusks came chasing after me.
His trunk was wavin’ in the air an’  spoutin’ jets of steam
An’ he was out to eat me up, but still, I didn’t scream
Or let him see that I was scared – a better thought I had,
I just escaped from where I was and crawled in bed with dad.

One time there was a giant who was horrible to see,
He had three heads and twenty arms, an’ he came after me
And red hot fire came from his mouths and every hand was red
And he declared he’d grind my bones and make them into bread.
But I was just too smart for him, I fooled him might bad,
Before his hands could collar me I crawled in bed with dad.

I ain’t scared of nothin that comes pesterin’ me at night.
Once I was chased by forty ghosts all shimmery an’ white.
An’ I just raced ’em round the room an’ let ’em think maybe
I’d have to stop an’ rest a while when they could capture me.
Then when they leapt onto my bed, Oh Gee! But they were mad
To find that I had slipped away an’ crawled in bed with dad.

No giants, ghosts, or elephants have dared to come in there
‘Coz if they did he’d beat ’em up and chase ’em to their lair.
They just hang ’round the children’s rooms
an’ snap an’ snarl an’ bite
An’ laugh if they can make ’em yell
for help with all their might.
But I don’t ever yell out loud. I’m not that sort of lad,
I slip from out the covers and I crawl in bed with dad.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com

“Sick” – A Poem For Children, Written by Shel Silverstein

This is such a cute children’s poem.  It says everything many children would say in order to stay home from school. 

Here’s a little background on the author:

Sheldon Allan Silverstein (September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999) was the author of The Giving Tree and many other books of poetry and prose. He also wrote songs, drew cartoons, played the guitar, and loved to have a good time. He was also an accomplished playwright. Translated into 20 languages, his books have sold over 20 million copies. Silverstein claimed to have never studied the poetry of others, his style was unique and derived from his personality: eccentric, loving, tough, and hilarious.

Silverstein passed away on May 10, 1999, from a heart attack, but that wasn’t the end of his fun and unique poetry. Runny Babbit (2005) is a poetry collection that was published after his death. Every Thing On It followed in 2011. The poems used in these books were ones that had been completed by Shel Silverstein before his death.


“I cannot go to school today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash, and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chickenpox
And there’s one more–that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut–my eyes are blue–
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke–
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is–what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”


Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com

“A Lazy Day” – A Poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar

THE trees bend down along the stream,
Where anchored swings my tiny boat.
The day is one to drowse and dream
And list the thrush’s throttling note.
When music from his bosom bleeds
Among the river’s rustling reeds.
No ripple stirs the placid pool,
When my adventurous line is cast,
truce to sport, while clear and cool,
The mirrored clouds slide softly past.
The sky gives back a blue divine,
And all the world’s wide wealth is mine.
pickerel leaps, a bow of light,
The minnows shine from side to side.
The first faint breeze comes up the tide —
pause with half uplifted oar,
While night drifts down to claim the shore.

Credit: Poetry.com

I Am Learning How to Live – A Poem by: Jamey Wysocki

When we lose someone that we love so much, oftentimes it’s hard to put all of the words together that we want to say.  We feel it, but to express it, isn’t always easy at that time.  That’s why poetry is so special because other people have experienced what someone else has experienced, or similar to what someone else has experienced, and have put into words what another individual was feeling, but could not find the words to express.  I hope you enjoy the following poem as much as I did.

I am learning how to live
In a new way
Since that day
You were taken away.

I am learning how to live
With the things left unsaid
Knowing I got to say them
With every tear that I shed.

I am learning how to live
By embracing the pain
Knowing that you live on
Through the memories that remain.

I am learning how to live
Knowing I will never again see your face
And I have peace knowing
You’re in a better place.

I am learning how to live
Knowing you’re in God’s care
It gives me the strength to move on
And makes the pain much easier to bear.

credit: elliesway.org

Annabel Lee – A Poem by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
   In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
   By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
   I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
   Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
   My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
   And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
   In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
   Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
   In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
   Of those who were older than we—
   Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
   Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
   In her sepulchre there by the sea—
   In her tomb by the sounding sea.


Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem

Woman of Strength – A Poem by Sharon Simani


A strong woman works out every day to keep her body in shape

but a woman of strength kneels in prayer to keep her soul in shape.

A strong woman isn’t afraid of anything

but a woman of strength shows courage in the midst of her fear.

A strong woman won’t let anyone get the best of her

but a woman of strength gives the best in what she does.

A strong woman makes mistakes and avoids the same in future

but a woman of strength realizes life’s mistakes can also be God’s blessings and capitalizes on them.

A strong woman walks sure footedly

but a woman of strength also knows God will catch her when she falls.

A strong woman wears the look of confidence on her face

but a woman of strength wears grace.

A strong woman has faith that she is strong enough for the journey

but a woman of strength has faith that it is in the journey that she will become strong.

Credit: https://selffa.com/poems

Love Is Far More Than the Heartbreak – A Poem

This poem was written and submitted to Hello Poetry by an author out of England who goes by Unheard-of  21/F/England.  It’s a simple poem that makes so much sense because we do write about things we don’t understand in the hope of understanding them. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.

10.09 am

I used to wonder why everyone wrote about love
in novels and poems,
like it was a disposable glove

but then I realized one day
that we write about what we don’t understand,
in the hope of understanding it

for love cannot be defined
or explained
or described.

It can only be a feeling, with the sole purpose of proving we’re alive.

Credit: hellopoetry.com

The Ring – A Poem

As he walked up to her slowly, he didn’t say a word.

His lips quivered, eyes teared, but not a sound was heard.

His eyes gently said what his mouth couldn’t say.

He loved this woman then and more on this day.

As he gazed into her face, he remembered the day they met,

For she whispered something to him, he never would forget.

She said I love the stars, mountains, moon, and snow,

And if there is truly a heaven, I know one day, I’ll go.

He took her hand in his and kissed her lovely face.

With his index finger, he lined her lips in trace.

He told her how much he loved her and wished she wouldn’t go.

Then he slipped the ring on her finger and said I love you so.

He turned and walked away and sat in an empty space,

As the coffin’s lid was closed and pallbearers stood in place.

They lifted the lovely coffin and carried it to the open door.

The woman he loved so much, in this life, he’d see no more.


Written by: Jasmine D. Parker ©

Photo credit: Yahoo.com/images



I Was Free – A Poem

He struck a chord with me, unlike any other. He lit a fire that burned and crackled with a smell that ignited memories of somewhere in time. He turned to me and held my hand, while tenderly twirling me around to the soft tunes of the music.

As I twirled round and round, I felt free. Free to feel the warmth of the fire,  his hands around my waist, free to be happy as I danced the night away. I was happy, I was no longer hiding inside myself, in captivity, yearning to be heard, and loved. I was in love, and in love with me was he.


Coleman – A Poem

For years I lived with you, relishing in all you had to offer. Laughter, anger, and sorrow, knowing one day I’d leave for a new tomorrow.

A romantic love affair with days spent at the lakes; Hords Creek, Lake Scarborough, Lake Coleman & Memory Lake, such great memories created there, now with new friends I sometimes share.

Walking along dirt roads, whistling, singing & humming; later riding up and down Commercial Avenue. I sure miss that old, red-bricked Live Oak Street. Nights sharing stories underneath street- lights with friends.  Such innocent, priceless memories I sometimes wish we could do over again.

 I met with friends to say farewell, we talked, hugged, and joked.  Those who stayed were romantically attached, those who left sometimes go back. As for me, I dream of you, I know I’m still in love with you,  I sometimes sit and cry over you. My home…COLEMAN!

 Written by: Jasmine D. Parker ©