10 of the Best Baby Poems
Babies, I think, are great studies in why the world needs nuance (and more baby poems). Not yet having developed any nuance, babies run rapidly between the poles. One minute, they smell like tender sleep and baby powder, and the next, they smell like something we don’t usually talk about here. One minute they are happy and cooing, and the next, because they noticed the color green where they’d not seen it before, they are shrieking in terror. They go from hot to cold in far less time than it takes to light the average propane lamp, and everything they feel they feel with an intensity and sincerity that’s rarely otherwise witnessed.
So I figure, babies could use more poems. Or at least, the people who are around babies could use more poems. Or maybe, baby, you could just use some baby poems.
Oh, baby.
Enjoy this collection of 10 great poems about babies.
1. Infant Joy by Robert Blake
I have no name
I am but two days old.—
What shall I call thee?
I happy am
Joy is my name, —
Sweet joy befall thee!
Pretty joy!
Sweet joy but two days old,
Sweet joy I call thee;
Thou dost smile.
I sing the while
Sweet joy befall thee.
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2. My House Creaks in the Rain by Sara Lewis Holmes
My house creaks in the rain,
a porch-skirted grandmother
shifting her lap.
Sing to me, Grandmother.
Comfort me, house.
You are used to
the nattering of raindrops,
used to their prickly breath,
used to cold knees
as they crawl down
your neck to your breast.
Sing to me, Grandmother.
Comfort me, house.
My nipples are cracked
from milk wetness.
My womb shudders
in sharp gusts. I’m rocked
by this baby, this raw-fisted
baby, flooded
by this baby who clings
like rain to the eaves
of my chest.
Grandmother!
House!
3. Hesperus by Shann Ray
My four-year-old daughter handed me a card.
To Daddy written on the front
and inside a rough field
of five-pointed lights, and the words
You’re my favorite Daddy in the stars.
In this western night we all light the sky
like Vega, Deneb, Altair, Albireo,
the Summer Triangle,
Cygnus the Swan, our hair
tangled with wood and gravel,
our eyes like vacant docks
that beckon every boat.
Tell me about the word
stars, I said.
Oh, she said. Sorry.
I didn’t know
how to spell world.
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4. Maternity by Robert Service
There once was a Square, such a square little Square,
And he loved a trim Triangle;
But she was a flirt and around her skirt
Vainly she made him dangle.
Oh he wanted to wed and he had no dread
Of domestic woes and wrangles;
For he thought that his fate was to procreate
Cute little Squares and Triangles.
Now it happened one day on that geometric way
There swaggered a big bold Cube,
With a haughty stare and he made that Square
Have the air of a perfect boob;
To his solid spell the Triangle fell,
And she thrilled with love’s sweet sickness,
For she took delight in his breadth and height—
But how she adored his thickness!
So that poor little Square just died of despair,
For his love he could not strangle;
While the bold Cube led to the bridal bed
That cute and acute Triangle.
The Square’s sad lot she has long forgot,
And his passionate pretensions …
For she dotes on her kids—Oh such cute Pyramids
In a world of three dimensions.
5. Song for Baby-O, Unborn by Diane Di Prima
Sweetheart
when you break thru
you’ll find
a poet here
not quite what one would choose.
I won’t promise
you’ll never go hungry
or that you won’t be sad
on this gutted
breaking
globe
but I can show you
baby
enough to love
to break your heart
forever
6. Lullaby of an Infant Chief by Sir Walter Scott
O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,
They are all belonging, dear babie, to thee.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.
O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.
O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.
7. Welcome to Facebook by Sarah Dunning Park
She wrote on my wall:
i luv mama
(which melted my heart)
but it took forty minutes
of sustained elbow grease
to coax the crayon off.
She poked me
over and over
after crawling into bed
with cold feet
and a sagging diaper
(at six in the morning).
“I’m not your friend anymore!”
she shrieked savagely
after I put her in time-out
for the third time—
I’m thinking, maybe I should join
the real thing?
8. Hemlock by L.L. Barkat
Hemlock branches
bounce—
like babies in their
swings.
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9. Ode to a Dove’s Lament by Maureen Doallas
You do not whisper coo-oo this
morning, your sound the signal
alarm—wings sharply whistling—
till I, twice pulled from slumber, run
my finger to the glass, imagining how
the limb on which you perch might be
shaken to one more vow of silence.
We do this often, you and I—call
and respond, me rubbing sleep’s eye
and you, my day-breaking game bird,
letting loose the same-syllable song
widows address in their dreams.
How could I know today would be
different, wing whirs replacing coo-
OO-oo, the racketeering Blue Jay
occupying the nest, its beak a bloom
of tiny shell chips, and you, in gray
dress, forever unstilled.
10. I Know a Baby, Such a Baby by Christina Rossetti
I know a baby, such a baby, –
Round blue eyes and cheeks of pink,
Such an elbow furrowed with dimples,
Such a wrist where creases sink.
‘Cuddle and love me, cuddle and love me, ’
Crows the mouth of coral pink:
Oh, the bald head, and, oh, the sweet lips,
And, oh, the sleepy eyes that wink!
Photo by Kris Kesiak, Creative Commons license via Flickr.
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Rick Maxson says
Beautiful poems all ! Gorgeous baby picture. Maureen’s poem “Ode to a Dove’s Lament” has such musical sounds and alliterations; I especially love,
“and you, my day-breaking game bird,
letting loose the same-syllable song”
and
“…wing whirs replacing coo-
OO-oo, the racketeering Blue Jay”
Maureen Doallas says
Thank you, Rick. I was surprised to be reading along and then see my poem.
Maureen Doallas says
I’ll never think of hemlock branches in quite the same way.
L. L. Barkat says
They really did look that way. At least to my daydreamy eye that sunny afternoon. 🙂
Sandra Heska King says
“its beak a bloom
of tiny shell chips, and you, in gray
dress, forever unstilled.”
Oh, Maureen…
Maureen Doallas says
Thank you, Sandra. I witnessed the event I wrote about. Later, a cardinal took over that same nest, building it up deeply. Her four eggs all hatched and within a week or so the babies grew too big and flew their thatched home.
Megan Willome says
I recognize a few of these from Every Day Poems. Nice to see them again.
Donna Z Falcone says
I love them all! Such a wide range of emotions captured here.