Angela Yarbrough

Angela Yarbrough Poems

Does a man turn away from right and good
Brought to the fact of humility not being able to provide
Children crying day and night denied everyday necessities
A lack of pride in being a man among men

On the hard cold floor I lay awake and pray
Silently, I cry out loud, 'Where are you Lord? '
If I could only find you deep in my mind
I search for that one sign, that you are near me

I want to be a great poet
Make you think and ask questions
Seek the answer to know it
Beautiful poems I want to write

On the corner where he stood
Close by to a shopping cart
Carrying all that it could
Possessions dear to his heart

Walking in a minefield of self-destruction
Not knowing that I was being watched
On a path that was so uncertain
As love of self was being botched

I get so tired of worrying all the time,
About where my next meal will come from
I feel like packing up, taking off, and just run
I wish one time when my phone rings

Sometimes I think about what Creation sees
Like the beauty of children playing in mud streets
There snow flakes never fall where they run and play
Playgrounds are unknown, and the roads are not paved


I will hold on to my peace
When everything is falling apart
All my happiness has ceased
And I am hurting in my heart

As the sun comes up over the horizon
A new beginning is offered to all mankind
The same beginning that has been offered for eon's

Knowing, that tomorrow is not a promised time piece

The music of the crescendo plays so sweet
As she moves across the floor so gracefully
To a soothing gentle blossoming beat
Her motion paints pictures of love lost painfully

Pushing a stroller as she walked in a hurry
She was dressed in clothes that were dirty
With hair matted and a face of lines that deeply ran
The stroller looked as if it came from a garbage can

In a golden desert field sparrows played.
The sun beamed down from heaven, there was little shade
While the ravens circled over keeping watch
The sparrows kept right on playing, they didn't stop


I once met a little girl named Tank.
At five years of age,
Her old soul wasn't fake.
I asked her how are you today ma'am?

Never did you tell me I wasn’t worth it
You believed that I would not fail
Made me think I could move mountains
Never saw my imperfections

She feeds those chickens everyday
And the rooster struts and crows
As the steam rolls from the pot
Plucking feathers for dinner she knows

In the park on an autumn day
The greatest sounds are there
Children laughing you know the way
Like their joy is true and real

Drawn into a darkness of peace
An overwhelming sense of caution
There is in the mind much despair
But the heart is searching for healing

Things are not always easy
Here in this world where we live
Indescribable joy is God's gift
Seen when you give in to his will

The wind blows like God is walking by
The trees reach so high in the sky
As He gently runs His fingers through them

She wanted to experience the world
But she was just Daddy’s little girl
So she packed her bags and away ran
Thinking no one truly would understand

Angela Yarbrough Biography

I was born in 1964 to Napoleon and Alice Keitt. Shortly after traveling across the USA a few times I settled in California where I meant my better half Dave. Today I write poetry about the things I have seen in my travels or what I have experienced in my life. In 2007 I was nominated by the International Society of Poets as Poet of the year. Although I did not win I got to meet some wonderful talent that believed in me. So now I write.)

The Best Poem Of Angela Yarbrough

A Level Of Misconception

Does a man turn away from right and good
Brought to the fact of humility not being able to provide
Children crying day and night denied everyday necessities
A lack of pride in being a man among men
Perceived lazy by a society that never has been hungry

Does man lack character, ethics, and moral stability
On dark cold chilling nights with no shelter or stillness
Caught up in a fight for mere wake in the morning survival
Things never perceived when childhood dreams were dreamed

When does enough become enough for you and I
How many go postal events or deaths in the streets
For the norm not to be normal in the sight of us all
Suffered long enough to bring suffering to an end
The level of misconception considered deeply

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