Indigo Children

Poetry For and About Indigos

Is My Child an Indigo

Is my child an Indigo?
I wonder as he starts to grow.
Will he know where he is from?
Next to him will I look dumb?
Will he be able to talk to spirit?
If he does, will I fear it?
Will he be labeled ADD
And prescribed drugs from an MD?
Would taking them really be prudent?
Would it make him a better student?
After the kids are thoroughly sifted
Will he be identified as gifted?
If he does, will that be wise,
Or will it be the start of his demise
Will it cause his ego to inflate
And the other kids begin to hate?
Will he challenge the teacher's rule?
To other kids will he be cruel?
Or will he be sensitive and kind?
And back at home, will he mind?
Will he tell US what to do?
And if we don't would it cause a coup?
Many will try to correct him,
But I will always love and respect him.

How do I raise this little boy?
Who has already brought me so much joy?
"You are lovely, darling Spirit"
When I say that, can he hear it?
As his eyes shine and glow
I wonder if he's an Indigo.

by Wendy H. Chapman


I would love more than anything to spread my arms and fly,
Away from the rage and sorrow that clutches like a wraith at my heart,
To simply jump out the window and take flight, my hopes and dreams
carrying me away and up into the twinkling stars above.
Cold they may be, but at least they are my silent lovers, watching
over me while I watch over the small, sentimental things that I
believe and hold dear.
I want to glide away, soar far from the things that bind me to my
eternal doom,
Breathe in the calm that I prefer to fill my spirit, and banish all
thoughts and feelings of helplessness and despair,
And as I gaze out the glass portal of my cage, I know that one night,
I will spring forth, for though my wings are clipped, they cannot
chain my wild soul.

by "Raen", Angela N. Cooper

Girl Indigo

Shattered glass sparkles
through a broken window
refracting reflections
into backlit hallways
deep, deep inside, flashing

strophic light, then dark.
A figure, a shape moves
into and out of shadow
a child, a woman reverberates
in silhouette.

Broken nail, broken heart
her hair, dyed jet black, fades
in heartbeats and tears.
She is here, she is now
screaming forever.

Dimensionless and expanding
beyond the edge of visible light
she hovers in her own luminescence
untouchable, yet yearning an embrace

Beyond a grasp, colors fail
pastels wither and crimsons bleed
into neutral shades of gray
as she absorbs the sun
into her deepest indigo.

by James M. Thompson

Peek Behind The Veil

Where is that place; without time or space?
Is the veil so strong as to completely erase?
My recollection comes from out of the blue;
then a force says, "dismiss it" so that's what I do.
The force that's mundane drives me insane;
insanity spreads, like a disease with no name.
What would happen if the world lifted the veil?
The force would be gone, the disease would pale.
To get rid of the force; don't discard the peek;
For each time you seek, so shall you reap.
Wisdom is contagious, it spreads like insanity;
seeking breeds wisdom, wisdom breeds philanthropy.
To lift your own veil, all you have to do;
is know that wisdom and truth, lies inside of you.
Carry this belief in your heart; wear it on your sleeve;
then the veil will be gone, and the world will believe.

by Nick
You are invited to email him with your feedback on this poem.

Freezer Burn

She had the clearest blue eyes
Liquid and always wet
I found a sea-bed in her eyes
And enough tears to fill it

She was one with the salt-sea
Her skin smoothed by sand and storm
And she swam within her eyes
And they kept her wet and warm

And the sun never touched her
Pale child of the tide
The water held her warm hand
And she dripped and dropped and dived
The waters held her warm hands
And she splished and splashed and cried

Please let me drown while I can still feel it
She said I want to swim with the cold fish
Please let me drown while I can still feel it
She said I want to fry like the cold fish
I longed to feel what she felt
Yet I could not dive into her eyes
I was tanned and burned and rough
The sun kept me cold and dry

But I needed to know what she knew
So I plunged into her apple-sea
And she pushed me out and said
That she would come to me

Please let me drown while I can still feel it
She said I am going to swim with the cold fish
Please let me drown while I can still feel it
She said I am going to fry like the cold fish

Her eyes had frozen to a crisp
I saw her think then retake her place
She surfaced and drifted ashore
The sun came out and burned her pale face

Her eyes said that she had not felt it
She had frozen long before she fell
And I held her in my cold arms
And I wished that she would melt

And without her rain to wet us
We stood and began to dry
She grabbed ahold of my cold hand
And she tanned and burned and fried
I tightly held her cold hands
And she blistered and cracked and smiled

~by Eve at age 15 (1997)
You are welcome to email Eve with feedback.

for casey

should passion be able to melt and liquify
it would be the ink that wrote the words that you spoke at night
it would be the paint that formed the worlds that you found within your mind
should passion be able to convert into electricity
it would be the power surge that crept up the cord and through the chords that split through time and space
giving birth to a new plain in which you found refuge
and your sound tracked us down like bloodhounds led by the chill and breeze
dragged to us against their will
pulled towards the stench of loneliness until they came sniffing at our feet
drooling and licking their chops-and when the rain started to fall we shivered
not from the cold but from the comfort
that feeling you get when you lie in bed and just can't stay still because you want to be sure that this feeling coats your entire being
and so you toss and turn and sigh because you won't
you can't
go comatose until you are sure that every inch has been exposed
and we cried because we were full and had nothing left to do
valleys sunk and spirits rose
and all the squirrels died when the tide came in and buried the floor in an endless river
and were replaced by dolphins who swam amidst the leaves and trees where birds and butterflies flew
and will fly again someday
i hope
and the sound fell like rock pops and broken teeth as they chomped away at our steel souls
and we heard it as a low hum that kept us fully conscious and aware during those last few moments between waking life and dreams
and we were trapped to never change-we were protected by the metal casing
the result of over exposure
over indulgence
over doses of gaseous melancholies that seeped through your eyes
the melancholies that condensed and then cooled into a solid armor
the melancholies that forced us to drown in own own tears despite our frantic efforts to keep our heads above
they blurred our vision and we closed our eyes only to see the dawn of day
light so bright it doesn't burn your eyes
and all was clear

~by Eve at age 13 (1994)
You are welcome to email Eve with feedback.

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AKA The Double Edged Sword of Giftedness

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