Best Cute Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Cute poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of cute poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for Cute poems, articles about Cute poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Cute poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
New Cute Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Cute poems are below this new poems list.
That Cute Little Smile
by Antwi, Elizabeth
MY CUTE CAT TIDDLES
by ALLISON, JAN
Girlies' Cute Rears
by Ellison, Jack
White House with Cute Carousel
by Horn, James
The Gulf Between Cute And Beautiful
by Demetros , Madison
Cute Casket Now Fill
by Horn, James
My Cute Video
by Salmonson, Jessica Amanda
CUTE GIRLS AREN'T FINE
by anaswa, felix
Lovely Receptionist Is Cute
by Horn, James
Cute Sunny is on my mind
by Dabbs, Marqese
View all new Cute Poems
The Best Cute Poems
"Mine all Mine!"
A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea
A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."
The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind
I memorized till they became all mine
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monolog look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio,
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips,
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof
My dearest Poet,
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind,
Indulged when you speak and point out a verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
From childhood it was a world of two...you and I...
I leaned lightly, leisurely against your heart and you let me in.
We were five I use to draw you rose scented flowers
using an ordinary led pencil. Youth! The world was ours.
Seven! I know that was the first time I saw you blush.
I whispered a song for you so no one else would hear.
Oh when we were nine! The potato sack race. I entered with Lisa.
You gave me that look. Oh that look! And you left without a word.
At eleven years old I had my "magic wink". "A Magic Wink" you'd
say sarcastically. How it made you giggle to make fun of it.
It was at thirteen we decided to burn the gym floor with our moves.
Our first dance. You stole my breath. Emptied the room of oxygen.
Fifteen...we started running and my God we ran and ran...
our shoe prints dug into the concrete. It was then I knew. Forever.
Then suddenly at seventeen in the slip of time you left, dissapeared.
Stunned! I slept through the next two years even in the full light of day.
At nineteen I swam an endless pool but even the chlorine couldn't
clear your scent from my memory as my spirit filled out hard as steel.
Was it on my twenty first birthday you showed up? You showed up
tried to hug me hello. Silent! Cold! I turned and walked away.
Was I still twenty one when I apologized for that day. When you asked
for an explanation. I recited false words but we both knew. Hurt for hurt.
Then at twenty five we still had issues to work out. I asked you bluntly
why you cut me loose in the prime of our youth. You my first and only.
I asked the question that burned in my gut. Without words your eyes spoke.
You were still in love with me. There was only me. I your first and only.
Finally our lips met to never part again. Left to wonder why, I accept our
lives without an answer. My love was that. Why would I have let you go?
Older than old now. One last time you leave. Death makes this choice.
Alone again I remember how I never knew why once you left.
Not everything is explained or understood,
like music by a one arm man playing a violin.
I sport my blank stare. Naked is the body of life.
Mystery sings blind the song of the lark!
i think of you.
March 29 2015
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
"All Children Are Beautiful"
His heart of white, deep shallow wells, -yet beautiful
He smirks with a grin, an ego that won't let me in' -he's beautiful
Bastard of beauty, running ashes without a name
A face with no claim, a young man pound from shame
What is his sin, -he's beautiful!
I want to breathe from his ashes, swim through his veins
I want him to come into my light, like a good man
I sing and tell a tale, "A Bastard through the night"
His eyes I wage a thousand times, young and poor, I felt saved
Lying down in the arms of my white knight
My hair perfectly caressed, he came to my light
The furnace burned, the night was fast becoming trite
A lover, he did it well, then went back to his wife
A moment of gold, the ages live, his son is born
"He Was Beautiful!"
Another Bastard brought into this world
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
Seb's young fertile face beamed African royalty
even in the penury of this Nigerian refugee camp.
Her mother's downcast eyes shunned the camera's querying lens,
while Seb's, "I-love-you", eyes were welcoming.
Seb's eyes were as blossom-petaled obsidian pools,
each pierced by the light of a distant star.
Her blackness did not succumb to woeful displacement,
but shone with the promise of an overcoming spirit;
for a Mother's prayers were writ in the marrow of her bones.
Born with a tenacity to love,
her young heart leaped out through trusting inquisitive eyes.
Her tongue, budding out of rich dark faced soil, seemed eager
to taste the sweet juices that her spirited-eyes promised;
smiling, "l love you", behind barbed wired love-me-nots.
Seb was a child . . . full of joyful expectations.
A child who did not choose this world;
'tho born of a Spirit conceived to love . . .
to love the . . . hell . . . out from her world.
(Note: This piece came out of seeing this fascinating photograph
by Sebastian Rich, of Seb clinging to her Mother in a camp for displaced Nigerians.)
Caption : A Nigerian child in a UNICEF clinic, who was finally on the road to a full recovery after suffering from severe acute malnutrition. Her unprompted smile filled my lens.
I would encourage everyone to visit the website of Sebastian Rich. His heart-gripping photography is incredibly moving and of great importance.
Copyright © Word Hobo | Year Posted 2017
Written by Jan Allison & Tim Smith
28th August 2014
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014
you traced the beauty of nature.
The starry sky and inky ocean,
smile of winter in the heavenly garden,
dancing of waterfall on the lap of hill
and kissing of butterfly with lips of lily.
You painted the alluring nature
in the canvas of my memory.
It refreshes my soul
and revives my heart.
you are lovely, you are smart.
You traced my childhood
with your experienced hand.
Sacrifice of my mother
and hardship of my dad.
Depth of their love
and length of their sorrow,
thickness of their sympathy
and width of their care.
You are cute, you are fair.
you age out books stepping with time.
My career holds what I need.
You created hopes
and enhanced expectations.
You make my avenue successful and vivid.
My dreams slept on rose petal bed.
I know, a good book is equal to 100 friends,
but a good friend is a complete library.
you are my friend, you are my diary.
you traced a queen
in a marriage party.
Now, she is my darling
she is my sweety.
I never forget that wonderful night.
When you traced her sensation
and her jumping heart,
her tender lips
and her undressed beauty.
I was clean bold
with extreme delight.
you are spicy, you are naughty.
you are very clever.
You can speak more than tongue.
I know, you can't be wrong.
My anger is apple red,
my love is pearl white
and my pleasure is crystal bright.
When I am confused
you fly kingfisher flight.
you are my teacher, you are my guide.
Copyright © Manmath Dalei | Year Posted 2016
In the rundown little house where her family currently lives,
the fourteen-year old glances obediently at her glaring daddy,
nodding her head in quiet compliance
to his usual horrible demands of her for the evening.
Not to acquiesce would incur his utter wrath,
and that is something she has learned well by now to avoid.
Things are not like the old days, when she was twelve,
feeling so lost, and he would lavish her with little gifts:
bracelets with charms, cute purses, chocolate candies. . .
With warm aqua eyes, he’d smile his approval
as she whirled around the room, modeling a pretty dress for him.
In those days when her world had fallen apart, he’d taken her in.
His voice would softly soothe her then, chasing away her every fear.
Back to reality. Daddy’s voice now is laced with menace.
And his eyes are ice blue marbles staring through her.
“Do what wifey says,” he instructs her at the door
as she leaves with four other sisters and the one of legal age, her sister-wifey.
Leaning in to her, his breath like chill wind on her nape, he whispers,
“And you better be VERY good with your dates this time.”
The young girl, in high heels, slit skirt, and heavy makeup, has exited the door
when her daddy barks commands to his helper in the living room, and then
Daddy exits too, but through the garage, where a Mercedes Benz is parked.
He drives alone, a short trip across town to his other house -
the one with manicured lawn and garden and a large pool out back -
the large beautiful house where a real wife and a real daughter
“How was your day?” his beautiful young wife gushes
as he crosses the threshold in his expensive business suit.
“Oh, just another day at the office,” he quips,
leaning in to give her a soft kiss. Then his young daughter
comes bounding down the stairs, broadly grinning.
“Daddy, look at the new dress you bought me!”
She twirls with adolescent glee.
The man, with blue eyes dancing, looks his fourteen-year-old daughter
up and down. “Sweetie, you know I don’t like you wearing lipstick yet.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she teases, “I’ll be dating soon.”
“Afraid not,” he lovingly chides her. “Those boys will just have to wait
at least for two more years. For now, you are Daddy's little girl."
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
It is said that eyes are the windows into ones soul
If truth be told they reflect ones innermost feelings
The girl observes her with earnest inquisitive eyes
Her most striking feature - green eyes flecked with gold.
Braided neatly is her long thick brown hair
She has a smattering of freckles on her upturned nose
Just enough to give her a somewhat cute look
But the most fascinating is her impenetrable stare
A stare, which makes her feel awkward - in this sickly blue room
Drab and clinical like most hospital rooms are
She wears a hospital gown and was brought in here they tell her
By some kindly soul who found her wandering
Not knowing who she is - nor from where she came
She doesn’t have a clue of what her name is
A girl without a past, is a girl without a future
The images she has swirling in her head
Roll in and out like the endless waves
That she would like to keep at bay
That a part of her wants to resist instead
But they merge one with the other
Like the wind and the surf
Again and again lapping the shore
Sounds trying to break through a blur
Waves of emotion wash over her
Her past memories - hers to keep - hers to hold
Like deep rooted trees - roots lodged in
Are now hidden secrets from her past?
She feels that some things can never be cast into oblivion
Yet some nets no matter how far cast out to sea
Do not bring back answers blowing in the whisper of the wind
Whispers in her ears that fade into lurking silhouettes
Into her subconscious seeming familiar faces slink back into regress
Aren’t some memories best to be forgotten?
Connected to these shadows that remain to haunt?
Will tomorrow’s sunrise bring them back?
The self-destructive memories so misbegotten
When memories from ones past are all wiped clean
How can emotions remain behind to torment?
Why does she feel an unaccountable sense?
Of déjà vu combined with futility and fear between?
Trying to trigger a response they ask a thousand questions
Making her brain hurt trying to remember Who? What? Why? Where?
She looks across at the girl, does she know things about her?
Could she tell her if she’s some mother’s daughter? Is she some man’s love?
A sensory overload of emotions drives her to anguish
The nurse gently puts the mirror back in her hand
Urging her to keep looking,
She tells her that sometimes it triggers a memory
She looks at the mirror
The girl with the green eyes
Looks back at her
Braided neatly is her long thick brown hair
She has a smattering of freckles on her upturned nose
Just enough to give her a somewhat cute look
She looks disenchanted - gone is her penetrating stare
Memory is not just where she left the keys
It is the essence of who she is
But the silence is still unbroken
And only stillness remains
Midnight - and she finds herself at the window
Gazing at a moon that no doubt reflects her feelings
Did she experience love in a man’s arms
Did she dance in happiness beneath the glow?
Perhaps sunrise will bring a new morning
Perhaps with it her memories
And she knows she must not give in
To fears of a fatalistic warning
Because from midnight to the morning’s sun
Is after all when new memories will begin
Unlocking a new Life and Hope renewed?
Look! A New Day has already begun!
Stay tuned for next Episode
Continued in ... 'Blind Terror' - (Memories Episode 2)
Episode list in consecutive order:
Memories - Episode 1
Blind Terror - (Memories Episode 2)
Wistful Expectations - (Memories Episode 3)
Deception - (Memories Episode 4)
Run Run As Fast As You Can - (Memories Episode 5)
Running - (Memories Episode 6)
Music Video Clip Published on Oct 21, 2016
'Memory' by Gheorghe Zamfir
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017
Oh, give me a nook and a storybook
there at my mother’s knee.
Or tucked in bed, a pillow at my head
as father reads to me.
To hear nursery rhymes - wonderful times
when Mother used my name
inside a rhyme. Oh, for childhood sublime!
Old age is not the same!
Of Cinderella and a cute fella
I used to listen to.
Romantic the tale where all ended well,
and love they said was true.
But I’d graduate from my childlike state.
Alone I soon would read
less beautiful things, in which a prince brings
no rose; instead, a weed.
Oh, to return to before I could learn
of life’s realities!
Where endings were good I’d go if I could
In that nook I’d be, my mother with me
where books I’d learned to love.
That would be enough because it’s the stuff
fairy tales are made of!
April 26, 2016
Now for Line Gauthier's 'ANY RHYME FORM - AN EARLY CHILDHOOD MEMORY' Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
She is searching for the son taken from her arms
simply because she was believed to be a child herself.
She was unable to stand up to her parents’ wishes -
those GOD fearing upright Christians whose pride mattered
more than their daughter’s feelings.
Her son’s pink-cheeked newborn face, chubby and cute,
haunts her waking moments.
But in dreams, she sees him tall, athletic and so beautiful.
Beautiful like her Johnny, the boy with whom she’d conceived her son
all those years ago.
Nathaniel she had named him, Nathan for short!
Shortly thereafter, she’d accidentally but happily been given to know
that the adoptive parents were honoring the wish of the biological mother.
They’d kept his name Nathaniel. Though she knew not their surname,
his name was her glittering hope. It IS her hope today,
for this one piece of knowledge has sustained her through
the eighteen long years that were to follow
that long sweltering summer before her child’s birth.
That summer so long ago, when she'd been made to stay at her aunt’s house
in a little town far away from her city and out of sight of her parents’ friends.
As her belly grew larger, she would bide her time, sometimes taking walks.
Past a rusty gate that led into an old graveyard,
she would seek shelter from the sun,
along a green shady path meandering past headstones
headstones with names of souls who once inhabited this strange little town
where she was spending the fifteen summer of her lifetime.
She'd never been the child her parents believed her to be; she was an old soul.
She could have been a good mother. If only Johnny had not deserted her.
Oh, beautiful Johnny, the father of her Nathan! Surely she'll see her son soon,
and surely he will resemble the love of her youth.
She has returned to this little town where she’d felt her Nathan’s tiny fingers
wrap around hers that last day she held him - as if imploring her to stay.
But obedient daughter that she was, she gave her son away.
Today her Nathan turns eighteen. Born August 28th, he can’t be hard to find.
How many Nathan’s with that same birth date could exist in this little town?
She has kept the vow she made to herself all those years ago -
to not try to see her son until he became an adult.
Now she is finished visiting the town’s two schools.
There is no record of a Nathan, Nate or Nathaniel born Aug. 28th.
All these years clinging to her hope. Had the adoptive parents left town?
Had her son never grown up in the little town at all?
With dismal thoughts swirling in her mind, she finds herself walking. . .
walking like she did in the summer of her tribulation.
Past a rusty gate is that old graveyard she remembered from before.
Here she is again on another sweltering August day walking
along a green shady path meandering past headstones.
Almost instantly, her eyes are drawn to a small mound and a stone
overgrown with vines.
A strange dread has come upon her. As if compelled by some strange force,
she finds herself yanking the vines off the tiny headstone!
Tears well up in her eyes as she reads the birth date on the stone
and sees the very short span of life revealed by the date of death of
her son Nathaniel.
Written 10/1/16 for the Overgrown With Vines Poetry Contest of Broken Wings which was judged First place along with some other first place beautiful poems, 10/8/2016
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
As if robin's eggs ...
I consider the brittle fragments of her heart,
Cupped in my tarnished Tin Man hands ...
Not taking for granted the entrustment of their care,
I lay them out like priceless puzzle pieces
Upon a surface of loving intent.
She is but finery, fragile,
And I her fool.
As if leaves on water ...
I recall the women and passions squandered,
Encounters and affairs and intimacies ...
As spicy, splendid and varied as an artist's palette -
Some, immutable as acrylics, others fading like watercolors in the sun,
Swept away by life's intrepid courses and floods.
Love is but portion, fragile,
And I its fool.
As if disarming a bomb ...
A Muslim man cleans the lifeless body of his little boy,
Killed by a roadside explosive device while riding his bicycle ...
A mine left behind by an enemy brigade, retreating his town as part of a truce,
His Hindu brother's brigade - the brother he loves ... and despises.
Washing his son with his tears, he thinks of naught but vengeance.
Peace is but sufferance, fragile,
And I its fool.
As if fine goose down ...
I scrutinize the keynotes of my existence,
Turning them gently over with the voltaic breath of my thoughts ...
To the effectuation that none afford me the broadsword of achievement,
That the faults far outnumber the fortunes ... successes, far short the falls.
Still, I've known the passions and shadows as deeply as any,
Formidable joys, exquisite agonies, and sublime oblivions.
Life is but passage, fragile,
And I its fool.
As if fine lacy crystals ...
We gild the memories of lost loves and those passed,
Consummate hurts and piercing heartaches ...
Each and every one a precious memento of the depth of affections realized,
Scars and wounds, the invaluable proofs of how profound our devotions, thus.
Oh, how intensely we love! How dearly we grieve!
And how acute our need for BOTH!
Pain is but love, fragile,
And we its fools ...
Its sad, happy fools.
** FIRST PLACE in the "Fragile" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Sponsor. **
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017
You all know about fire breathing dragons
and their obsession for hoarding treasure.
But, have you ever heard of Huffle-winks
magical creatures that promote pleasure.
Invisible, atop of dragonflies
they ride the winds of fate, mile after mile.
And whenever they encounter a frown
they'll try to flip it into a smile.
They harness dragonflies to get around
for unlike dragons, they haven't learned to fly.
But, if suddenly you feel like laughing
it's a safe bet, there’s Huffle-winks nearby.
In winter when dragonflies disappear
they’ll hitch a ride on tumbling snowflakes.
And if you’re lucky enough to catch one,
it's like winning the lottery sweepstakes.
I've never seen one, except in my dreams
but, I know in my heart that they are real.
And what makes me so sure that they exist
is the wonderful way they make me feel.
When you’re feeling particularly blue
remember there are Huffle-winks around.
And they're masters of jocularity,
ensuring that smiles and laugher abound.
May 17, 2018
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
Don’t look at me
As though I am an alien or a stranger,
Don’t let the dagger of antipathy
Fly out of your eyes.
I am your neighbor.
Don’t call me a foe, an antagonist or a rival,
Don’t roll up your mistrustful sleeves for a fight.
I am your friend.
Don’t hold this murderous weapon in your kind hand,
Don’t deny me the right to work, to eat, or to live.
I am your brother.
If destiny willed me to be born
On this side of the frontier line,
If my parents wished me
To wear these clothes
And taught me their own dances,
Do we have to be adversaries?
If fate desired me to speak
This tongue foreign to you
And our skins’ color to differ,
Do we have to be competitors?
If necessity decided for us
To live in this country,
In the North, South, East, or West,
Do we have to be opponents?
If I believe in Jesus,
If this is my philosophy,
And my culture,
Do we have to be enemies?
No! A million times: no!
Please, look at me with new eyes
And throw away your injurious prejudices.
What do you see but a person like you
Who wants, desires and hopes for the same things in life:
I laugh and I cry.
Just like you.
I grow up,
And I die.
Just like you.
I’m a father,
And a daughter.
Just like you.
You see: we are alike.
We are the same.
We are brothers.
Listen to me my neighbor, my friend, and my ally:
I am telling you the truth.
We are the victims of schemes,
Well planned in advance
By deceitful evil-hearted men
Who wished for our destruction.
They, masters of savage forgery, dividers of mankind
Have tricked us throughout history
With well-orchestrated lies
And with treacherous stories.
These intellectually impotent criminals
Have instilled poison in your heart and mine.
Thus, by cultivating hatred, bitterness and rage,
They managed to shape us to ruthless foes,
To merciless enemies,
To cruel animals.
Please, listen to me! It is true. We are brothers.
Let us therefore with irresistible will cross all frontier lines
That the past has erected between us,
Thus making divisions vanish.
Let us with supreme power break the bonds of history,
Religion and culture and run into each other’s arms.
Let us uproot from our tormented hearts thorny mistrust
That was planted there thousands of years ago.
Let us seize ammunition from destructive hatred,
And make war capitulate.
Let us sink the cholera of bitterness
In the affectionate sea of universal accord.
Let us unite and march to higher claims,
To incomparable glory
Where peace can blossom today.
Thus, both of us will go to sleep at last,
Fearless of each other tonight.
© Demetrios Trifiatis
08 September 2015
NOTE: This poem, after having been edited, is posted again because
of the acute migration and refugee problem that has been created
in Europe. Greece, my country, receives thousands and even tenths
of thousands of refugees and illegal immigrants each day. In some of
the Greek islands the migrants are more than the Greeks. Some of these
people leave for Europe where in countries like F.Y.R.O.M., Serbia, Hungary
Bulgaria, Austria, Germany, France, Italy have created social and economic problems because of their numbers. This fact prompted me, after the suggestion
of a good friend at PS, to repost the poem so as to ask from all, migrants and natives, understanding and tolerance for the good of peace! Thank you!
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015
AWAKE ~ IN and OUT ~
Spring arising, before morning light,
I walk under the new epic sun
The aroma of yesterday, gone
Today's the day that will follow tomorrow
I quickly walk a certain walk
Unique is all I can display
Watery eyes staying in the past
While vehicles pass and pass
Crosses lacking faith
I stay awake and mend with my fate
Foggy toys, I want to play
I can't keep up with all your kicks
I look, I stare, at the walls
Bright and early, I step on old dolls
I stay and feel, the way you want
Lifeless, and still so full of energy
Mad words, unconscious forces
My sweet needs, now reside inside of you
Mad, sad, and outside the box
You close every door and keep me away from dark
You only allow me to feel your morning light
Why can't you let me see what's behind the shadows?
Why do you turn on all the lights?
I'm here the way you want me to be
Happy, and merry, for the world to see
This blindness will continue to spot
Unless you wake up first and remove the dot
You gave me the thirst, you once knew
So filthy, so full of -spew
Under this closed freaking door
I'm exposed like the midday sun
You bang my head on the wall,
You killed me in a way that made me feel!
I only answer to your call
In and out a hoop~ like a ball
In me, you can not find any real dreams!
Inside you filled me with a raging scream
I'm in wonder around your air castle
Strange and hung on your mantle
Stepping on a one footed slave
Alert, alert Am I!!!
I shake, we kiss, I wake,
I zip all things into one zipper.
Pounding my hands against my ears
Crazy, taking a jab upon all jabs
Crazy, you say~ that's me everyday
I'm up and I caress the photo we once had
I lay only staring at you once more
I awake before I sleep
Your promises I keep
In me~ you are also in deep
My stars change everyday
Waiting for you, to pull the trigger
Still wishing to be a sun digger
You can't touch or loosen the knots
Together we will daydream our way to the top
I make your nerve system come alive,
We run into the wind and listen
Quietly in our chamber of thoughts
Near and far, we both nod off
In this daily race, with no face
I caught myself awake,
The day I fell asleep for you.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
There was a time when I was young
To share an era that begun
From music to the fashion trend
TV shows and history
Fads and other mysteries
I saw them all as time moved on
From classic pop to rock and roll
Bill Haley and the Elvis craze
And four years in my Air Force phase
But Jitterbug still hung around
The big bands had that unique sound
Time moved on to start the clock
Fellini, Bergman made the mien
And Japan added to the pie
To film The Seven Samurai
Brando, Newman and James Dean
newly captured on the screen
Television's Golden Age
All the programs set the stage
For Gunsmoke and the Twilight Zone
I love Lucy, I married Joan
TV tubes were changed a lot
Wrestling shows were really hot
Mantle, Mays and Robinson
Took baseball to another rung
The coonskin cap and hula hoop
Duck tail hair and snapper soup
I wore one with a thick pomade
And ate the soup that Momma made
My fashion sense left much to judge
As if I had good taste for fudge
Pegged pants with a six inch rise
Ladys skirts were different then
Lengths that came down to their shins
Three inch higher was a sin
Still dirty minds existed then
In Belgium back in 58
I saw an exhibit on that date
The Sputnik with a cute stray dog
was launched so high up in the air
Before the U.S. could get there
Then the race to conquer space
McCarthy hearings, lives destroyed
The Cold War was our only plight
The Commies kept their nukes in check
And Castro entered on the scene
There were no hot wars left to fight
Days still continued as well as night
I share a new millennium
But today the future's not so bright
No more long hand, the laptop's here
Facebook and Twitter have conquered our sphere
The death knell has tolled for how life was then
Rekindle your past and live again
Ralph Sergi February 19, 2015
Decades by Kelly Deschler
Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2015
You had that future retro look: two thousand seventeen,
There was a slow and sultry permanence, a little slouchy lean
As you eased out of the taxi before it shot off to the right,
Who could have predicted what was goin' down that night.
Your totemic injunctions had me circled all around,
You acutely walled the sky off, left no escape route underground,
You had me penned tight in the doghouse, you could take me to the pound,
You were non-responsive until I proposed our sorrows drown.
I said I knew a house of brew, a joint of many gin
Where all ice would be broken through, where inhibitions would wear thin
Enough that we'd abandon ruse and hauteur,
Whatever were our drinks of choice, we'd pound 'em down like water.
There we were with truth in hand, it was a pub down by the shore,
But it seemed like what I'd planned out wasn't working anymore.
My river of charm didn't lack words, you were just too wary,
You talked and walked me backwards, up every tributary.
There was something to this watery theme, to you it seemed to please,
I remarked how strong a drink seemed, you said my glass you'd ease.
Your finger wavered in a blur, now was the sauce polluted?
I took a taste and sure enough - perfectly diluted.
I would have sworn that I saw droplets form within the air,
And fall into the blessed vessel, to caress the dear gin there.
Indeed I could have stayed all night, but you promptly punctured that baloon,
You paid the bill, pulled me upright, marched me away from the saloon.
Did you have a halo, the faintest rainbow hover there,
The gentlest gauzy prismatic glow that almost touched your hair,
The eye was instantly drawn to you, of that there was no doubt,
No wonder so many people were getting their smart phones out.
Twenty-seven pug dogs also trotted out because
They were hilariously exuberant and light upon their paws,
Faces all bright, with rumps and claws that increase social media views,
Their wagging tongues and happy jaws were gonna make the news.
And all the oysters and the clams rose up upon their hocks
To pour out of the tavern doors and run along the docks.
Perhaps I should have told you that these were seafood bars,
As arm in arm we walked along, to the whispering sand and stars.
Now you didn't have a tail, but there might have been a siren song
Playing airily in the background, a delicate treading from right to wrong,
And the softest kiss that could ever be, you gave me upon the beach,
I felt somehow removed from myself, like I was out of reach.
You put your arms above your head, oh - 'twas a sinuous view
Of all your harms, my newlywed, as the world twirled anew,
While sand devils and waterspouts spun mad in insane art,
I felt myself vaporize as I was swiftly pulled apart.
Born fast aloft, cloistered, rising on a cyclone's gyrating surge,
I coalesced as moisture, into droplets I did merge.
Then foul gravity - ever greedy, ignoble and vain,
Upon the sands of all the souls, my body fell like rain.
Yes, gravity - the evil one - took my flight away from me,
If you will forgive a pun, I needed my anti gravi tea.
The horizon was all dread dark clouds and thunder's threatening roar,
From the rage it was apparent that this storm had been beaten before.
So - if I was used to quench the thirsty sands then it was no great fraud,
My last awareness was hearing, 'Daughter of the River God.'
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2017
God told old Noah to build an ark,
To make it out of gopher bark.
Noah did as he was asked,
And worked until he completed the task.
Then God told Noah to gather the beasts,
Two of every kind, the hes and the shes,
So that when the earth is dry again,
They can procreate, new life begin.
All the animals were good, except for the rabbits.
Though small and cute, they had some bad habits.
Quiet and stealthy, they would roam around,
Hiding in dark corners where they weren't easily found.
You might be wondering how bunnies could be bad,
But you need to remember the reputation they have.
Hiding in the shadows, what do you think they're doing?
They're not playing hop scotch - they're cuddling and wooing.
Now cuddling and wooing isn't such a bad thing,
But rabbits are known for quickly multiplying.
Though Noah tried to keep the bunnies apart,
He was no match for their affairs of the heart.
So when it came time, the ark to depart,
The animals came out two by two like the start.
Two by two they strolled off the ark,
After being cooped up, getting out was a lark.
But then came the rabbits and to Noah's dismay,
Not two but hundreds were coming his way.
Then the Lord told them all to be fruitful and multiply.
Noah looked at the rabbits and let out a sigh.
Entered in PD's 101 in a row contest #5
Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2013
March 5, 1990
I fell in love in a biker bar
with a girl in chocolate hair.
It swept around her like a smoky fire
and woke up the beast in my lair.
Her bright eyes twinkled like brilliant stars
at the end of the moonless road--
they called to me like a siren song
to lay down my heavy load.
Tall she was like a square rigged ship
like a mast shrouded in clouds;
and she could dance like a foamy wave,
making Neptune cry out loud.
But the path of a ship is a bubble
and suddenly she was gone--
her chocolate hair and vanilla neck
are moments in my sad song.
This siren's memory seizes me
like cinnamon schnapps and a grin
which warm the body from the inside out
and settle a smile on your chin.
Her dancing hair drove my clouds away
and opened an azure sky;
and all I asked was a tall, thin ship
and two stars to steer me by.
Among all the women I've danced with
none are remembered so fair
as a girl who walked like a tall ship,
and had waves of chocolate hair.
Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014
I came across my first love
You were always in my arms
Swore we’d never be apart
But I let you go
Now we are reunited
My heart just beats like a drum
I can’t take my eyes off you ...
My first teddy bear
Contest: Dodoitsu Dr Ram Mehta
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
When Angie was a little girl, so cute and very sweet,
She tried to talk with strangers and wander in the street.
She loved to play with dollies, teddy bears and kitties.
She’d put her clothes on backwards and would still look pretty.
Problems of this harried world were farthest from her mind.
Full of love and innocence, she always was so kind.
The years passed by so quickly. Angela went to school.
She learned the world, which can be great, also can be cruel.
She went from dancing lessons, fun sleepovers and zoos
to make-up, phone calls, shopping, and wearing size 9 shoes.
In sunny California, she learned to cherish friends.
Then back again to Utah, she had to start again.
She then came to the threshold of a bright new world.
When she became a woman, butterfly wings unfurled.
She’s leaned life’s little secret, what makes life worth living:
To honor God and family. She’s loving and so giving.
She listens to her conscience and tries to do what’s right.
My angel butterfly one day to heaven will take flight.
Feb 24, 2016 for Lovely Children Poetry Contest of Laura Loo
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
I have read that book
cover to cover
many a time
It's held me when I was down
gave me smiles all night long
It has given me a sense of self worth
and a feeling I belong
Many a night I have sat in front of a roaring fire
with a glass of wine or two
and have fallen deeply in love
I have floated on air
soared through the sky
slid down moonbeams
got caught in candy floss clouds
and wished upon fallen stars
Oh that book
I have read that book
it has brought me
many nights to tears
the death, the despair, the pain
Oh how I would like to reach out
and save her, comfort her, just to be there
We have had our sorrows but also our laughs
the cute stories of kids flying kites
the wise men chasing their wives
the nonsense alley gang
giving us a smile when we were going insane
Oh how I have loved your stories
Soda Pop, Zach Waverly and Sam Dumpty
just to mention a few
Your epics and your Poe's
and your paranormal too
That book that fantastic book
the one that I love
with all your well wishes
and romantic kisses
You I so adore
But tonight I am saddened
for when I turn to my book
some pages are empty
some have become torn
some no longer are singing
where they once had been born
I sit here at my desk and I read til I'm blue
all my dear departed poets I'm so missing you
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015
There is a boy, who I spill all my secrets to.
Someone that I look forward to seeing everyday.
A person who I think about all night.
Who dances through my dreams.
Who's smile is as warm as the sun.
Who's hand I want to hold all the time.
Who's kisses I crave.
Who's feelings makes my knees weak.
Who's voice is music whispering in my ear.
Who makes me smile without trying.
Who makes me blush with just one thought.
Who I want to love.
Who sweeps me off my feet.
Who helps me find peace.
Who makes my heart beat, faster, and faster, each second i see him.
There is a boy, who is sweet as suga.
Who is so funny.
He is cute.
Gorgeous to me.
A boy who I want to stay with.
A boy who I never thought could like me back, until the day I found out he did.
This boy, who is a robber, because he is stealing my breaths.
Who is a lock picker, because he is breaking through the chains on my heart.
Who is a king, because he makes me feel like a queen.
Who is the wind, because he sweeps me off my feet.
Who is the stars, because he makes them shine in my eyes.
Who is the moon, because I pray to keep him at night.
Who is an angel, because I swear he's a gift from God.
Who drives me crazy, because he's always on my mind.
A boy, who is in my music, the lyrics to my songs.
A boy who is my poems, because he's in the words a lot.
A boy who I am quickly falling for.
A boy who wont let me hit the floor.
This boy, I know I'm going to love.
This boy, I might already love.
This boy, who makes me less scared.
Who holds my biggest secrets.
Who has also been hurt.
Who always looks at me the same way, full of happiness and love.
Who doesn't care what Ive done, as long as I'm his now.
Who would protect me from even my nightmares
This boy, who gives me butterflys.
This boy. This boy.
He is the only one I want.
He is perfect to me.
He is different then everyone else.
He is unique, and amazing.
I love this boy.
He has my heart.
Baby we'll commit the perfect crime,
I'll steal your heart, since you've stolen mine.
Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2009
Let me tell you the story of Miss Jenny Prime,
who spent all of her days making everything rhyme.
It was thought she’d outgrow this strange childhood spell,
but her fetish just grew and made her parents’ life hell.
When Miss Prime was a baby, still sporting a bib,
each night she was cuddled, then placed in a crib
by her doting young parents, who thought it quite funny
to give her a pet name, “Sleep tight Hunny Bunny.”
And that was the start of poor Jenny’s plight,
forced to listen to vowel chimes night after night.
Before long she was making up rhymes for herself,
all her un-rhyming toys were just left on the shelf.
Even quenching her thirst could cause quite a stink,
no O.J for Jenny, her drink had to be pink.
They bought her some shoes, red, shiny and new,
“I’ve told you, I’m not wearing a shoe that’s not blue”
She demanded a dog so they went to the pound,
she picked the fattest one there, just to have a round hound.
Her bed had to be red, her jeans had to be green,
and a fish dish for dinner or she’d cause a right scene.
Stamping her feet she cried “I should be Jenna,
and for pocket money, I should be getting a tenner”
Each Friday brought tantrums, as she hardly had any,
reluctantly taking just a penny for Jenny.
Her increase in years simply brought more despair,
she bleached ebony locks for she needed fair hair.
The colours of clothes always caused her to cry,
so to get round the problem she learned to tie-dye.
Now I know it will come as some sort of surprise,
but Jenny had caught a young gentleman’s eyes.
He knew things would be tough, but he’d give it a try
so, with posies of roses, he dared to drop by.
The roses were great and he was kinda cute,
he’d even gone to the trouble of tie-dying his suit.
He was called Jack Kilkenny, his name did not rhyme,
so she told him to leave and stop wasting her time.
But Jack was his nickname, his real name was Lenny.
Alas, this information was not known to Jenny.
He was perfect for her, a match better than any,
for if they’d wed they’d be Lenny and Jenny Kilkenny.
Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010
The SnaffyLaffy Swiger
Looks something like a tiger.
His stripes are big and bright
Just like a rainbow.
They shimmer glittery
Beneath the moon glow
Florescent green, pink, blue and yellow.
SnaffyLaffy is a happy laughing fellow.
In the night he likes to prance,
And he’ll ask you for a dance,
But first you have to find out where he hides.
By my story’s end, you’ll know where he resides!
SnaffyLaffy’s fun and daffy.
He loves sweets, especially taffy.
This swiger, cute and stylish, walks with swag.
His short and stubby tail will start to wag
If you offer him a treat,
But not vegetables or meat!
Remember, SnaffyLaffy likes things sweet.
For a chocolate kiss from you,
There is little he won’t do.
Roll over or do back flips out your door.
I’ve even seen him sweep somebody’s floor!
Yes, the SnaffyLaffy swiger,
Who looks much like a tiger
Can stand up on his feet like you and me,
Or like a speedy jaguar he can be
Because when there is sun,
SnaffyLaffy likes to run,
And in the light of day,
This swiger runs away.
He runs to candy shops the people say.
Running through them, quick as lightening,
He steals candy; it is frightening
How fast he moves.
He never ever stops.
He takes gummy bears and gum drops,
Licorice sticks and chocolate cherries,
Stashing all inside
A secret pouch he carries.
This pouch is on his tummy,
Where he stores things nice and yummy
And this creature has been blessed
With a pouch so strong
It is the very best!
He’s the only creature known that can survive
With only sugar keeping him alive!
When the sun begins to set,
SnaffyLaffy needs to get
Very quickly to his lair.
I’m almost done,
and then I’ll tell you where!
SnaffyTaffy likes the game called Hide and Seek.
If you want to take a peek
At this swiger SnaffyLaffy,
You have to bring along with you some taffy.
He will smell it and come prancing.
Then with Snaffy you’ll be dancing.
Close your eyes and go to sleep
Because his hidden lair
Is in your sweetest dreams.
Dear, precious child,
Perhaps you’ll find him there!
for Get your Dr. Seuss on! Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
In Search of 50 Names(couplets alphabetized for ease of footnoting the names)
A) A tom cat sits in heather nearby a willow tree.
Rose and jasmine fill the air. A billy goat I see.
B) 50 words that sound like names I seek. A pail I carry.
I wade across a nearby stream just now to pick a berry.
C) Already I have found ten names! What a fun quest I am on
A fanny pack and comfy shoes and jeans I had to don.
D) Three more I found! Did you know? I now go through a glen.
Upon a colt I bob along as I go up a ben.
E) The cliff is steep. I must go down. A hunter I now spy.
To a blue jay he gives chase. One and twenty names have I!
F) There comes a gale, but I am wily, and I find a lee
dug by someone in the earth. Into it I flee.
G) Twenty-five names I have found; twenty-five I lack.
I leave my shelter, rob a van, but now I need a jack.
H) Are you aware of three more names I've added on my way?
I fix the van and now in earnest, I cannot delay.
I) I go for miles. Have you kept track? Thirty names I’m at.
I see a gym and go inside. They have a welcome mat.
J) With thirty-two fine names, I’m feeling good and so I pat
myself upon the back and tarry at the gym because I’m fat.
K) I nick myself while lifting weights and go into the john.
If you can notice, it’s now thirty-six names that I’m on.
L) A guy is in the ladies room. I’ll be frank. He’s a dick.
I’m curt with him and let him know that he makes me sick.
M) It’s forty names that I have found; I only need ten more.
I spot a karaoke bar and open up its door.
N) By the way, I’m looking for a man that I may marry.
I will find him in this place but he better not be hairy.
O) Those last two lines had four names in them, did you know?
Two of them were also modals going with my flow.
P) There’s another! Five remain to which I must be led.
Also, I have found my mark, the man I want to wed.
Q) He’s singing at the mike. Both cute and rich he seems.
And I’m feeling randy; he’s the vision in my dreams.
R) I vie for his attention. Fifty names and he are mine!*
*I took off the first line of the last couplet when I realized I had gone over the 35 line max!
The names I found per couplet are these:
A) Tom, Heather, Willow, Rose, Jasmine, Billy
B) Carrie, Wade, Barry
C) Fanny, Jean(s), Don
D) Glen, Colt, Bob, Ben
E) Cliff, Hunter, Jay, Chase
F) Gail, Wiley, Lee, Doug
G) Rob, Van, Jack
I) Miles, Jim, Matt
J) Pat, Terry
K) Nick, John
L) Guy, Frank, Dick, Curt
M) Spot (but only if you are counting dog names. LOL)
N) May or Mae, Mary, Will, Harry
Q) Mike, Rich, Randy
R) Vie or Vi
Written Nov. 25, 2016
For Viv Wrigley's What's in a name
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016