Best Full Grown Poems
The newborn wolves, March babies, cannot see.
They need their mothers, like all creatures do.
In just two weeks, they crawl; then wondrously,
they view their world through open eyes of blue.
A few days pass; and it’s not too long when
they stand and walk; they whimper and they yelp,
then learn to fight while playing in their den,
but in the meantime, they will still need help.
Fed by their pack, the grey wolf pups get strong.
With family, they’ll never be alone.
The months go by so fast. It won’t be long
before the winter when they'll be full grown.
When new March babies come, they’ll do their part,
for in the pack, the grey wolf shows his heart.
Written 3/28/2015 for shadow Hamilton's Canis Lupus the Wolf Contest
Be proud of your scars
oh daughter mine
now a mother of children dear
Remember the time
they suckled your breast
gorging on the food of love
Worried lines on your face
anxious frown on your brow
a love story you cannot erase.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
Pendulos breasts wear with pride
your babies now full-grown and wise.
Stretch marks remain to tell
that you carried your babies well.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
A badge of honor
that's what they are.
Thickened waist and cellulite disgust many
yet tell a story so sweet so true.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
Uptilted breasts shapely hips
elegant thighs tell a story of their own
but you gave your babies all you had
with love and tenderness.
When they're grown and gone away
you will remember them still
by the scars you bear today.
Oh daughter mine be proud
Be proud of your scars.
POSSUM JUGGLING
Written By the Poets Listed After The Poem.
Possum juggling is a trick conjuring sport.
You should never do it if your arms are short.
Nasty teeth are gnashing as they're tossed in air.
The juggling of possums requires flair.
Full-grown possum are very massive fellows.
Their bulk when lifted, like handling jell-o.
They are so at ease as they fly through the trees.
Are you ever so tall? Fight them on your knees!
Though cuddly and soft, please never be smitten.
Asleep they appear, in a flash you're bitten.
Upon one look, so UN-cute the ragged claw!
Surely reminds me of my mother in-law.
In my compost bin found this fury creature.
Pointed nose, stinky as my English teacher-
For that part which sticks out of the can at dark.
Not a pretty site though pink, duck. It’s a fart!
Quickly grab his leg and throw him really high
Let the little blaster soar into the sky!
Be quick, juggler, Granny Clampett is waiting
It's possum stew she hopes to be creating
Wait, I forgot! My arms are too short for this.
Now on my face sprinkles a souring mist.
The moral of this story, surely you see!
Never juggle opossums! Just let them be…
Contributed Poets (in alphabetical order)
Charma Chircop, Austin Daver, Carolyn Devonshire, James Frazer, Robin Gass, James M.
Goff, Raul Moreno, John Robbins, James Peranteau, Dane Smith-Johnsen,
My cousin Tallie
was a real-life
award winning
beauty queen
from age six to eighteen
The kind who seems
a cardboard cut-out
Southern stereotype
all big hair and hype
manicured nails and
well arranged...
assets
but in reality
there was much more to Tallie
Her favorite movie
was Fried Green Tomatoes
and as far as movies go
it was good
but I never understood
until much later
why she loved it so
At first I thought
she was obsessed with the dish
she just 'had to try' fried green tomatoes
with fried catfish...
But it was actually
more about “Towanda!”
the primal, female battle-cry
And there was something electrifying
heartbreaking and mystifying
in the way she had the nerve to
let loose
a hullabaloo
screaming “Towanda!”
without reserve
fully, freely
like a woman
on the very edge
with nothing left to lose
and that was true
Tallie'd been abused
but somehow
nobody chose to see that part
that she actually had
had a heart
that someone had torn apart
Now Tallie's a badass
with blue-green hair
and a hard edged manner
devil-may-care
she has a tattoo
for each person she held dear
far and near
dead and gone
and no one knows why
she's evasive, withdrawn
as they spew out their judgments
in-between their
slow Southern
matter-of-fact yawns
With all the details noticed
while picking her to pieces
how did they miss the moment
her innocence was taken
faith in mankind shaken
How the barefoot, crazy-haired Tallie
running free, suddenly
stopped entirely, sparkle gone
certain sadness in dark eyes
and full-grown
this woman appeared
world-wise
And while they wonder
who the father of her
latest offspring could be
I wonder where the
adorably incorrigible
little Tallie is-
that used to be
My old daddy use to tell me about the war he had to fight,
He said don’t believe those movies, cause killing ain’t no pretty sight.
He said no one is born a hero you just fight to stay alive,
Cause when those bullets start to flying your only thought is to survive.
No matter what people may say, freedom it don’t come free,
And I pray you never see the things that I had to see.
And he said son the taste of freedom is a taste worth dieing for,
And that should be the only reason to ever fight in those damned old wars.
He talked about his comrades, so many now are gone,
He said I am a lucky one to see my son full grown.
So many young men back then were buried where they fell,
You see son war is not a game it’s a living, breathing hell.
You’re fighting for what you know is right and they are fighting for what they believe,
While mothers on both sides just pray and weep and grieve.
And when they get that letter that says their son will not return,
They say one last prayer for others, Lord will they ever learn.
To say you really hate someone is a truly ruthless thought,
But there are those that feel that way and why these wars are fought.
Son he said I don’t think there will ever be peace as long as men exists,
Freedom is our gift and we must protect no matter how much they persist.
G………God
B…………Bless
A……………America
Behind the rough and gruff facade,
amongst the sternness and the pride.
Along with calloused hands and the scars
A little boy still resides.
in spite of responsibilities,
the hard days, daily grind.
There within a man full grown,
that little boy still hides.
In the crooked grin, stuck out chin,
mischievous twinkle of the eyes.
Crazy antics, chances taken,
a little boy joy rides.
Eat one more cookie before dinner,
spend all weekend, playing outside.
Put off mowing the lawn one more day,
that little boy decides.
Work extra hours to pay the bills,
don't let that "Honey do" list slide.
Do anything to see me smile,
His little boy is justified.
For the contest; Anything
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
He thinks he's a real man
I know a few guys
who won't look you in the eyes
they wear a great disguise.... yeah
maybe you know them too
All the fancy gold he buys
real work he never tries
spends his days inventing lies
got no time for goodbyes...
but, he's ...gonna end up alone!
Chorus
His heart is stone, his heart is stone
he imitates all he's ever known
so many seeds he's sown
he's a child tho full grown
He doesn't have a real plan...
and he thinks he's a real man.
Himself, he always tries to please
he only likes her, when she's on her knees
he doesn't like it when you tease
he only loves her when she agrees
but, he's gonna end up all alone
His point of view he does enforce
his language is real coarse
he screams until he's hoarse
he's surprised with the divorce
yeah, he's gonna end up alone
Chorus
His heart is stone, his heart is stone
he imitates all he's ever known
so many seeds he's sown
he's a child tho full grown
He doesn't have a real plan...
and he thinks he's a real man.
I know a few guys
who won't look you in the eyes
they wear a great disguise.... yeah
maybe you know them too!
Chorus
His heart is stone, his heart is stone
he imitates all he's ever known
so many seeds he's sown
he's a child tho full grown
He doesn't have a real plan...
and he thinks he's a real man.
yeah, thinks he's a real man
yeah, thinks he's a real man
repeat and fade
John Derek Hamilton
November 3,2017
A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS EVE
A child’s in thought by a cozy fire
His dog stretched out at hearthside
Big sister and a friend fun-gone
On a frosty snowy sleigh ride
His kitty Miss Boots
Done chasing a mouse
Asleep on the sill
Not a sound in the house
Then in fancy enchanted child hears
Pitter pats on the roof
A jolly fat laugh
Many reindeer hooves
The blaze in the fireplace
Pops a big log
Startles the child
And up jumps his dog
Blasé kitty Boots
Starts licking her paws
Could really care less
About Santa Claus
Well the red clad saint
From a mist slow appears
Till now stands full grown
A stroking his beard
This elf’s not imposing
No no not at all
Here stands a man not 3 feet tall
Though perfectly formed unbelievably small
Child and dog stand transfixed
Eyes open wide in complete surprise
Doubting the form is really St. Nick
Greatly puzzled because of his size
At last child in haze
In a wishing fond pause
Does stammer a question
Two words “Santa Claus?”
The vision though smiling seems not to hear
But merrily ho-hoing reaches back
And in a shower of gold
He conjures a sack
The brown bag is loaded
With all sorts of toys
Colorfully wrapped and neatly bowed
Dainties for girls sport for the boys
The gifts then fly out and under the tree
This all in a wink quit magically
Then boy and dog in amazement see
Old Santa rise up the fiery chimney
The blaze in the fireplace
Again pops the log
Again startles all three
Child kitty and dog
Christmas morn child early awakes
How tangible yestereve’s happening seemed
All colored in Christmas’ red gold and green
Was Santa Claus real or part of a dream?
Dave Austin
Fairies are beautiful creatures that live a world of their own
Some have powers and do magic some even get full grown,
These are creatures that have wings that sparkle with a bright light
They even have little wands that light up at night,
I believe in fairies as much as I believe in myself
Some fairies even have small friends called elves,
The small creatures are beautiful and free
People may look at you funny because they don't believe,
I will always believe in all mystical creatures
Even if some of them have funny features,
If we all could try to believe in something they may not be real
Just maybe then the world would be a better place and we can express how we feel.
Written By:Unique Poetry 2015
nicotine stained fingers
tap ashes
into a shot glass half
full of midnight molasses
amber buzz in my
bones
watching from across the room
she knows i got a jones
she got a body i want
to own
lickin, my lips- lettin' her know
i'm full grown
just sittin' here tryin'
to get my lie together
i ain't gonna lie
i want us to ride together
lying so i can love her
better
and, yeah, so i can
peel her out that sweater
grab a napkin from the bar
intent on writing her a letter
expressing how i wish we were alone
the first time that i met her
order me another shot
of that midnight molasses
glance back across the room
her and him are tapping glasses
Charles Green was eight years old, and his father was a great teacher.
Yet, Charlie preferred playing to school; because he was a daydreamer.
The Greens lived in the town of Ivoria, where dahlias nodded greeting;
And Charlie frolicked with Sam and Scarlett, until sun came, bleeding.
Samuel and Scarlett were his siblings. Both got good grades in school;
Like gardens dyed in burgundy, red, orange, and gold, lovely as jewels.
Fantastic, flaming nights were not far, and gusts fitfully tossed flowers;
As good friends flattered the family with visits, like silver glazed hours.
Funny family rode for miles, to laugh jokes, or olden days, out of focus,
When fruitful summer was finally full-grown, and jade frogs visited lotus.
Charlie lived in the house of enlightenment, like a saffron sun, forever;
Where lilac breezes brought on awareness, in emerald days of whatever.
Soaring ravens owned the satin nights, when navy twilight was missed,
On Charlie's street of songbird serenade, and big moon, still sun kissed.
Formality was never necessary with neighbors, when they came calling;
In a pretty nation of nearsighted novelty, where aged time was crawling.
The touch of jazzy 'jade vines,' adored June, and monkey tail cacti leapt;
As 'jungle velvet dottie' posed pretty, and 'little baby dwarf kowha' wept.
'Alien egg succulents' waited an eternity, only for pleasure of being born;
And 'blue shrimp' plants swam sadly, like snows, as weather turns warm.
On his way to school, Charlie began to dawdle. Frogs were so much fun!
Like honey sunshine on the first rose, back when scents were first begun.
Charlie's lateness was fun for a time, as neither of his parents knew of it;
Then his teacher made him realize, that with learning, the sky's the limit!
She finished her talk with the following words, that haunted him forever;
And made him a better pupil and person, like all honest, fruitful endeavor:
'A diller, a dollar,
A ten o'clock scholar,
What makes you come so soon?
You used to come at ten o'clock,
And now you come at noon.'
Love lost,
Is never truly gone,
No matter the rents cost,
Love lost lingers on.
She never truly committed to me,
Simply wished for a toy,
A heart of stone you see,
To the softness of a boy.
She was young as was he,
Yet her soul was full grown,
Her mind a tragic soliloquy,
Of what fate had sewn.
The boy was simply a canvas,
And who better than a pained artist,
To take his heart and encompass,
The innocence with a lusted mist.
He knew her as a saint,
She saw a den for sin,
He knew not of the paint,
She began to place within.
Now her ruse is complete,
His love is true,
Her trickery was discreet,
Now to turn brightness to blue.
Love is never lost,
It festers from within,
To the owner it bears great cost,
She lives on, as he lives broken.
To young lives full of sight promise,
I give glowing, gold dream spheres
And the belief that hope is honest
Because I am their sweet poetry years.
Youthful times of enchantment
bear longings rather than fears
in my stargaze encampment,
settled in my charmed poetry years.
I gift creativity, crafted unique,
to build teenage based frontiers.
I blend wonder with mystique
to bolster my awesome poetry years.
I have many charms to employ
upon young emotional pioneers
in hopes they retain all joy
found inside my selfless poetry years.
All who ever became an adult, full grown,
once handed me their trusting, young tears
to mix with faith’s infinite, soothing tone
while they camped here, in my poetry years.
Here, growth depth lifts a perspective tone
on all life hits that could lay a teenager prone.
I am the time aiding adolescence
and adulthood with coalescence.
mortals raise mortals to adults - divine truth parents souls to full grown
Hey, do you know me Mr.?
I'm not asking if you know my name
I mean, do you know me as a person presently?
for this me and the old me are not the same.
Yes, you were the other half that created me
but for me that's all that you've ever done
you didn't know me then and do not know me now
so you've no right to call me your son.
Hey, do you know me Mr.?
I really don't think that you do
you said I was stupid and dumb when I was young
but it was because I was smarter than you.
You never told me that you loved me
you never held me near
you never taught me anything
except hatred, hopelessness, and fear.
What makes you think that you know who I am?
is it because we favor to some degree?
or is it because we share the same name?
well that doesn't mean that you really know me.
You probably know my mother well
and you probably know my brothers too
however, I'm quite certain that you know me not
for I sure as hell do not know you.
Hey Mr., do you know me?
then where do you know me from?
did you watch me play ball in school?
or escort me and my date to the prom?
Did you help me learn to ride a bike?
or kiss my wounded knee?
you say that you never did any of these things?
well I guess then that you don't know me.
Hey Mr., do you know me?why do you keep calling me your son?
I have only one father that I know of
and I'm sorry Mr. but you're not the one.
My father gives me love instead of shame
He is there when I need Him most
He teaches me things that I need to be taught
and He never disappears like He were a ghost.
I'm a full grown man now at twenty-eight
not some skinny ****-ed twelve year old kid
so hey, do you know me Mr.?
nah, I didn't really think you did.
by
Benjamin Macieo Davis
ThePrinceofPoetry