Best Nappies Poems
Yesterday my day was bad, in fact it was really crappy
Found seagull poop on my car- why can’t they wear a nappy
I also have an issue with a local dog
Went out for a walk and stepped on a dog’ log’
I suppose I should be grateful an elephant can’t fly
Just think if it’s poop hit you in the eye
I am fed up of clearing up animal poop
I had to share my thoughts with you on poetry soup
17th March 2015
I googled and really did find dog nappies!
Categories:
nappies, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
3 holes Hut on Cubbie
Yep me an Sow the wild pig were,
Under the low set hut, yessir,
I was 12 months old, I be,
Nappies were short, so I had none see,
The piglet kept me clean,
Did he…
The old hut is now a fallen down,
Where piggy an I would wriggle around,
I only came out, when she needed to see,
When mama fed the fat piggie,
Then I’d crawl and bound,
1946 I say it was,
under the one room hut of cos,
we had no lectricity,
and cooked outside under a tree,
brown boredrain fed the pig an me,
till civilized I got because,
I needed to be,
Tommy Hook he came to me,
A lousy Jack, one legged he,
Noisy family bird was, see,
Great chatterer, quite featherly,
A talker of the bush,
We came there by sulky,
with an unbroken horse,
it had the blinkin blnkers,
to maybe force,
it not be frightened see,
by the sight of a close sulky,
across the watercourse,
so harnessed up and circling free,
at the canter it, came round for me,
when mum threw me up by force,
an poppa caught me in the sulky,
one hand was free, I got caught,
she sprung aboard next circle brought,
and off sailed the family,
to old Cubbie, yet of course,
to the stink of wet Gidgee,
after rain, the smell so coarse… Don Johnson
Yes Joe...8
Yes at a year old i needed a friend,
so a wild piglet came and then,
was a pet of the family,
brought by my pig chasing dad for me,
from a brood that an old Sow had when,
he found em in the thin Lygnum bush old friend,
in the shade of a Gidgee tree...
Categories:
nappies, adventure, mum,
Form:
Ballad
Sticky, grubby fingers,
Chocolate covered faces,
Dirty prints on wallpaper,
Put parents through their paces.
From smelly, messy nappies,
To angelic little smiles,
These are some of the wonders,
Of our parental trials.
There's tears and tantrums,
Fun and giggles too,
Even on the tough days,
When we get covered in poo.
Parenting isn't a hardship,
It's a treasure to behold,
So be kind to your little rascals,
You'll need them when you're old.
Categories:
nappies, children, family, parents,
Form:
Rhyme
MEMORIES OF MOTHERHOOD
Childbirth isn’t called labour for nothing, it is damned hard work but so worthwhile when the baby is finally placed in your arms. I can still recall the sound of my newborn son crying and taking his very first breath, it was a moment I will never ever forget.
Not long after my son was delivered he was placed into my waiting arms and I was able to cuddle him for the first time. I stroked his downy blonde hair and checked his fingers and toes; when I opened his white shawl it was very evident he was a little boy!
As a first time mum I was not prepared for the contents of his nappies! It became very evident when he needed changing as the smell was appalling! I found it somewhat confusing that white breast milk would produce such bright yellow poop but it was perfectly normal!
I remember when he was being weaned, his favourite food was baby rice, it looked like wallpaper paste but he would wolf down a bowl of it for breakfast. I tasted a tiny bit, it was so bland and actually tasted as bad as it looked, but thankfully he loved it
My son is now grown up and has flown the nest, but I can’t wait to see him when he comes home on a flying visit next month!
My Five Senses Contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
7/26/18
Categories:
nappies, birth, humorous, mother son,
Form:
Narrative
Courting days are long over now
men, well, what does define a man?
Certainly, it is not merely physical?
yet one would expect manliness to
involve some sort of strength?
Does a man let a woman cry?
Does a man make a woman cry?
Honey DO this! Honey move-do that!
The theater is mostly empty now,
no sedans emptying bushel loads of kids,
no popcorn flying through Saturday afternoon’s air.
The kids are reigned in plopped in front of laptops,
too elastically rubber-kneed to walk more than
from the bed to the chair.
I mean the lounge chair, where
they slouch in perpetuity.
A decade or two of days to reframe
two generations of total couch potatoes.
They sit glued to their IPhone, IPods, Kindle’s
not writing, not composing but gaming.
It’s enough to make a mother cry, daily.
Fathers rush down packed highways,
single sardines in smaller and smaller cans,
toward their own desktop comps.
Carpal tunnel runs rampant over the populous.
Emptying box, after box of environmentally correct
reused paper tissues and green nappies into landfills,
online they bet on the daily double.
Categories:
nappies, change,
Form:
Free verse
Flesh on show and sun tan lotion
bodies laid on towels or sun lounges
By the ocean
Salty air wind blown hair
Music streaming from the near by fair
Baby screaming nappies full
Cool guys looking for babes on the pull
Sun shades and floppy hats
Grown men playing cricket with ball and bats
Sand castles and buckets and spades
Candy floss and lemonade
Father With binoculars pretending to look out to sea
Or read a newspaper but really looking at the bathing beauties
Bikinis and manknies G strings tight where the sun don't shine
Hot dogs and hamburgers the popping of corks from bottles of wine
Hairy legs and wrinkled skin
child almost drowning couldn't swim
Muscle bound Life guards with muscles to impress
Granma lost her false teeth
Dropped between her breasts
Ice creams and summer dreams
Young child peeing in the sea
Among the swimmers splashing about with glee
People playing beach ball and football
Mother calls come on all it's time for tea
Large Busty woman running like jelly on a plate
Wobble wobble
And nearly starting an earthquake
Sand between your toes
Sun burn on your nose
Sweaty arm pits sweaty bums
Toffee apples and bleeding gums
Sea gulls flying screeching high above
Clear blue sky pure white dove
Watching the frothy waves stretch upon the shore
Watching the horizon and tiny boats 10 miles away or more
Dogs running here and there
Sweets being passed around to share
Crabs and shrimps and other critters in a rocky pool
Children with fishing nets and jars to take them back to school
Para gliders pulled by speed boats high in the sky
Oh why do people want to risk life
As they could die
Postcards to write people on there bikes
The smell of fish and chips
Children with jam around their lips
Couples walking hand in hand barefoot on warm sand
Treasured memories and photo's to cherish
Suitcases packed feeling unwound and relaxed
Can't wait until next year when they come back.
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. July.
Categories:
nappies, abuse, beach, fun, funny,
Form:
Free verse
The morning sun hovers coyly
behind broad shoulders of the John Crow Mountain
before unwrapping petals of fever plant and Venice.
Mama’s countenance was far contrast to one so radiant,
so when the old Leyland bus went shuddering along gravel road
the first beams break through pinewood forest.
The old New Hampshire Red was up last night,
bamboozled by the plump moon,
but all was still in the petite hours ‘fore daybreak.
His first boast was far too late;
Banties have already blown their tops,
and warm rays long ago penetrated rabbit fence.
Leghorns proudly announced fresh eggs.
Beds were unoccupied and unmade.
Voices came, children in euphoria;
oppressors were off to nine to five.
Nightingale sang an encore
before morning forage,
and gaiety commences.
Brown skinned pickneys,
like the color of the Balaclava clay,
with reflections of innards on innocuous visages.
The hoopla lived until the Leyland snaked along treacherous drop
and the sun hastened to avoid mama’s air.
Chores rushed,
and mama voice ruined our names.
Tomorrow, at first light, we will be children again.
Most of us have heard of lands where dogs licked their humans’ faces
and are driven about in carriages in nappies,
while we loathe our predicament
some counterparts wrestle in grown-ups’ arenas;
innocence lost to palm wine and brown-brown,
and blood moves consciences far less than September’s rain.
Will tomorrow’s shoots be allowed to be children,
delightful progenies?
Let the bright sun shine on Columbia, Cambodia, Guatemala, and Sierra Leone.
Categories:
nappies, childhoodold, children, morning, old,
Form:
Lyric
Kindheartedness
Ellen had a lot of experience in washing nappies, six bairns in less than eight years. William
Chapman had a lot to answer for. Everyone knew, or thought they knew, what poor Ellen had
to put up with. His drinking, his womanizing, and, some said, his violent behaviour towards his
uncomplaining wife.
The other women in the village tried to lighten her load without appearing to pity her. That
would never do.
Grace, Isobel, and even Nancy left bits of worn soap and washing soda by the scrubbing
board, and with Ellen being fourth in line, very often there was a good full boiler already
warmed with her neighbour’s coal. Most miners’ wives had plenty coal, but Chappie was not
above selling his allowance for beer money.
The van men from the local co-op store were also heroes in this respect. Davie the butcher
always made sure that the soup bones Ellen bought had more than the required amount of
meat still clinging to them. Her half pound of mince got another dollop after it had been
weighed and the odd sausage found its way into her meagre purchases. Then there was
Jimmy the baker who... accidentally... squashed some bread so it was not fit to sell. Ellen’s
brood did not mind squashed bread, it went well with the very slightly overripe bananas from
Ben McCabe the fruit man.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Not sure if this will qualify as a poem on kindheartedness but kindheartedness is what it was
in the 1940s
Categories:
nappies, people
Form:
Narrative
Why do people talk to babies as though they were stupid?
Isn’t he lovely? the old woman said
And doesn’t he look the spit of his Dad
Is he on solids, how long does he sleep
And how many other kids have you had?
Who does he look like? the young woman said
I’m not really sure if he’s anyone’s kid
I feed him on burgers, he doesn’t sleep much
And I’ve had one for each of the blokes that I did
Not quite the answers the old woman sought
The one about blokes pretty much struck her dumb
The young woman giggled, she’d made it all up
And what’s more she wasn’t even 'his' Mum
But what fun to be had as she walked around town
To the ‘ooohs’ and the ‘aaahs’ and the helium cries
Oh, the amusement of dressing a girl
In an outfit as blue as conventional skies
His name’s Rupert, she’d say, (sometimes Nobby or Fred)
Depending on who was that nosey that day
He’s got rickets, or measles, whatever disease
Occurred to her, and that seemed funny to say
It entertained baby, she really was bright
And sick of inane inappropriate chat
And of people who leaned far too near to her face
Who were nosey and smelly and frequently spat
She was in on the joke, and well up for the crack
For the stuff folk came out with was simply absurd
She was practising swearwords at night in her cot
To prepare for the day she could utter a word
And then she would show ‘em, she’d show ‘em alright
Not to treat her as though she was some kind of fool
It’s my business how many nappies I fill
Such personal questions, completely uncool
In the meantime, she’s watching, she’s mentally noting
How humans make speech in particular forms
Who is good, who is bad, who speaks some kind of sense
And who is averse to conventional norms
Oh, babies are little and can’t answer back
But don’t think for a moment they’re not on the ball
They’re not poodles, or Martians, or mentally ill
So speak to them nicely, or don’t speak at all
by Gail
Categories:
nappies, baby, child, growing up,
Form:
Rhyme
A loving father wishes the very best for his little princess..
Be it in school or home, within and without, she gets the best...
From day one, he is overcame with pride the day his princess arrived..
His fatherly instincts are kicked into overdrive as he swelled with pride...
The best nappies only for his sweet little princess, never mind the price...
No we don't want that for our princess, he is wont to tell his wife...
The best milk powder, she has got to have the most nutritious in the market..
Darling let's not bicker, this branded milk powder is the best in the market...
Being a princess, she has to be regal starting from her crib and craddle...
New and frilly dresses, no hand-me-downs from any of her bigger brothers....
Doting over her welfare, 24/7 and thro those difficult nights, up like a light...
Each time daddy's precious girl gives out the smallest yelp of distress...
Little wonder the loving wife is bemused and even given to jealousy pangs...
Seeing how she is now the second love, she is no match for daddy's little girl...
Daddy's little girl, the precious little princess, wields incredible star power...
Getting all the extra attention, love and care, daddy's life revolves around her...
The doting father, his sole duty is to be the best daddy for daddy's little girl...
Daddy's lirtle girl, she will surely grow into a most beautiful flower of a girl...
For daddy's little girl is his only world where life and time exist to pander...
To every whim and fancy from a princess, the latest addition as a family member...
Dedicated to an internet video clip welcoming the arrival of the latest member of a family ...
Her 6 brothers expressing care, love and protection for this only princess in the family..
Categories:
nappies, baby, father, happy, love,
Form:
Free verse
Would Joan of Arc be a post office clerk
In the year of two thousand and four?
And Lady Godiver, if we could revive her
Would she mop the kitchen floor?
These heros of history, make my lifestyle a mystery
Such women we shouldn’t ignore
So well in my thirties, with hand cream and nappies
I went down on my knees, despite the dog’s fleas
For a Wonderbra, a fancy new car
And a job that would take me far
Now I’m totally weary, yet it seemed fine in theory
To split myself in two . . . as you do!
But I feel like a martyr, this lark’s a non-starter
And I blame Bodacea and Germaine Greer
For this deep-rooted need to have a career
Categories:
nappies, angst, career, humorous, inspiration,
Form:
Light Verse
Unexpectedly
She became a part of us
A one year old
After many years,
Pitter patter sounds was heard
And nappies changed
She is a young lady now
Started working already
Our little princess
My sister’s gift from above
a blessing to us.
*My sister passed away
when my niece was only
one year old, she is turning
nineteen next month
still a joy to us all*
Categories:
nappies, family, happiness, love
Form:
Haiku
My Mother
Mary Ann Dow Gardiner
Mary Ann Dow Stuart wis her maiden name,
Noo, she wisnae a Scoatish Lass o' fame.
Born in nineteen hunner an' five on the fifth o' May.
gorgeous she wis' at oany time o' the day.
Like aw Mums, she wis a'ways there,
nae ither Mum a ken kin 'onestly compare.
Noo am no telling yea ivery instance o' her life,
An' let's say, tae ma faither Jack she wis the perfict wife.
Wan instance in time with you I wid like tae share,
aye durin' WWII ma an' me hid quite a scare.
It wis a chapter in ma life as a wee wee boy,
stull in ma nappies an' playin' wae toys.
We lived in a twa roomed tenement flat,
six folks an' Bonny wee Tibby the cat.
Noo the oanly way tae hiv a bath,
wis in a tin wan ,which wis three foot wan inch, an' a half.
Noo this bath wis oanly fur this wee lad yea see,
an' it wis dragged oot in front o' the windae jist afore tea.
Noo tea in oor hoose wis aboot six o'clock at night,
an' a luved ma bath an' niver pit up a fight.
It wis oan a very dark an' a very quiet winter's night,
aye the night Ma an' me hid a terrible blidy fright.
Suddenly we were in the middle o' a German air-raid,
the smile oan ma ma's face quickly began tae fade.
She climbed up oan the bunkers sink tae hiv a look,
twa seconds she's up there that's aw it took.
Pulled back the blackoot tae see the night sky,
oh my god ma ma let oot this fearsum' cry.
She heard the whistle o' a German Bomb startin' tae fall,
an' she thocht it might jist pay us twa a call.
The whistle o' that fearsum bomb got louder then stopped,
ma mum fell backwards an' oan tap o' this wee boy did flop.
Aye, right oan tap o' this wee naked Body in the said tin bath,
wan minit her scream an' that enormous crash.
That's why noo I hiv a flat head an' am eternally daft,
naw folks a dinny blame yea fur hivin' a laff.
It's funny noo but no fur mum at that time,
jings droapin' bombs oan wummin an' wee bairns is surely a terrible crime,
As fur that Gerry bomb it did land wae a lot of malice,
jist up the road in Edinburgh's Holyrood palace.
The Auld Yin.
Categories:
nappies, dedication, night, me, night,
Form:
Quatrain
It's hard to beat the old age inventions
When our bodies refuse to meet our intentions,
Those top shelf items you simply can't reach,
The ones at the bottom inaccessibly deep!
I can't squeeze the new leveraged grabber
And the kids have confiscated my ladder,
So I hook around with my old gravy ladle
And catch what I can in my wide apron cradle.
Stuff on the floor needs a long-handled brush,
Unless it's the soup, which has turned into slush!
But my old jumble drawer has come to the rescue;
There at the back was my old turkey baster.
A few wet rags. I tear up old nappies
And scrub around with my feet 'til everything's snappy!
Fertilize garden; now that is a must.
No wheelbarrow for me; my balance is suss.
But I'd bought a hard liner for the trunk of my car
(Always hauling something from wood to crowbar.)
So down with the liner, a rope through the end,
Put on the bag and you've got a good sled!
Dropping my highballs had become a crash scene.
I'd run out of glasses and cups weren't the same.
But a friend found a stein her late husband had liked
And it goes along with the whiskey all right.
I s'pose you invent what gimmicks you can.
It's such fun dreaming up a super trick plan!
Just trying to get the better, you see,
Of old age that's trying to get the better of me!
Categories:
nappies, age, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
He liked sleeping in the barnyard
with the carnivorous pigs, clucking
halfway through the night. Emptied
picnic basket dribbling cobalt off the
sides, if that was what a wooden chin
looked like then he'd seen it all..
Green ended nappies, white hair dye
and rubber teeth. At the very least, a
cavorting priest... although that was
nothing out of the ordinary.
Shivering at his own memories,
the blanket now outgrown.
Categories:
nappies, change, dark, loneliness, lost,
Form:
Free verse