Best Pajama Poems
Behind a chair
Below a desk
with my bare feet on a wall, in my flannel pajama or a wet swimming suit,
With my hands on my peanut butter and jelly toast,
marmalade, not cherry or anything else
Next to an ocean, ignoring the smell,
Lying in a hammock or in the grass, even on a sandy gritty beach towel.
Listening to children’s giggles, being dripped on
by wet swimming suits running past
I can devour a pile of books.
History, science, animal facts, jokes, limericks, Dr. Seuss, Shel Silverstein, Coleridge, Poe.
When one grabs me and throttles me to pay attention I am lost….
I am no longer a mere mortal.
I am in a microscope, under a kitchen floorboard, in a tulip’s leaf,
I am a faery, a T-rex, a Stormtrooper, a police detective.
In a treehouse,
High above my neighbors, not hearing them at all,
Yet subconsciously hearing everything,
I learned to be a book worm, reading Agatha Christie first….
Written 3-08-19
Contest: The Bookworm Poetry Contest Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Categories:
pajama, books,
Form:
Free verse
So sensationally super; Sagittarius son of John Spence
Pleasantly personable, and matriarch Maud Spence’s son
Enabling, exquisite, eloquent, evolving and enterprising
Naturally nice, no nonsense, and a nutritionist nobleman
Carrot consumer, constant comrade and cold-war veteran
Equitably enlightened, and just an elegant eggnog taster
Jumping Jupiter, a jubilant sundae lover, and just a jewel
Oppresso de liber, optimistically captivating; oratorical
Saintly passionate, succulent salmon sampler; sweetheart!
Exquisitely enchanting, enchantingly amatorious; éclat!
Playful, painstakingly passionate, pajama wearer, patient
Handsomely helpful handyman, harmonizer of happiness
Sweet as syrup, shining armor off the shelf; savoir-faire!
Red-blooded poetry connoisseur and radioactively lovable!
~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~
Won Seventh Place Position
"Tell Me About You Contest"
June 16, 2010
Sponsored by Amy Green
~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~
Categories:
pajama, friendship, happiness, inspirational, passion,
Form:
Acrostic
I was sleepwalking down the street, when I stumbled over a stool
standing there. "Watch your feet", the stool yelled, offended. "I am
sorry, but I am sleepwalking, so I can't watch my feet. In fact, I can't
watch anything, I am dreaming", I replied. The stool then made me
fall flat on my face, and yelled hard. At that point the dog appeared,
utterly annoyed by the rude awakening. And he bit the stool hard
in one of its legs. All the noise apparently woke my neigbour, who
angrily threw down a bucket of water. The water hit me, the bucket
hit the street with an enormous ruckus. I woke up startled, ran after
the dog, but tripped over my pajama pants water-soaked and heavy.
I hit my head against the stool, and, dizzy, stayed down there,
heavily bleeding. The neighbour called 911, a little later a deafening
noise filled the street, the ambulance hauled me inside and drove
off again. The stool misses one leg, The bucket has a number of
dents extra, the dog sits shivering in an alley. The neighbour went
back to sleep. My front door is still unlocked, because in a state of
sleepwalking one doesn't remember to lock the lot and subsequently
bringing one's keys.
Categories:
pajama, funny, silly, sleep,
Form:
Narrative
Dedicated to My Son, The Bedtime Kissy-Keeper Giver
Like a virgin to stressed messes surging,
I struggled with bridges on parental ridges
when I wore both mom and work britches.
Young years adhered pleasure steered twitches
but grown changes sewed pressure stitches.
I changed to a day and night striving
female getter-doner; an energizer twit-nit
who conquered to-do lists into done bits.
I became every weekday employee,
pay postured towards green seen garnered.
I was more a get-byer than I was a
future green funds keen accumulator.
Nightly, I morphed into dinner’s meal cooker
still dressed in work time's pantyhose stress.
I dreamed of a pajama seamed frame
before next becoming a kitchen mess cleaner,
homework tutor, tub time clean scrubber and
loving night-nighttime book reader.
I found no awakes take was sweeter
than my child’s beddy-bye kissy keepers
and prayed my son’s most precious styled love
would counter the stresses that I was made of.
Categories:
pajama, angst, caregiving, children, endurance,
Form:
Rhyme
They used to come only at night,
And hide way up under the bed,
Tucking their feet clear out of sight,
Ready to angrily pinch my pinky toes red,
D A D D Y! I’d holler, and scream.
M O M M Y! I would cry and yell.
S I S S Y! I’d shriek in my dream,
Heartbeat knowing I was about to be killed,
My own child picked up on this gloom
The first time he stayed in grandma’s house.
M O M M Y ! D A D D Y! He yelled, in full scared bloom.
I ran in, heart beating fast, expecting to see a little gray mouse.
What is it, Son? I asked my train-covered pajama wearing little man.
It’s the monsters he whispered, his amber and brown eyes as big as my head.
I nodded. “They’ll get you too, if you fall and land.”
So you’d better lay down right now, and stay in that bed.
3/28/2018
Categories:
pajama, child, children, father, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
I married someone in America, "My royalty" -
But can you look away from Brides in Sari*
That long, silk or chiffon sheet several feet long
Wrapped with tantalizing patterns around
And around, until thrown over her shoulder?
Another act of royal bearing, wearing Sari ...
Even the floral tops over pants (Kurtah-pajama)
Become these stars - even in zillahs - far from Bollywood
The elegance was first sensed in my Mom in Africa
Yes, I was raised by Hindu-Muslim folk far from India
But with all the curries, puri, chapati, samoosa, subjee
Any South Asian would die for, even in sumptuous America ...
LORD shows me these hard-working Moms who give
And never stop giving: see them in USA
Right under your noses, running businesses
Going home and cooking real food from scratch
Even to the n'th course with heavenly deliciousness
I cannot imagine the non-stop cultural fountains
They draw from, to love so much: man and children
Add grandchildren, and her energy yet abounds
So, I know what I missed, when I emigrated ...
From Hades, I watch Abraham's Bosom
Without blame: praying for those in villages
Without much water, or sanitary napkins, yet
As sanitary as Princesses: cooking, healing, generating
The next great doctor, computer guru for you
And for me, in the West. India's loss and mine
Are your gain: God loves you so much ...
Say that to yourself when U see a South Asian lady
(Now you know why your eyes linger on my Sister)
Categories:
pajama, america, appreciation, beautiful, culture,
Form:
Verse
Oh goodness the house is on fire,
And so is the one across the street,
And the one next door, I’m scared,
And frantic and overpowered with smoke!
I hear the fire crackling
And voices and feel intense heat,
I have to run, and save some
Of my treasures, they are irreplaceable,
Someone is shouting,
Get out of this house, I hear running feet,
Put a wet towel over my head
And head to the lounge which is Smokey,
Collect my first treasure an oil painting
Of my late parents, got to beat
This fire but there’s still more I need
To save, my religious icons from the
Spare bedroom and whilst I am there,
My favourite pink sneakers, repeat
After me I say to myself, ‘You’ll
Be fine’, must hurry - grab my laptop
With irreplaceable information and
My poetry soup poems, I hear someone greet
Me, a fireman, he tells me to leave,
But I still must find great Greek Grandma’s
Vase, whoops grabbed it, nearly dropped it
I blush and try to be discreet,
As I ripped off my pyjama pants,
They were scorched and hot, rush Jennifer
Rush, can’t take much more of this fire and heat,
Unhooked my degrees, as I turn, meet
The chief fireman who grabs my arm,
My word girl, this a command, leave
This house at once! Please there’s just one
More thing I must find, I say yes, but cheat
And turn back towards where half of the
House has burnt down, I have one-minute left!
Go back to my bedroom through fearsome flames,
Still have the wet towel on my head,
Save my gold trinket bracelet from my 21st,
And with newfound strength, run to the street,
I only have my pajama top and panties on
But covered with minor burns, bruises and soot,
From head to foot!
Happy as I lark, I couldn’t care for the rest,
And I saved what I wanted,
Risking my life and trying my best!
THANK GOODNESS MY FAMILY WERE NOT IN THE HOUSE!
ENTERING POETRY CONTEST – SEVEN THINGS YOU WOULD SAVE IF YOUR HOUSE WAS ON FIRE.
14/2/2019
Categories:
pajama, fire, scary,
Form:
Rhyme
September gone, October here, November in our sights.
Fall magic floats all around in orange and brown highlights.
Prancing sunlight sprinkled on leaves of gold soon delights.
September gone, October here, November in our sights.
December now, January around the corner. Valentines next.
Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza, then frost and sleet, up to our necks.
Red and green, twinkle lights, evergreens covered with in snowy flecks.
Warming up with hot chocolate, cuddled close in plaid pajama checks.
March and April, spring delight, and May, the end of school by June two.
In twenty-four-hours we have forgotten every sort of rule
It is summer vacation, and we are ready to spread our wings and fly.
Toward the sun, fully enjoying every second of June and July.
August is so unique, she deserves a stanza of her very own,
For without her, we would not be able to write any kind of poem.
Teachers and schools, new backpacks, teachers, and potential friends.
August starts out so fresh and smart, but that rather quickly ends.
Every season is special in his or her own special glorious way.
Enjoy each one, for none of us know if we will have one more day.
But one thing is for sure, and you can set your clock by it.
With the right attitude and optimism, they can each be a riot.
Categories:
pajama, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
Here a mansion, there a metal cube,
Now a street, and now a numbered route,
Here a faith and there an attitude,
Now pajama bottoms, now a suit –
So many colors blended into white!
I watch the people pass like frantic ants
All vaguely trusting that they share a hill,
As if in some symbolic foreign dance,
Seeing no end, they yet possessed the skill.
Details un-wed by purpose flood my sight.
What shall I make of this strange unity,
Both cause and balm of modern man’s frail soul,
That drowns his need of meaning in a sea
Of diverse efforts toward an absent goal?
Categories:
pajama, how i feel,
Form:
Lyric
The way your pajama bottoms don’t match the tops
The way you exercise to ensure ‘proper fitting pants’
The way our dogs wait for you to walk
The way our kids tease you just to hear you laugh
The way you keep on the move so you don’t fall asleep
The way you do things for all of us, unasked
The way you take time to listen to a friend
The way you persevere when life sometimes makes you weary
It’s all this and more that keep me …… well, it’s just your way
Categories:
pajama, love
Form:
Free verse
Poppy the parrot
Picked pus from a pimple’s peak
but then Poppy pricked Poe’s pajama pole
Patrolman Pat picked Poppy up by his beak
Prisoned Poppy pleads for parole
and pecks popcorn and crumbs all week
Categories:
pajama, humor, humorous,
Form:
Alliteration
Carefree in leisure time, one blasé tourist,
almost happy, I once had collected a complicated stone;
after the sunny hours had ended and last opportunity
for keepsakes began.
In my hand the stone had kept all of its mouths sewn shut,
holding its amalgamated story, and likewise in the car,
on the plane, through US Customs where it was not
in the least suspected.
A thumbnail identity I now should guess at, marking an old date,
and fixing it to, with reasonable estimate, a map location:
Plot No. 243, East end of the island, slave sugar plantation,
the stone from the corner of a ruined windmill stair—
broken free by my criminal hand, having liberated a vine.
The stone looked like a bleached out mini-monolith, square-rectangular,
able to be stood on end, leaning back and swollen at its center
like a pulled cork.
What could have moved this sequestered world to opening?
That was not for me to discover, except what came on Christmas Day,
two days after my returning.
Slave watercourses, the sight of innumerable Dutch ships,
ballasted with human flesh and hewn rock for sugar works buildings.
The drop at arms swish of the Driver’s bullwhip.
Flecks of spirit splayed on vegetation.
A mongrel dog barked beyond the windless wall of sugarcane
in centipede and mosquito heat.
Seaside, beautiful seaside impressions;
distant coral light shadows, etched deep azure;
snowy colored breakers that pencil-marked the sea.
The staid, vibrant, mocking power
of visual symphony backdrop.
So little of aid for the slaves, but for those dangerous secrets,
unhoused in the fallen coolness of the night:
demonstratively crystalline heaven of stars;
a ragged moon, clouds scudding eastward toward Africa
before freshwater rainsqualls came. And there
Orion’s Belt, mid-sky, illustrious bright, with its three
centering star points in rational line, as if
Hope could have flung such a rope anchor onto Life
engendering sanctified resistance.
Christmas morning, 5 a.m.
I had awakened from a stuck place, shapeless and dark,
half in dreaming and half in knowing I was in no dream.
I was sobbing, yet strangely, because there were no tears.
I had only put the stone inside my pajama top onto my heart.
Categories:
pajama, africa, dream, faith, freedom,
Form:
Free verse
Our beloved 44th President, Barack Obama
He talks with Michelle in pajama:
“Michelle, help me promote jobs and US businesses”
She answered: “Your pajama, Barack, is made in the Philippines!”
Categories:
pajama, funny,
Form:
Clerihew
She wakes from a dream, dripping with tears of sweat pouring down her face. Her long blonde hair is pasted to her forehead as she sits up in her bed. The clock reads 3:03am. Her heart is pounding rhythmically to the ticking of her wrist watch. Her long legs that are wrapped in her white down comforter are extremely cold, and she realizes that a harsh draft is seeping through the window sill beside her bed. As she pulls back the curtains to check the window for cracks in the ledge, her eyes grow wide with amazement. The street lights reveal swirls of frosted confetti which overwhelm the pitch blackness of the night. It has not snowed this hard since she was a little girl and suddenly the terror of her dream dissipates. She jumps out of bed, slips on her purple fuzzy slippers, along with her matching robe and runs down the stairs.
The stars glisten
Illuminating shadows-
Icicles hang still
Her front door swings open from the harsh embrace of the wind and she manages to drift on to her porch. Her foot prints smear the freshly painted deck but they are quickly filled up again by the urgency of heavens winter release. Her eyes begin to spill like water falls and her rosy face along with the rest of her body goes numb. However, the arctic chill was worth it to her. The last time she had seen her father was on a night like this. He loved the snow and every part of its splendor reminded her of him. The howling in the air, the cold that cut through her pajama pants like a knife, the snowflakes the size of marshmallows and the cars that look like giant igloos. Even the smell of the wood burning across the street in her neighbor’s fireplace all made her feel like her father was near. It was like heaven had stopped by to visit her this night.
By: Sabina Nicole
Contest: winter
Categories:
pajama, childhood, january, life, nature,
Form:
Verse
THE PAJAMAGRAM
When I showed up at my girlfreinds flat,
early on Valentines day
I was ready for her to welcome me
in her Valentine PJs.
But she was wearin PJs that
I never even bought
she looked pretty good in them
but they was mine NOT.
And she stayed on her tellyfone,
talkin to some guy
and left me standin there alone
kissin on her tellyfone.
I couldnt even find my Pajama gram
but there were twenty more
on her coffee table and
Layin there on her floor.
I dunno where I went wrong,
for the life of me
I ordered my her pajama-gram
and sent it C.O.D.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Categories:
pajama, valentines day,
Form:
Light Verse