Best Pan Poems
Dearest Child-Adventuring Man, My Darling Peter Pan:
Since that never to be forgotten day when Wendy first brought
you my way, my heart has been enchanted thru and true with
love for you. You are as magical as your happy-thought dust
that brought me flight thru star-glimmer skies, shimmering great
joy from my soul-core straight to my eyes. With you, I have felt
amazing fantasy as enthralling reality because of the wonder that
is you and your purview.
I love Neverland, Tinker Bell, the boys and the countless joys that
made up the minutes of each day we shared. Though nothing in my
future will ever compare, I can no longer deny that I am compelled
to step into adulthood, that such is what I should do, what I am
meant to do, and must do without you. In your world, I will always
be your girl, but in the traditional world, I must let my woman
unfurl. What is calling me onward and forward is all that you
would never walk toward and risk dying adult-bored.
Turn any woe into a splendid crow of much ado, repeat until woe
has winded you, then smile to know -
~ I shall always gratefully and lovingly remember you ~
A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan
Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's'...so hard he tried. He even wept.
School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.
When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"
Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.
"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.
"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!
Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic Grill...you go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"
Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"
Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!
Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...
"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"
"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"
"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"
deborah burch©
5/23/2012
*****end part I...conclusion in part II
Inside the Dishwasher everyone rushed!
Clinks, clanks, rattles, 'Ouches' and ' Ohs'!
"Would you pa--lease, settle down!" said Deb--They hushed.
"Now we can hear...let's just see how this goes."
Curious, Peter, looked out through a chinc,
And watched Vie and Chris-- approaching by twos.
They opened the door--and who do you think--
Standing there wearing her fine Jimmy Choos,
Ms Lost Sonnet!--spoke not a word--but winked.
Wilma Wine-Corkscrew, dressed in purple hues
Gave the 'all clear', and Peter spread the news.
"We're having a party Ms Sonnet, please,
Won't you join us? It's a magic party
For Peter", said Ruben Rotisserie.
Bob Blender poured her a drink--quite hardy.
Connie Candellabra was flaming bright
As Ms Sonnet swept past to the soft couch.
Carolyn Cookie Jar screamed with such fright,
"Quick! She's on fire!" Then Lost cried, "Ouch!"
"I'll save her", said Catie Collander. "Here!"
But the water leaked through her like a sieve.
Susan Spatula yelled, "Have no fear, dear!"
Yet, the fire held on and would not give--
Others tried, but could not stop the fire.
Then Peter said, "I wuw twy! I can do it!
With 'Awwy, I can fwy! Way up highya!
Togethwa, we can save Ms Wost Sonnet!
Awwy is my fwend. He tawks funny, too!
He's aw the way fwom Engwand and he is
My Supwa Cape! So I can fwy! It's twue!
No H's wive theaw--his name is wike this:
'Awwy--not Hawwy." So now, they all knew.
"Did I 'ear some bloke colling my name?"
"Yes! 'Awwy, me! We've Ms Sonnet to save!"
Harry Handtowel--AKA, Super Cape--fame
Was now on the neck of Peter the Brave!
With no hesitation quickly they flew,
Smothered the fire and saved just one shoe.
Brittle and weak, Lost needed more than glue...
"She needs magic! Oh! Paweeze! What can we do?"
"Peter...we only made enough for you".
Said Carol Crock-pot. They all cried, "Boo Hoo..."
"Then give huw my magic! That's what you do!"
So quickly they sprinkled the magic brew.
Ms Sonnet was greatful--then said, "Adieu".
"Peter, you've done well," said Anne Assam Tea,
"Let's all have a cup'a tea and you'll see...
"'Magic's believing in yourself, --frankly,
Do that--and you can do--anything!"
~©deborah burch
5/23/2012
*Special appearance by "Lost Sonnet", courtesey of David Williams...with much gratitude, thank you all for appearing ;)...Peter has many adventures to come...big hugs, love you all, cap'n deb
Of PAN and MAN
Beyond the hedgerow bright with bloom of May
Our daily lives move on with purpose strong
From where the thrush and warbler sing the day
Soft hum of traffic, plays a different song
The tawny herd lies sleepy-eyed in sun
On lush green mead oblivious to where
The cars, the trucks and buses onward run
With each disposed by one of nature’s heirs
Along the roadside verges, now revealed
In rainbow hues, wild flowers exquisite face
Uncaring road’s dismissal unconcealed
Though passers glance admiring of their grace
To count less the works of man than of Pan, some are fain
Let us bless them all and embrace as our whole domain
Hand in hand two sprites on a magic flight
with wings of crystal glass and fairy light
they flew, inside an abstract sky of white
wing to wing, one was nimble one was bright
Wearing taffet gowns of silky swishes
they were often flourishing their wishes
blessing all with benign hugs and squishes
tiny pixies, no bigger than mom's dishes
They were sent to baby rooms and wee ones
they shone like light from fifty golden suns
but every now and then they goofed all thumbs
and landed in a cabbage patch, oh crumbs !
they flew like Peter Pan and Tinker Bell
with magic wands to cast a spell, pell-mell
they scurried this way that and then oh well
they crazed it up and then they cast a spell.
Feb 26, 2023
Sponsor Eve Roper
Contest Name Nursery Rhyme
I imagine when you first see it…all you see an old cast-iron pan…you don’t see where it’s been…you only notice the outside…not the history within.
But every time we use it…we handle it affectionately…because when we pick up this old cast-iron pan…that…is exactly what we see.
Some of this pan’s history we know…the rest we must infer…it was Debrah’s grandmother’s…passed down to her mother…then passed on down to her.
Now take another look at it…imagine, if you can, three generations of meals…cooked inside this pan.
Think of all the breakfasts, lunches and dinners served up lovingly…think of what this old cast-iron pan has meant to our family.
I wonder if that’s what makes anything cooked in this pan taste so good…as we think about how long ago it was cast…as the flavors we are tasting today blend with all those flavors from the past.
I suppose that’s why we get a little sentimental…why we use this pan so reverentially…knowing its age and history is what makes it special…knowing it’s a lot like Deborah and me.
And hoping how the three of us…Deborah, me and this old cast-iron pan…with a little bit of care and a lot of love…will keep cooking as long as we can.
We only hope there is at least one item in your house filled with memories…filled with its own history…an item like our old cast-iron pan…that’s part of your family.
A crisp, cold morning in Hyde Park,
and he is waiting for his date.
As joggers jog and poodles bark,
the girl's unconscionably late.
He paces London's crocused heart,
as traffic booms in Piccadilly:
he's practicing that English art
of seeming calm, while feeling silly.
One final tryst beside the lake,
in front of the Eternal Boy:
a parting kiss, for old times' sake ...
she's stood him up? Or playing coy?
The hotel clerk purrs sympathy
when summoned on the mobile phone.
By now, she'll be in Duty Free.
Well, there it is. This Bird Has Flown.
He tries to feign the jaunty airs
of a striped suit on a sandwich sortie,
but doing drily debonaire's
not easy when you're fat and forty.
He tramps the lonely, flat green mile
to Green Park Tube's unlovely portal,
but perks up with a cheeky smile -
well, for a week he was immortal!
sizzling on the road
crow is paid her payment owed….
little pan caked toad
Hymn to Pan
Before Morocco was Roman, you see,
the music of Pan was African jazz.
At the Wednesday night prayer meeting
the percussion discussion of Mingus goes on,
getting' all jumpy and sweaty inside.
This is the time of the passionate stranger,
of bullfights and trumpets, of magic and lust.
You should see that goat high steppin'
playin' his pipes for centaurs and satyrs
while rivers of wine and buckets of beer
splash the maenads snaking with joy.
Seven black dancers leap on a cliff,
five different rhythms make them alive:
It's music that spears them, one at a time!
One says “It's crazy,” one says “It's love,”
three new rhythms awaken the dead!
Fertility spirits moan and shout
as flutes and oboes evoke ancestors.
A soprano echoes a baritone's wail.
The sky man wears a cloak of feathers,
the earth woman wears a skirt of grass.
A neighboring tribe joins the fray
entering caves with torches aloft,
wearing masks of stallions and mares.
The god who grants all desires arrives
riding a winged golden lion
as twenty eight drummers climax at once.
I can believe that joy is infectious,
I can believe that music is Life.
I'm going to jump and roar my approval
she's going to ride a broad chested centaur
the people will tussle a long hungry python
when Pan calls us in the middle of the night.
If I had to choose Robin Hood, Robinson Crusoe or Peter Pan?
Hmm……
What a quandary.
What a plight.
I truly do not think I can.
I will never grow up, so I have the Peter Pan part down, furiously.
I have always yearned for my own island, and a giant tree house, curiously.
Wouldn’t I love to steal from the rich who have already stolen from the poor?
This choice cannot be done. I need a part of all of them, forever more.
Clearing her old shelves
Mom's bread pan--
Before it rusted.
Baker's Dozen Contest of MaureenMcGreavy
10/13/2018
~Peter Pan~
(Rhyme)
Peter Pan where are you going
I guess it's Wendy you're looking for
And to Neverland now you are flying
As Tinkerbell spreads magic at my door
I always watched you in completely awe
All these years since I was really small
O Peter you were always my hero then
You were my favorite out of them all
In the eyes of every child you're so tall
O Peter you're so brave and so strong
With Wendy and the kids you're so sweet
Forever you've planted in my heart a song!
In the end you beat Old Hook as you'd plan
Oh Peter Pan I am still your number #1 fan!
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2006
January.23. 2015
I look through Nana's broken window so many times
However, today it seems so different
watching the blackbirds pecking at the pears
in the avocados trees
Nana harvested the best ripened avocados pears
The color of dark burgundy, and green
All came from that old worn-out tree;
Every year we carefully inspect each pear
before packing them in the brown barrel
They were moist and delicious on the inside
so easy to peel, those lovely ripened pears.
Here I am today about to,
open the last mark box of Nana's things
slowly, I unfold the last item
all wrapped in an old newspaper
It was her bread pan;
the one with the two handles
an old burnt crumb lodged in the corners of the pan
I smiled, I weep,
Hello! to you too Nana
One sunny morn, a broom is sweeping a floor full of dirt. The dust pan said to the broom, "I will help you!"
"Thank you," said the broom. "Thank you for helping me minimize my work."
"I am not always around," the dust pan said, "...because not all people buy me after buying you."
"Hard to explain and I really don't know why?" the broom averred.
"I wish we can be partners all the time, cleaning the world full of mire," the dust pan added.
The broom panting, "Sometimes you are more useful than me, but I'm glad you're here for me!"
Many springs have come and gone,
the city roars and wheezes,
concrete monsters block the prospect
and restrict the balmy breezes.
Summers stifle, streets are steaming,
hydrants bring some small relief,
merchants battle with the street gangs,
struggle on in blind belief.
Canyons strangle, subways throttle,
autumn bleeds in red and gold,
chilly now as winter beckons
with its shroud of killing cold.
Jersey beckons 'cross the river,
yet another frying pan,
in the cauldron of convection,
cradle of the modern man.