Best Strollers Poems
**For Ruben O, My little Bro**
(This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?)
Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back,
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies
at the laundromat who dive-bomb
buzzing dryers as bleached belles
in heels attack threadbare tiles
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack,
click clack. All night cafes fare
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.
Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.
The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait
in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...
Ear plugs are a given.
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.
Horror resounds everywhere.
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers.
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles.
In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.
Categories:
strollers, fear, life, people,
Form:
Free verse
Snowflakes adorn blurry morn, gently, gently trickling down
As salted streets are turning brown across this weary town
While tilting trees blow wheeze of breeze in throe of snow
In aerial dance of wintry woe, as tips of twigs sun rays glow.
Driving slowly, traffic is moving, blinkers brightly turning on
As somber day, bearing yawn, is awakening bleak and drawn
When kids thrilled, frolic and build, a snowman on their lawn
Celebrating school closings on this messy, dampened dawn.
Peering scenes tinted gold, hushed romantic gazes behold
Fixating on meadows bold, where pristine paintings unfold
Delighting in the glowing blaze that brightens daze of malaise
Appealing to zeal of morning, blushing haze in emergent rays.
A deer ambles besides her fawn, exiting her quiet hideout
Curious to scout how leisurely strollers are sauntering about,
Ruminating sunshine while darkened clouds are phasing out
As bluing skies, sparkle eyes, illuminating zest of astral clout.
Beyond foothills, tall cliffs sigh, scintillating in sapphire sky
When far from here, climbing up high, cerulean motifs vie
As cobalt imprints horizons amplify, where birds merrily fly
Announcing to the receding storm: it’s time to say goodbye.
When daylight quivers on melting mound of thawing ground
Amidst whispers swirling around, muffled wind’s hissing sound;
Golden glints thrill, glistening hill, tinting the landscapes blue
Refracting puddles in ornate view of glinted beams’ opal hue.
November 16, 2020
Poem of the day on November 18, 2020
Placed 1st: In rhymes sublime poetry contest--by Joseph May
Categories:
strollers, morning, nature, snow,
Form:
Rhyme
There’s a very nice ring
To the words, “It is spring!”
When the sun is ablaze in the sky.
Oh, the joy it can bring
Hearing birds tweet and sing
As the hikers and strollers pass by.
By the river I sit
And I have to admit
It’s much nicer than being inside.
I’ll go home in a bit
But before I must split
I’ll absorb all the view can provide.
For in front of my eyes
Folks of varying size
Share my penchant for seeking fresh air,
Though it’s not a surprise
That with masks as disguise
All have New York aloofness to spare.
Categories:
strollers, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
Welcome KMart shoppers blares through the air as a mosh pit of greedy Holiday buggers hurl themselves through the glass and aluminum doors—Obese bodies press (children jammed between white-bread). Trolls in strollers screech in pain and howls of Christ mask laughter. The shopper's feet bombard the glossy, line-oh-lea-ummm floors as the overwrought, over-privileged, truffle sniffers, poke through the hundred and fifty percent marked-up—mark-downs, for things they already own in triplicate.
canned music
jiggle bells the room:
torn wrapping paper
Categories:
strollers, holiday,
Form:
Haibun
On a square in Ukraine in that war torn country
Over a hundred strollers are parked, but they're all empty
The children no longer need them because they're all sleeping
And those painful cries that you hear are their parents weeping.
Young innocent lives taken, who could do such a thing?
Their parents denied burying them, because of the bombing
Pure evil is at work, inflicting death and misery
All because Ukraine wanted to keep, her freedom and sovereignty.
The blood of children is on Putin's hands and one day he must pay
The west should ensure he'll face justice and we must find a way
He is the epitome of pure evil and the devil incarnate
And I hope for crimes against humanity, he'll suffer a similar fate.
Children still living are shell-shocked, too traumatised to cry
Witnessing acts of extreme violence and seeing people die
We know who the aggressor is, we know who to blame
How does he sleep at night?, hasn't he got any shame?
He's now getting desperate as he's threatened to go nuclear
In the hope that civilised nations, will pull back in fear
Does he honestly think that we'll scare easily
Yes, Russia has got nuclear weapons but then so have we.
Two wrongs don't make a right, it's often been said
But we must do more to stop this unnecessary bloodshed
The world must rise up against Putin , we must make a stand
Or it won't be long before the aggressor invades our land.
Written 20th March 2022.
Categories:
strollers, children, conflict, death, heartbreak,
Form:
Rhyme
Little sweet Lucy..four years..so small.
Her pink teddy bear.. and her Barbie doll.
Pushed strollers of fun. ..in traipse of malls.
Then a Topsy turvy evil.. stifles her a thrall.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crawls a cruel connive...arrives a sudden sinister.
Wrangles her hard destiny. .lurks a doomed disaster.
Poor Child, ...Leukemia is now her master.
She collapses into the arms.. of a malevolent monster.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Wasn't Blood red. .that flowed in our veins?
Her's was a translucent black. ..
only strains..and those pains.
With her curly hair shaved. .the ugly doll sustains.
Syringe of thorns prick. .a rose.. to sick bed detains.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crummy " Chemo" of the 'Crab '. .
creeps on the little dummy.
There's yucky throw of food...
from her aching tummy.
Fear stricken Dad.. and a tear streaked Mummy. .
Her outstretched arms.. say..
"I know you both love me"
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
The helpless girl.. gets weaker and thinner.
She longs for the table...sit together for dinner.
Forlorn she quirks.. in the MRI shiver.
Fighting with Cancer. .her spleen and liver.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Painkillers help ..seeing windows and walls.
Doctors are elves... and Fairy nurses call.
To live without dying. .she daily sprawls. ..
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
A desolate girl..she dreams. .playing with dolls.
PLACED THIRD IN SCREWED POETRY CONTEST by Rob Carnack
7th October 2018
A Poem of Reaction Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward.
Categories:
strollers, child, death, destiny, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
The snow is melting in the sun
While strollers stroll and runners run.
The thaw, it feels like, has begun
But we can’t get too cozy.
For way before the melting’s done
And kids have had their snowball fun,
The weather wheel just might be spun
And things won’t look so rosy.
In wintertime, we jump the gun
And think that somehow we have won
When it warms up, but it can stun;
Tomorrow might be frozy!
Categories:
strollers, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
spring time morning sun
feeding robin on plum tree~
silence of strollers
Categories:
strollers, appreciation, seasons, spring,
Form:
Haiku
Hearts aren’t just for lions, cowardly or strong,
They beat inside small children, caught up in the throng,
Of a world filled with meanness, that’s tough for adults,
How much more so for tiny victims, our culture routinely assaults.
But what of the safety of innocent minds,
And hearts that feel pain when they witness with eyes,
And hear things they shouldn’t, no sleep now befalls,
Our tender young offspring, extreme loving now calls.
It’s our place to shield them, no cares in this world,
Comfort and sing to them, our arms they lay curled,
Read tales of great splendor that distractions provide,
In strollers and car seats, physically safe as they ride.
It is love reassuring innocence, in children anew,
When fear takes a stronghold and pain doth ensue,
Embrace them and quickly remove any signs,
Of past traumas, fun diversions now causing huge smiles!
Categories:
strollers, angst, care, children, cry,
Form:
Rhyme
...early Spring walk around 3.2mi. Lake Calhoun...so named after controversial industrialist sotten with checkered past...movement underway to return name to Native American Dakota "Bde Maka Ska" White Earth Lake.
Purple Finches trill their soothing song
to people walking around Lake Bde Maka Ska,
a deep glacial lake in the heart of Minneapolis.
A lone Eagle cruises above, easily snatching
spawning Carp from the shallows, gracefully
cruising away, talons firmly clutching the
writhing Carp.
I enjoy watching families enjoying their first
walk around the lake, infants in strollers taking in their first inhalations of sights, sounds and
smells after winter isolation.
Young people wander wide-eyed, wondering
how the world sees them, as they establish
identity through dress, movement & interaction
with others...subtle changes will occur as the
summer evolves...reacting or not, to perceived
reflection.
Most of all, I enjoy my own movement,
evaluating subtle changes I notice in myself,
returning to the park bench by the path where
I comfortably situated my 87yr. old Mom,
grateful to have the opportunity to once more
enjoy our city of lakes, wondering how many
more such gifts she will enjoy,
Grateful
for
the
moment
5/7/17
Categories:
strollers, happiness,
Form:
Narrative
Replay
The woman pushes the stroller
I look up; the pale sliver of moon
white skin, with veins
Where am I? What is this world?
You are just a child. I am your mother.
I am a woman
Steering the wheel through questions
The moon is too pale in the dark
I look up for the answers
Drive and crash into a twisting tree
someone’s backyard.
The man is beside me, muttering
If you don’t know how to drive, don’t
I do know how to drive
I’m just tired.
He looks up; winter carries away his sighs.
I lean crumpled on the wheel
I’m just tired.
I grip the plastic handles
Carts and strollers, both feel the same
How can they feel the same?
Mommy, the little thing says
Where am I? What is this world?
The child looks up, confused at my confusion
Carts and strollers are not the same
I look up
Together, we search the sky.
Categories:
strollers,
Form:
Free verse
Elegant in burnt orange afterglow,
sparkling starlight opens the show.
Neighbors and strangers appear all aroun’,
porch lights and car lights enlighten the town.
They arrive afoot and atop handlebars.
Tots wave from strollers like famed movie stars.
Mothers bellowing orders to stay in sight,
transgressors will rue being naughty tonight.
Flickering lights and untied laces
nudge fidgety feet through their paces.
Masquerade masks make eager accomplices’
too impish eyes and mischievous faces.
Scowling Jack-O-Lanterns carved in creepy effigies
prove impotent charms to appease candied fantasies.
Festooned arches adorned in orange and black,
ornate ornaments to win the neighborhood plaque.
Into the gauntlet of terror they swarm;
dressed to play in pillaging uniform.
Tree and flower tremble and quiver;
Bumped and trampled in their fervor.
Werewolves wailing through grimacing grins
herald a night of howling hymns.
Ghostly spirits from the bowels of earth,
hang from gallows, grinning in ghoulish mirth.
Silken chains embracing all who stray,
beckons the widow to her frightened prey.
Garnished by cackling cries of certain demise,
steaming cauldrons poach their pitiful prize.
Spades of woe shadow souls who rashly ignore,
ominous omens attached to windows and doors.
Like tocks from a clock they continue to arrive,
will the morrow find anyone left still alive?
Hostiles charitably looting town,
sacks of booty slowing them down.
Toting bags of looted plunder,
looming hordes scatter asunder.
Pass me by, to my neighbor grace his stage,
assuage with him your gluttonous rage.
Rapacious hands swaying in ritual dance,
exuberance untethered in blitzing advance.
Eyeing my castle the rioting rabble rush in,
guarded only by growlin’ dog an’ smilin’ pumpkin.
Upon my stoop they brazenly climb,
my breath on hold, I hear the chime.
My time I fear is near at hand,
my blood or treasure they demand.
Hunkered down and hidden from sight,
no mercy presented for my plight.
With sweaty palms and pounding heart,
please Lord I pray, make them depart.
For a shot of strong “Spirits” I silently scream,
‘cause I forgot the candy on this Halloween!
Categories:
strollers, candy, children, halloween, holiday,
Form:
Rhyme
Walk along the river bank, lined with poplar trees,
Listen to the birds that sing their sweet melodies,
Mothers pushing strollers pause, to the humming bees,
A juggler keeps balls aloft, while on bended knees,
On the pond, pompous swans gracefully glide with ease,
Men in caps, meet on benches, enjoying coffees,
Children feed corn to hungry ducks, with quacking pleas,
Couples stroll the promenade, smiling in the breeze,
Picnickers open baskets of fruit, wine and cheese,
Playful dogs off leashes, catching flying frisbees,
Joggers pound the pavement, in shorts and sporty tees,
A beautiful day, to bask in eighty degrees.
January 15, 2017 Monorhyme for contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Categories:
strollers, family, friendship, imagery, love,
Form:
Rhyme
I saw people walking through the streets,
As cars lazily rolled down the one lane road.
Pairs holding hands, mothers and sons,
Suited men retiring after a hard day's work.
The awkward side-steps avoiding strollers,
Exchanging waves, exchanging glances.
And gentle brushes past a shoulder,
Dogs on leashes wooed by giggling girls.
I saw a kid in a Giants jersey and sunglasses:
"Hey man, thanks for meeting with me."
He walked up to another guy in pink shorts:
"No problem, I'm glad you feel like you can talk to me."
I saw a crying girl and an angry guy
Who talked in hushed voices laced with sighs and sniffles.
They stood close enough to be lovers,
But distanced themselves as if they were strangers.
"I'm sorry," she said. "No, you're not," he replied.
I saw a guy walking to his car in a frenzy --
Phone pinned between his ear and his shoulder.
He fumbled with his keys; his eyebrows were furrowed.
"Where are you? I'm coming to get you right now."
I was just sitting on the porch, drinking a rum and coke
I sipped my drink as I contributed my silent commentary:
I thought Mr. Sunglasses needed a haircut,
Rolled my eyes at an over-dramatic couple,
Scoffed at the hysterical guy, just too protective of his girlfriend.
I didn't know that the kid in the glasses had just lost a friend to suicide.
Or that the crying girl had just cheated on her fiancee --
Two weeks before the wedding.
I didn't know that frenzied guy's sister had called 'cause of a car crash --
Only to find out later that it wasn't so serious.
But neither of us knew that then.
We get as close as we want to people, really.
It's our choice if someone's a nod or a hug,
A friendly smile or a glare, or even a "hello!"
As we walk down the street -- unique, but the same.
It's been said that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover,
And others say that's why the cover's there.
Categories:
strollers, august, care, feelings, friend,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Driving in the city,
I'm used to many things -
Crazy cabbies, honking horns,
Pigeons spreading wings.
In attentive texters,
Speedy messengers on bikes,
Nannies pushing strollers filled
With bored or wailing tykes.
Buses not in service,
Doormen whistles blowing,
Drivers who have no idea
Which way they should be going.
But one thing I have never seen
Until my current trip
Is tumbleweed go tumbling by -
It really made me flip.
Like a bunch of dancing hay clumps,
All this tumbleweed bounced by.
As it somersaulted on
You couldn't miss it if you'd try.
It looked comical yet scary,
Almost alien to me,
Not at all like on the westerns
That I once watched on TV.
For a city gal, I'll tell you
This was special, that is true,
But I hope I never see it
Roll down Second Avenue!
Categories:
strollers, nature, travel, , western,
Form:
Rhyme