Best Tantrum Poems
During the night the heavy storm came.
Lashing rain and winds that were wild.
By morning, gone, and now weather tame.
The skies, bright and clear, wind now mild.
Nature's temper tantrum, like that of a child.
Screaming
At me muse
Wails like a wild
Banshee throughout the night
Tantrum.
Temper so beastly, troublesome and wild
Anger quite disturbing which isn’t defined
Nuisance and discomfort suffered by loved ones
Two or thereabout, the usual age for this display
Rendering everyone around alert and agitated
Unnecessary hostility, care givers undeservedly face
Markedly disappears with more years grown.
Splitting soil and rock; quaking,
shaking dance of death.
Land and sea alike,
Well shaken; no stirring here;
an earthquake, temper tantrum.
Hurricane Hermine is coming ashore this dark night,
Descending with wind and rain and a stormy appetite.
Nature is throwing a tantrum, and we will respect its wrath.
It may take no prisoners in its tempestuous path.
People are hurriedly preparing with water and food.
Some will have a hurricane party, daring the storm to intrude.
Most will say a prayer that the damage will be light.
Mother Nature will show her fury, with a view to excite!
A hurricane reminds us only God controls the weather,
And we are all put here on this Earth together.
So we will ride out the storm and say our prayers,
Leaving the weather to command for the Man upstairs.
Old man wind pulled back the ocean waters
and funneled them into his watering can;
sprinkled them across the state;
over-watering every garden in sight.
A flood, six inches of water invaded my basement;
a three inch wading hole in the street and
a fortune in appliances and furniture was lost.
Afterwards he painted a rainbow in a cloudy sky and
started over again.
His tantrum lasted for two weeks.
Benny B was well known as a crowder
And today he craved a bowl of clam chowder
The waitress with a frown
Said "the chowder's all gone"
Ben threw a tantrum, whining all the louder
I was shopping in the local mall
When a toddler just started to bawl
He stamped his tiny feet
And demanded a treat
But his mum wouldn’t buy a football!
He continued to scream and shout
His small mouth displayed a huge pout
But much to his chagrin
His mum did not cave in
Just warned him he could get a clout!
His dad took the child by the hand
And said words he could understand
When your mummy says no
Don’t put on a floor show -
Good parenting really is grand!
(Just for the record I'm not advocating it's good parenting to smack a child - it just happened to rhyme for the poem which is fictional)
Incidentally in October 2017 Scotland was the first place in the UK to ban parents from smacking their child... I wonder how successful that will be!
12/24/17
Should I throw a Tantrum?
Become like a purple Capsicum?
For You to feel my Momentum?
Or should I go and drown in an Aquarium?
Whichever I do, I will certainly run from the Asylum,
To have myself made into an Anthurium,
So that I would beautify your Gymnasium,
Like the Silent Beauty of the Millenium!
Should I keep myself Mum,
Like a sleeping Mummy,
The One hiding like a Dummy,
In fear of her own Alchemy?
Or Should I hide my Paws,
To pretend that there are no Laws,
Even if that would make me Morose,
For, like a fragile Rose,
I am Blooming and Blossoming,
Yet, With time I will also be Wilting
four years old he stood
screaming
in his window
a nice redfaced tantrum for all the
street to see
nice superman underwear too
his arms were outspread like he would
jump
and his anger
bellowed
silent
behind the glass
there's a riot in my mind
a protest in my heart
a struggle to find
my spiritual work of art
in search of something divine
a deep yearning to hold
that which could never be mine
a beauty true and bold
my overwhelming wish to
sleep eternity away
perpetually causes me to
ever dream of someday
it's time to write another page
when will the plot thicken?
as I try to quench my rage
a new tirade may begin
puncturing my soul
bleeding out my spirit
through the gaping hole
I display my internal fit
Tantrum of a dying beast
Gyrating at a voluptuous feast,
Tendrils of incantations whispered long ago
Spell & dispel guilt from every visceral, callous heart
Furious wells of hopelessness
Bubble from below
Each soul to touch his hilt
Each soul denies his guilt
Sand between her fingers passes, slowly, as the dark begins to grow
Unaware of seeds planted, that now begin to wilt
Unaware of the fragility of the show,
And the fragility of remaining true; as the earth begins to tilt
Drunk in passion,
Drunk in wine:
Drunk keeps you soft, but not benign
Stay innocent
Stay true
Can they make it out in time,
For the ones that make it out alive
Are definite, but few.
The sound of fear bellowing from my soul, as I shake excessively
The words are no longer words in the duel, I fear the reality
I continue to scream, no longer in control
My movements are quick, as I do not have rule
This nightmare is a reality
During the day the nightmare calms, until I arrive home
I do not wish to hurt the ones I love, so I try to roam
I roam around, until they arrive, trying to help to keep me calm
Another night, another match only to continue
This nightmare is still a reality
My tantrums contain pain, held in from others
I wish the day with no more pain,I have never wished to hurt another
I continue to try day by day, to help keep this nightmare away
The nightmares are a fading reality
Tantrum
Pout?
Pouted?
Pouting?
To waste life…
To press others to your will,
and shockingly, in the end,
find they find less of you
agreeable.
Surprised?
Not very nice?
True.
Would you rather I was gentler?
I could use gloves made of down,
soft feathers at the tips,
and yet still, truth is always…
prickly, spiny, full of needles,
and above all…
painful.
Carry a mirror if you need to.
When the episode occurs…
whip it out and check it out.
Ask yourself…
“Is that me?”
No.
“Is that you?”
No.
Like who’s on first, a very old joke.
Step up, and take responsibility…
for “you” and all the things,
you do to others.
Calm,collected and serene
Then a timely vituperation
Evokes in spilt seconds
A cornucopia of rashfolly
Tempers, scream up
The meanest echelons of inhumane rive
Words; few left unsaid
Blood of a few, left unshed
All's torn apart
And all in parts, fell apart
Then she is gone
As swiftly as she was born
And left all parts; in parts
Heap of rubbles now drawn with carts
To tombs; heaped and tombstoned with hats
Calm, collected and somewhat serene
Once more, I am
Now with regrets
But she's gone
Swiftly as she was born
-My untamed tantrum