Best Toddle Poems
When I think of poetry
I think of a child manipulating
his first steps, the wobbly nature
of his strides~that confused, meandering
toddle, and then trip and fall – the dear
first efforts of us all. When I think of poetry,
I think of my introductory cords attempting
articulation: the naive study of lips, the spitting
aspirations, how the throat struggles, and then the
mouth opens to the notion of sound. When
I think of poetry, I think of the squinting and the
rounding of the eyes first awakening to light –
how the heart adjusts to thought...and how,
somehow, it is all related to love, the cooing,
caressing of a mother, before weaning.
Then when I think of poetry, I finally think of nothing...
empty myself, letting poetry think for me –
become my sight and voice, my very direct
line to God~knowing best the language
of creation.
your mild nudge
made me open my eyes....
child's first toddle
As small children we are wide eyed and innocent,
toddle after Mommy like baby elephants,
go to school to learn with our writing implement,
our parents hoping that we don't act indolent,
As teens upon graduation were confident,
some acting wild while others are reticent,
finding our jobs and falling in love relevant,
some marry while others act more dissident,
When we get old hopefully were still intimate,
thinking back on our lives with heartfelt sentiment,
being nice with people till death is imminent,
eulogy at funeral will be evidence.
1-11-17
She is in the kitchen making cheerios pie he is in the music room clanking at the keys
a Maestro prodigy yet to potty train airing out little notes and driving her insane;
With motherly sopranic voice she climbs the sweet n' low vibrations of love's keep
as her piano babe goes off to lala land, fast asleep on ebon keys of century ivory gold ;
A slight soupcon of happy dreams begin to take effect upon his tiny peeked smile,
while traces of thoughts arise like air balloons, "cheerios, and mother's lullabye"
The sleepy boy begins to toddle towards heaven's veil to that magical place where
daintel angels fly about and make easy music to the sound of water falls in spring;
He is a sapor vessel of beauty
a cherub child
that belongs to the flowers
of the field
Up there in the netherland of mystery and grace is a pianist who died young and
went with a song left unsung. She watches the piano babe and decides to play
for him. The name of the song is "Reflets" her name is Lili Boulanger....
She created the music and lyrics in 1911. Today the music can be heard but
the lyrics are in her own vouch safe world of creativity.
Lost in a perfume of the past the present comes to life again
he is gonna wake up to the arts, some day, but when ?
Contest Name: Tell me a story 2 (chose Image 1)
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
11/01/2018
OUR LITTLE BIRD
From the moment she could toddle in the grass…before she said one word…
she would stand in her front yard and point up at the birds.
Watching their daughter smile when she saw the birds resting or in flight…
her parents filled her room with bird books they read to her each night.
They weren’t even upset…nor did they think it a bit absurd…
when, instead of mama or dada…the first word she said…was bird.
One night, after they finished reading and began to tuck her into bed…
with a smile on her face their daughter looked at them…and said:
“Mom, Dad! Do you know what I want to be when I finally grow?”
They sat down on the bed next to her saying, “Tell us…we’d like to know.”
She sat up all excited…then announced emphatically,
“I’m pretty sure…when I grow up…a bird is what I want to be!”
“I want to be like all the other birds I see in the trees and in the sky.
I want to be the kind of bird who spreads her wings…and flies!”
Smiling at each other, “That’s a wonderful dream.” Her parents said
then they kissed her on the forehead and tucked her into bed.
A parent’s responsibilities are many…it’s a blessing…and a chore…
when to bring their children down to Earth…when to let their imaginations soar.
Knowing how much she loved birds since the moment her little life began
They talked it over that night…and came up with a plan.
The next morning they handed her a helmet…
when she stepped out of her bed.
“Get dressed as quickly as you can.” They said.
“And when you’re dressed put this helmet on your head.”
As they turned to leave the room…their daughter asked them why…
“Because,” they smiled, “we have a lot of work to do…
if we’re going to teach you how to fly.
Never ever had a family doctor for most of my life
But since becoming an old fart, now I never ever think twice
A pain in my lower regions
Or my neck or some unknown adhesions
Off I toddle, don't rely on the roll of the dice
© Jack Ellison 2015
I'm not going into work today
I'm taking a day off to rest,
I've been feeling under the weather of late
and really not up to my best.
I've taken some of my holiday
I didn't want to go sick,
As sickness can bugger your prospects
when it comes to promotion real quick.
I don't think I've got the man flu
my head is perfectly clear,
It's something to do with internals
and could be quite serious I fear,
I've got a touch of arthritis
damaged liver and kidneys as well
New ailments are not unexpected
but on something I don't want to dwell.
I generally feel better in summer
when the sunshine warm's up my bones,
I can move about a lot freer
which lessens the volume of groans,
My liver and kidneys are working
but not really up to the mark,
I really must look on the bright side
as the future could really be stark.
I'd love to play with my grand kids
and roll about on the floor,
But that would be really stupid
as rising will be such a chore,
The best I can do at the moment
is have them sit on my lap,
So I can read them a story
before I need a long nap.
In summer we go for a walk in the park
so they can smell all the flowers
With stick in each hand I toddle behind
so a five minute walk lasts for hours.
They really make me so happy
all playful and so full of fun,
When flying a kite in the warm summer wind
or lazing about in the sun.
But "Granddad" is not all that mobile
his joints just don't want to play,
He'd rather be young fit and healthy
than acting a statue all day,
Please don't think I spend my time moaning
or whinging to any degree,
I always do look on the bright side
as there are people in worse states than me.
O squalling baby fat and red,
Laying on your nursery bed,
Clamber down onto the floor,
Crawl or toddle out the door.
Go to school. Graduate.
Take another for your mate.
Get a job and buy a home,
Raise a family of your own.
Save your money to retire,
Watch your grandkids and admire.
Now you're old and life is done,
Did you have a little fun?
O squalling baby fat and red,
You've just been born, and now...
You're dead.
I know not the paint of your face nor the slang of your name
I know not the acoustic of your voice nor the creed before your knees
I know not the double of helixes taut beneath your skin
Nor do I know the furnace that keeps you earthen
But...
I know the hoofs in the sound of your heart
I know the miles in your stride
I know the walk you walk, the step you step.
I know the despairing blue of the waters you sail
The sea is songful and your sails spatter malevolence
Trauma picks her strings in the orchestral chime of your haggard vessel
Your efforts are a ripple that dies before lying head at shore
Canaries, squirrels and all; sip from the succulence of your effort
Your fruit rots, and falls devoid of ripe.
Your will is wilting; your gravity is shredding,
and worms of serene are dragging their bellies out of your field.
Your heart is a soulless harbour of tears; bereft of laughter
Where ships of despair lay anchor upon the lifeless hazel sands
And those of hope toddle away
The trolls living in caves of your cochlea whisper to you
And make believe the world can go on without you
Your heart is a tuber that pockets sugar, blood and vitriol
And fear glooms throughout its girth
Shuttlecocks fly, stars burn, flowers bloom, honeybees dance, birds sing, but humans---smile
Yet your lips are a two ply elastic, numb to stretch, plyed to wretch.
The waters of choice breathe and fins of hopelessness cast shadow upon the mollies of happiness
Choose life, choose happiness, choose to be human---live---smile
Your heart is muscle but a muzzle
Unstoppable, a thousand swords not
Iron your fist; leather your palm and let fingers kiss caress unto the trigger
Load your glock---cock; choose to be human---live
Should the wells of ammunition run barren---RELOAD!
Fit to screen the thumbnail and see the bigger picture
Sieve out the coarse of your options and remain with a universe more
Choose happiness, choose life, choose to be human---smile
Walk away from the frozen harbour of tears---live on
And catch up with the fleet of hope
Vishweshwara, my lord my devotion
I was once born; I think you knew it
I lost something far, not far from my feet
But now it is extreme from my heart
It is my confidence, courage, curiosity
I am missing my poetic ardor
I am lacking my statistic fervor
I am omitting my valor
Once I used to be a victor
Now nighters of it a sector
Once I used to be like me
Now a word branded to be inspiration is stabbing me.
Once my dreams used be as cumbersome as clouds
Daring and baring the heavy heat of sun
But now I am left as one with notions none
There is no hope to cope up with any agile pressure.
But still I will not stop as I am pale
Till the last atom of most popular oxygen I inhale.
The line of attack I toddle may gaze sole
But my emotions are full and whole in its role.
So it's off I toddle back to the “lims”
Guess that's where I belong, producing grins
It's my lot I've discovered
Other forms I've sputtered
If you could see me now wearing nothing but skin
devour her crust I must
greedily feasting the
roundish skin and ochred
pumpkin muscle within
since barely I could toddle,
away from baby's bottle
I've relished her delicious
full fall-moon feast
at least calming my distraction
flaking away stress and dismay
to pointed surfeit I'd bet
that entirety would be
my inevitable terminus
replete upon languished
fundament so heaven-bent
to drowse and dream yet
more pumpkin pie it'd seem
© Goode Guy 2013-11-29
(after just polishing off the leftovers)
Tiny children
Roaming towards doors
Imitating
Creatures of night
Knock, knock
Odd sounds
Radiate back at them
Toddlers scurry
Run back to mom
Edge back towards the house
Aggressively grab some candy
Toddle next-door
A baby is born; O joy, O joy!
Matters not, be it girl or boy
All of life lies ahead, horizons' expanse
As the infant soul begins life's mysterious dance
Alas, all is not sparkle or glitter or glow
Baby spits up; in its diaper pee and poop grow
Baby begins to crawl, to toddle, to stumble, to walk
Making cooing sounds at first, it then starts to talk
We are thrilled by every advance in its dance
Yet we parents must not become too entranced
We need keep baby's curiosity from ending its very existence
Playing with fire, picking up glass -- our vigil, persistent
And as our child grows up, we deal with so many heartaches
With homework, with fashion, with puppy love and heartbreak
Yet all this is pure pleasure, our privilege, our personal growth-climb and
Our God-given chance to polish this gem's soul, our very precious diamond
May 13, 2019
Entry in "Tribute to a Precious or Semi-Precious Gem" contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
... May 16 entry in Richard Lamoreux's 'Applicable or Not Applicable' contest
There is a pronounced ugliness there, brassy, irritable attitudes found nowhere else.
Anger and rage is rampant. Desperation, disease, strife, rape, and murder happen daily.
I shudder at the thought; these concepts are well beyond my sensibilities.
One of the guides flips a button, and the viewing screen starts. I am shown desperate people who are willing to perform unspeakable acts for a meal or a place to sleep.
“Some are deluded not realizing the person they called friend could plunge a knife
Into their heart in an instant of rage, without caring.”
The stories are harsh, stark, frightening, and surreal. I back away from the screen and look
At the leader of the masters. He is glaring at me, awaiting my decision. I can choose to stay in
Heaven to learn my next five lessons, or to go to Earth.
If I choose Earth, it’ll be a lot faster, but Heaven is safe.
“But surely there is some good there,” I argue. My voice cracks, as if I am pleading.
A soft hood nods. “Newborn babies,” she says softly.
The other hoods join in, “Puppies,” “rainbows,” “gentle rain,” “flowers,” “hope,” “faith.”
“I choose to learn my lessons on Earth,” I tell them.
My voice sounds stronger now. “I’ll watch for the good,” I tell them.
I am thinking I’ll nurture it too, so I say that.
Because in Heaven to think a thought is to say it.
I am impregnated within minutes.
By the time I can walk without a toddle, this memory is but a wisp in my hair.
Luckily, my spirit guides will remember.
They remind me in my sleep.