Best Toddled Poems
I looked out of the window what did I see
A beautiful rainbow shining there for me
Remembering the story mam read last night
Will have to go outside, sure it will be alright
If I borrow the brolly with red spots on show
My sister is asleep, she will never know.
I crept out of the door hoping it didn’t creak,
toddled to the garden bench, where I play hide and seek.
Scrambled upon the seat was no easy feat,
with my short legs and tiny feet.
Umbrella over my head I jiggled with glee
to see the rainbow in front of me.
Mam read that Mr Grumpy would send the rain
I hope he cheers up so sun shines again.
Am wondering, if I called his name, he just might
Let Mr Sunshine put things right
Can’t believe my eyes, so surprised to see
all the care bears waving to me.
The little umbrella didn’t keep me so dry,
I am soaking wet but I won’t cry.
At bedtime now, will listen with glee,
next time mam reads to me.
Mam’s stories are really true
Hope you enjoyed this one too
Penned 23 September 2017
Contest: Eve Roper. Red Polka Dot Umbrella.
“She toddled in the mighty Duck
And almost never was”
Whether by design or luck
Or maybe just because
Summertime in Tennessee
So scorching hot and dry
The family thought a swim could be
Relief so we would try
While swimming came so easy
For most of us that day
But Mom was water queasy
So on the bank she lay
My friend and I, we swam like fish
In the deep Duck River
A day that would make you wish
This fun could last forever
My baby sister was so small
She could barely walk
She toddled and then down would fall
And jabbered with her talk
So Dad had moved into the deep
That’s when I saw it well
My sister ran without a peep
Into the Duck she fell
Momma screamed and I just froze
And out of sight she went
The muddy Duck would now propose
Another life be spent
My Dad had sprung to action
On hearing of the scream
He dived as a reaction
Into the muddy stream
.
.
.
And many years would pass us by
She studied hard and long
Nothing was too tough to try
She never got it wrong
A Ph.D, and drug design
She makes the pills you need
If you were really in a bind
And needed meds indeed
She plays piano and reads the books
And knows so much inside
She sews and cleans and then she cooks
With logic as her guide
Accomplishments on every level
Complete and tried and true
But humble, never would she revel
In all that she could do
.
.
.
He came back up and looked around
His eyes began to beg
He dived again and there he found
And grabbed her by the leg
Upside down he pulled her up
And water did pour out
And soon we heard her cry startup
Relief without a doubt
.
.
.
Remembering that day and so
A blessing to repay
That was sixty years ago
But feels like yesterday
I sometimes think of all the luck
That happened just because
“She toddled in the mighty Duck
And almost never was”
SHACKLES IN THE ANGLES
By Immaculata Ortner
Woe at thou faint hearted blacks
Thou at neither black or white
Wishing our black could blend with white
Which spot like dirt in our prudent race
As our black blood, bled, blue
To Water their loamy fields of flowers
We clustered in the sun!
And toddled in chains!
While wild whip map our black and bull-like temples
I must say no to the will of these pale faced wolfs
To free the seeds in my loins
Than dance to the tune of trailing chains
And shackles in my angles
And watch my heirs in pen
Like babies do, I crawled along the "path of life",
Then "toddled" my way without much strife.
Walking now upon stronger limbs,
Many adventures reeled in like films.
I bit, I tasted, I tore, I scribbled, I banged
On everything that would twang.
Then when at three I prattled a lot,
They could hardly keep up with me as a Tot.
Then one day reality struck, a new baby showed up
At our home, where did you get “it”, I asked Mommy?
I racked my brain: from the stork, mommy's tummy?
Excitedly, it seemed they barely "saw" me and I repeatedly ask;
Do you still love me? I,m still just little ole me!
At four I was able to Reason more, understanding
Grown folks folklore - Who are my cousins allowed into
Talks like 'Behave in Church, sit up will you"
And don't put parents in the lurch!
Grown folks work but never have money,
Put that back please,will you honey?
They say "Don't talk to strangers" but
Strike up conversations with those they just met.
More milestones to go along this winding path,
Five, six, seven, eight, can't wait as year by year I develop
And grow, to panth along between home, school activities, on
iphones and mobile phones for indoor games and such.
Some Thoughts actually voiced by the Tot.
He was just a little wiener;
our precious little pup
and I was just a toddler,
when my breakfast, he did sup.
How he loved his burgers;
ham he loved, as much.
He could quickly murder
bologna, cheese and such.
I toddled along behind him
his tail, I held in brace.
He didn't mind my toddler whims,
when we were face-to-face.
He was just a little wiener;
a playful little friend.
He had the best demeanor
and we loved him, to the end.
Entered in contest: Dachshunds
Sponsored by: Rob Carmack
1-15-15
I was minding my own business, a smart tabby cat lazing in the sun,
As the chief of this roost, the house diva, the boss of my domain,
Having such a busy itinerary, its really hard to get all things done,
I have to eat and sleep then I must do more of the exact same,
As the smart one I keep a cool attitude, you know, I got game!
One day my little owner scooped me up, she said she wanted to play,
She toddled me down the hall, saying we would just have so much fun,
These little hands had a firm grasp of me, I could not budge or run away,
Dressed in dolly clothes she hung me on the door then said “ALL done”.
Left all alone to hang in there, smart... maybe not, I guess she’d won!
Submitted by Lee Ramage
Written July 30, 2011
For “Hangin in There Contest”
Placed 5th place
The fancy degree from a world famous school
set in a frame that’s worth more
than the paper on which it’s printed
all the awards
the accolades
none of it has taught you
the lessons I learned long ago
before either of us could even read or had ever heard
of Shakespeare or Marlowe
Dickens or Carroll or Hemingway
when we were but larvae of what we would become
when you put on your first pair of patent leather shoes
polished to a high shine
before you toddled to the table for tea
at around the same time that half a world away
I slipped into my sandals
the straps hanging by a thread
the holes in the soles patched with duct tape
before sauntering into the kitchen
to spread mayonnaise or mustard or margarine
onto a single slice of stale bread
so I would have something in my stomach
to see me through until supper
which would consist of a can of some sort of beans
and a ten cent box of macaroni and cheese
with slices of cheap hot dogs stirred in
sometimes cut into quarters
when money was even more tight due to a medical bill
some other unexpected expense
You may be capable of convincing an audience
but you can never really know
You will never understand what that life is
Some things they can’t teach you at Cambridge
I just got in from the sweltering heat
With anxiety trickling down my feet
something kept beckoning me to go for a ride
so I obeyed the spirit and went back outside
I grabbed my bike and speed down the street
Tired exhausted and dead beat
I rode under the nearby trees
to dodge from the fiery heat
I glanced over the nearby bush
and something gave me a sudden push
Alas the message was sitting inside
and the answer was wrapped up underneath the bush
I parked my bike and hurried down the hill
because I just couldn't keep still
something was swirling in the the stagnant pond
and it caught my attention
A flock of ducks swam towards me
looking sad deserted and lonely
Their droopy heads swinging to and fro
Not knowing which way to go
They held down their tired head
I really thought that they were dead
No cluck no sound they were just swimming around
They swam towards me but I had nothing to give them
Twenty five ducks swimming without a sound
Just disseminating misery all around
They swam in line in the middle of the pond
looking for somewhere to land
They were all heading towards the East
But three broke out of the pack
before the journey was complete
They swam slowly toward me and politely saluted me.
Way over the other side something magnificent resides
A duck with a different color was hiding under the bush
The white duck came out of the bush looking bruised and battered
worn out and sad it toddled across the stagnant pond
and swam in the opposite direction until it reached dry land
I watched it limped out of the water looking confused and ramshackle
It limped on the grass towards the West
While the others headed East
This symbolism was so profound
It carries a heavy burden all around
The white duck separated from the pack
is limping around the globe and spreading
melancholy all over.
Child’s Play
Perhaps we should let the children lead.
Two mothers sat on a bench
speaking in an unusual tongue,
one sat alone scanning her cell phone,
a Dad pretended to teach his daughter to fish,
grandparents toddled after a toddler.
The children did what children do
follow the sound of children’s voices,
gravitate to the excited playfulness,
see only other children – playing,
slowly slip into the wonder of the moment.
No ceremonious introductions necessary
another voice added to the jubilation,
another set of dancing footsteps
racing for the slide, sliding to the ground
laughing in the joy of spring warmth.
The parents watched the children
the children touched their hearts
left the parents thinking…
Perhaps we should let the children lead.
John G. Lawless
Attracted by the different hues in glass bottles
My little daughter saw them lined on dad's table
An irresistible passion to savour their delight
Brought her in close proximity to dad
Sitting on his lap at meal times became a routine
Her eyes moved to his hands as he picked up his capsules
She parted her lips with a hope it would be popped
In her mouth too as he did with whatever he ate
Disillusioned that the green, red and yellow shades remained
Mirages to a child learning names of attractive colours
Next noon she toddled up the table when none were within view
And grabbed a bottle with the brightest red and wriggled down
Sadly the bottle slipped, crashed and the floor glowed with its ruddiness
One wail but her eyes sparkled, loudly babbling, 'Red, red, red!'
The next morn there were two rows of bottles spread on the table
Coloured gelatine capsules and tablets for old grandpa to recoup and restore
Chocolate gems in distinct tints for his grandchild to accompany him
But, it was grandpa's turn to open his mouth to feast on her tinged chocola's!
June 1, 2016
For Lewis Raynes
Mum and dad were not happy -
What was the reason for all this fuss?
I toddled off into the garden to see them
They were looking very curious
The evidence was plain for all to see
Just one solitary little footprint on the new concrete path
Mum asked was it made by me
Oh no mum it wasn’t me…
but I know who did it …
It was pussy wearing daddy’s old boots
My parents both began to laugh
To this day that footprint remains on the path
(I have to hold up my hands and finally confess… is a true story)
Contest Tall tales in short form sponsored by Casarah Nance
05~05~16
I clapped eyes on some jimjams
at me local Marks and Sparks,
but strapped for readies,
I couldn't buy them
and had to treat it as a lark.
It was a shame,
for they were prezzies.
(I do like Marks and Sparks...)
I looked around at bits and bobs,
then toddled to the park.
-------------------------------------
U.K. Slang, including "me"
7/2/2015
Contest - Colloquialisms
Sponsor - Laura Leiser
4th place win
A variation on a theme by Dr. Seuss...
There once was a Grinch who was bad to the bone,
Which was why he always spent Christmas alone,
But one year the Grinch said, "Enough is enough!"
And decided to steal everyone's Christmas stuff.
In the village below, in the center of town,
Stood a great Christmas tree with gifts all around.
There were gaily wrapped presents, some large and some small,
Filled with treats and surprises for one and for all.
The Grinch plotted, connived, he schemed, and he hatched.
"Come Christmas morning," he vowed, "all that loot will be snatched."
Then he rushed back inside to flesh out his plan
To disguise himself as that Santa Claus man.
He measured, and cut, and stitched stitches galore,
When he suddenly heard, just outside his front door,
Something that set both his Grinch ears to ringing.
The sound was quite audibly somebody singing.
He opened his door just a crack so to peek,
And what he beheld made the Grinch squeak out "Eek!"
In front of his cave was a sight quite bewilderin'
A small group of seven or eight village childeren.
Then a curly-haired toddler toddled forward an inch
And cooed, rather cutely, "Mewwy Cwissmas, Mistuh Gwinch!"
The snarl that he tried for turned into a grin,
And 'stead of biting their heads off, he invited them in.
He dashed to his fireplace, tossed on a Yule log,
Then served gingerGrinch cookies and sweet green eggnog.
They ate, drank, and sang for an hour or more
Then announced they must leave and bounced out the front door.
As he watched them depart, to his utter surprise,
The Grinch felt his heart trying to double in size.
He quivered, he quaked, his knees started to shake.
"This unGrinchlike behavior has been a mistake!"
Then he slammed shut the door and proclaimed with a sneer,
"Well, you thwarted me this time, but just wait 'til next year!"
This tale has a moral, quite simple yet bold:
Some people can't change, if the sad truth be told.
The Grinch, of his species, was simply a bad 'un,
He couldn't change his spots, poor thing, even if he had 'em.
Dad, You Suffered Me
You looked to the North
I stared to the West
My desire gone forth
I thus failed your test.
"My eyes are not blind,
"and ideas quite alright."
I turned from behind
led by leisure's light!!
*
Wastrel of fast renown
my purse grew so slim
A beggar had I grown
whose mirth turned dim.
Reason poured forth
homeward to then retire
When I looked North
I saw grey face of sire!
*
I shivered with regret
doubting Dad's welcome
Yet, the stage was set
to get me back home!
Royalty was in Town
as fanfare lit the day
While in rugs of a Clown
I toddled on the way!
*
Standing 'fore the table
Dad, all old and wan
To address the Rabble
lavished in dazzling fun:
One sheep in the cold
sin had tainted so black
Being alive in the fold
welcome my Son back!
*
Such is the Sinner Me
with a hard, rigid dome
Light shall I not see
flicker to go back Home;
Before my Dad's knee
to bow, to plead to say:
For long you suffer'd me
ne'er more shall I stray!
02nd Oct' 2013
It was one of those splendid mellow golden days
in early autumn when many trees, though still green,
begin to betray a trace of red or yellow.
In the afternoon I took little Eleanor to the park
just round the corner from where we live.
I came across a man whose hair, greying slightly,
was swept back to hide a bald patch. His cheeks
were hollow and he wore bifocals:
"Der Hund tut nicht beissen!"--he reassured me
when Eleanor ran up to one of his hounds.
Only little children and dogs were worth knowing,
he said, the rest he didn't give a hang for.
Eleanor was accosting all-comers--frosty matrons,
flint-faced marchers who had calculated that
the most direct path between A and B led through the park.
Then she joined in a knock-about game of football
till a young Turkish lad, shrewd in psychology,
gave her a spare ball to play with all on her own.
Her euphoria was ended when, carrying her trophy off
she tumbled down a six-inch hole. By the time
she'd recovered, the ball, ineluctably, was somewhere else.
Unabashed, she toddled to the playground, where
she found some children digging away in a sandpit.
She brought out the mother in a girl of eleven
and bathed in the glow of much adulation,
too young to know divisions of language and custom,
to be aware that the minutes were fast ticking away.
Then I looked at my watch: Well past six, almost dark.
Despite my entreaties, Eleanor remained unpersuaded
that it was really time for us to go.
With what vehemence she kicked and screamed,
how transfixing her glares when I got the pushchair
and strapped her down. She made me feel
what a pig I was all the way home.
NB. Der Hund tut nicht beissen - The dog does not bite