Diapered Poems | Examples

Age Appropriate

Whining, is age appropriate,
With wrinkles - both newborns and aged.
Boo-hoos - in cradle; before grave.
The old straitened; babes’ swaddled.

With wrinkles, both newborns and aged,
They are bathed, despoiled, and diapered.
The old straitened; babes’ swaddled.
Rock and roll lullabies, falling.

They are bathed, despoiled, and diapered.
Boo-hoos - in cradle, before grave.
Rock and roll lullabies, falling.
Whining is age-appropriate.

Trains

It’s a boy thing
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
of a train along its tracks 
all manner of boys
from diapered toddler 
to arthritic codger
from suited gent 
to aproned chef
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
ignites within them   
the feeling of freedom
and faraway places
the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
fills their hearts
with a special joy   
enlivening their faces 
with an apple-cheeked grin 
and when there is 
a head of steam 
and that whistle blows
they all know
that the clickety-clack, clickety-clack
pulses and echoes
just for them.

They Took Him

They Took Him
By Sy Roth

They took him and squirreled him away.
Those Sophists, 
Deniers of the terror they could construct
Where he no longer saw the human side of himself.

Half man, Quasimodo of the bells,
Left stranded in the bell tower.
No one to call to
Tintinnabulation orphaned from humanity.

Left in his bed only to dream
Or bury his nightmares
Whisked beneath his bed in a heap
Dreams cohabited with the dust bunnies.

Silent, sinister hopes left tangled 
In a macabre kerfuffle--
Jacob and his Angel
In a struggle to exist.

They took him and he saw only this reality,
The ward in which he lived
A husk of humanity blown against a galling wind,
Crushed against unforgiving walls.

And he languished in his diapered world
Waiting for his eyes to heal
And his twisted lips to unfurl
Waiting to greet a new morn 

Away from the cycle of existence.

Footles On Grandpas

Cantankerous Grandpa

Snappy
Pappy

Jolly Old Fellow

Happy
Pappy

Overly-Sentimental Grandpa

Sappy
Pappy

Diapered Grandpa

Nappy
Pappy

Naptime for Grandpa

Pappy
Nappy



May 4, 2021
for Brian Strand's the 'ALL YOURS (May 5)' Poetry Contest

So Little Time

A little diddle time
To write loathsome rhyme
Restarts your sensing fine
Some dig a mine to cipher
Parlayed a broken cause
You stumbled on my clause
Dement recusing paused
Tears on your wishing wiper
Another line you cry?
We breathe a final sigh
An aging lullaby
From diapered to a diaper

Cherish Each Moment With a Grandchild

My grandchildren are growing up faster than dandelions on a summer’s day.
One second they are pulling themselves up on couches, 
and falling on their diapered bottoms.
The next minute they are going to the mall with friends.
They grow startlingly quickly.  
 You drink a sip of coffee, and they are graduating from high school.

Cherish every single moment with your children.
Apologize for every infraction even if it is not your fault.
Grovel, debase yourself, ask for forgiveness no matter how crazy this sounds.
Throw your ego to the wolves. 
Do whatever you have to do to spend every second you can
with your grandchildren.  

So they will know you.
So they can love you, and you can lavish them with grandparent love.
They will get married and move away before you drink that lemonade.
They grow like dandelions on a summer’s day.

Depends

Walk slowly and chew gum
eating prunes makes you run
Thinking of what you should have said
spending more then what you have

Time flies young boys sigh
when they grow and realize
Little girls grow up to
why back then were you so rude

Forgetting why you enter a room
watching media is all doom and gloom
How do you get rid of hiccups
eating ramen to fill you up

Salad dressing not mayonnaise
smoking and drinking is just a phase
Be ready for the big kaboom
sleeping in a underground room

Life is one step then two
one step forward then fall back two
Diapered as babies we outgrow them
only to end up old wearing Depends

Cupids Arrow

I think that cupids arrow
Must have been full to the touch
Cause when he sent that nock your way
It barely made a scuff

It didn't find its way inside
Your heart like I had hoped
Or did it miss its mark just left
I wish he had a scope

Or maybe that little diapered boy
Is lacking of the strength
To put the arrow on its mark
I think it's time he trained

I'll steal the quiver off his back
Shoot my arrow straight and true
So I can send the shaft your way
To say that I love you

These Hands

Aching hands, aged and scarred
Wrinkled, arthritic with callouses so hard
Knuckles swollen from times being broken
Now weathered and weak, quite painful to open

In days of youth, they used to pick flowers
From weeds in fields in warm summer showers
An offering for mother, to make her smile
Attempt to gain favor, a precocious child

They worked in the garden, cleaned game and fish
Chores of all kinds, when needed made fists
Championed me well at work and play
Pointed to heaven as I clasped them to pray

Held hands with young girls, pleasured some ladies
Which got me in trouble, then diapered some babies
Efficiently used for support and guidance
Tender for comfort and firm for defiance

Broken bread with many, friends and foes
Preachers, teachers even girlfriends ex beaux
Never failing me once, whatever the use
That is until now with this damn bottle of juice


   an original poem from the "poemdog" Daniel Turner

- Nature's Psalms - 1

Is Beethoven's ensemble fairer than nature's psalms?
Amidst a crowning sun: ears and eyes are drugged,
drenched with tender notes, orchestrated by greens,
inhale deep, the aromatic blossoms from the vine

with their lilting swell, brushed shades of fine wine.
Listen, listen to the sudden leap, the vibrato of bird song
or the raucous winds rubbing against house-corners
and the blithering brook carrying tales of who?

As you walk attuned to the crunch of the brown foliage.
When the cobalt skies turn to ash - gray mode,
hear heaven's vault lament, drizzling sobs to loud weeps
when day's face in angst pout or blush beside the beloved.

Feel your feet push or pull deluged by the liquid fingers
of the sea; in whites, they murmur ripples. They tremble
and stir, savor the flavor, a brief interlude:

Nature's power: tones, sharps, curls, pants. It slants
aiming to reach a rest upon blues of sky at its zenith,
The darting patterns curves, verves are diapered
wanting to delight, to wonder, to shock, to soothe.

The Zwieback Warrior

The Zweiback Warrior


Zweiback cookies – teething biscuits
Yucky, gnawed upon, gummed delights
Xeric surface absorbing wanton drool
Wielded, by the toothless cherub, in
Valiant fencing stance encumbered by
Unsteady footwork of diapered distress. 
Tongue licking the blunted sword tip
Short sticky fingers grasping the hilt 
Reeling under the self’s relentless
Quest to free the imprisoned.
Pursed lips immune to all assaults,
Open gates of tormented demon
Nourished by the wailing
Moans of twice baked relief,
Lulled into the whimpering
Kingdom of the succulent biscotti.
Jaws clenched on mercy’s mushiness
Ingesting its flavored fluids,
Holding the healing wand
Gripping it tightly lest it be lost.
Featureless, the ravaged cookie, is
Eased from the grasp of the
Duelist sleeping hand.
Champion of the
Battle for
A tooth.




7/12/2015

submitted to – Abecedarian – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Shadow Hamilton

Circle of Life

A baby was named this past Saturday
At a service that I attended.
On Sunday there was a memorial
To remember a life that has ended.

One weekend’s events, back to back, in fact,
Help remind us we must understand
That however we try, in the blink of an eye,
Life’s trajectory follows as planned.

We’re born and we’re diapered, we’re nurtured and fed;
We grow up and suffer or thrive.
We live for the years that our bodies can take
And one day we’re no longer alive.

Our family and friends get together to mourn
And remember the person they knew;
But most likely there will not be anyone there
Who can conjure that newborn’s debut.

That’s the way it should be; it’s the circle of life.
The years vanish quick, like a snap;
But the memories and the impressions they’ve made
Form a reservoir waiting to tap.

Me,The Diapered Kid

Cupid's arrow missed your heart,
an uphill task waits for me,
should I be diapered kid
and try my hand once?



© kashinath karmakar
====================

Placement: 4th;(March 2011)

Contest:Winged Cupid

Sponsor:Dr. Ram Mehta

By:kashinath karmakar (16th March 2011)

Why Love Is Blind

Diapered kid flies around,
shoots arrows at mismatched souls,
and does it all blindfolded?
That stupid Cupid!


For the SYLLABLES OF WISDOM 2 Poetry Contest of Silent One

My Architect

My Plastic Architect
Clean lines,
Sleek designs,
The heart of a 
Cold-blooded killer.
 
All for plastic presentation,
And glorifying adoration.
 
Being in absolute control,
Is imperative,
To his detailed nature.
Critical to a fault.
 
Greed is the epicenter,
Of his beating heart.
Selfish motives,
Are always waiting,
Just below the surface.
 
Porsche dreams,
Meager means,
Pinto bean meals,
Broken-down beater-wheels,
Fake veneers.
 
Pent-up frustrations,
Competitive manipulations,
Skilled showman,
Dirty-diapered man/boy.
 
Weeks and weeks of sky miles,
Hot ****, 
hotel rooms,
And worn-out hookers,
 
Years and years
Of broken-down dreams.
 
Not enough time,
For being real.
 
My plastic architect.

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