Kids Free Verse Poems | Examples
These Kids Free Verse poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Kids. These are the best examples of Free Verse Kids poems written by international poets.
Never say never, always say "perhaps;" unless it's a
Wedding, a funeral, or your daughter's v-ball game.
Never say never, instead say "maybe."
Never feel forced to use rhyme, tired is the fad despite the ear's need
To smile at the sound of music; rhymes are for the dullard,
Like Dr. Seuss and Mother Hubbard.
Never say never to your kids lest your aim is to model
Human folly & the grace-skill of Forgiveness.
This will all be over soon so please don't cry.
Y'know this whole poem goes way better with chicken stir-fry.
I have a best friend
We call each other cousin
Actually, I have ten best friends
But this one and I call each other cousin
We used to teach together
We were always in cahoots
the principal would ask “where is your cousin?”
The kids said we could not be cousins
I told them we are spiritual cousins
This satisfied them
Kids are easy
One day I was sliding into her truck
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPP
The loudest longest gas stream came out
I turned and looked at her
She said “I love you, Cousin!”
We could not stop laughing
Even for teachers farting is funny
It happened slowly,
then not so slowly
I could have stayed
for my two Yasmeens
One was lighter than the wind,
which on a whim,
could carry her away
on a wish
Yasmeen was lighter than air
in a puffy pink coat
in September
My first Yasmeen
would smile at me
and reaffirm my life
in a moment of doubt
Her mother made me Karkadeh
I drank it lovingly
My Yasmeens were as different
as beauty can be
That teaching could just be
teaching;
the kids and me,
with our shadows chasing us
constantly
It is stronger
than sympathy
Words are rattling bones,
when the meat is gone
The world is hungry
while you are bored
The divide is insulting:
cashmere and caviar
versus clouded water
and calloused feet
“In our city of lost alphabets”
I hope to find a mirror
to see myself
I wasn't with the answers
I can’t afford to go there,
nor am I strong enough
to understand the intimacy
of starvation
James Baldwin described it palpably
in ‘Black Boy’
The last stage of hunger
is when grass is an option
The minister ate
all the fried chicken!
The kids naw
on wishbones
and fiddle with sticks
in the dust
We were the USA all tried and true
red, white and blue in 1952
our archenemy, our nemesis was the USSR
we despised them
We were capitalism, they were communism
we kids knew that we needed to win the space race
there was much cheering for our astronauts
We thought we were ahead
Lots of propaganda said we were anyway
The Berlin Blockade and Cuban Missile Crisis were on the news
There were McCarthy trials for writers and actors in Hollywood
USA children were taught to despise the USSR
The USSR was our enemy; it was okay to hate them
We knew they were bad, even if we did not know how
The cold war did not include actual fighting
But it sure did include propaganda and espionage
words 128
Peter and I have been a couple for 4 years.
Is it funny - odd funny - that we still mack-out in elevators?
Every time we kiss I feel like I’ve won the man-lottery,
that I’m counting and spending the loot all at once.
The man stirs my chemicals.
The bell dings and we separate like caught kids.
The inside elevator door’s mirrored - he’s so handsome.
I know writers are alchemists, that we’re guilty, at times,
of gilding the ordinary until it shines - but he’s the real deal.
.
.
Songs for this:
There goes my baby by Kelly Jones
Dust flies as cleats dig into the chalk line.
The crowd roars under the harsh stadium lights.
We love this game because it slows down time.
Every pitch is a fresh chance to rewrite the story.
It is the smell of fresh cut grass and hot dogs.
It is the radio broadcasting on a warm summer night.
It is fathers and kids sharing the same worn glove.
We stay through the heartbreaking losses just for this.
There is no clock ticking down to force the end.
Just nine innings of pure hope and second chances.
A perfect swing sends the ball deep into the bleachers.
At this time, everyone forgets their troubles and cheers.
"Sometimes there are No words just feelings that talk very loud." By Poet
I was a young child,
about four years old.
My doggie blackie was killed,
dad's car ran him over.
I pondered why,
then God sent me Wheatie.
In school,
I pondered why kids are so mean?
Maybe one day they will grow out of it.
In my teens the boys were selfish,
I pondered then dated graduates.
I have spent many hours pondering about things,
then the answer comes as clear as day.
The Weeping Willow is no longer there.
In my heart I'm saying, 'It's just not fair'.
Missing is the cool shade that she shared.
Around her, loving kindness filled the air.
As kids, we earned money from Pecan Trees.
Those strong Autumn winds were our friends.
Pecans were kids' money-maker back then;
And money from pecans was never wasted.
Chinaberry trees were very plentiful and popular.
We used the hard berries as bullets in slingshot.
Memory of Pecan Tree goodies, so tasty;
Weeping Willows, so cooling and shady;
Chinaberry Trees, so filled with fun;
Kid-loving fun, second to none.
Baseball’s beauty lives not in stadium lights
but in the wild, unclaimed corners of childhood~
in a stolen field behind a weather-worn house,
in a cracked bat wrapped with hope and duct tape,
in the laughter of kids who believed
a pasture could become a dream.
It lives in the courage to trespass into wonder,
in the dust rising beneath running feet,
in the way a ball soaring through summer air
can feel like freedom itself.
And sometimes its beauty is found
in the moment a child realizes
that every field has a keeper,
every dream a cost,
and every mistake a chance
to grow into grace.
of sewing
on a white and grey shirt
I have had for twenty years
that still makes
a young woman out of me
on the porch
on a ninety-degree night
in May
when I am almost forty
and washing off the years
or trying to
when everything around me
is young and bursting
with energy,
including the clouds
(Only vapor, yet somehow
moving
faster than me)
The Carolina wrens
are young, so full of promise
and song
Flit away, flit away!
I sew the cotton
layers methodically
and tomorrow is field day
for my obsolete school
I will run with my kids
in another shirt
(a lime green one
made of spandex
from a race we ran
on Saturday)
Not everything
is a recycled dream
Waiting for the plumber
Can sometimes be a bummer
Trapped between cold winters
And a distant summer
But there’s always quite a rush
When the “flushy” thing won’t flush
And your “toilet doctor’s” on another call
So you're using bottled water
Cost a buck and a quarter
The girls are in a queue
knowing not what else to do
and the boys can always pee
behind the neighbor’s tree
the youngest is in tears
for he’s lost one of his bears
when the plumber says: “I’ve got it”
I shout: “don’t let the baby spot it”
The other kids are waiting
Tell the kid he’s hibernating
In the queue a silent hush
As they hear the toilet flush
Alone in the kitchen—
The refrigerator is the loudest sound.
He sits and compares,
A home that was once too theirs.
Their running up and down the stairs;
Like wild mustangs and without cares
The refrigerator is the loudest sound—
He would prefer theirs.
Too bad they're grown and gone;
Realizing how much you depended on,
Having laces to tie, and crying eyes to dry,
Or how quickly life ambles by.
You hardly notice the passing years,
Till their not around—
And you're alone in the kitchen
And the refrigerator is the loudest sound.
By order of “The Maker of the Days”
Today shall be called
“Just another day day”
Another wake- up call
Another coffee stain
Muffin crumbs on your lap
As you drive…
The kids to school
Yourself to work
The dog to the “dog” park
A slightly hooking Tee shot
“just another day”
To wonder
Why
How
When
Where
WTF
“just another day”
To thank
Your lucky stars
Watch the Robin-Worm dance
Run through an empty field of memories
And laugh out loud
Just sayin’….just another day…
And we're doing all this without Wendy,
I thought,
That's a good line to take it to the bridge
But we're not near the bridge,
I corrected
And realised that we in fact, are,
Near the bridge,
The motorway bridge
Cos we're going to the foresters
And you were here
Many years ago my love
One of the kids' school friends and
Sadly you are not here now
What a pity,
What a terrible pity as
The juke kicks in
A long long time ago...
A long long time ago you were here
And we, too
And of course now
You are not
What a pity
What a terrible pity...
A long, long time ago
You lived.