Long Childish Poems
Long Childish Poems. Below are the most popular long Childish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Childish poems by poem length and keyword.
Which STILL are you - are you this Still?
Still mad
Still fussing
Still bitter
Still lazy
Still complaining
Still tripping
Still jealous
Still doubtful
Still insecure
Still petty
Still ungrateful
Still childish
Still worrying
Still messy
Still confused
Still stupid
Still negative…
Or are you this STILL? Me, I’m this STILL
Still believing
Still standing
Still blessed
Still strong
Still powerful
Still grateful
Still loved
Still praising
Still trusting
Still learning
Still prosperous
Still amazing
Still destined
Still smiling
Still covered
Still thankful
Still driven
Still confident
Still unbothered
Still praying
Still Beautiful…
So, which STILL are you?
To marvel how fast the world spins around,
or how the years have been sifting, (too quickly, I've found)...
This is not something new....from a mom's point of view
Some will say that my eyes have been clouded
Perhaps they will say, my opinion is shrouded
by my rose filtered glasses
But here, now before me, is my wonderful child
this barefooted lass...
She stands here before me, ...barefooted and beautiful
Wearing her jeans......smiling with ease, calm and serene
Queen of her home
My daughter,… my child, is all grown up
There are times I must hold back the tears...
and hold back my longings for all those yesteryears....
I reflect upon the moments, then, when she was very small
Her shoes were tiny slippers, pink,
In a blink of an eye, she outgrew them all
It gives me pause to think
I puzzle over silly things, the things that mark the passing years
Like other mothers do…
While wiping childish tears, calming school day fears,
Teaching her to tie her shoes
I wonder how I could have missed
The secret of those shoes,…
You see, from tiny slippers, she quickly skipped...
Into dirty sneakers, ....(for tomboy moods)
I speculate, like many girls
So many phases, that she outgrew…
Sandals, flip flops, bouncy curls
Those wobbly legs in high heeled shoes…
I stand in awe, how can this girl with honey hair,
Who holds a babe in loving arms, be my very own?
When yesterday she was a child with cheeks so fair
Now kisses the toes of her own sweet child…
her own two feet on solid ground
...............................................................................................................
If only I can tell you how I feel, would things change? (Laugh-friends??)
Will my broke heart heal, or will it continue to die? Would you care?
Will I still be your honey bear,sweetie-bear,cutie bear, baby-bear or even a friend? If I can let you see would you feel my pain?
And let you see to understand. Would you step up to the plate and be a man?!?
Or will you continue this little childish game?
And see what you put me through each and every single day.
And if I can let you hear the pain, would you listen? Would your love dry my tears?
Yes there is a saying; saying trade shoes:
But we wouldn’t because you wouldn’t be able to handle what I go through every day!
You might get up and quench, and shake!
But then I wonder if I can tell you would you even listen?
Next thing you know I have a snotty attitude saying: I dint want to talk, or have no
dealings with you anymore!! But again I can’t because the love I feel for you is true.
That’s why I can continue to say If only you knew
Form:
Being a dreamer is never boring,
Its like a boat without its mooring,
You can pretend to be a fish,
Swim a bit, laugh, act so childish,
Or you can fly to the nearest tower,
Dig a hole and plant a flower.
When the moon is howling full,
Pensive ideas make their pull,
Grinding, grueling, gritty grains
Stenciled stuttering standing stains.
Eyes transfixed by things oblique,
Ennui is only of and for the weak.
In rapid jests of poemy words,
Vowels flutter like milky birds,
A leap of faith in corrupted phrases,
The rhythm amiss like crooked faces.
You take an apple but taste a pear,
You brush your teeth but get white hair,
It’s never boring like I said,
A pickled world can’t raise its dead.
(Which methinks is kind of like saying:
Signs and symptoms are always dismaying)
Play is a losers infinite no-end game,
You draw some circles straight and same,
Make from the hip and cross a heart,
Go figure out how, just promise to start.
The vision of the same dream
is constantly seen through a moonlight beam:
two mouths kissing with sensual feeling,
four hands restlessly touching.
Is that us transcending the passion through ecstasy?
Do we ever feel it burning in moments of blissful eternity?
Is that us faking it and remaining embraced,
being afraid of the hurtful truth and not admitting it?
Can we be together and live without giving it a thought?
Somehow, we'll cheat and one will be blamed!
If the vision of the same dream reappears
and deludes us that they are real indeed,
how can we stop dreaming and clip our wings
when they give us the freedom to exceed
fantasy and discover how exciting it really is?
Will our wish be granted or denied?
It still will be us riding clouds
and searching for a new paradise
explored by others with less enthusiasm;
it still will be us dreaming under those silent skies...
hoping to own a dazzling star inside this universe
that can illuminate the childish moon having a tantrum!
Tweeting the Truth in Love
By Mark D. Stucky
We should be “speaking the truth in love,”*
posted Paul in Ephesians 4:15,
to speak and act out truth while filled
with self-sacrificial, unconditional love.
Not too-tough truth without compassion.
Not laissez-faire love without correction.
Certainly not rude comments
left on social media,
hidden from responsibility
by anonymity.
Certainly not tweeting lies with contempt,
insulting others with childish nicknames,
repeating falsehoods already debunked,
or disseminating self-serving distortions.
Paul didn’t excuse behavior so deplorable.
Why do so now?
*Note: Literally “truthing in love” in the original Greek text of the verse, incorporating both speech and actions.
(First published in Spirit Fire Review, 3 May 2022. See also my poems "The Art of the Devilish Deal," "Antisocial Media," and “What Would Jesus Tweet?")
(Image by Tina Nord on Pexels.com.)
I somehow or other inadvertently
found myself watching
The Muppets Most Wanted
movie today
And I tell you what I was genuinely
pleasantly surprised
Because it didn't half really make me
proper belly laugh out loud
So much so I would happily give
it 5 stars
And strongly recommend it to anyone
who currently finds themselves in need
of cheering up
Because it is if nothing else choc full of
childish jokes with a wicked sense of humor
Which should help bring a smile to the
face of whomever takes the time to
watch it
And hopefully in doing so in some
small way
May make your day a tiny little bit better
than it was before
And who doesn't want that
A life of beauty and happiness denied, of innocence
smothered like a flame--I have always lived; but when
I am touched by your kindness, O Rose,
Now, I am free!
I was dead before I even entered into this world, a
place cruel and without feeling, cruel and without
the love and compassion I finally know in the rich
lovingkindnesses of your heart, O Rose!
They set me free.
Before I could even hope to bloom like a young flower
hanging breathless and exposed in the first, rainy
sunbeams of life a great evil--the menacing hostility
of a dark, soulless figure spilling over with
hatred--transformed me into a joyless
waste of ashes.
From that terrible moment on I fought all the ugly and horrible assaults
as his unwilling property, a child-gladiator in the arenas
of his constant abuse and
intimidation.
But when I know your forgiveness and now recognize your tender-
ness and compassion as unearned gifts meant for
me
despite my childish self-loathing
and my unworthiness
I feel the love and self-esteem denied me, taken from
me simply because it was too easy to rape from
a child whose only fault was that he was not born
white
or with money or status.
O Rose! Because you finally arrived in my life and rescued me--now I am free!
Free from my years as an abused prisoner in the arena of his constant
abuse and attacks,
able to bloom like a young flower hanging breathless
and exposed in the first, radiant sunbeams
of life again!
The rest of my life starts now...
A checkerboard battle of custody,
evidence of fatherly love fell short
My fuddled walk now through leafless trees,
weeps, traversing corners of an empty nest
erasing black patches of white sunlight
I am learning to live without you, my dear.
In my flowerless spring,
I can hear footsteps of your childish laughter
In my sterile morning window panes,
I can see your cherubic sunny face
In my dusty colourless albums ,
I can touch your tantrums reborn
In your sizzling scent of innocence,
I can drench my sonorous silence.
Haunting words of ache from my quiet world
will perhaps never reach you
In a distant country , I see you growing up
As I grow up... learning to live without you.
30th May 2020
Sponsor JCB Burl
Contest Name A World Without You ??
(A repost from 2019)
My favorite aunt is dying.. cancer, quiet and consuming as a flame..
Seven short weeks ago she was easily doing an hour of step aerobics, unaware of this intruder, this murderer within. Now she's lifted from bed like a rag doll.
She is my mom, well, a near twin—only smaller, funnier, serpent sly, more heavenly childish, sapient with sweet attractive grace and modest pride.
I am in total awe of her. We're kindred spirits, two sillies among the dull and endlessly serious.
I feel her, see her, day by day, slipping away like the hastening angel of heaven foretold.
This is too big for me, too awful and too close.
I am struck helpless, nothing moves, I sit, hardly feeling, and watch her sleep. Death's cruel process suddenly made visible.
I silently rage at the loss of it—my loudest vehemence pointed to this ravenous, lurking enemy pursuing her inwardly like a swarm of deadly hornets accidentally composed.
40 and still stunningly beautiful, she lies surrounded by computers, iPads, phones, faxes, intercoms, notepads, friends and care-givers. Her life reduced to escaping pain and making arrangements for her soon to be orphaned children 4 and 6.
Fentanyl and other pain blockers are her nourishment and seem to work better in the daylight as lawyers garner powers of attorney, bankers conjure trusts and estate planners build foundations to protect small children from a mothers loss.
As if they could replace a single hug
.
.
Songs for this (gospel):
Order My Steps by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
Jesus Loves Me by Whitney Houston