Long Daycare Poems
Long Daycare Poems. Below are the most popular long Daycare by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Daycare poems by poem length and keyword.
Little spiders in your room
Racing through the darken gloom
Cross the floor how fast they go
While you're sleeping, breathing low.
Wake up! Wake up! Turn on the light
Before they get you in the night!
Up the wall they slowly crawl
Spiders tiny, spiders small
From the ceiling see them fall
Too many to count them all.
Look out! Look out! Go lock the door
Or they will get us all for sure!
Hanging from a slender thread
Spiders slide down to your bed
Cross your legg onto your head
If they bite you you'll be dead.
Too late, too late. I tried to warn
There'll be nothing left by morn.
In your ears and nose and eyes
Evil spiders, small in size,
Spin their web and when they're through
They shall suck the blood from you.
Yet another item from the ongoing series "Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems and Stories." It appeared in W. H. Pugmire's weird poetry anthology "Visions of Kroy'don" (Seattle: Sesqua Valley Press, 1976).
A baby’s immediate circle
Of mommy and daddy expands
As he grows and his parents entrust him
To others’ responsible hands.
Then in playgroups or daycare or classes,
His once tight little circle makes space
For his earliest friends and instructors,
Each displaying a welcoming face.
Years will fly and the circles get bigger,
Overlapping as interests are found,
With the first circle members ensuring
That he’ll keep his two feet on the ground.
School years somehow morph into adulthood,
With new circles of jobs and romance,
Which invite both new colleagues and lovers
To come join in the circles and dance.
Soon new families form and more circles
Beckon other new parents as friends
And what happens to earlier circles
Is that sometimes, the overlap ends.
Circumstances may sever a segment,
Such as change of location or views,
Which may cause a once-widening circle
To shed members they’d just as soon lose.
Time will march and will bring with it aging,
With its own set of issues and rules
And the circles will shrink and will tighten,
Some denying and acting like fools.
At the end, just the tiniest circle,
Like the newborn’s, will likely remain
And those lucky enough get to share it
With no need to bemoan or explain.
He lives right next door to me and he is seven years old
as I stood on my balcony I watch him come out of the house
backpack strapped to his back he looked forlorn and serious
"Are you looking forward to your first day of school?" I asked
He looked up at me with big brown eyes then
adjusting the strap of his school bag kicked a pebble in his way
"I wish there was no school, only daycare and summer camp
now that I have to go to school, all I do is homework, shower,
then go to bed"
His mom stepped out, " Delano are you ready? "
"Yes mom," he whispered then disappeared inside the car;
I smiled as I recalled my first day of school
The year was 1966. I didn't speak a word of English
I was terrified no one would want to play with me
When I asked my mom, "do I have to go ?"
She kissed me on the cheek, then squaring my shoulders
and said with a big resounding Si, " yes you do !"
Sept 9 2022
In the bread house, I see, and hear
families break bread together.
A knee-high son, sits under the
mother's armpit; dad sits across
from her. The baby sits in a
high chair, seemingly the only
one aware that he's the head of
the table. He pounds his fist, when
the morsels don't come fast enough
from his mom's fingers, to his mouth.
The knee-high son is so happy,
he sings indiscernible words
of a song he either learned in
daycare, or from some bizarre, thing
on television. Dad sometimes
helps calm the baby down: sometimes.
The mom is content. She eats. She
consoles. She feeds. She eats. She is
their moon; she keeps a fixed orbit.
I shut my soul up inside of my walls but,
it escaped; running rampant in my dreams.
People tried so hard to crush my inner child;
I wouldn’t let them.
They called it a, “Daycare” but, it was a, “daymare”, designed to terrify children.
Dragon Lady made her threats with the back of her hand,
to our mouths, daily.
Her demon son made his with the barrel of a BB gun;
pressed to our foreheads; for added effect, he’d strangle a frog or crush a large bug to, get his, rabid point across.
The barbarians lived in my head for years;
right up the street, too.
They knew where I lived and made threats.
For six years I attended that, “daymare”; terrified that if I told my parents’; the barbarians would kill them and me.
They’d promised that they would so,
I kept it all inside but,
It surfaced in my nightmares.
I vowed to my inner child that I would never be a Mom;
I wouldn’t be able to keep my children safe from,
“daymare” barbarians.
Children should never be as,
calves to the slaughterhouse.
After thirty years of the “daymares”;
I still warn friends and family;
reputations are deceptive;
easy to buy or…threaten.
Day care can be anything except a, “safe place”.
Pedophiles aren’t the only childhood dangers and monsters are very real; demons in a human-suit are still demons.
As I look at the obituaries…I begin to feel safe;
they can’t hurt anyone, anymore.
An evil little gremlin lives under your bed;
Yes! It's true!
You can't see him but he sees you.
Sometimes when it's real, real dark
You might hear him run across the floor:
pitty-patter, pitty-patter, on tippy toes…
Not very loud, but he's there all the same.
You can't see where he went
Or tell whence he came.
Lurking in the night,
Barely out of sight,
Waiting for you to put your arm
Or foot over the edge of the bed;
Then he'll grab you and pull you on the floor!
Did you ever wake up on the floor?
Well, that's why.
Sometimes, for an evil prank,
He'll give your covers a terrible yank
And you'll wake up shivering and quivering.
This gremlin isn't very friendly
As you'll have realized.
He even makes you dream terrible nightmares.
That's what he does best of all.
And even though he's very small in size
He's got sharp pointy teeth to sink in your feet
When you get up in the morning.
From the ongoing series "Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems and Stories." It was included in my small collection Moonstill Tulip Wine and Others (Seattle: Duck's-foot Tree Productions, 1979).
A significantly different day
No bread or milk
empty for toilet paper
Reduced opening hours in grocery stores
- Home insulation with
respiratory infection
Rationing on medicines
School closes -
no leisure activities
No daycare
No bus or taxi
No traveling abroad
All aboard aircraft and boat
must in quarantine
Large preventive measure
Dramatic cut in hotel beds
The church cancels all services
Closed office buildings
No cinema or theater
Today our first victim
as a result of the coronavirus
My deepest condolences to the family
~ "Normal life" is paused
Let this time bring out the best in us
12.03.2020
Coronavirus Covid-19 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Team PoetrySoup
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
An old brochure
Bunch of possibilities, most of these are improbable pearls of wisdom. Never to be, never to have. Yet the warmth of coziness will be obvious. Like the baby in a daycare, acknowledged in gratitude, where the working couple left for a daytime job.
Leaving the storytelling chime to be stored for another secured time.
And the rest of the day would vibrate with the windcatcher moments, planning and planning throughout the day, that often times, and most often than not, lead to nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.
Your life has a subtle way to trespass in putting forecast out there, that it is only you. Fallible you. Yet, at the same time, it is not the frequency that is the gem of the observational truth.
As if? The question is always halfhearted.
As if, I am the doctor when I am supposed to be the patient. I am the moral law maker when I need to be the succumbed one in the submissiveness. I am the troublemaker mayhem when I will be the decisive return entropy question too.
A narrow escape between a daytime paystub that earns throughout a scaffold.
Even for the Royals.
Even within the Royals!
And my story will start, right there! A seamstress sitting on the moon, with a bunch of sewing chores, never understood around the way to returning back, in a safe wish!
An old brochure!
That never understood that bobbling is a permanent natural change all on the own account, even without disturbing the main course of happening!
Even for the even loaves!
(1-31-2024)
three generations of mothers created a fourth-
mine, my children's, my grandchildren's
between the late fifties and April this year
I have welcomed thirteen births- my three
five grandchildren, five great-grandchildren
generations unfold in ways of the times
as a stay-at-home mom- late 50s through 60s
when my third child began school, I sought
a part-time job- and later, night classes at college
earned a BA degree in English, after six long years
in the nineties, my three gave me grandkids
times were more relaxed then, as new moms
left hospitals quicker- back to work sooner
dads assisted in more ways than ever before
family members helped as reliable babysitters
six years ago, I held my first great-grandchild-
my fifth arrived this month- our fourth generation
their moms accept the duality of motherhood-
having careers and raising their babies, who
learn so much- including social skills- at Daycare
Sammy’s parents wanted a baby.
He thought it would be a good thing also
until they got a baby.
A wrinkled up old-man-looking screaming wailing baby.
The one they got was a girl, they named it Sheila.
She cried all the time.
At first she sounded like a whimpering mewing baby alley cat.
Her crying got louder, more desperate, and shrill over time
More urgent, more desperate.
People in the grocery store gave them mean looks
that said “Why can’t you keep that thing quiet?”
Sammy wanted them to send it back.
“Babies are never labelled return to sender.”
He was forced to listen to a couple of years of this insane crying.
Why doesn’t she just tell us what she wants?
Why does she always have to CRY about it?
Babies don’t have words yet, his parents told Sammy.
Sammy thought about this for a long time.
When he was a young adult he worked in a daycare center.
He taught the babies sign languages for milk, eat, sleepy, and bored.
After the babies learned the sign, they were less frustrated.
Thus, there was less crying, and the workers had less frazzled nerves.