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abortion absence
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Long For children Poems

Long For children Poems. Below are the most popular long For children by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long For children poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by James Edward Lee Sr. | Details

Point of a Gun

You are a 15 year old girl;
so young and able;
stature small , petite short not tall,  they hardly see at the kitchen table;
And at school it's not cool;
you're chosen;
But not for love, just..
you see you were a fool;
when you won't do what...
what your peers say, I say peers say... =the pressure;
calling you  a square and that your not cool, well..
you were set as a mark, pet
you're totally in the dark as...
all you ever wanted like young girls dream and do
find your prince charming;
so that you could call help darling;
Better yet;
You want this;
You want it...
a boy like your father;
But your father whom you hardly knew;
the man whom you hardly saw;
sometimes called you daughter;
while telling you to get him a drink of water;
you have never heard him say "I love you"
anyway, anyway;
your father never held you;
your father never consoled you;
your father wasn't very good to, your mother;
but yet you envision while sitting at the kitchen table;
daddy just once say I love you; 
At a point of a gun;
When a sweet talking senior from school ;
Started to pay some attention to you;
This boy took on the demeanor of a handsomely good looking guy;
My, my, my;
You didn't know he'd told all;
His fellows....
His buddies, homies, male friends.
At the point of a gun 
What does it mean you want to run
You didn't know he told all his fellows, yes he' d score;

A flower un bloomed, so he comforted her;
Yes, he shower's her;
With those words, she wanted to hear;
Those 'I love you '
(Negatively speaking  lusting)
Vocal, I love U's, you're pretty;
U  R  beautiful, I adore you she is at
But you don't run
At a point of a gun
Clueless she was
Heartless he is
So his score;
Was to close the door;
Disrobed, the act prevailed like Adam and Eve?
In the act only God ordain?
As Man and Wife/in life for life
But to her dismay;
After the act;
There was quilt;
She was by him and all other peers;
Ridicule and laugh at labeled and maimed;
No one comes 
At a point of a gun
Your all alone
All you wanted was love
But no one, no one.
 Told you what it truly was;
Your so alone more now the Innocent's;
Standing convicted;
Just realizing you've been tricked;
At a point of a gun
Beforehand and during you should have,
Talked to your other Father;
At a point of a gun,  what... 
I have another tale
Thereby a 17 year old boy who never met or knew his father;
See his mother was a single parent;
Yet, it's apparent;
It's reference  still so apparent the choices were wrong soon he'll make;
Those soon to made new thought processes;
Angry, sad, mad and lonely;
Though he always wanted a family;
Like his cousins;
He wanna a dad, to show him what true !love is;
And again and again to show him what love and life is;
So he began thinking...
His mother had nothing three part time jobs
Had no time nor love for him
And when she was around the few times
Telling continually telling, telling, telling, you of all your chores, duties
And your what you should and should not do over and over again,
At the point of gun
He should have ran
What his mother hope's for, she wishes he'll become one profound God fearing mannered Gentleman;
From his feelings,  she was always nagging;
Sounded like begging;
Kept his ears ringing;
He wanted more than chores and rules;
He was no ones fool;
Wanted more than just rules;
Wanted more than ten dollars a week;
For an allowance;
Wanted to hang out in them streets, past midnight;
So one day before she went to her second job;
She pulled the plug, she laid the law;
Dismayed during this argument, bout taken out the trash;
The young boy said NO!
I'm tired of doing these things
YOU do' em;
So in rage he pushed her down,yes knocked her down to the floor;
Full of enraged totosterene, he ran out the door;
LEFT the house and as he ran he says now I'm a man;
Still running he sees on the corner;
A group of boy's clothes of colors, just hanging out.
Who would imagine?
Rags, tied around their foreheads,
 Pants almost down to their ankles;
And and can' t believe I am begin to believe the things they are talking about;
Yeah! What ya ta!k N bout
They led him in;
Said you be his friend, even more his BROTHER;
While evenly also being at the same time a father;
They'll n
Be what you claim you need. A father, a family:
At the point of gun
You long for love
So you bore their bright colors;
Put on their clothes, the color;
They embraced you, jumped you in;
Now your one of them;
You're theirs..
You see they are a gang;
And they won't let you hang;
So he got jump in, let real family love begin;
Beat down and bloody and broken;
It took everything in his memory to think on what his mother had spoken;
Afterwards wounds and pains subsided;
He is surrounded by his new family;
Embedded with hugs, comments of love, and yes! Brotherhood;
You want yes in all the things in life just take it it's yours..
Your a man..
We're your family..
In them streets then one day his new family elevated him;
They spied a rival gang chanting his members say go across take this gun;
Go on and shoot that brother in the head;
But won't he die, then he'll be dead;
If you be one of us, if you Iove us you'll do this task we ask; CUZ!
If you don't!
If you won't
You'll be at a point of a gun;
A Real father even when falls gets up
A Real father when he's hurt always forgives always cares
A Real father always there if not present physically, he's there spiritually
A Real father perfection is his genuine honesty and confession of disloyalty
A Real admits his wrongs and sings the songs his children need to hear!
For you see the real GUN in this message, poem not made of metal!
The point of a gun is from your '' choice processes ''
What you decide, what's your final decisions
Before you become one the wrong ones;?
We all share one FATHER, don't think it strange or odd
My choice, my point of a gun is...
(Taken from forth coming anthology '' REALLY '' by James Edward Lee Sr.)2017

Copyright © James Edward Lee Sr. | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Allie Rosenthal | Details

Poem for Children

There is so many stories telling a child how to grow up, the difference between right and wrong. to follow the rules, to see in color, how to stand strong. But still, you are children, with innocence in your eyes! Children who still get surprised when you discover that the butterfly really flies. Little boys who idolize things such as the man who plays with crocodiles, even though we call him the crocodile hunter, he doesn’t actually hunt them, and just like those little boys that idolize him, he just plays… And the little girls that know the disney princesses are wise beyond their years, and recognize the wicked witch of a mother in Tangled, and the different kinds of love in Frozen, and that beauty isn’t just on the outside in Beauty and the Beast. 
	So what else is there to teach you little princes and princesses who will one day rule the world? Because Dr. Suess told you that a person is a person no matter how small, and the Little Mermaid told you that no matter what happens you have to stand tall. So what else is there to teach you??
	Well I have 7 short things to teach you! can you count that high? 1-2-7! ohh oops did I forget something? Oh well I bet you can’t count higher than 11.
	Number one is that parents are people too. Or even better, parents are children, like you and you and you. Parents want to have fun, and even if they tell you they don’t, they do believe that Santa is real. And no matter how you feel, they love you and will always protect you. After all where would Simba be without Mufasa? Because Mufasa saw that his son was in trouble, and he opened his maw, and let out a roar that could be heard shore to shore, and he saved his son.
	Now on to number two, which might sound a little crazy but I swear its the best thing that you will ever do is DO NOT let anyone put you in a cage. Think of Repunzal. She was locked in a tower where she had no power, left to pick the petals off of flowers when all she wanted to do was see the lights. So yes, instead of doing exactly what was right, instead of seeing things in black and white, she let the world get a little hazy and saw things in a nice shade of grey… or gold…. and climbed right out of her cage and ran off into the night with a thief who i guess was technically her Knight in shining armor.
	2 plus 2 equals 4, which just happens to be next. oh no! honestly how could i forget about number three when it’s all about honesty! Aladdin lied to Jasmine and we all know how that ended. so no, lying is not recommended. You probably won’t end up at the bottom of a river with just a lamp with a little blue genie in it, but lets not tempt that trend.
	Now 4, 5 and 6. Four, do exactly what scares you, Five, make it happen, Six, sometimes you just have to tough it out. Do exactly what scares you, step out of your comfort zone. into the unknown. How do you think all these princesses got their thrones?? You have to make it happen! If your paper airplane heart wants to fly away, you have to grow your own wings. Because I can tell you right now, Peter Pan is not going to show up at your window and take your hand, pulling you away to Neverland. Even if you wish on exactly the right star, he’s not going to fly in on pixie dust and save you. You have to do it yourself and make it happen. But sometimes you can’t save yourself so you just have to tough it out. While it’s true that a broken heart hurts worse than a skinned knee, in the moment your skinned knee hurts pretty bad. Pocahontas told us not every story has a happy ending, so you have to tough it out, suck it up buttercup, and pick up your crown. 
	Now the last thing is number seven. Don’t be afraid of 7! I know 6 is, because 7 ate 9, but don’t worry you don’t have to be afraid. What you should be is yourself! Because what you see when you look in the mirror should be exactly what you want to be, not what everyone else wants to see. That is the key to happiness. You don’t need a fairy godmother to make you a dress with glass shoes. Because when the clock strikes midnight and no one else is around, you shouldn’t have to change from what you were to what you actually are. So really, there is nothing else to do except to be you.
	Every story begins with Once Upon A Time, and even though you can’t see what comes right around the riverbend, with a little bit of magic and the right rhyme, never say it won’t end with Happily Ever After…. The End.

Copyright © Allie Rosenthal | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Details

Venus and the Soldier Ant

Venus politely introduced herself to the passing soldier ant,
The ant did gaze for long, at the pretty crimson plant-
Impressed by Venus's beauty, it listened to her talk,
And even thought them pretty, the seven leaves upon her stalk-
Not to go unnoticed, were the fine spindles that lined her door,
The ant felt no more splendor, could a beautiful plant ask for-

Spellbound by her looks, the ant stared as they continued to chat,
When very soon thereafter, landed a shiny green little gnat-
Venus's eyes diverted away from her newly made ant friend,
"Let's get together next week, then more time together we'll spend-
I have many things to do, before the sun lays down to rest,"
The ant turned around and as it  walked away, blew a kiss before it left-

Venus watched the ant, until it disappeared from her sight,
Then gazed upon the little green gnat, who never thought to take flight-
"Come a little closer," she said, "My eyesight is kind of poor,"
The little green gnat did what was asked, then entered the pretty front door-
Venus had a wonderful sleep, her stomach was full and content,
Garden guests danced all around, knowing her energy was spent-

Venus slept in for almost a week, she had really enjoyed her guest,
And as the sun peeked over from the east, the flowers awoke from their rest-
The crimson lady yawned, then smiled to greet the new day,
The birds alerted the garden bugs, it was time to get away-
It was late in the afternoon, when the soldier ant again came by,
Venus noticed it right away, out of the corner of her eye-

"I was worried you wouldn't return," she said with a charming grin,
"You're so good looking, I missed you, why don't you please come in?"
The ant hesitated, standing not too close to her side,
"Good morning pretty lady," he said, "but I'm afraid I told you a lie-
I never break a promise, but the queen has called for me,
Tomorrow would be a better day, for us together to be-"

The soldier ant focused on Venus, never once blinking either eye,
Something seemed not quite right, and it couldn't figure out why-
As the ant was about to leave, there landed a butterfly moth,
And out from under Venus's door, came a bit of bubbly froth-
Venus quickly flattered the ant and then politely rushed it away,
Turning to the moth she said, "Won't you come in and play?" 

The next day the ant came back, with Venus it wanted to talk,
But her door was tightly closed, so around the garden it walked-
There was chattering all around, about the "lady" going to sleep,
One of the garden bugs said aloud, "We'll be safe for another week!"
The ant noticed other plants had company on them or quite near,
But for some faint outlines, Venus's area was exceptionally clear-

After marching around, the ant thought, "What am I missing here?
There's something very suspect about this crimson lady, I fear,"
Then lightning fast, a memory flash, about a poem the queen once read,
About how a fly, tricked with flattering words, ended up in a spider's den dead-
There was something very strange, about those outlines on the ground,
Upon closer inspection, the soldier ant was startled by what it found!

There could be no denying now, about what Venus liked to eat,
And invitations to "please come in" had been spoken with deceit-
The ant was sure that those who had obliged, were taken by surprise,
And felt a terrible sadness about, how they came to meet their demise-
The soldier ant had learned what's important, when making a friend,
It’s not the beauty on the outside that counts, but only the beauty within!

Copyright © Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Johana Britt | Details

My New Parents Are Monsters

My New Parents Are Monsters!
By Johana Britt

My new parents are monsters! 
They're creepy and weird. 
I don't understand their monster ways, 
But they love me very dear.
I remember the day we met one another. 
It was funny, crazy, and deep,
Deep as the ocean and wide as the sea. 
You can't say we're wrong—we love each other.

We're free, 
That's what I say.

My monster parents, they love to play. 
They fly and they leap and they soar.
Boy do they soar through the sky!
Sometimes I can see their hearts beat faster
Whenever they fly by.

Good times and bad, 
That's what my parents have. 
But even those bad times 
Aren't really so bad. 

My parents are different,
And some folks can't see 
Why they let me live with these monsters. 
That's just so…scary!

But I don't mind, because they love me. 
They hold me tight and sing me to sleep. 

My monster parents are the very best parents— 
The best you'll ever meet. 
When they play hide and go seek,
It's hide, and hide and go seek.  

I'm the winner all the time,
And hey, you wanna know why? 
Because my parents are monsters, 
And monsters just can't hide!

But I can. I'm great at what I do. 
I can even hide in the cabinets 
And watch them walk past me,
Into the kitchen and through. 

Oh, but I never tell them 
Where my hiding spots are. 
And when they yell, "I give up!" 
I wait 'til they're quiet and far,

When they can't see
I creep out all smiles, 
Never stepping too loud,
'Cause my folks hear for miles.

I love them and they're sweet, 
Sweet like the candy 
That you chew on a Sunday, 
Or sometimes all week. 

My monster parents, 
Naw, they can't be beat. 
They're the champion parents. 
I love them—trick or treat. 

Monsters or no monsters, 
They're good for me!

We take trips, and we go out, 
And boy can my parents eat! 
Sometimes we go to their land overseas, 
Where they have lots of veggies and tons of meat. 

I tell my monster parents,
"I'm a cave girl, r-r-r-r-ah-r-r-r! 
I love meat!"
 And they just laugh with me
 And say, "Girl, you deep." 

The only thing I can't understand  
Is why everyone hates my folks. 
Is it because they're not 
A woman and a man? 

That's what my friends say— 
"They're monsters, you can't tell? 
It's supposed to be a man and a woman. 
That ain't right, can't you tell?" 

And I say, "No, I never knew it mattered." 
I thought parents were parents, who love you and care. 
And there's jillions of different people, 
Lots of 'em living out there. 

You have Asian, Italian,  
African and Dane...
They have different ways, 
But they all do the same.

They care for their kids and treat them like gumdrops, 
And sugars, and sweet candy things. 
My parents love me, I know that for sure.
And why should that ever change?

But you know what? I don't really care 
'Bout anything those people are saying out there.
 'Cause at the end of the day they don't see 
The love in my house 'tween my monsters and me.

They don't see all the things 
My sweet parents do, 
And they don't feel what I feel, 
When they say, "We Love You." 

So I'm proud of my parents. 

Don't care what they are, 
or what they might be, 
'Cause at the end of the day, 
Guess who loves ME? 

My monster parents!

Copyright © Johana Britt | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details

Megan's Hit

        MEGAN'S HIT
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
    He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
    to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!


"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
   Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
   while I choked up--and readied for a hit!

All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
   The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
   a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!


The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be 
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
   Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
   and on his heels--I made my promise good!


We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me! 
    Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
    the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Teddy Kimathi | Details

Story about a Tin-Boy

A long, long time ago, there lived a family of tin-beings,
in an underground basement in a garage. Oil and grease
were their favorite delicacy. Mechanics always wondered
where their oil and grease vanished to.

One night, one of the tin-kids crept upstairs;
it was forbidden in the tin-law to be out alone in the night.
He has always wanted to know how water tasted like;
it looked very light and crystalline.
He took out a tin cup, opened a tap, filled it with water,
and gulped to his fill. Soon, he crept back to his room,
and pretended to be asleep. 
His tin brothers and sisters were all looking surprised,
as they stared at him. His dad was angry, while his mum
was weeping. He could tell it was morning,
hearing the mechanics and their tools –
he wondered what made his parents sad in such a lovely morning.

An arm or leg couldn’t move, when he tried to wake up. Talking was very difficult 
and tiring. “W-h-a-t    h-a-s   h-a-p-p-e-n-e-d    t-o   m-m-m-e?” 
he asked, his lips moving with difficulty.
“You’ve rusted!” his mum shouted as she burst to tears. So devastated
he looked, when he realized he had turned from silvery to reddish-brown.

Eating, moving, and talking clearly weren’t possible anymore.
He had to stay in bed all rusty, as his brothers and sisters ate, played and told
each other funny stories. So sad he was that he cried the whole night. Nothing
his family could do, only tell him things would get better.

That night, a deep slumber followed his last tears. He saw himself in a world
of dreams, where people’s dreams existed.  Angry Birds played with Merlin,
stars chased each other in the night sky, grasses whispered, trees talked….
Anything one could ever imagine happened in that world!

He couldn’t see his tin-body, but his tin-spirit was alive. 
Miles and miles he wandered in the dream world, getting amazed
with the beauty and peace that was all around him. A cloud bus
without a driver came close to him, and he hopped in. Suddenly
like a shooting star it zipped to space! There were gigantic
donuts, ice-cream cones, soda cans, pizza, and candy
floating all around space.

Happiness and awe filled his soul, as he shouted “I believe in magic!”
“I believe I’ll be silvery tin-boy once again!”
Shouts, screams and laughter attracted his ears,
as he slowly opened his eyes.  His father was unusually happy,
while his mother wept and laughed at the same time,
beside his bed. His brothers and sisters were singing
and dancing.

“You are silvery once again, my boy…..” his mother said.
Oily tears filled his eyes, as he held his mother’s arms.
Out of the bed he hopped, and joined the celebration.
It was the happiest day of his life!
“Thank you, magic!” he shouted,
as he played around with his sisters and brothers.

Since that day, he promised his parents he would never
disobey them again. He also promised himself he would
always believe that anything was possible.

                                          THE END

Date: 28/2/2017

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Suzy Davies | Details

The Lonely Frog

The Lonely Frog - A Fairy Tale.

There was once a lonely frog
who wanted a frog- bride.
Days and days he lived in a deep, dark, pond.
so that he could hide.
You see
the frog’s face,
when glimpsed in the water,
was so very ugly,
he couldn’t marry, 
and especially the frog-queen’s daughter.

Then, one day, alone, he went fishing in a stream,
and he heard a voice, as if it was a dream.
“You can find a bride if you make a wish.
But first of all, I must tell you this.”

“The frog queen’s daughter has a throne,
in a magical pool that is her home.
Whoever looks at their own reflection
by the light of the moon,
when it is bright,
will no longer be blind
through any deception,
that handsome, or riches,
matter more
than being kind.”

Our little frog croaked
a reply of thanks,
to the Willow fairy
he’d met on the banks
of the sparkling stream,
where the river fairies swim,
when he noticed a spider 
following him.

The spider had spun a silver web
that sparkled like diamonds
near the river bed
his web shone with jewels
as bright as the stars
Our frog wished for 
the Moon, Venus,
and Mars.
The moon replied to our little frog
“You must not hide from your heart-throb.”
The frog was shy, so he looked down and saw
his image in the water-
an ugly nightmare.
But our frog’s heart was good as it was kind, 
and the ugly reflection
he left behind.
As if by enchantment,
by sleight of hand,
a river fairy, with a silver wand,
had conjured with moonlight
so all could see
the depth of his kindness,
his inner beauty.

“Little frog,” said the spider, who had lots of flair,
“the frog princess has a throne for a chair,
and reading is her biggest passion,
but she doesn’t have any suitable cushion.
The frog princess reads there, for hours,by herself,
and sometimes says she’s been left, on the shelf.”

The frog’s huge eyes
popped out in surprise,
and he thought that the spider 
was very wise.
Now he had an idea
that was very smart-
the spider could spin
for his frog sweetheart.

“Little spinner,” frog said to our spider friend,
“I’d be very glad if you could spin me a web!
Please spin the web
just like a cushion,
that is fit for the frog lady
of my heart’s passion.”

“Of course” said the spider, his legs moving fast.
“I’ll spin you a web that is made to last.
And when the dew drops come in the light of the morn,
her heart will turn, and she will be yours,
if you take the cushion that I will spin
to the frog-princess, whose hand you’ll win.”

Our little frog rose with the light of the sun,
and jumped to the pool where the queen’s daughter was.
“Oh Queen of Frogs,” our hero said.
“It is my intention your daughter to wed!”
“Oh?” said the queen in a croak of glee.
“Have you brought a present for me?”
“No, it’s for your daughter,” our little frog said.
“I love her, with all my heart and head!”
And with that the queen changed into the daughter,
and they got married, and lived happily ever after.  
You see the princess had a disguise,
to test his heart, and she was wise. 
Copyright Suzy Davies 12/06/2015.


Copyright © Suzy Davies | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Diane Lefebvre | Details

New Shoes For Mike And Molly

Millie Mable Millipede was worried by the news.
Mike and Molly Millipede would soon need winter shoes.
Their itsy, bitsy, tiny feet, until now free and bare,
Were leaving cold and frosty foot prints almost everywhere.

Winter soon would visit, with the ground all hard and white.
A millipede not wearing shoes might be a dreadful sight.
For all you ‘people’ children, buying shoes is just a treat.
The reason for this being is, you only have two feet.

You try one on and lace it up and if it's not too snug;
The other shoe, is put on too, then tested on the rug.	
And if they fit, you may be sent, outdoors to run and play. 
Without one hundred stiff, new shoes getting in your way.

The problem with all millipedes, a dilemma . . it is true,
Is fitting one foot at a time, with one good fitting shoe.
For if you have one hundred feet, all bare and black as soot;
It's hard to figure out real fast, where each shoe should get put.
And soon all little millipedes get bored and squirm about.
A squirmy, wormy millipede can make a clerk a grouch.
Were all the shoes kept in one house they'd fill the empty space.
Out the back door, down the street; you'd find them everyplace.

Hundreds in the attic and hundreds in the shed.
Shoes peeking out the windows, shoes stacked beneath each bed.
Shoes filling up the cellar and lining hallways too;
And where would Millie find the room to keep her favorite shoes?

Now comes another problem when you wear a lot of shoes:
Keeping track of hundreds; there’d be some shoes you’d just loose.   
And the shoes need be like slippers, with no ties of any kind.
For millipedes to tie each tie, would take far too much time.

It would make them late for school, for lunchtime and for play.
Tying shoes is how the 'pedes' would spend most of each day.
They'd be behind in everything; why nothing'd come out right.
They'd still be tying their last shoe at bedtime every night.

To add to this, there comes another awful, dreadful thought.
For safety's sake each lace need be tied in a double knot.
When finally comes the time to tuck each little 'pede' in bed;
Those double knots might make a mommy millipede see red.

Millie Mable Millipede knew she was in the stew.
Dealing with her children's feet was more than she could do.
She thought a lot and then some more, until her brain felt dead.
And then a bright, white light went off, in the left side of her head.

She had the problem figured out and how to make it end.
Her children's many feet would be all toasty warm again.
Now Millie, Mike and Molly need no winter shoes at all,
Since moving south to Florida, where they now grow strong and tall.
Pale Moon Lagoon has now been picked, to run and jump and play.
If you should choose to look around, you’ll find them there today.
They live beneath the rocks and logs, their feet all bare and free.
And when you have one hundred feet, that’s just how it should be.

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Details

Owlology 101

This is a poem I wrote last year for my grand children....one loves bird...future ornithologist, maybe?

Owls belong to one of two different families or classes,
Even though there are more than 216 types in their masses,
The barn owl - 18 different ones, are in one class by themselves
The other 198 are true owls, including the little elf- 

You can tell to which family an owl belongs, in several different ways,
All barn owls are nocturnal but some true owls awaken during the day,
Barn owls have heart shaped faces - true owls faces are round,
True owls have ear tufts - on barn owls these can’t be found-

These beautiful creatures are called birds of prey or raptors,
And most of them play the survival role in life as captors,
Sharp beaks, sharp talons, a “parliament” if in a group together,
They live everywhere on earth, regardless of the weather-

Owls have poor vision when looking at things near,
But in low light or at a distance, their vision is exceptionally clear,
Their eyeballs are fixed - they look straight ahead to see,
That's why they can rotate their heads,  a full 270 degrees-

There's  no denying that an owl hears better than us,
More acute at certain frequencies, the slightest movement even on dust,
The disc shaped face is not a face alone, but more a radar dish instead,
With ear openings behind the eyes and asymmetrically on its head-

Camouflaged with muted feathers of white, gray, tan and black,
An owl blends into its environment just before an attack,
With softened edges on its' feathers, this silent killer flies undetected,
Swooping down upon its prey with presence unexpected-

Owls make all different kinds of sounds, resonating soft or loud,
It depends on what vocal cords, with which they’ve been endowed,
True owls hoot, whistle, trill, and can produce a melodic, pretty sound, 
Barn owls have a raspy screech with sounds that are quite profound-

The elf owl is the smallest – the size of a small sparrow bird, 
It will take flight to escape a fight, because peace is what it prefers, 
When threatened it plays dead, then feeling safe, will fly away and GO,
Weighing about an ounce and a half, it lives in cacti or a tree hole-

The Blakiston’s Fish Owl is over ten pounds, the heaviest owl you can find, 
The powerful Great Horned has no predators, except for its own kind, 
The Great Grey is the longest, three feet total in length - that’s tall,
And the Eagle Owl has a wing span over six feet - the widest of them all-

The Snowy Owl in Harry Potter is an owl that ‘s totally white, 
It is diurnal in nature - meaning it's active both day and night, 
Its low-pitched hooting sounds can be heard from six miles away,
And it prefers eating arctic lemmings - from three to five a day!

OWLOLOGY 101  STUDENTS:  Hope you've learned a thing or two-
There's much more to an owl than just a simple WHO-O-O!

Copyright © Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by manek kohli | Details


Once night Gretta Foster sat in the backyard, 
building a rocket ship that ought to take her a-far, 
she had been working day and night - tirelessly, 
hammering, programming, all so dexterously. 
Then when the sun arose and sparkled in the sky, 
Gretta was still working, that too without a sigh, 
the ship was finally built, Gretta was on cloud nine, 
but going a bit farther up than that seemed rather fine. 
She sat inside the cockpit, tightened her seat belt, 
pushed a few buttons, with such admirable stealth, 
algorithms aplenty - all perfectly aligned, 
as the engine started roaring, boisterously alight. 
The rocket ascended at last, it set sail yonder, 
to the farthest frontier that this universe could conjure, 
and after it finally left the vivid atmosphere, 
Gretta was so happy, she let out a smiling tear. 
Days passed and she was put in catatonic sleep, 
immobile and still, immersed in lovely dreams, 
suddenly with a thud, the ship had landed still, 
She woke up instantly, with a newfound thrill. 
She wore the lunar suit, which she had stitched herself, 
opened up the bolted door and descended the metal steps, 
the moment she touched ground, she turned around, 
and got pleasantly surprised by what she found! 
A red-hatted impish elf, sat crossed leg, 
a large nosed fairy stood, munching on nutmeg, 
two rabbits bowed down to the rabbit goddess, 
and two more pressed her feet, in a soft caress. 
Gretta walked a step and heard the elf shout, 
"oh silly person, take that suit out!, 
we've got oxygen, plenty of em to breathe, 
that suits a waste o' time and energy!" 
Gretta obeyed, and unzipped the heavy suit, 
underneath she wore a dress - flowery and cute, 
"good going, young child, now lemme show you, 
this lovely wonderland which you dub the moon!" 
And the elf was right, they met unicorns, 
box-laden garden paths and joyous little fauns, 
walking and talking scarecrows, nursing little crows, 
small blue doll houses with chuckling gnomes. 
within a crater lived a colony of werewolves, 
but they were nice and fair - specially one named Ulf, 
he'd give her milk and tea with chocolate biscuits, 
and in order to keep her warm, red spotted mitts. 
The goddess too was nice, a wise and lovely soul, 
"be imaginative and create, but don't forget your goal", 
she'd also give her nutmeg of such abundant variety, 
her best friend was a Faun, so strong and mighty. 
and the Minotaurs build Gretta a lovely home, 
with a mushroom roof and walls build of foam, 
"stay here with us, Gretta, you'd have a great time", 
said the red-hatted elf while singing a rhyme. 
Gretta thought and thought, she came to a decision, 
she decided to stay for sure, she looked forward for her admission, 
and from thereon, life for her was perfected, 
all her dying wishes had suddenly been resurrected.

Copyright © manek kohli | Year Posted 2013

Long Poems