Long Kiddy Poems
Long Kiddy Poems. Below are the most popular long Kiddy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kiddy poems by poem length and keyword.
"Some places are pitch black"
Deserted by other children
The darkened playroom confronts The Kid
"I must be supervised"
By which he means
Protected from the powers of darkness
The would-be supervisor
In turn is confronted
With tight tunnels and tiny staircases
And an accumulated coating
Of kiddy grime
Which doesn't bother the Kid.
He is unamused by pulling of scary faces
From within the labyrinth's cramped atrium
But instead requires illumination for his explorings
From a torch he has handy.
Disappointed that he must proceed alone
For reasons of size and stature
Exhorting "Try! Try!"
Yet he goes bravely forward.
Crawling through intestinal convolutions
Lit up as much as possible by the torchlight
Up into the high reaches of the system
Sliding finally down a long tube and out
Through a slippery exit passage
This is a prototype
Of a non-living carnivore
With which we can peacefully coexist
Relatively unscathed
When mom, Naomi, was your mom not quite,
she was a barista at the Starbucks
just blocks away from where your thunderstruck
dad used to curse the name whose will to write
mistreated sonnets never metered right.
In those days, my daughter, a word like schmuck
would suit your father, quite determined luck,
not talent lacked, should bear the blame for shame
that came from lameness littered kiddy rhyme.
But, with each finished turd, your dad (undeterred)
would march to Starbucks like he’d made a name,
and talk to mom, who taught me, overtime,
love and beauty’s praise are sonnets’ preferred.
Inherit a world we didn't create,
discover the knowledge those before aint,
teaching kids that what we had absent,
they are the first to say don't wait,
demanding adults change their ways,
blame our generation, outspoken, complain,
disrespecting your elders through climate change,
our generation who was not taught,
our generation who found and put forth,
our generation who didn't ignore,
our generation who put knowledge in schools,
our generation the youth blame and force,
disrespect us like no generation before
you'll be in danger we will enforce
kids with voices entitled to talk,
telling us knowledge as if we are fools,
as if they know better, as if they know more,
my generation made this world, kids it aint yours,
you know ,because we know ,and we were not taught,
The steersman dry-heaves
into rolling scuppers,
the skipper dozes fitfully in his sodden berth
spew dribbling from a tossed piss pot.
The deck is also heaving; for three days
the rain-lashed ship has rode the high waves,
shipping sea into cabins and holds,
wind-torn canvas were carried away,
a shattered mainmast dragging the wallowing hull,
and the storm still growling in the winds teeth.
The crew are battened down and sick,
but sea-chests and dunnage must be stacked
clews, lines, and tackle winched, cinched, or tarred,
rubble and timber hacked and swept overboard.
The nimble must climb gratings,
grapple unhitched rigging, go aloft
to knot and unravel torn nettings
and flying ropes.
Then from a swaying crows-nest
a lookout sees a distant storm gull:
“Sighting! Steer away,” comes a gusty shout.
Now the quick dry throats of boson and bosons mate
roar the crew to their stations.
The clipper shudders, comes about,
foresails backing and filling.
The craft luffs and tacks to race ahead of the gale
following that feathered rumor of hope and landfall.
The ships log narrated all this, and more,
when it surfaced to float in a plastic kiddy pool
somewhere near the Jersey shore.
field of dandelions,
my delirium dance
heading down the highway.
drive by flag and fountain,
and trees wrap ‘round the lake
next to a kiddy park.
swamp grass,
the color of wheat
and auburn -
flickers of felicity.
and the backyard landscape
where i keep my grandsons
a spectacle of blooming colors -
cherry and lemon tulips, lavender and poppies.
crèpe myrtles with crooked trunks, skinny legs
lovely with inflorescent flowers
pastel pinks, peeking
through the sliding glass door.
Minnesota welcomes
me with serenity -
a serendipity
of nature’s refection.
5/22/2019
Refection - refreshment of mind, body and spirit
i light a candle tonight
i make cinnamon roll oatmeal
the only company that i have is a homeless kitten
i give her some milk
we enjoy the quiet of the aging night
we both need the calm and the slowdown
i pet the homeless kitten
it begins to purr like a child in perfect comfort
i think about today's world and am glad to be quarantined for a bit
we are unplugged with plugs, so i unplug everything
the homeless kitten lets out a few kiddy meows
i laugh at her attempts at expressionism
tonight we hide from the world
tomorrow we do more of the same
the day after that it's back to it
the homeless kitten stays though....until my friend comes to take her
i will light another candle the next night
i will make honey battered chicken tenders with ranch dressing
the only company that i will have is a homeless kitten
i give her some canned tuna
we enjoy the quiet of our last night together
Down beside a stream that flowed red
Lilies stained from the wounds that bled
Short shallow breaths escaped him by
The troops at salute, watched him die
And with one last effort, he bawled
“For life, for home, for bread, for broad”
Ryan was a rather vague kid
He wasn’t the kind pegged to lead
But one day the big, big man knocked
And handed him a shotgun, cocked
Go, Ryan, we’re in grave danger and
Only your strength can save our land
And so, like others, Ryan went
I’m sure ‘twas the fifth week of Lent
To join the other kids and boys
Who had been given lethal toys
Because they were in danger and
Only their strength could save the land
Their first fight was at Old Burgoyne
It was Ryan’s first battle won
But there too, he saw Death firsthand
The pain the “saving” did demand
And watched his comrades slip away
Into chaos each passing day
But Ryan went on, resolute
Brass saw him the perfect recruit
With each shot, his poor soul went prone
With each death brush, his heart went stone
And at night they would slip inside
With broad, and beer and bread beside
He sloshed many a foeman dead
His kiddy hands all shone blood-red
Till they had to take the ghyll
And there a bullet crushed his skull
And his comrades watch him fade
His last charge in the South Brigade
They held his funeral in state
With the others who shared his fate
In a grave so large and so wide
They fit ten thousand more inside
Then they gave someone else his gun
For they had to save “everyone”
The big man stopped by Ryan’s door
This time he came for the neighbour
With urgent cries, John got a nuke
The big man cried, his body shook
Quick, there’re people we have to save
The reds have risen from their grave
Demagogue not pedagogue
Aghast & agog
Perfidious insidious fog
Reeks of the past
Slog through the smog
Musk seeks to flog
Earth & its serfs
Downed & drowned
In his dystopian bog
Even starry nights
Elon’s neon satellites
Seedier media perch
Utter nutter besmirch
Thriving in the gutter
Conniving depriving church
Vex "X" & Tech T-Rex hex
Or next bogus Rogan
Bogan slogans prevails
Alpha male tales derails
Sod the planet’s scars
Cruise trips to Mars
Odd bod driverless cars
Spawn a fake Tarantino
Remake.."Musk till Dawn"
Devil may care lair..
Loads of lies..skies chock a block
With spies...all eyes on the prize
Everyone Everything Everywhere dies
Let's not parley with gnarly snarly
Musk...takes the mickey & the bicky
In the dock for running amok
Time guys he did finally own up
To being as grown up..
As a Farley’s Rusk (a British biscuit/bicky for a wee kiddy)
Odd roadside stall
Newsy newsprint;
Brisk disaster sells
~~~~~~~~~
Hardware insights
Self-Help projects;
Crafty poise
~~~~~~~~~
Evening dark
Deserted park;
Empty ark
~~~~~~~~~
Primal pose
Playground excursions;
Kiddy laughter
~~~~~~~~~
Traffic accident
Human error hurls;
Proud regrets shout
~~~~~~~~~
Brisk brush strokes
Calligraphy moves;
Artwork erupts
~~~~~~~~~
Old miniature book
Tells another story;
Beyond print run
~~~~~~~~~
Another tale
Tells on you;
Business acumen
~~~~~~~~~
Line by line
Echoes rhyme;
Poetic impulse
~~~~~~~~~
Joy seeps
Charm knows;
Sublime moments
~~~~~~~~~
Grass verge array
Unnoticed flowers;
Grace attends
~~~~~~~~~
Morning Glory
Floral vines creep;
Warm sunshine styles
~~~~~~~~~
Old memories haunt
Stagnant corridors;
Sepia escapade
~~~~~~~~~
Talk of town
Rumours sublimate;
Non solid state
~~~~~~~~~
Little boy here
Don't ever grow up;
Helpless strains smear
~~~~~~~~~
Passing clouds
Fluffy dreams float;
Cotton candy
~~~~~~~~~
Precious Moments
Cute figurines sculpt;
Strokes heart health
~~~~~~~~~
Morning espresso
Caffeine intervenes;
Sleepy eyes droop
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
02 June 2016
Singapore
My Home Sweet Home (Part One)
New York City...My city of reality...my city of those broken dreams...my city of the business schemes...new york city....my home sweet home...the only place my heart will roam...so i could never ever leave it alone...new york city...my city of broken homes...my city of broken coble stones...my home sweet home...
New York City...how damaged it seems to be...but more beautiful than people see...so deep with secrets and schemes....that broke peoples dreams...a heart skips a beat...people labled bums living in the street...the weak could never speak of...once rich with love...drunk in the morning...park bench at night to sleep off the drug...
mean mug with a gangster lean shoulder shrug...little eyes bare witness growing up to become a thug...nightmares is kiddy play...innocent people slaying...government playing with our money...delaying our dreams...as they think its funny...but we still love our new york city...no lie...we could move but why..?
Why let those broken coble stoned stoops kill our dreams....? Why let the business schemes take our money we couldve used to fix broken scenes....? We are New Yorkers....home of great talkers....but no action.....beautiful lights....but knocked before we reach our heights....deadly fights....
staged in a park in the dark....different colors are threats...race factor and hate crime...amongst crime itself...yet we are still the greatest city...as silly as it may sound...I will be buried under New York City ground....
New York City......my city of reality....some day we will all see...triumph of humanity....where else would I be....right here....my home sweet home...
I will never leave it alone...
By: Peter T DeSpirito