Long Nursery rhymes Poems
Long Nursery rhymes Poems. Below are the most popular long Nursery rhymes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nursery rhymes poems by poem length and keyword.
Hot August day,
why have you sent all children away?
Jack won't watch Sesame Street,
all he wants to do is go to sleep;
Cathy looks at him and whines,
she's bored and starts screaming...
Mom tells her to sing Nursery Rhymes
so thatl her brother Sam can fall asleep.
Hot August day,
why is this Saturday sad?
Over the roof the thunder strikes,
rain comes down to fret;
kids stare at clouds in tricky play...
that vision of winter returns:
why can't they be glad?
Will they see a sunny day
before it becomes sunset?
Hot August day,
yesterday was bright...no clouds
we're seen for miles!
Hot August day,
no child chases lovely butterflies!
Written on 8/14/2016
Skies getting dark;
Little children in the park;
Oh, my days are numbered;
While I await crying while I slumber;
The horizon line is so thin;
I sometimes wonder where I’ve been;
The moon shinin much brighter;
Stars scattered cross the rise, I long to hold you tighter;
Brighter shines, the moon;
Baby, I miss ya hurry home soon;
Setting, settling goes the sun;
Darling, darling, dear you’re the one;
Who rises every day at morn?
Girl, you’re just as warm;
As the noon day sun;
Farewell little girl don’t forget you’re the one…
Sunday sunset;
You left me on a bet;
That someday you’ll be mine;
Nighttime nursery rhymes;
The horizons line is so thin;
I sometimes wonder where I’ve been;
The moon shining much brighter;
Stars scattered cross the rise, I long to hold you tighter;
Dimmer shines the sun;
Girl, you’ve been gone for so long;
Waiting, waiting does the moon and my heart and…
My baby, my baby lights up shines on
Who sets every night at dusk?
Girl, do you think you must;
Leave as the sun does by day
Only to rise as the moon does, hey!
Monday sunset;
Is mean be on all the rest;
Girl, Girl you left me on a fay…
That you thought me the sun would shine all day;
The horizon line is so thin;
I sometimes wonder where I’ve been;
The moon shining much brighter;
Stars scattered cross the rise, I long to hold you tighter;
Within the horizon lines I choose
I choose you
embraceable YOU
7/24/74
Written words by James Edward Lee 1974©
September has come
and the ripe orchards
abundantly display their delicious fruits:
peaches of delicate rose,
and cherries of deep red!
Teens, with their empty baskets,
anxiously run to pull them
off the drooping branches;
and one of them yells,
" I have gotten the first one! "
What a gleeful celebration for youngsters
about to return to loved-and-hated school
with their band-new and heavy backpacks;
and they will write about these harvest's moments,
and wait with exciting eyes how their writings
will be scored by their teacher, and if someone
should cheat, points will be taken away...so kids,
squash your curiosity and kindly behave!
All of them did their best in writing poems without rhyme,
poems of a harvest with an aroma so fine!
The hot afternoon reddens the faces
of all the experienced fruit-pickers,
and these struggling young ones
can't speed up to their pace!
" Hurry, Jack...let Susan help
you with your over-loaded basket...
everyone has finished picking and gone! "
What a humorous remark that
even makes the sullen and tired sun
smile...when his duty is coming to a sudden end!
Happily they trot out of the orchards, singing nursery' rhymes,
sustaining the heaviest load they have ever felt ,
not to let their baskets drop and give the watchful squirrels
a chance to snatch some of the tempting fruits away!
And as they look up, dusk makes its appearance to scare them away!
And as if they were chased by unleashed dogs,
some fall, some run for their lives...an useless drama started by fancy!
Much fun they had, but unhappy about the bruises on their knees,
at least, they had one consolation: all the peaches and cherries they could eat!
And they laughed at each other, no one could ever forget about their fright!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
My child has a love of poetry
It is rare, for she is only nine.
In her bare mind, words are potpourri
floating, rhyming by stanza, by line.
Holding a book ever so tightly
(it relieves the raw ache in her chest),
my sweet Emma floats almost nightly
carried by puffins in a bird nest.
She paints her pictures lying in bed
dreaming up puffin activities.
Writing what's in the front of her head,
one of her common proclivities.
Her situation stems from asthma
of pet hair and seasonal rebirth.
She fancies ease from the miasma,
high above noxious coughing on earth.
Starting with nursery rhymes at three
we have read Silverstein and Dahl
both of us memorize easily.
Her choice today is Lewis Carroll.
My Emma lives in her Wonderland
especially with a nebulizer.
Her teachers all seem to understand
it's “down to earth” math that defies her.
August 23, 2021
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
Contest Name The One Who Touches My Heart
Sleepy time sleepy time why don't you go to sleep
The day is done night has come time for beautiful sleep
Your eyes are heavy your feet are dragging
You better lay down before you fall
Another yawn a big wide stretch
All your senses are getting dull
Sleepy time for sleepy head
Soft big pillow on your bed
Looking droopy lay down little goofy
And rest the night away
Shut your eyes and realize
The Sandman's on his way
With magic dust to sprinkle
Close those eyes that twinkle
Sleep little angel, my sweet little angel
Tomorrow will be brand new
With fun things to try and do
Learning, playing and nursery rhymes
Pleasant dreams for now it is sleepy time
Poor Peter Pumpkin had a very itty bitty head.
So the farmer made him stay inside the garden bed.
The farmer said that he was going to keep him warm with hay.
And there the itty bitty pumpkin stayed for many a day.
Finally, the farmer came to check upon poor Peter,
measured him and then exclaimed, “You’ve grown an extra meter!
I think it’s time for you to finally go and face the world.”
Peter got up from his bed. He twirled and twirled and twirled!
“My,” the farmer shouted, “You’ve grown two legs with feet!
You’re a special pumpkin. My daughters you must meet!”
Poor Peter heaved his hefty bulk, waddling away,
following behind the farmer so he would not stray.
They traveled rather quickly, and soon they reached the house.
The daughters saw the pumpkin and grew quiet as a mouse.
The silence lasted just until at last one daughter spoke,
“A pumpkin with two legs? Is this some kind of joke?”
Her father knelt beside her and whispered in her ear,
“Do not be afraid, my child. You’ve not a thing to fear.
We can carve a lantern. It will be your Halloween treat.
Then we can make lots of pumpkin pies for us to eat."
Peter trembled with a chill to hear their horrid plan.
Jumping out the door, he yelled, “Catch me if you can!”
He ran into the pastures. Then he tumbled down a hill.
As he rolled he bumped into the couple, Jack and Jill!
“Oh dear me,” cried Peter, “I do not wish to be
a lantern for this Halloween. Please, can you guys help me!”
Jack and Jill then led him to the land of Nursery Rhymes.
His sad fate has now been told to children many times.
For he ran across a man named Peter Pumpkin EATER.
Maybe you can guess now what became of our poor Peter!
10~12~14
Contest: Halloween Co-Writes
Sponsor: Diane Locksley
Written By Jan Allison & Andrea Dietrich
~awarded 1st place~
In the year of 1853
So poor, it’s to the workhouse for me
No Mum, no Dad no family
I am just another bastard you see
Inside the place it’s cold and damp
I suffer ailments, like colds and cramp
Sitting here I feel so forlorn
Beginning to wish I had never been born
Work in the laundry from dawn to dusk
Living on gruel, and sometimes some rusk
Beaten, starved and they call this home
Is it no wonder I feel so alone
Only ten years old am I you see
I should be living happily
Skipping gaily as a child
A little girl so meek and mild
But here I am so often used
Beaten, damaged and abused
I work so hard every given day
but still get treated in this way
Mr Bartlett runs the home
I think he has a heart of stone
Takes no notice of my plight
Ignores my screams throughout the night
Young Johnny takes such a great delight
IN hurting me, this is my plight
Bullies others, just like me
Would tell but no one listens to me
Calloused hands and chilblains on my feet
As a child I’ve changed, no longer mild and sweet
I have to steal to stay alive
Or sell my body to survive
Another long day, a sad one too
I lost a friend her name was Sue
Found dead in a doorway, having run away
Starved, half naked some did say
My heart grows heavy by the day
In this place I have to stay
Washing, Ironing sheets and things
Whatever arrives, what the rich people bring
Today I feel so tired, my body weighs a ton
And the day has only just begun
By noon I need to go and rest
To an alcove I know best
Down in the cellar, cold and damp
I lie on rags, behind a ramp
Out of sight, not to be seen
No one will know where I have been
As time rolls by, sleep turns to passing
Another child not everlasting
My name is Jenny, but who cares
Just another orphan living downstairs
The plight of children in these times
Can’t be put into nursery rhymes
Sad but true, no one dared
In truth and reality no one cared
For the poor it was the workhouse plain and simple
To the rich, these people were just a pimple
On the backside of society
Not interested in Jenny and where she may be
Another lost soul, no one would miss
Was found early next morning, no one to kiss
Her goodbye, died all alone
No longer in that horrible home
A shepherd girl named Bo Peep lost her sheep and her Jeep
And didn't know where to find them.
She fell asleep stoned,
When she woke they were gone,
Leaving hoof prints and tire tracks behind them.
She offered as ransom a handsome reward
And assured there'd be no repercussions.
Then the cops said, "Go home
And wait by the phone
For the culprit to call with instructions."
They nabbed an indigent herder who confessed to the murder
Of all of her sheep and to stealing her Jeep.
But still Little Bo Peep lost her job herding sheep,
And then, to her added dismayment,
She lost her practically new Jeep Grand Cherokee, too,
When she couldn't keep up with the payments.
Let this be a lesson, boys and girls, when you're grown
And are working and making it all on your own.
Though it is an annoyment, you only get unemployment,
If you're laid off, not fired,
From the place you were hired.
In Autumn
In Autumn pumpkins hang out in
hedge mazes, corn visits wreathes in
Finland, spices go to
music festivals, photos of
chestnuts do
the splits, marsh mellows make
prank calls, haunted houses tailgate
tourist buses and
fire trucks and
ambulances, porcupines stop
thinking, umbrellas talk
24/7, squirrels read
encyclopaedias, jam people pretend
to be dead, candle people pretend
to be deaf, scarves wear
boots, maple syrup gurgle
nursery rhymes, hens learn to
play the
banjo, chickens lay
cell phones, cherries chase after
bunnies, cupcakes plant
trees, wallets take out
the garbage, and
mittens dip themselves in
cream cheese.
Love's Symphonic Passion
by Odin Roark
Shimmering whispers urge forth,
A beginning seeks release from darkness,
The voicing of struggle proclaims arrival,
Like miniature cymbals of resolute announcement,
The humble cries of emergence
Clash ever so quiet with air and space,
Once portending grace,
Now its melodic genesis.
The matrixes of parent/conductor
Anxiously hum nursery rhymes
Through white enameled side-rails,
Vertical portals to unfettered ears,
Absorbing even when sleeping,
Evolving passion's invitation.
The precious first movements
Grow from those one-finger dissonant phrases,
Sometimes pounded upon the black and white landscape
Where an merging piccolo's infant smile
Finds support by paternal contra bass and maternal cello echoes.
Remembrances of tinkling melodies
Soon enjoin its pure and simple
With conflicted movements of trial and error,
Evolving the inevitable adagio of growing up.
Hence forth
The scherzo's innocence of adolescence
Crescendos into threatening measures,
Where layered tones of choices
present challenge,
chaos,
counterpoint to independence,
or sympatric harmony.
The family of voicing
Develop love's thematic material,
Rhythms,
Keys,
And more complex harmonies,
Creating the free fantasia,
A coalescing of passion's varied workouts.
Its strings worn thin,
Arriving at life's largo movement of peace,
That place of reflective consonance,
The weight of its chambered containment
Rests forth its closing bars,
Housing now but the waning echo of a baby's chorus.
Its shimmering whispers
Float upon one last wave of the baton,
Stirring life's ethereal essence
Into heroic chorus
A higher bonding…
Awaits.