Long Peter pan Poems
Long Peter pan Poems. Below are the most popular long Peter pan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peter pan poems by poem length and keyword.
Peter Pan? He is nothing but a tale drawn out,
a hero of half-truths, drowned in fairy dust,
the dullest side of a double-edged sword.
Before my time lost its salt,
before the boards of this ship were
chapped, split with oceans breath,
before my features grew distinct with age,
a treasure map, carved and creased,
I found myself in Neverland,
as the first dear friend of Peter Pan.
His mind, repressed by the adventures of youth,
has forgotten how young I once was.
Even wiser pirates such as myself
must work to picture a single moment.
Its the sea that causes it,
as time curls and crashes like waves
against toothy rocks,
small histories are bound to vanish.
Yet, in my steely snare, just one memory remains:
When Peter called me James.
The roads we drew in play led us to water,
and how empty we found it!
A voyage was our grandest idea.
In agreement we labored,
drew up clean sails, lacquered lumber.
Christened with a sailors poison,
the Jolly Roger in its finest form!
We followed the arms and legs of rivers,
watching as they became larger bodies,
waters unconquered, unkinged.
My calloused hand brushed the helm,
Peter drew his sword,
mortally pressing its edge to my throat.
You or me, James, he said,
to be a captain or a codfish!
With a smug grin he pounced,
cleaving the air with great circles,
the sharp clanging of metal rang in the mist like bells.
My brow so pinched in focus, first wrinkles formed,
til at last, my blade struck his side.
Peter fell, outdone.
Your cockiness has left you bleeding.
With my hand held out,
his eyes grew bright and bursting like broken stars.
With a smile wild and white, he let out a powerful crow:
Aye, but I’m a clever doodle-doo!
Another crow, he dove at the hand that bested him.
A pain, a demon, a hell!
Honest blood from my moral flesh.
A black pain shook my blackening soul,
As I watched a crocodile feast on the gift
God had meant for my own purposes.
Peter crowed once more.
I watched as he flew on,
his blood dripping into my ocean,
my kingdom!
May this Jolly Roger forever tread
upon the waves of a crowing cowards blood.
I accept the role of villain,
the rival of the wondrous, flying boy,
but may you never forget who won the sea,
and who it is the codfish, be.
He was out of Woodie Wonder by the stallion Sunset Hue,
A freak thought breeding purists, who would surely end up glue.
For greys were so unfashionable he'd never get a start,
But this colt was a fighter with a truly valiant heart.
His origins were New South Wales, but sold up Queensland way,
'Twas Pippos, Coorey, Bishop and McMicking bought the grey.
A Goondiwindi syndicate, who gave the colt his name;
Gunsynd ... the punter's darling ... who raced his way to fame.
He'd never be a Peter Pan, a Carbine or Phar Lap,
No Tullock or a Galilee, but still a gallant chap.
Bill Whelow was his trainer and John Edmonds rode The Grey,
Till finally at Eagle Farm this colt was on his way.
It was the Hopeful Stakes that day in nineteen sixty-nine,
Young Gunsynd flashed from thirteenth place to cross the winner's line.
His trademark was his courage, his will to want to win
And how he made the crowds all stand to cheer the grey horse in.
They loved The Grey's performances; a showman through and through
And though he never always won they saw him as true blue.
Before and after races, he would play the press and crowd
By standing to attention while they clapped and cheered aloud.
With twelve wins to his credit Tommy Smith was now the chap,
Who trained Gunsynd while Langby won the Epsom Handicap.
He was the punter's darling, for he never squibbed a race,
That's why the folk all loved him, for he never did lose face.
The white and purple colours were well known at ev'ry track,
Australia's best known jockeys sat astride old Gunsynd's back.
The likes of Olsen, Higgins and young Langby rode The Grey
And flashed to blist'ring finishes, he raced no other way.
In over fifty starts Gunsynd had twenty-nine great wins;
Some eight point five times second placed, but took it on the chin.
Six thirds and unplaced in ten starts throughout those grand five years,
His name was up there with the best who'd raced to great careers.
Though sold to stud in New South Wales, Kia Ora down near Scone,
Queenslanders all adopted him and saw him as their own.
He'd put old Gundy on the map and right down to this day
Gunsynd is still remembered as The Goondiwindi Grey.
In the beginning there was a word
Which was I, so I couldn't be alone
So I flied, reminiscing about those days with boom box's
and listening to slow jams,
Dancing to tunes oh the beauty in that thou,
thee shall not if thee shall won't,
The days, I was flying like Peter pan
Shouting "who wants to be old when you can be young and have fun"
But time hits us all!
so we keep spinning the wheel of fortune
to being catapulted out of our own imagination,
So we throw a quarter just to start over,
Knowing if we go back will lose our chances of being equal
The early days, once upon a time
When we were animals,
When we were black
Now we Africans, just reminiscing!
We will ever be humans, im just asking ?
Days go by, but im just playing records
To cassettes so im rewinding,
Back to the 80s,
my previous incarnation
Before the whole revolution,
so im skipping tapes,
playing with stones instead of toys no money,
it was kept behind the curtains now its out in the open,
sadly thee open the vault thee shall close,
This is more like Thanksgiving so lets enjoy the feast,
a whole family of guests I guess that's what happens
when you leave the door open and the windows closed,
All you have is an opportunity but no vision,
So they pull the strings,
man I'm just reminiscing about those days
we used to watch puppets,
those monsters on the screen,
The Sesame street
Ranging from care givers to cookie eaters,
Coated with red and some blue
they taking over the neighborhood,
To the frog, that's always being chased so the hood
could never have a prince, so we can never be saved,
man I'm just reminiscing,
The early mornings
Waking up to the rising sun
Now it just rains and rains
So I stay indoors, heater lit up
Guess who's feeling all warm and cozy
My fuzzy cat Elfie, that feline!
Reminds me of Tom in the cartoon series Tom and Jerry,
Oh boy! those were the youthful days
running around in circles dodging the system and its obstacles,
To being in church with Mary
Begging to Jesus can't you share your mom,
since that day i remember it as Merry Christmas
something like Mother’s day
déjàvu now its Sunday and I'm listening to slow jams,
going through all that again.
Going through some old things that just had to go,
I came upon something that nearly got tossed.
Memories came to me from long ago. . . .
I thrilled that my treasure was no longer lost.
Toys come and toys go. In the 60’s, one fad
was to own an odd doll not seen much today.
This doll had long hair and was scantily clad
but wasn’t a Barbie with which I would play!
Its body was squat and it had a pug nose.
I probably loved it because it looked droll.
Its hair could be orange, green, yellow or rose,
but if you don’t know yet, that doll was a troll!
How I wish I could dredge up some memory
to know what was happening inside my head
as a pre-teen with friends and what it might be
that we did with those dolls and what fun things we said!
The trolls that I owned must have been at least four -
both sexes so they'd make a small family -
their hair different hues, each a doll to adore.
But one day they no longer mattered to me. . .
I can’t say where all of my playthings got stashed.
When I left for college, they vanished from view.
But knowing my mom, they must have got trashed.
She doesn’t hang on much to things like I do.
Now four decades later, I looked at my prize,
bare naked and smudged but its hair still jet black.
It stared up at me with its cute amber eyes.
I couldn’t believe how I got that thing back!
It somehow had ended up in my new state.
Good luck for that troll, I throw few things away!
That doll would be learning soon of its new fate
and meet other troll dolls with whom it would stay.
Just like Peter Pan, I refuse to grow old,
and new trolls I’d bought with long bright spiky hair
when troll dolls again in the 90's were sold!
But I had to recall where I’d stored them….. oh, where??
(I found the dolls and added the old one to the new collection,
but my daughter's family moved in with me a few months ago.
My daughter is a clean freak like MY mom is (apparently it skips
a generation or something), and my daughter took my troll dolls
and put them out of sight somewhere so currently they are floating
around who knows where!
For Paula Swanson's "Yard Sale" Contest
I moved into Rochdale in 1964
My Grandparents and I moved in together
We will not be discussing our ages
Just Rochdale and its amazes
History with a continued stride
As a start off, I who can forget the ROCHDALE MOVIE THEATER
On any given Saturday, it would be a sit down and watch movie flicks
James Bond 007 and Ten Little Indians and then there was one
Action and Thrillers
Those two were my highlights
Speaking of aroma and enchanted senses
PETER PAN BAKERY
Fresh breads, Pastries and assorted cakes
Test of the sweet tooth
My ultimate being the STRAWBERRY SHORT CAKE
Also on any Saturday morning, my Grand Mother would have orders delivered of Seltzer and Soda back then
Regarding water, dazzling colorful water fountain close to Niagara Falls that it’s going to get
Beauty and Mist
At every 7:00 pm hour, the entire sky lights up Rochdale at the end of the evening with colorful eventful lights bringing together all neighbors. Hello Neighbor of our community
That is what you call unity back then
My favorite restaurant was from the past was KING KAROL
What can be said was the Big Box of Popcorn
That’s not all, it the Mash Potatoes, Vegetables and Grilled Sirloin Steak
Never left the Ponderosa
Thanks to my Grand Father in the treat
Rochdale Newspaper, yours truly was featured with a photo of me and a white girl riding our bicycles across splashing through a puddle with the caption stating, “THE NEED FOR BIKE PATHS”
Calling Maintenance
Like flash at your door before you can hang up
All prior years in the newness then
At the Big Mall, you had KREUSS and a Men’s Clothing Store
How time flies and what a difference makes
In fact, we had two malls even back when
Participation was my virtue
You would see me at a lot of events in my younger years
For example, HALLOWEEN
This is just a glimpse of my life at ROCHDALE VILLAGE in the beginning to present
There is a lot more, but if I keep going, I would be like the Duracell Rabbit going and going with no end
Those were my happy times in memory
I wish they would return
Thank you for coming along and giving me the opportunity in sharing my journey.
Mama's here, little one.
Even when she's not.
Her arms are wrapped around you,
She loves you a lot.
Mama's always by your side,
Even when she can't talk.
When you're at your best.
And even when you're at your worst.
Kai loves you.
Mama loves you.
Nothing could be more true,
Than the words I speak when I'm with you.
I want to be there for you.
I want to lift you up.
Someday, we'll meet.
Someday, I will.
I'll press butterfly kisses all over your face.
I'll sqwoosh your cheeks and hug you close.
I'll cuddle with you all the time.
I'll never ever leave your side.
One day, we'll meet.
Then, you'll see.
Mama's here. Mama's with you.
She'll never ever leave.
When Tigger can't bounce,
And Pooh hates honey.
When Peter Pan can't fly,
And Mater isn't funny.
That's when I'll stop loving you,
That's when I'll move on.
When Patton can't smile,
And Roman drops his sword and runs.
When Logan can't find a solution,
And doesn't even try.
When Virgil gives up on the others,
And becomes the bad guy.
That's when I'll leave you.
When the world ends.
Only then,
Will I not be your friend.
I may not be good at everything,
Or even good for you.
But I swear on my life,
I could never stop loving you.
Not you.
Not Alex.
Not Al or Kat.
Not Kayden.
Not Katie.
Not Rory or Batts.
Not Megan.
Not Joan.
Not Cassie or Jen.
Not Marie.
Not Zoe.
Not Olivia or Em.
Not Emma.
Not Beet.
Not Caelum or Kali.
Not Cas.
Mot Gabby.
Not Serena or Bailey.
Not Xavier.
Not Rihanna.
Not Natasha or Mac.
Not even Malaya.
Not even Sonnae.
Not even if there isn't a person that loves me back.
I could never stop loving,
All the people in my life.
Past or present,
Even if they weren't nice.
Mama always loves you.
She'll never move on.
Mama won't ever stop loving,
Even if everyone else is gone.
Mama loves you.
Your highs and your lows.
Kai loves you.
They'll protect you from all your foes.
Mama's always here, little one.
Even when she's not.
Her arms are wrapped around you.
She loves you a lot.
previously they said that was
and what were they doing?
we got here and opened
could we go any faster someone seemed to
and there was a reply before the question
so low and so far from
you were me and i was
we were never really found
in place of disaster where we find our
we see right through the holes
and become something
or else we turn this into god
stuck in the middle
the researchers say you can say anything before or after
every line to make it beautiful
when you write it down
answer the questions
what does she want for her birthday?
how was your Christmas?
where does the story go?
how many pieces to the puzzle
and where did the weekend end?
Before and after mix it up Tear it up
cut it up
predict and foreshadow
end it mend it
break it fake it be inspired to inspire me and see who i inspire
as we search the lines of the database
for our arsenal
of the words we like
to add to our own to employ our souls
and play dirty with elbows to claim what is rightfully ours
together we write this chapter for the next
loose endedly
and find each line has a different tangent to say
level one incomplete
about holidays and treasure hunts
to not go on
fake plastic faces
and celebrated saints
of yesterday
and emotionless emotive
when we celebrate the pity party of celibacy of
secrecy of masturbation
everything in this mess will mean something to you
and the joke on you8i is the joke
the joke on me
im the clown in the middle saying predict my next line
and finish he next
answer the questions
flip it skip it finish it
slide it and slip on by add your own and mix it
and bec9ome one with the vibe playing in your stereo
behind
that
cant stop the me your not
to swallow the down of the pillows we sleep on to hide
and feel it try to reveal whats inside
through the seeds we leave behind
and the one who starts the layer of the one we all predict and finish
switch and play in gibberish that makes sense is the god of such a matrix
give me a chance and open season at dileberate stabs at p[poetic sarcasm to
conceal emotion
hey there peter pan?
(As a child I loved watching Peter Pan every year on T.V. When I grew, I had some serious questions for him).
A Conversation With Peter Pan
Ladies and gentlemen, this is a special night
I have a guest—Oh, I’m such a fan!
So, let’s give it up for every child’s delight—
The one and only—Peter Pan!
Before we get started, Mr. Pan—
Thank you so much for being here
All my colleagues tell me—You’re the man!
This event will crown your career!
First of all, Rob, call me Peter—please
Mr. Pan was my father—I guess
At any rate, he was likely a sleaze
In face both parents would have made me a mess
So, who they were—You don’t wonder—Really?
Perhaps a DNA sample you might give?
Now, Robert—Just stop being silly
I just like to live and let live
Are you afraid they were both deadbeat louses?
Were they jerks you might deplore?
Well, I’ve heard my mom was a lush cleaning houses
and my dad was a nine-to-five bore
You’re a living legend, my friend,
Loved by children from shore to shore
Good lord, Rob, when does this interview end?
You’re beginning to be a real bore!
I see. So, let’s get on with the show
and forgive me if I’m prying
but there’s something the whole world wants to know
and it deals with where you’ve been flying
Now, Peter, we know you swoop down into rooms
To fly vulnerably young children away
Once that was innocent fun, one assumes
but it’s called kidnapping today!
Really, Rob? I can see you’re just jealous
Am I right? Or—am I right?
You would give anything to be a child again
So, you could fly off with me tonight.
Peter—If right now charges were to be pressed
you’d be facing life without parole
And it wouldn’t take long for you to confess
With clemency your only goal!
You’re just jealous! Jealous Rob—That’s It!
Peter, just grow up! You sound like a twit!
Grow up, Rob? Never! Never! Never! No!
But it’s all been real. No lie!
Uh-oh, it’s getting really late
It’s time for me to fly!
A Conversation With A Fictional Character Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L SCRAGG
1/31/22
We are the children of time
That big round clock
Arms like arrows
Not a minute to be wasted
In this precious cycle
Of ambition
We succeed
While hearts bleed
Yet we go on and on.
Growing up isn't tough
Mature before puberty
Nature versus nurture
A mind like ours is never a child
We are born fighters
Running full speed
Living the modern life 24*7.
Childhood was no fairytale
Education only for the male
Running the household
Responsibility of the female.
Every mark mattered
Couldn't afford to fail
We had dreams to go to Yale
Lopsided economies of scale.
Never heard a nursery rhyme
Anything but calculus was a crime
Professors of arts and humanities
Never earned a dime.
Peter Pan a fantasy
Charlie's chocolates a forbidden ecstacy
Mowgli a triviality
Winnie the Pooh served no practicality.
Industrious (child) laborers like us
Live in a world of reality
Where domestic violence is a commonality
Amidst high infant mortality.
Basic necessities are scarce
All the money gobbled up
By the fatty Babu's of
Our royal municipality.
Nasty neighborhood to live in
Mass murders ain't a confidentiality
Mafia's rewarded for their masculinity
No individuality
Fear of homosexuality.
Dreaming dreams do no harm
Waking up punched in the stomach
Not aided by an alarm
Learning to shoot a gun before ABC
My basti had no dearth of firearm
Attracting pity is our only charm.
Working day and night
50 rupees a month
One meal a day
Is our only right
Reading by the moonlight
Whenever free
If caught dozing off
Whipped brutally by the underdog
A terrible affright
No FIRs for our measly plight
To get out of that clumsy area
Is a dream a come true
But every Chotu
Doesn't have a happy ending.
When you are but a mule
A tiny part of a big racket
Any wrong move
And you are smashed like a bee
Slammed like a fist
Held in a cage
Anything but flying free.
Gaining independence is rare
Thinking of freedom a dare
Every chaiwala ain't no
Slumdog millionaire.
As a bouncing baby boy
syne of tragic travails in the offing tolled
courtesy analogous bell think Pavlov's employ;
yours truly me mama's apron strings rolled
secure around stubby fingers brought joy
created and garnered webbed wold
between she who helped beget me thru ploy
constituting biological reproduction.
Peter Pan syndrome
not recognized as bonafide diagnosis
encapsulates mein kampf and hard times,
whereby mine childhood's end
dreaded, linkedin and thwarted adulthood
courtesy Anorexia nervosa
(long before said illness
the popular rage
during roaring (2000) twenties
mainly among females)
as feeble attempt to avoid
transitioning into manhood
evidenced today upon
cusp of twilight (zone) years,
when dark shadows (albeit psychological)
metaphorically house these lovely bones
id est twenty first century caveman
with stunted body, mind and spirit.
I feel invisibly chained
to mine early days of yore,
an idealized stage since nostalgia tore
at short lived mettlesome breastplate
activating devastating - festering civil war
leaving seeds of potential emasculation
these approximate three score
years since exiting birth canal,
when both parents in their prime
tickled pink and enthralled
with choice of lifelong paramour.
Renee Cardone therapist
associated with SpringFord school district
doxyme portal allows, enables,
and provides telemedicine
cited how I, a long haired
pencil necked geek aging baby boomer
essentially lives marginal existence
self, constricted, hobbled, quarantined...
since... majority of half dozen plus decades
brought forth upon terrestrial firmament
circumscribing outer limits,
when on January 13th, 19xx
one strong contraction
I ain't kidding ousted
future adverbial, he/him one wily wordsmith
makes period dick exclamation,
viz noun sensible, proverbial...,
who dangled me like a participle,
(hence obstetrician put the scare
of wuthering heights
within yours truly)
well seasoned whippersnapper,
who frolicked in summer re:
amidst the purple rain.