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.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twrh32MQd0Y
Deep and rich as the soil that feeds the roots, that you are
like a tree bearing fruit in the arms of love, this you are
Emerald forest, healer of humans and creatures alike , it is
what it it is, and you are what you are, a haven for all who live
in the font of natures healing hands, we together can be as one;
Twin owls of wisdom leaving footprints in the sand of life,
it is time we embrace energy of good and end all strife
Fairies of magic stirring the sun, moon and stars,
take us to higher ground, like Peter Pan and his mystical clan
Air, fire water earth, brings us to the innocence of rebirth
seeking drums, boats and running rivers, water fresh anew;
Emerald forest of beauty and kindred spirit won't you ray
o'er Unicorns and Deer , with forgiveness trails, "new day"
Allow the leafy greens of your woodland marsh
to carve a path of light where creatures and humans alike
can dip into the peace and solitary fortitude of your mainstay.
Deep and rich as the soil that feeds your roots, you are
like the tree bearing fruit in the arms of love, You Are !
~Past The Moon~
(Rhyme)
I watched you just right there
Standing in that pose of yours
Your familiar figure just stands
Opening every heart and door
You've brought such magic
Spreading every ounce of joy
As you travel beyond the boundaries
Never growing old but forever just a boy
Oh Peter Pan my heart quickened fast
As I watched you flying by
O Peter you were such a sight
To me you were a sweetie pie
Flying again you soared too soon
Crossing the sky past the moon.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2006
January.23.2015
The Three Little Pigs lived dangerously.
They taunted the Bad Wolf mercilessly.
For he lost his huff
And he lost his puff
So he blew their place up with TNT!
It was the Evil Queen that the joke was on.
She wasted every apple in the land. All gone!
If she could morph
In to a Dwarf
She may have tricked Snow White in to eating one.
If Pinocchio had strings to hold him down
He may have looked less like a clown.
The plank stuck to his face
And brought down the place.
A proper puppeteer would have gone to town.
When we think about the Granny of Little Miss Red,
Why do we imagine a frail invalid in bed?
One day, to survive
When Red didn't arrive
She glued in her dentures and ate a Bad Wolf instead.
"Second star to the right and straight on to morning"
To reach Neverland for the days dawning.
Just imagine if you can
If you wrote to Peter Pan,
The poor post man would deliver it yawning.
Cinderella married the handsome Henry Prince Charming
After a start in life psychologically harming.
Her rags to riches tale
Happily did not fail
To cause the evil in her stepfamily to find this alarming.
I could not wait to grow all the way up.
It was my goal since I was a young pup.
Peter Pan was my hero, thunder struck.
I dreamed of having his wisdom and luck.
A fear was to lose child-like thinking
That dendrites would stop winking and blinking.
Forgetting about the homeless and sad,
Aware of the existence of the bad,
Part of my fear was rooted in pure muck,
Idealism had a chance to buck,
I was scared of losing the real me.
And kind ears that heard, and clear eyes to see.
I could not wait to grow all the way up
But stay young inside, as a fresh young pup.
(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
Every once in a while,
I slow down.
I don't think I even mean to,
but you do something to make me pause.
For a moment,
I tune out the hustle and bustle,
the beautiful chaos that lives in our house.
I mute the torrent of thoughts.
(What should I make for dinner?
I need to fill out that permission slip.
I should really fold that load of laundry.)
You're curled up with a book -
the one you found yesterday at the second-hand store.
You whooped for joy when you saw it on the shelf,
begging me to buy it
(but also willing to raid your piggy bank if need be).
I watch you turn the page,
your eyes moving eagerly from word to word,
your mind playing the story in its own unique way.
The sun is coming through the window so perfectly,
casting your shadow on the wall,
reminding me of Peter Pan.
You smile, brown eyes sparkling,
and I wonder what funny line you just read.
You're lost in imagination, the most beautiful place.
I hope you go there often.
My phone buzzes, and I sigh.
I think (as I do every time) -
I need to slow down more often.
I need to frame these ordinary moments
and hang them up in my mind for a little while.
But the hustle and bustle unpauses.
The beautiful chaos sucks me back in.
The torrent of thoughts unmute.
What should I make for dinner?
I need to fill out that permission slip.
I should really fold that load of laundry.
Today I awoke to my moment of truth,
I'm no longer as young as I was in my youth,
And perceived, later on, to my further dismay,
I'm not even as young as I was yesterday.
Oh, how and why was my youth so misspent,
And how can I find when and whither it went?
Was it hung in a closet, or tossed in a drawer,
Is Peter Pan really gone, boon companion no more?
As I woke up this morning, he was with me, I swear.
When I looked in the glass, though, a stranger was there.
Oh, I'll ransack each closet, every cupboard, and drawer,
But I fear I'll not find that sweet boy anywhere.
Now a new thought emerges, one not nearly so bleak:
I'm not yet as old as I will be next week.
So, Peter, adieu, sayonara, and ciao,
Please keep my youth with you, I'm too old for it now.
Oh, dear, golden boy, oh, bright symbol of youth,
We cannot remain young, that's the bittersweet truth.
Yet silver-fringed laughter hide-and-seeks in the hall,
And I smile for my youth hasn't vanished at all.
My mem'ries are young, I invoke them at will,
Like the spirit of Pan that remains with me still.
I once saw a man take a younger lad away
Who knows what plans he had that day
Later that evening the traps brought back a husk
A soulless silhouette of boy betrayed at dusk
The man that took him home
Was known to be harsh as stone
Beat and defiled the innocence that was once there
Now no one can even come near
I extended my hand to the shattered boy
Who mused my hand like a sharp toy
I calmed his nerves by staying with him in the room
Where the nurses and doctors spoke curses and doom
That night I read him a book to see a what magic was in store
The book was Peter Pan and Neverland Lore
In his slumber he twitched and moaned horrible words
But in morning he awoke smiling singing like a bird
He told me that his dream was of Neverland
Captain Hook was there with one hand!
All was appearing for the best until I heard the news
The boy was fighting a battle he was going to lose
That night I spent with him again laughing and joking the hours past
Then his time had come at last
Before I had a chance to cry when he died
I saw the tears and hope in his melancholy eyes
Now he is somewhere doing battle against the pirates and Hook
Now at last nibs could be added to the last of the book
Winter's early evening breeze
feels and smells the same now,
as when sixteen,
except less promising
because more consoling,
contenting rather than regenerating contentious breath
of future hopes and dreams,
knowing we conspire somehow,
Earth and I,
because I feel richer to love this way,
than to breathe evening's winter still, alone.
I am less sure this was not my last daylight
in this operatic, yet ridiculously distracted,
lifetime landscape of sensexstory memory.
When I was sixteen,
my understory was more of a musical-comedy landscape
that would remain forever Peter Pan young, virginal,
well...hopefully not that.
Such confidence of seeing yet another
and another, apparently endless,
pink dawn,
turning yellow,
introducing blue hemisphere,
framed by green Earth's polycultural grasses
and monocultural asses,
which, at sixteen,
I found more amusing
than patience perdures into sixtyfour.
Winter's now later evening silence
remembering sixteen and sixtyfour
together
over vodka-laced pomegranate.
Golden
Little Golden books,
from our childhood,
line the shelf which sits now lonely.
Their readers, all grown up,
and gone.
Tales of the tails of
puppy dogs,
and Ugly Ducklings.
The elves and the shoemaker,
and Frosty with his friends.
Peter Pan, and Alice
along with the palace of
The Princess and the Pea.
Our own children
have been neglected,
by us, who have been blessed.
We did not pass to them,
what was given freely to us.
We should have done better.
Put away the technology,
and reconnect to the heart,
of every person
both young,
and old.
Gather in the chair,
at the end of the stair...
where father sits.
Listen as he speaks the words,
to your favorite and mine.
Gather in the park,
where mama talks loud
with fascinating tones,
and even sings...
the songs,
of the Wildlings
from the book,
in her
hand.
Give imagination,
a chance,
to be reborn,
in the world.
Live in the reality of the now.
Choose to gain and not to give,
take back everything
and learn to live.