Long Pram Poems

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


Premium Member WINTER

     Appearing cold Winter
      with bold steps to enter.
    
    Snow in ivory flakes
   Skating on frozen lake.
   Enjoying warm milkshake.

    Ice drops glistening on bare log.
    Well covered guys walk with barking dog.
    Jack Frost free frolic jump and jog.
    No weariness even on mist and fog.

     Snow drops hide themselves behind hedge.
     Reindeer pulling Santa Clause’s sledge.
     All cherish Christmas cake Veg or Non Veg.
     All on a sudden snow storm to outrage.
     Most severe to endure cold in old age.

      On dazzling sunny day, under Sun
      On snowy field  children  run.
     Throwing snow balls is great fun.
      Bakery  selling hot bread and hot nun.

       Nodding heads Chrysanthemum 
       In Church singing hymn beating drum.
       With woollen pullover, baby in pram.

        Sweet heart, I wish warmth perfect.
         Please come under same blanket.
Form: Rhyme


Blood is thicker than water?


They say blood is thicker than water

Maybe if you weighed it by the gram

Rule obeyed by every son & daughter

Ham it up when you are in your pram

A through strife of life transporter

With some families it can be a scam

Parents don’t love like they oughter

Sadly behave badly don’t give a damn

Should be your ultimate problem sorter

Even when your are in a real jam

Treat their offspring like a free porter

As your emotions they will just slam

We are just a lamb to the slaughter

As your devotions like a bull they ram

They should be your bricks & mortar

Older realise I’m in their folder of spam

Despite fact they should be a supporter

So with our friends the good times cram 

Because sometimes famalam is a sham
Form: Rhyme

Big Rats In Cobenhagen

Big rats in Copenhagen 

The biggest supermarket in the world tons of wasted food
rats grew so big they couldn’t live in sewers but nestled
in the tall grass or built tunnels.
Something had to be done, rats didn’t hesitate to attack 
toddlers in a pram; cats stayed at home sleeping 
on the sofa, knowing they were no match against this enemy.
In this world of spoilt consumers, a banana had to be bright yellow
not a speck of marks on the fruit, lettuces had to look harvested
an hour ago, and the onion had to look new.
What to do with this new plague?
A bright person suggested giving excess food to the poor 
and to the old on low pension.
After some economic indecision, the poor also to buy food
the supermarket relented and gave the wasted food away.
It was successful rats shrunk in size went back to the sewers cats came out.
People didn’t realize poverty were the poor as usual
was not seen.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Thereafter

Running out of road, windshield wipers are useless for tears
Close my eyes and count to… not yet! reaper hasn’t appeared 
Lights flashing across the dashboard, warning indications 
Speedometer reads a ton, don’t care for vindication 

Stripping back life 
for all to see 
The lake below 
reflecting me

Going over the escarpment, free falling through a cloud
Brakes I leave redundant, accelerator screams out loud 
Weightless grow my memories, the rear view mirror is bleak
Exterior one’s more streamlined, if a little oblique 

Dug my own hole 
admission’s free
Revealed the sin 
got the car key

Not much on the horizon, seen a few birds here and there 
Was playing around for a long time, now she’s gone elsewhere 
And our song’s on the radio, I’ll never hear it end
(Stairway to heaven) rifts in stasis, just as I transcend

Oblivion 
nihility 
A growing bump 
delivery 

Hey! who’s that smiling lady, pushing me along the street 
I look out from the pram, peekaboo! my heart skips a beat…
Form: Rhyme

When I Was a Lad

When I was a lad about nine or ten
Summers were long school holidays great then
I played in our street we had so much fun
Me and my mates in the warm summer sun.

We felt really safe as we played in our street
We respected the bobby as he walked his beat
Cricket and football in the street we would play
My mate smashed a window we all ran away.

The girls played skipping with their hair in a bow
We would rather play fight , climb trees you know
We would play marbles and conkers make paper planes too
Me and my mates found plenty to do.

We even built a trolley using wheels from a pram
We chased all the girls they squeled as they ran
The days were so long much time to kill
I remember playing roly poly down that grassy hill.

We tried to build a raft with some oil drums tied to a big plank
We took it to the river guess what it sank
I had so much fun growing up as a lad
I was bit of a rascal but good times we all had.





Bobby is a slang word for a policeman
A trolley is like a gokart but made of wood
A conker grows on a Horse chestnut tree. You thread string through the conker stand facing 
another person with one and take turns hitting each others conker until one breaks off the 
string
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member The Path Back Home

Final stage of dementia, imminent oblivion,
Mind slowly dying, waning to black obsidian,
A trail of breadcrumbs, left behind in my wake,
Beacons across time, for the trek I now face,
Paving the way, for my journey, back home. 

These markers I’ve set, some sad, but mostly fun,
An eclipse I once witnessed, of the moon on our sun,
Impossible coincidence, yet happened just the same,
Pebble’s silhouette, overtopping an alpine range,
Paving the way, for my journey, back home. 

Something enters my head, and this really scares,
An occupying army, executing locals, in town’s square,
Hanging them on makeshift gallows, I’m so terribly afraid,
Did it even happen, disturbing hallucinations, everyday,
Paving the way, for my journey back home. 

So unbearably tragic, when better off to just die,
Last perception, lucid memory, myself a baby boy,
Birds flying around my pram, heart jumps with delight,
Loving parents laughing back, at this gurgling sight,
Paving the way, for my journey back home. 

Reflections-echoes-shadows, diminishing light,
I’m moribund now, siphoned away from this life,
A strange unfamiliar signal, begins to resound,
Seismic shock, upon chest, follows heavy pounds,
Paving the way, for my journey, back home. 

Grim Reaper he cometh, I grasp his cape tight,
Sensations no more, only darkest ever night,  
Paved the way to death, by writing this poem,
Brain has turned to ash, embers guide me home.

Dedicated to my mother 
Christine Kavanagh. 
1928-2016 RIP

By
David Kavanagh
Form:

My Earliest Memory

I remember a warm summer morning
With the sun shining bright in the sky
Its glow making stars out of specks of dust,
Floating in shadows as I walked by

To the kitchen where mum, already at toil
Was busily making fresh fare
The aroma of cakes and newly baked bread,
Permeating through the air

Big brother was at play in the garden,
Baby sister asleep in her pram
As I sat at the large kitchen table 
To breakfast on warm toast and jam

When I had finished my delicious repast
I helped clear the dishes away,
Washing them clean in the Belfast sink
The like of which are sought after today

 Mum put on my shoes and brushed my hair,
Then I joined big brother for play
And although years have past since I was but three
I remember as though yesterday.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Love Me Or Hate Me

"Love Me Or Hate Me" ~ Says the Limerick

I am only five lines written for fun
Mocking someone with foolish words of pun
Love 'em or hate 'em
You praise or condemn
A poetry form some call "hit and run"

Some think of me as inconsequential
To the haughty I am nonessential
It's a thought I refute
And would gladly dispute
Cuz nothing I say is confidential

I read Jan's limericks about Tess Tickle
But did you know Tess spent her last nickle
Buying new underwear
Cause she hadn't a spare
She kept leaking in some sort of trickle

Tess had a good friend with the name of Neve
Cheated by keeping aces up her sleeve
She thought she was smart
Until she got caught
That taught her it doesn't pay to decieve

And then there was the one they called Maisy
Made faces that caused her to look crazy
One day her eye got stuck
And she looked like a duck
So now everyone calls her Miss Daisy

There once was a gal whose name was Mary
Wore wings pretending she was a fairy
Then I swear on my word
She flapped 'em like a bird
And started singing like a canary

Heard them tell about a gal named Sally
Made money hanging out in the alley
But then she got greedy
With those who were seedy
It was curtains in her grand finale

I used to know a chesty lass named Pam
She had to tote them around in a pram
Then had an operation
A booby castration
I heard she now goes by the name of  'Sam'

Did you hear about the one called Yvette
She can't remember and started to fret
It made me want to cry
I can't figure out why
Umm.. umm.. I'm too old and tend to forget
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Limerick

This Was Not That Day

A woman walked in front of me
A little girl on her hip
In the hook of her arm

Long, blond, hair they both had 
Rubber boots the little one wore
Rainbow colored; blue bottomed with red stripes

A pram in front of them
Ready to be put out for sale
Or maybe; to be stored away

Not that the child was ready; to stand on her own feet
Or ready to walk past a puddle of water
Like grown-ups do

They looked at each other; smiling
One day the pram will be put away
This was not that day

A woman walked towards me
She wheeled a little person too
Jogging shoes on her feet

Pink jogging shoes
With green laces
On the old lady’s feet

They looked at each other; smiling
One day the wheel chair will be put away
This was not that day

They passed by each other; those four
Kept their distance; didn’t smile
It had started to rain; that day

Premium Member Accident That Spelt Ruin

I saw the woman
sprawled on the ground,
her legs askew beneath her.
She was alive but could not move,
obviously in a faint.
Right in front of her
a small pram
squeezed to a wall
pinned by a truck
that had hurtled
down the hill
hitting mother and child.
No sound came from the pram.
The driver knelt down.
He cried, oh how he cried.
Did he cry for the child he had killed?
For the mother who lost her treasure?
Or for the license, he was going to lose?
Only he could tell.
A family ruined.
No one thought of the husband
who lost his child
who found his wife injured,
all because of a reckless driver
who was late for work,
drove fast, painted a wall
with an innocent child's blood.
Did he have a late-night call?
A drinking binge?
A lass to love?
Whatever it was
a child's life was lost,
a family ruined.
Nothing could turn
the clock back.
The ambulance arrived.
So did the upholder of the law.
Nothing to do. We move forward.
It is our destiny.


A true story but it did not involve me.

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