Long Tadpole Poems
Long Tadpole Poems. Below are the most popular long Tadpole by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tadpole poems by poem length and keyword.
I called me a worm.
A caterpillar.
I told me to molt.
Become someone different,
And unfamiliar.
Wrapped in a cocoon,
And turned into goo.
In a stage of growth,
And that can hurt the most,
But I’ll pry myself out.
Im something strange,
Something changed,
Less deranged,
But similar.
Still I just feel like goo.
A froglet to frog,
Larva to pupa,
Tadpole to toad.
Even termites show growth.
One day,
I’ll be fully grown.
So I’ll spread my wings,
Not,
Because I told me to.
Not,
Because I said I should.
Not,
Because I said I would.
But,
Because I’m ready to be shown.
For now though,
For now,
I have no issue,
Being goo.
He has great expectations and dreams
They are to be accomplished
Blockades and obstacles are to be dispersed
He is smarter than his wisdom and effort
He forces his way through
Pushing down, kicking and stepping
He is a man, a frog that cannot jump
But used to walk
But tries to jump like a frog
He always changes his party and loyalty
Anyway he is better than a toad
Which just likes to croak
But he is better than a tadpole
Which is still young with little experience
And no chance to jump
However I am hestitate to vote
And don't know what symbol
To choose, to cross and to be loyal to
I'm just an old folk
So ignorant and innocent to politics all this time
And used to believe that
Only frog can jump vigorously
Aloha, Connie Marcum Wong
A fellow islander, here in the State of Hawaii
Plain common folks in touch with its aina (land)
Noticed by many soupers long before this tadpole swam the pond
Well-grounded, skilled with a pen, with a memorable persona,
In my view, I became a welcomed homey, charmingly receptive, in a comfortable regular confab of subject subtleties to filling, reflections of a lifetime,
From our friends to our families to our Hawaii ~~
...of a gorgeous floral lei, imagined or realized
...both pales in comparison
...Aloha always
...my blessings,
...Connie
2019 September 20
*2nd Place*
Pick a Friend on Soup
~~Bobby May
Rex and Rita went to catch fish,
Carrying with them safe steel dish;
Though did not know the art,
Both fancied playing smart,
Could not, yet, fulfill their core wish...!
Pond should be troubled - said Rex vexed.
At this Rita answered perplexed:
It's a dull dark deep pond,
With great army of frond,
Wherein dangers deadly refluxed...!
Rex got an idea brand new.
He spread pieces of bread a few.
Schools of fish soon he found,
Swimming quickly around,
Carefully then his hook he threw...!
A tiny fish like a tadpole,
Hung like puzzled and riddled soul...
Rita felt compassion,
Rex in sheer game-passion,
Shut the little fish in his bowl...!
They found a fancy aqua jar,
Kept their cat away very far;
Lo, she swam all alone,
Within shut marine zone,
Lonely and lost like a lame star...!
Rex and Rita, within hearts, felt,
That this fish will into death melt;
They left her in the pond,
Saw her swiftly abscond,
Went back home, joy within them dwelt...!
23 November 2022
Children's Limericks Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
A springtime fawn found a placid pond and knelt down for a drink.
She bent her knees into the mud,
And placed her velveted chin
parallel to the pond
and the dawn found
the edge of the earth.
The touch of the fawn’s
Mouth made the water wake.
(and all things in it).
And as she drank,
the orchestra played the pond-song play.
The whole pond awoke to the sound of the little, lapping,
fawn’s tongue-song.
A tadpole was freed and ...Swam in the song.
He surfaced.
Greened in the dawn.
And surprised the fawn.
He saddled her sweet new nose
With his bright green clothes.
And she sneezed him
Aloft a red virgin rose.
Froggy went a courtin',
"Ribbit," he did sing,
altho' singing weren't his thing,
more like the punchline to a joke,
'Please don't smoke or I might croak.'
In the deep end of the pond
true love was his goal,
and by the dawn help to spawn
a few more tadpole souls.
Hopped on to a water lily
where he espied
a fine-looking froggy filly,
and in her mouth a red, red rose,
but wait, something's amiss,
one quick kiss and he froze...
just when he had it in the bag,
oh what a shame, ain't it silly,
our frogly friend hit a snag —
for the she was a he dressed in drag.
John Deere riding lawn mowers in fields of high grass
can sometimes be cruel to small creatures that live within.
My brother, Jimmy, twelve years old at the time,
noticed a puff of fur fly out from the side of the green beast
as he ran screaming and flailing his arms at my father.
With tears running down his cheeks,
Jimmy searched the surrounding area for other rabbits
that he could secure away from the rotating blades.
He came upon the brood of new born bunnies that
must have been the offspring of the clump of fur
now nestled in the shreds of grass.
My father tried to explain to Jimmy the futility
of trying to save four newborn rabbits,
but Jimmy would not listen as he removed his shirt
and placed the four, still furless, wet bunnies inside.
At twelve years old, Jimmy had already saved
the life of a robin from the mouth of a stray cat;
raised frogs from tadpole eggs found in the small
pond of water formed in tire tracks down the old dirt road;
helped our pet dog deliver a litter of eight puppies;
rescued a butterfly cocoon from a fallen branch;
and nursed back to health a box turtle ran over by a car
on the road in front of our house.
With a shoebox full of grass, a light bulb for warmth,
and an eyedropper of milk, Jimmy stayed with those
bunnies day and night.
As days slipped by, eyes opened; a bigger eye dropper was needed;
lettuce was introduced to the shoe box; and furless bodies
became covered in a soft brown fur coat.
Jimmy was never one to become too attached to his patients;
he did not do what he did to try to add to his menagerie of pets.
When he was confident that the bunnies were ready to live on their own
he began his long hike into the fields, far removed from John Deere tractors,
farmers, cats and dogs; and, released the four, healthy bunnies into the world.
Twenty years later, no one was able to do for Jimmy
what he continuously did for the creatures that he so loved and adored.
We lost a good man that day. May he rest in peace.
And they lived hoppily
The princess sat along a stream,
crying in the sun
Closed her eyes and dreamt a dream,
about the perfect one
For love had never come her way,
she longed for it so much
The tender words that he might say,
a gentle caring touch
When then a frog hopped into view,
a slimy little guy
He smiled and said, “How do you do?”
A twinkle in his eye
She frowned for she was feeling bad,
not real sure what to say
Then whispered, “I am kind of sad,
but how are you today?”
He croaked an answer quietly
“I’m sad like you, as well
A handsome prince I used to be
before that witch’s spell”
“But fear not, for it could be worse,
it’s not so bad like this
The only way to break the curse
is with a princess’ kiss”
She rolled her eyes at what he said
“You must think I am daft”
Then saw the crown upon his head
and stopped before she laughed
Perhaps what he had said was true
and this could be her chance
To end this feeling, oh so blue
with a new found romance
He looked at her, tears in his eyes
Then said in sorrowed voice
“Don’t worry, I’ll just eat some flies,
it’s totally your choice”
Oh what the hell, she thought a while
this chance I shall not miss
And then he saw her gorgeous smile
as she gave him a kiss
A puff of smoke, the brightest glare,
then something did explode
And though she once was seated there,
now sat a princess toad
He never could imagine this,
his wish had just come true
When she gave him another kiss,
she felt the same way too
They fell in love, a perfect dream,
as joy now filled their eyes
And spent their days along that stream,
together catching flies
And they lived hoppily ever…
Oh wait, is that a tadpole I see?
I guess they lived VERY hoppily ever after :)
Ok, you can roll your eyes now. :)
I took umbrage over a comment in a current blog, in part stating that poetry, "... is a battlefield..." No. There should be no gauntlets thrown, no darts hurled, and no negative words hurled as if Poetry Soup is a battlefield. I was motivated to write...
Over and over again, blogs become a wallowing hole
where ugliness brews contempt and always takes a toll
on those who are trying to make a simple observation.
Someone takes offense and that provokes confrontation
by a tadpole who'll be a frog and not Prince Charming.
Ya know... the narcissistic type who think it's alarming
that they're ideas are not accepted by others on the site.
Then, it's "Katie, bar the door" and get ready for a fight!
Pollywogs keep swimming in rippling waters of the Soup,
where they take a dump, but don't think of it as 'Poop.'
Blogs are sandboxes where nasty words become litter.
Catty remarks are made by the arrogant and the bitter.
Not surprising, the same ones cut up with their mocking.
It's the same MO they use when they come a knocking...
knocking on new blog doors and causing a ruckus inside.
That's crossing a line that no one should ever take in stride.
Some abuse blogs, as if they're churches or synagogues.
If any part of Poetry Soup should go, it should be the Blogs.
Not as some redundantly claim, should be poetry contests...
Objected to by rallying sponsors and poets in fervid protests.
Blogs serve as playgrounds but break all schoolyard rules
when some can't stop themselves from acting like fools.
There's fighting and tugs of war... never for a good cause.
Gettin' tough over trivial stuff puts a pinch in their drawers.
For gosh sake, act like adults instead of flakes and nuts.
There's never and excuse for acting like a rattlepated putz.
Jane told me of the exchange they had with Derek, earlier that day--guess who showed up that night--hehe.
I told you guys, Jane's a talker, and that's how Clint got smarter.
Along with other fellow workers, that night there were two guys plus me, my opened hatchback doubled for Jane and her sister.
Three guys on a rolled-out garage floor, all having 100-proof shots of Tequila with no alcohol in sight, other than two yakety bartending sisters with three prisoners desperately seeking Ali to sting us like a bee.
The two guys had a particular interest be they of the single variety but poor boys should eat such an appropriate sandwich because young sister dearest hast stolen thy fullest moon and hast made it ecliptic to wallow over two foolish hearts a horizon's descend.
The two chose to stay knowing I was on the way to Carmel for that arranged night for tomorrow.
I had spoken with them earlier when they asked if they could hitch a ride back to San Francisco with me and Jane.
They both knew the guy who they caught a ride to get to Carmel and have a luncheon with Clint, had to make a quick return because he had to work that evening.
The other two guys wanted more of a timeout with Clint, hence, the three of us had full knowledge that our sleeping bags were needed in that makeshift garage slash--if one would call it that--and one of our wardens had pigtails.