Long Teething Poems
Long Teething Poems. Below are the most popular long Teething by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Teething poems by poem length and keyword.
Decay
Teething in dismay
What kind of world am I in …
What kind of useless tool…
Breaking…decaying
Fragmented lies
You crush me and grind me away
Like a tasteless joy
Gone
No decoy
Not able to accept
Who I am
Shredding me to bits
Because you can
Because something so small
Throws you off the edge
And baffles the beholder
I saw it begin to rot
But I didn’t want to believe it
What a cruel world I am in
Stuck in this selfish ache
Hate me
Go ahead, it’s ok
Because you’ll never understand me
And I don’t want you to
Because you cannot let things go
Everything has to be handed to you
So here are the reigns
Take them
Or throw them in my face
I’m never leaving you
You’re leaving me
It was always that way
Because no one can dwell in this world I live in
Such a simple world
With the most ruthless personalities
Banging at every closed door
Let it go
Can't you see something’s missing?
Watery eyes pour puppy chow into a bright and shiny new dish.
Tears alone most surely cannot amount to that of wonderful filtered water—this doesn't change the fact that I am outright crying—(please don't tell).
She named her Luna and I fell into puppy love.
This puppy, of only eight weeks old, is already the size of many full grown small breeds.
She's a Pit/Rot mix and I am in love with her.
I'm a bit of a softy, in general, but this particular animal is to die for.
She's too young yet to properly potty train.
We have found the back patio to be the early learning facility.
It has been working quite well as we have obviously been blessed with an above average intellectually gifted Luna girl.
Luna the tuna is the easiest rhyme and all the made up words to match are made of pure sugar, honey and love.
Do I recommend this particular breed of dog?
Well, I've only had her about 2 weeks now but my final answer is yes; definitely.
Maybe we just got lucky?
It is possible that my girlfriend is just that pet savvy that she just knew...
Being the man that I am, paying attention to nearly everything (I mean nothing), hopped into the car and she said, "Are you ready to go to P.A."?.
As if I had a choice.
Drive three hours to buy a dog we've yet to meet and pay $300.00 for..?
That's exactly how it took place.
On the ride back from acquiring our new companion, Luna and I snuggled up and I was and have since been in puppy love.
Most of the time.
They poop and pee and chew and nip and eat the nastiest things like their very own poop.
Bad breath is temporary as they work through their process of teething.
Luna-girl
This puppy that I somehow ended up being her dad.
Is the best thing that has happened to me for a while.
Luna is her name.
She is only 8weeks old.
We share a common bond that is simply described as . . .
Puppy Love
4/7/17
In a weightless state of tranquility,
paraphrasing relentless thoughts of motion
in my head into words, which 'til now
have laid dormant in unsung verse, waiting
for you to shine brightly upon them.
Freshly painted impressions mark
the beginning of halcyon days, where gulls
hover just above waves that barely
kiss the shoreline, burying tiny toes
beneath the coolness of wet beached sand.
To what shall we compare thee or can
your effulgent beauty be measured
by metered stanzas of verse taking form
on rice paper and egg shells so that the yolk
slips out draining lucent into the earth's core.
Your wisdom surveys the high seas,
coursing through cavernous veins that harbor
quietly in safety channels, as zephyrs
challenge moist underbrush among youthful
lips, blowing innocent kisses in playful semblance.
Oscines sway in sync beneath heaven's domain,
bathing in rays of sweet luminosity,
as sun-drenched fossils rise, reborn,
reclaiming their gaiety to shine unobstructed,
teething along crevasses of incandescence.
Embrace these Sun days, reflecting
on fireside chats and old storybooks,
reciting euphonious tales that burn mellow,
rising to greet the eyes of omnipotence
with chants of celestial song and dance.
And to this place we call rapture,
let wings of sober doctrine reveal
where grace resides within Sol's castle,
waiting for the children to come forth
with clasped hands in joyful unison.
Such days will greet warmth openly,
without hesitation, so the orbiting
star becomes ever more pliant,
allowing whatever name you choose
to objectify it, to stand always...
Bright, within itself.
the struggle within
seems never ending
ego urges spiralling
addictive hypnotic spin
encased in mind body
we identify with its desires
gluey attachments mire
attention in thoughts shoddy
there are two contestants
left hand corner lust brothel
right hand stands love temple
referee free will innocent
no excuse as we choose
resonation with any vibration
perilous is ego association
for both gander and goose
when we get to this knowing
domain external ephemeral
internal joy of heart eternal
we feel love within blossoming
there is no shame in indulgence
earth life is a hard school
teething children tend to drool
in time we align with conscience
over time the false falls away
we rest in the void of silence
divine entwined in bliss parlance
our attention ceasing to sway
15-February-2021
Dear Shari Todd – written July 29, 2015
While rifling thru outdated writing,
which virtual thumbing
wrought non deadly chancre “FAKE” blister
(long thee envy o' this wordy mister
a reference to mine youngest sister
prior tuff fall lout dynamic
emotional frenzied analogous
rapacious seditious tempestuous twister)
Tis hospitality of yar behalf
to league gal lee
tender our lovely daughter
begat in part by meself,
whose punctured psyche doth chaff
at mine severe prepubescent short comings,
which trajectory of teen years,
a downward line on spiro (Agnew) graph
which deprivations well nigh
finds a civil war raging
against one half of ma being
(Oh Henry), a Harris son,
who these days genuinely
tries his Level best
at lighter side of life to laugh
comedy of errors, boot
haunting visions visit Twelfth Night
figuratively brow beat
like an unseen dis staff.
glad that Shana (thee darling daughter
afflicted with cognitive development
entailing homebased intervention) wince
she blossomed into
a beautiful young lady,
now under Dunning aegis (bonanza) since
emotionally stable, and quiet
on western (Bend,
Oregon) front, rinse
sing with yar incredible credit karma,
her existence Quince
sud dental (juiced teething),
living with papa,
would mount to a travesty,
sham, mockery...if superficial
only perp pull reigning “FAKE” Prince
likely to barrel within
outward bound mince
meted MainLiners along here
built “mini mansion” homes
NOT bedecked with chintz
at 724 west railroad avenue
(previous address of this bummer)
anyway, should ill fate befall
like an overstuffed blintz
if this king Lear Rick Hill
wannabe meets fatal doom,
thy "mother abby" would
get panic stricken (rue...
These vast plains of steadfast savannahs
Haunt me joyfully with the silent hissing tune
Of the setting sun, smiling at the
Sashaying clouds of low skies, and ogling select woods.
The earth is brown here (snuff-brown, I insist),
And with the courage of humble humus soil
Into whose fecund wombs the fattest disciples of yam —
Each tuber a testimony to nutritious creation —are nursed.
Need I guess correctly the mating time of sorghum — in the rains
Or in droughts?
Millets keep decent trysts with their kind,
Aping the pullulation of scattered corn, tomatoes and cactus,
And peripatetic weeds, and all other refractory modules of tillage.
Anointing breeze is wafted by the league of seasons,
The illustration of grazing cattle, and singed
Hirsute peaks of knolls near totems hoisted by
Ancestral masters —on foot and on teething caravans.
The pasture, gold-trimmed, reaches the edge of the world,
And glitters with the power of mirage.
Within you, you belabour the point of nostalgia for mind’s
Aging peace fluttering in the distance, a faint, glistening ray greasing
The elbows of noontime.
Large, mourning boulders jilted by jealous streams serve as tour guides,
Deflecting pirouetting spectrums that harass the eyes as you ascend northwards . . . .
Welcome, Rover!
This is Northern Nigeria,
The foothill of God.
Words_ in my garden@ the edge of thorns.
Population cultivation of shrapneled bones.
My thoughts, mine, alone.
My as she helixed the change
of elixired kool aid and iced earth,
Ayahuasca tea to drink under the crystal sun;
To be or not to be undone.
Dangled as a charm over my eyes,
walled popularity,
that rivit ring resurrection machine gun
@A rising force of risen suns,
from the sea of emptiness
@circlet chain fire testing this blue toothed,
teething proofs of brainwashing that is being done.
Cutting me tooths on techlobotomy future suturies,
filling with bad blood,
of milk undone into channels of soured diversities.
Blasphemies abreast of Bathory, Borden,
Mystopheles.
Metaspinions on bile for birth of strange aeons and late night gerd.
Storied olde.
Waking death, rebirth, federation,
mental masturbation, folly, jolly rogered
as if it depends on.
A friend, so I have heard,
fair weather turns cold.
Eight word challenge-Black Bears Hunt
1.Crystal 2.Gloaming 3.Frosted 4. Forevermore 5. Pathos 6. Valiant 7. Melancholy 8. Unpredictable
Big black bears chasing after me, reds in their eyes a pathos reminder
of their subsistence. Their teething valiant. I see whites and a long pink
tongue. Gulp.
Oh how I wished I didn't pitch my tent on their banks of food, now my melancholy, and now their fool dressed up as a salmon. The river bred unpredictable someone once told me, and I laughed then. If they only could see me now. A salmon arriving at his Last Supper, Smokey's really, beads of sweat crystal from my face, like waterfalls of words to a final prayer. My lasting breath stretches their hunger. I pucker fish like, fish lips, pantomime "oh how wished I'm not a keeper." I could swear I heard Smokey laugh you're a keeper.
Forevermore, sooner than hoped, the hush of the forest is disrupted. Birds scatter towards the gloaming skies. Tall oaks shake and cry. My frosted hopes
melted. My eyes seeing red skies and then black bears for the last time.
connie pachecho
8/10/17
I am taking care of my 11-month-old grandson. I love every-minute and he's stolen my heart. I've seen the growth within him with lots of love and affection he gets. He is crawling and into everything. I never realized how many things needed for this small infant.
Car seat or they won't let you leave the hospital without one
As many diapers as you think you'll need
Diaper bag that handles everything you need on the go
Baby changing table, diaper change as quick as you can they get pretty squirmy
Wipes for their sensitive skin
Diaper rash ointment relieves baby's painful rash
Grocery store plastic bags, fantastic for disposing all those stinky diapers
Baby bath tub, there is such a sweet smell of a freshly bathed baby
No tears baby soap
Washcloths
Baby bath towels hooded or non-hooded
Sleepers with buttons and snaps, they are so much easier to put on
Swaddle or baby blankets, wrapped snug arms from wiggling free
Nail clippers, he loves scratching the back of my arms and face
Baby brush
Baby comb
Thermometer
Baby clothes, they'll grow out of it so fast
Socks
Shoes
Bottles
Formula or milk for hungry
Bottle brush
Baby teething ring to relieve sore gums
Baby binkis it tends to calm them when they are not feeding
Baby dishes
Baby spoon
Variety of baby food and cereal
Juices
Highchair
Bibs
A rocking chair to rock and kiss them good night.
Bassinet or Crib
Crib sheets
Toys, age appropriate for learning
Baby walker, fantastic to keep them busy for a little while
Stroller, a must when you walk or shop
Baby proof your whole house, once they start crawling, they are into everything
Camera, time goes so fast you'll want to remember it all.
7/29/2019
A dream worth living for
Born in the image of an unspoiled soul
Newborn stretches it's small limbs
Hungers, cries, crawls, and walks
A new peaceful dawn, a new world unfurled
5/14/2019
Poetry Contest: Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
two mice
in my room
at night
gnawing as
if a clock
one from my
bed to the
left and the
other to
the right
they exude the
illusion of time
getting past
every trap and
so their rasping
dentures
on wood
one the second
the other the
minute hand
and so they carry
on carrying on all
hours of the night
as if they want me
to once again set
the traps for the
exact reason of
being to be able
to smell and maybe
take the chance to
taste peanut butter
other then wooden
floor boards or
boring wine corks
that surely have
corked by now
yet now the day
and a day of
silence for
storing
their energy they
will nightmarishly
keep me awake
tonight as only
they see as no
light so their
stirring life
begins and
again the
gnawing
this ain't no
metephore
because my
wife i met her for
a reason
and these
mice are
just
teething
but teasing
but they
should've
listened to
the crickets
before eating
them because
that'll be the
day before i
cry but that'll
be the day
before
i die
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