Long Toddlers Poems
Long Toddlers Poems. Below are the most popular long Toddlers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Toddlers poems by poem length and keyword.
ONCE.......
Once when life was light
I dreamt of time-travelling and
Dwelling with stars
Once when my heart was boundless
I dreamt of adventures and discovering new worlds
Once when my mind was free
I dared to dream I was a princess or the best
Avenger fighter
Once when my soul was younger
I knew no sorrow's peak
Just scrapes that would be patched up by end of day
Now that my soul is here
It no longer imagines flying with butterflies
Now that my mind is here
It only dares to think of what may come tomorrow
Now that my heart is here
all it tries is to hide from sorrow
Now that life is a little older
The dreams are a little slower
Imagination looks no further than the reality of sight
The bird songs in the trees
The clouds up high in the sky
The imaginary friends of toddlers
The abundant stars that sparkle like diamonds
Still try to put a spark
Into this life that was once light
And a soul that once believed
Form:
Standing among the evergreens, hardwoods grow pale
Signaling the change—like a snakeskin shed in near perfect form,
On the forest floor, shadows and leaves, in infinite degrees of repose.
And for a season, before new sprouts, these giants stand firm. Majestically.
Naked. Silent. They wait upon the next season with the patience of a tree.
Strollers park haphazardly. New Moms huddle. Comparing notes, experiences. Challenges. A confluence of happiness, Joy, and misery—all of which love company. Swaddled infants garner garbled words, and smiles as they are passed, and silently inspected. And compared. Days turn to weeks, turn to months, turn to years. And Mom’s huddle. Babies grow into toddlers and teens, and the huddles continue, in new forms.
A teen cries as an overbearing father forgets his manners, in an effort to instruct. Profound influence and opportunity—lost in the emotion of the moment. Yet life goes on. And later, he shares his ability to be intimate with words of apology, that sooth with laughter and hugs. And on each trip, parents hold fast to faith, not fear, with prayers, trusting, hoping—as they wave good bye, and silently hope for safety.
Outside, rain beats hard against panes. Inside, a family gathers—hands held. Smiles muted. Conversations low, punctuated with hugs. She is present, but has been gone for a very long time. Old, feeble, with no memory of who we are, or why we’re here. Photos of smiles surround her, mostly for us. Gentle reminders of years now gone. Picnics, holidays, birthdays, and graduations. She is here in form, but she left long ago.
Life has purpose. It is a dance. A self-perpetuating movement. The stanzas in a poem. The chorus in a hit song. The tag line in a famous commercial—“where’s the Beef?” Life is seasons, and about making a mark. Leaving it better than we found it. Giving a legacy to the next in line. Loving large. Giving more than taking. Seeing all one can see. Having no regrets. Life is experiences tempered by the human emotions that make it all very tangible and worthwhile.
Life is Good. Life has purpose!
The fake isolation of the island insinuated the fostering of remnants;
remnants of religious fervor, close knit seafaring families, and rugged farmers;
remnants of power past and present.
A fog shrouded canvass awaits the onslaught of August revelry.
And, where widows walked the peeks of robber barons manses, the elementals now play.
Tomato red fire trucks ring the seaside green. Throngs of , oh so, polite W.A.S.P.S
and multicultural couples dot the lawn in precise groupings.
The squeal of stroller strapped toddlers echo across ocean
and down alleyways lined with painted ladies
Gay blades and saucy sisters saunter unharassed through the crowds of young families.
Prosperously retirees with salt and pepper hair in pink and green golf shirts line the porches
of the gingerbread homes ringing the green.
In the gazebo a brass band plays John Phillip Souza and closes by belting out
the American anthem, after dark, no flag wave, yet random patriots stand.
Their forms silhouette upon the gray fog like their intentions
mocking the holiday aire with their reminder of war….
those raging on in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan.
and fade with the crowds roar to “Sit down your blocking the view!”
And as the elite, and privileged meet and greet chatting in wonder over the multiple sightings
of airforce one choppers and past President Clinton.
The three times the worlds average wage is spent on FIREWORKS, frivolously,
for the entertainment of the richest citizens of the planet. God Blessed America.
Bundled in goose down like their feathered friends;
they plump outside for they've no wish to stay in;
they dive in the snow, the mundane to transcend.
Boys howl and they whistle and the girls defend
igloos of snow bricks with rosy cheeks and chins,
bundled in goose down like their feathered friends.
Small toddlers fall boom, make angels and pretend
that the snowflakes are food, as their silly faces grin;
they dive in the snow the mundane to transcend.
Snow geese honk and a large flock descends,
roaring with laughter the children rush in,
bundled in goose down like their feathered friends.
Mother lights the Christmas tree on the bend
and Father grabs a scarf and joins the din.
They dive in the snow, the mundane to transcend.
Snowballs zoom, as sisters and brothers contend
even the pooch prances (for of course he is kin).
Bundled in goose down like their feathered friends,
they dive in the snow the mundane to transcend.
People who tell it like it is
Are usually wrongfully targeted
People who tell the truth with ease
Are routinely are attacked or assassinated
The truth exposes the weaknesses of the oppressors
The truth empowers the victims who are weaker
The truth undresses the wicked and the haters
The truth gives hope to the civilians who are poorer
We live in a world of deceits, shootings, murders, and lies
We see the hardcore criminals on the news all the time
We witness daily the diverse bombings of babies, infants
Toddlers, teenagers, passerby, pregnant women and innocents
And we are tired of watching so much grime and crime
Indiscriminate killing of civilians is genocide
Hourly slaughtering of infants is genocide
Sporadic beating of teenagers is genocide
And arbitrary insulting of the elders is genocide
Democracy is dead. Justice is decapitated
Liberty is extinct and freedom is exterminated
International treaties and laws are violated
Words are shackled and tongues are slit and amputated
What kind of democracy is this?
What type of country is this?
The thieves rule, roam and run the streets and the valleys
Their planes bomb churches, hospitals, dams, pipes, rivers and bays
The truth brings fear to the cruel offenders
The truth upsets the cursed liars and the nefarious murderers
What kind of world is this?
What type of race is this?
Lions, tigers, hyenas and dogs are wondering and talking
About the human race which is supposed to be civilized
What a shame! War is genocidal and uncivilized
Violence beguiles more violence. The world is weeping
Because too many innocent civilians are dying
Too many murderous guns, too many deadly bullets
And it’s so discouraging that so many voters burn the ballots
Thank God that countless good People stand for the truth
The youth is scared. Ouch! They dropped another bomb. Ouch!
Copyright © November 2023, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Toys in the bloody
Dirty and occupied streets
Children are screaming.
Babies are cold dead
B 1 Planes are bombarding
Poor dead civilians!
Bloody streets
It is Hell on Earth
No Heaven.
Human beings
Are cruel and sinful
Genocide!
No Justice
No peace on poor Earth
And no love.
Dead babies
Premature angels
Where is God?
Hospitals
Many dead toddlers
And mothers.
United
Nations are guilty
Weak and poor.
Censorship
Journalists are muzzled
And killed.
Democrats
Please wake up right now
To exhale.
Jo cannot
Silence the good Poets
In action.
No conscience
No humanity
And no love.
Copyright © December 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Entertain a child,
And their minds will be with you.
Sing a song to a child,
And their focus stays on you.
Teach a child,
And you'll unlock the door to their imagination.
Read to a child,
And you’ll pave the way for their minds to wander and dream.
Introduce new shapes and colours to early learners,
And something awakens within them.
Present new letters and words to toddlers,
And their minds become ready to explore and discover.
Spend the summer outdoors with a child,
And they’ll see the beauty and splendour of the world.
A child remembers their toys;
They feel at home with them.
The world becomes a smaller place,
With its shadows no longer scary.
Its mysteries become a staircase to climb.
August 13, 2025.
Seem so simple, trivial, these books but aren't.
Firstly, humans are picture people. Always been so.
Young minds forming memory, cognition.
Before kids can read, they can conceive images.
Just not speech or actual words yet.
Feelings, however, do register.
And mirrors do stump babies for a while. Ever notice?
Toddlers do show some preferences in time.
So Granna, ever the observer, was clever
in making up still photo books for each grand.
Thoughtfully captioning each picture for later on.
The books are child size, four by six inches
with clear plastic sleeves for about two dozen photos.
At bedtime, new parents will patiently sit
and read these books to groggy children fighting sleep.
They look and turn pages as parents talk away.
Seeing themselves in photos, they jump. Point. Giggle.
Seeing cousins, uncles, aunts and far away friends
is all important in developing little egos.
Not able to read a single word,
they "pretend read", mumbling. Mimicking.
Memorizing images, refeeling the feelings.
Soon the grands will request the books.
Going over them again and again.
Remembering fun days, becoming part of the tribe.
Once Granna and Granda are gone,
only in the books they'll live on.
Reciting captions, sharing times, places, passed faces,
always carrying the feelings, the indelible conceptions.
Sometimes it elevates to look so very close in.
Gently falling back into moments
when dust has been whisked away by time.
When June emerges through its gentle rise
The cloak of sunshine bares an amber tint;
Glimmering on our lush fields, that reprise
A varnish of leaves, hued trees now imprint
Morn's luster as crystal rays spill anew
A dazzle, a blush like folks’ warm embrace
While toddlers hop and prance amidst sweet dew,
That frames of light imbue auroral grace :
How birdsong on boughs chirp in reverence
So effortless like this daybreak’s fresh array,
Till prayers bless a god’s omnipresence
Bestowing life in a heavenly way.
Magnificent the grandeur of dome's beam
Until it rests , hanging low yet agleam.
Your best sonnet for John Hamilton's Contest
Written 3/18/2018 : Repost 7/05/2018
If I could be a raft
I would gladly rescue you
If I could be a branch
I would float as close to you as I could
so that you could grab a hold of my buoyancy
If I were a rainbow I would shine
just so you
would feel hope
If I were a sparrow
I would lite upon the branch near
your window
If I were a Sunbeam
how I would shine down on you
If I were steel
I would be the girder of your house
to make it strong
I would be the walkway that never bends
and shows you exactly the way to go
and what to do
But if I ever was a pathway
I would always bend
If I could speak in a thousand tongues
I would speak to you in Latin
and French
and German
and Norwegian
speaking love in a thousand voices
And I would write
and sing songs
that no one has ever heard before
just to thrill you
If I could do anything
I would be something strange
but I guess I am
I would move waters to always be kind
and remind rivers to stay within their banks
and winds to always blow gently
I would kiss all of the toddlers
and rescue all of the children who are so hurt
I would reach my hand out to hold the hand
of everyone who's lonely
If only I could do anything I wanted to...
I would kiss you
but I can't
So I will dance in the rain that falls gently on my hill and be grateful
I cannot move mountains and I cannot quiet seas
But I can be grateful ...for all the beauty I see