Pan Poems | Examples

List of Member Poems

Peter Pan

A crisp, cold morning in Hyde Park, 
and he is waiting for his date. 
As joggers jog and poodles bark, 
the girl's unconscionably late. 

He paces London's crocused heart, 
as traffic booms in Piccadilly: 
he's practicing that English art 
of seeming calm, while feeling silly. 

One final tryst beside the lake, 
in front of the Eternal Boy: 
a parting kiss, for old times' sake ... 
she's stood him up? Or playing coy? 

The hotel clerk purrs sympathy 
when summoned on the mobile phone. 
By now, she'll be in Duty Free. 
Well, there it is. This Bird Has Flown. 

He tries to feign the jaunty airs 
of a striped suit on a sandwich sortie, 
but doing drily debonaire's 
not easy when you're fat and forty. 

He tramps the lonely, flat green mile 
to Green Park Tube's unlovely portal, 
but perks up with a cheeky smile - 
well, for a week he was immortal!

Premium Member Get your pan ready

Unriddle this riddle before me
questions thrown helter skelter in the air
~ making an omelet from the medley



Wordku: 5-7-5 words

AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Pan

Pan

Oh to be able to fly again
To throw all caution to the wind

To run jump laugh and play 
I’d give my soul for one more day

It’s hard to leave childhood behind
Growing old is so unkind

Precious moments fade so fast
And big adventures never last

So come with me take my hand
We’ll search the stars for Neverland

Oh to able to fly again

Forever a lost boy


Premium Member The Seed of Fear Peter Pan

Peter came at half-past three,
Tapping sharply from an apple tree.
“Wendy, Michael, and John, too—
Come and fly; the stars want you.”

Out of the window, hand in hand,
The trio swept above the land.
Their mother's sobs fell away behind.
Another bedtime story she can't unwind.

In Neverland, the sky can't change.
The moon is weird, the sun is strange.
No one grows, and no one there cries—
Every ache for going home soon dies.

Boys and girls forget their names.
Their socks, friends and favorite games.
A mother’s hug, a father’s last song—
Memories dim when you stay too long.

Peter laughs and flies high in midair,
But something empty lingers there.
He doesn’t know what he has lost—
Never growing up, comes at a cost.

Wendy whispered, “We must go!".
"For I've lost my shadow.”
Peter waved and turned away—
Still chasing ghosts of yesterday.

So if you hear a tap-tap one night,
Find your window bathed in light,
Roll over, hide, and stay in bed—
Forget Neverland, sleep on instead.

AS LONG AS THE WIND STILL BLOWS

As long as the wind still blows
His words will still reecho
In the dreams we forget when we wake
In the thoughts that dip and surface.

"Africa must unite
We have the resources
We have the manpower
Only unity remains"

These words will fly with the Monsoon
Across the plains of South Sudan, Cameroon
Climb the hills of DR Congo, walk the lonely deserts of Libya
Drift through the woods of Mozambique, through Ethiopia’s.

They will reecho in Somalia’s savannah
Breathe through the Sahel, Nigeria’s deep oil fields
Flow with the Yenge River of Sierra Leone
Until we hold them close, and call them our own.

And maybe then, in silent knowing
We’ll find the meaning we kept postponing.

THE CITY OF SIRTE

She rose from the sand like a favoured child
Cradled by waves and draped with oil.
A city birthed from
A legacy carved to outlive time.

She wore power like a velvet robe
Gracefully hosting the continent’s hopes
Summits held with unifying dreams
From Egypt’s dunes to Sierra Leone’s seas.

But now she lies in shattered grace
Her golden roads frayed like worn-out thread.
Glass-built homes still raise their flags
Though windows are gone, and doors hang dead.

O Sirte, once a privilege town
Now carry the weight of broken stones
once a breath of fresh air
Now buried in ruins, silent and alone.


ANOTHER WAY

We've painted unity on beach sand
hung hope on mangrove branches
one wave & it all washed away.

We've built summits from dust and debt
made promises we can’t even explain
while huge walls still rise between us.

Speeches thunder & then fade to silence.
Hope passes hands like counterfeit.
Even our chiefs wear suits now.

Freedom feels outsourced again.
We've tried everything they named.
So what haven’t we named yet?

Maybe it’s time we stop asking them.
Maybe it’s time we speak in our own name.

Premium Member The Tin Pan of Woe

The eating of pie before dinner,
It isn’t on point to get thinner.
It’s best to let go
That tin pan of woe,
And be a calorical winner.

The Pan Flute Part 2

Psyche went to Eros
to speak.
He tried to gain her attention but she refused to
look at him.
She told him Titan disrupted Poseidon's plans
by sending a large wave to Oceania. The people there
stood on the shores
with the faith that the fishes would land at there
feet and ther need for food would
be quenched. All survived and they took the fish
to be pickled and brimed.
Psyche told Eros
that Zeus wished him to destroy
the vats of netar and
dump them into
the ravines of Hornorely(unknown place)
Eros looked at the woman
and told her, " that if she was
smittened by him: she wouldn't speak foul of love."
Feeling he had wondered off subject she turned to him
and saw his face.
She feel in love with him and they married. When she found she was pregant she made him immoral. He used his
powers to dump the nectars in the sea. He built a place for the people he had
ghelp create to study art and music and create wagons and raises goats and horses.
Zues blessed him with land and gold.

Premium Member A Limerick-Composing Old Man

A limerick-composing old man
Devised a most devious plan.
Rejecting convention,
I fear I must mention,
He fried all his verse in a pan.

Premium Member legend of Pan Gu

Chinese myth is about Pan Gu
First god who kept Yin-Yang true
Earth was made of Pa Gu’s prone corpse
His eyes became the sun and moon of course

His blood formed the rivers, all thousand and three
Sparse hair grew into China’s plants and trees
This god as much a legend as Greeks and Romans claim
Chinese god, Pan Gu is his mighty name

My Country People

I am a beacon of light for my homeland. My quaint village, serene yet vibrant, is a haven of peace. The youth, with their carefree spirit, fill the air with laughter and song, unbothered by the world beyond. Even the birds know to respect the tranquility of our lives.
From the winding road that leads to the bustling city, the countryside remains unchanged. I love to gaze out and let my thoughts wander as I speed by in the fast-moving vans. My people, ever resilient, continue to drink from the well of life and mind their own business.
Today marks what would have been my late mother's 94th birthday. She was one of my favorite people, a true embodiment of our country's spirit. Rest in peace, dear mother.
With Christmas just twelve days away, I look forward to blending once again with my countrymen, like a well-orchestrated steel band. From New York to the Caribbean shores, no holiday celebration is complete without the melodious sound of the steel pan in Queen Park.
Whether we cry in a storm or dance in the rain, this time of year celebrates life and honors those we've lost. I am a ray of sunshine for my country's people. Merry Christmas, my beloved homeland.

SIERRA LEONE KNOWS!

When dark shadows of war fell
And cries of anguish rang like bells
Streets stained, the skies of Sierra Leone torn
The hope of this nation was lost and gone.

Through those dark clouds, a light arose
A force for peace, worries deposed
ECOMOG came with a mission crystal as clear
To drive away the reign of fear.

Through jungle paths and smelly streets
They battled on, defying defeat
With every step and with every stand
They stitched together a broken land

This is the power of unity, you see—  
An African brother lifting another free.  
One finger alone can't lift a stone;  
It takes a union to build a home.

Pan

If the van is ninety-nine years old; let the passengers think 
   over it again.

Alice And Peter Pan

Alice held flowers in her hand, 
So huge were they, 'twas tough to stand, 
She collected them all herself, 
The bouquet was for her bookshelf, 
Walking with them proved so tricky, 
Her hands hurt and they were sticky, 
She didn't see where she was going, 
Her steps they were slowly slowing, 
Peter Pan saw her and he smiled, 
He knew how to get her all riled, 
He bumped into Alice, she fell, 
A shower of flowers and well, 
Alice, with Peter was angry, 
Asked him to pick 'em up for free, 
Peter Pan did as told by her, 
For he was scared of her anger, 
He went till her house holding them, 
My, they were huge with their big stem, 
Alice was happy, her job done, 
She hugged Peter and made him run. 



Picture #2

Sub Categories

Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace