Kids Poets Poems | Examples
These Kids Poets poems are examples of Poets poems about Kids. These are the best examples of Poets Kids poems written by international poets.
Scalpel, pencil, wisdom’s light
Call to action, call to fight
Shake them folks from comatose
Thoughts collected, verse composed
Tribute pay to something good
And accuse someone no-good
Speak to kids you don’t yet got
Stake a claim to novel thought
Love professed for all to see
Build the bonds of “he and she”
Pass the smiles all around
Winter, summer, year-round
Pour the soul that hurts and bleeds
Yours confess regrets and deeds
Talk to God in mighty voice
Written word becomes life’s choice
Culture needs poetic soil
Call for peace or stir turmoil
Verse is much like butterfly
Ups your spirit to blue sky
Simple, silly or complex
Rhymed words command respects
Write a verse and have a ball
Poetry is higher call
Jan 30, 2025
Quote By Poet: "Don't Let Books or Poems Become A Thing Of The Past."
A bookstore I can not pass up,
I need a new book I can read close-up.
Books and writing are my hobby,
even about a dead body.
My books come alive,
when a reader gives it a high-five.
It is great to hear kids say,
I love to color your big blue jay.
Now with eight books to my name,
life has not been the same.
I wish I had more time,
then I could make more of a rhyme.
Red blood courses through my veins
I've written my will, I pay my bills
The currents of the day reach me too
I am a poet, not a hermit
At the sight of blood, I do not swoon
Nor do I ever sleep in 'til noon'
I'm a hardworking, fun-loving bloke
who appreciates a cold beer and a good joke
Married with kids, I encourage them in
math and science, for that is the future
Better that they can program computers
than study Latin and Greek with a private tutor
I am a poet, not a recluse
I have morals and values, I'm not 'loose'
I want my kids to pilot jets, not sit in a caboose
to be proud descendants of Theodore Gisell*
~ not Dr. Suess
________________________________________
'Dr. Suess' was Theodore Gisell's pen name. A
graduate of Dartmouth College in the 1920's, Gi-
sell was a man of action and adventure. Among
other gigs, he reported on WW2 as an embedded
reporter in the trenches with the troops. ~ gw
So many more. Just a sampling of favorites, per contest instructions.
For each poet I have included a sampling of titles in parentheses.
THREE OF MY FAVORITES
Gershon Wolf
Gershon lands me in stitches.
In his wise and funny hands,
I can’t help but smile or laugh.
A grin happens, belly twitches.
(Sex Sells, War is Hell; Tingles, Twitches, Creaks;
Scant Solace in the Solstice, Old Bessie)
Caron Krutsinger
Caron carries me to Wonderland.
Her muse and faeries’ mischievous.
Earthbound - school, kids and pets.
Her quaint stories, written offhand.
(Sleeping Elfin Baby, Santa Puppy Begs for Bones,
Unicorn with the Rainbow Tail, Fluffy Fat Robin)
Evelyn Judy Buehler
Evelyn’s poems’ immersed in hues.
An imagistic touch of stirring magic.
God will gift her with eternal colors -
Not one of them, she will refuse.
(Clashing Colors, Scarlet Noon, Green Door, Moonlight Blue)
12/30/2022
Who is your best PS poet or poetess Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Take thine quill,
and with it write,
countless tales,
in black and white.
Tales of lost kids.
far from home,
feathered monsters,
dwarfs and gnomes.
Star-crossed lovers,
ill-gotten fate,
war torn kingdoms,
fuelled by hate.
So why then I,
quill firm in hand,
find my thoughts,
among the sand.
But truth be known,
the poets' lark,
does often sing,
when all is dark.
10.18.2022
WHAT ABOUT WOLFS
shel silverstein: a bit childish, his giving tree my kids remember, though its parts were dismembered as it gave to the bitter end of life.
ogden nash: well, he gives us moo and milk, until the utter end, short and brief. reminds us of the soup’s - wolf.
wendy cope: born in kent in the london broil (ahem…borough) of bexley. things are going clunk and your face has too much gunk, a hoarder with thirty years of junk and especially she doth remind us don’t answer email when you're drunk.
william james collins: a hoot, billy! only child, born in manhattan, dear old dad worked on wall street. a poet laureate’s big recital on two poems about what dogs think (probably) - what about wolfs?
gershon wolf: he’s flower power-ful in his jest. for example - hippies pulled the triggers and out came flowers. though other comedic poets might create a chuckle, gershon always makes us smile.
7/21/2022
to Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen
The common man gets up in the morning
To work in. order to feed his family,
The common man struggles to make ends meet
Not letting his family go hungry,
The common man prays for his family daily
From any hurt harm or danger
That's what the common man does.
The common loves his wife and kids,
Holding things together everyday.
The common man works sunrise to sunset
Does what he can in every way.
The common man is peaceable to his fellow man
Not in war with his neighbor
Being the kind of man who loves----
Yeah, that's what the common man does.
The common man believes in God
And all His wondrous things He do,
Prays with his family daily
He tries to be true,
True to his family and his God
That's common man as you see
And that's what he does.
Now that you know what is a common man,
And what a common man does and do,
I guess you can see my point of view
Then clearly understand
About the common man.
In case you haven't seen one
Look around and take a good look----
And you'll surely fine and understood
The common man and his purpose
Yes that's what the common man does.
I don’t have ideas she told me. Ha! I scoffed. You do.
Like baby tigers, they are waiting to be released.
But I don’t have any time, she argued.
While you are in the car waiting for your kids?
Ten minutes here, six minutes there,
Pretty soon, you have an hour’s worth of thoughts
I am not clever, she told me.
You don’t have to be, I encouraged her.
You can be morose or sad or depressed.
Writing can be gargoyles and slugs, it can be devils.
It can bite your readers in their cheek bones.
All you have to do is write a word or two.
To begin.
Just one word really.
I always wanted to write when I was younger, she said.
But now, it’s too late. I am too old, too fat, too angry.
Anger makes great poetry, I said. Throw some angry words down.
Let them snarl and snap and ooze around in a syrup like rage.
She stared at me. I cannot write like you can, she told me.
No, I agreed, but I cannot write like you can either.
Just pick up a pen and begin.
I don’t have any ideas, she argued.
And frankly, I did not have any more time to waste….
Fell asleep, drooled ink on my pillowsheet.
Would this wise and wondrous dream be complete
by moonlight or dawn?
Fright! Look at my lawn!
O joy — my muse launched out all toilet sheets.
What a pandemic nightmare, verses span
from house to house, a neighborly can-can.
Should be holiday lights,
verbage that’s out of sight,
a spread of snow — not a Poe-sy afghan.
Hiding the evidence, wiping my hand,
but ink is witty and gritty like sand.
I find I can’t erase
what’s written on my face.
Second best, I smile as if it was planned.
Neighbors are horrified — shielding their kids,
holding them close, shushing, closing their lids.
But little monsters join in,
papering words for a win.
Poets will be poets, kids will be kids.
11/25/2020
How do you begin to write a poem for the poets?
A poem for the people passing through life unnoticed
A poem for fellow soldiers fighting a common war
A poem for the shy souls feeling fear at its core.
How do you proceed to pen poetry for such dreamers?
Pieces of peace for elaborate existential overthinkers
A poem for the ever labelled eternal "benchwarmers"
A poem for the kids awake late in their room corners.
How does one find the words to paraphrase such beings?
Creatures with purpose no less than you and me
Vigilantes masked in facades they choose to dawn
Caped in hidden colours as through life they carry on
With tokens of structured syllables they serenade the mind
For whether we know it or not, our thoughts long for rhyme
So in the rhythm of similar sonnets once played from David's harp
I write this poem about you; another poet at heart.
Trifling juvenile players harping silly tunes
Guns and bling-bling, fake love and stuff like that
I'm no candy man, never been, but I know this
You will need to cut back on the crap
Or we will forever hear your lives going drip-drip
All over a collection of nick-knacks, I'll be damned
A finger snaps and the so-called snitch screams
In between sobs he hopes this in just a bad dream
Fake soldier takes a puff from the cancer stick
And draws a heart of smoke in the air
This, he says, waving pistol for emphasis
Is what happens when you go telling on a gangster
And the lost lieutenants nod their noggins
Some gang-banger somewhere is reloading
At the station a sergeant fancies himself a swiffer
Appointed by his conscience to make the streets cleaner
You kids are swift but the arm of the law is swifter
So play your lame game and watch him work his cleaver
Too many people think violence is a love song
But the moment you think you got it you're wrong
Go figure. This is not about pointing fingers
But a sense of ominous foreboding lingers
This is a dedication to the greatest rapper of all time
The one with the NY state of mine
He released his debut album in 1994
I was 2 years old, But Hip-Hop had never heard an album this amazing before
It is considered to be the greatest Hip-Hop album of all time
Personally I prefer It was written, he's the man who told me, no idea's original there's nothing new under the sun
He rapped a story in reverse, and also told a story about a gun
He's taught me more life lessons than any teacher could
Told me I can, he's one of the reasons, Hip-Hop is the music I love
In 2006 he said Hip-Hop was dead, in 2010 he made a collab album with Damian Marley
Some kids won't like him, because he doesn't make music for parties
He's the rapper who needs one mic
He's better than every rapper living and every rapper who died
He said the world is yours, but we all know Hip-Hop belongs to him
He always creates something magical when he touches the pen
This is my tribute to the greatest rapper of all time
Nas the one with the NY state of mind
You won't understand this if you don't listen to Hip-Hop music
But Nas is the greatest to ever do it
The streets have become lonely
Days have gone quieter
Gone are the days when kids would play until dusk
With joyful sounds that rejoiced their mothers and fathers
Distancing themselves from substance abuse.
Our generation is lost
Our schools have been abandoned
Our homes are desolate
Substance abuse rules our nation.
We weep for the future is dark and dull
Dreams and hopes have been murdered
Buried by the blood intoxicated with drugs
While veins pulsate with alcohol.
Young lives are shuttered
Young lives are gone
Our generation is lost
Our nation perishes
Thank you substañce abuse, surely you are proud.
You Live Where Your Heart Lives
As I listened to my favourite instrumental music
Its frequencies sunk me into deep calmness
Wistfully I looked out of the window
To see the morning sun piercing through the
The leafless pruned fruit trees
Which brushed my face with hope
My thoughts travelled to our daughters living ashore
Summer vacations were a few months away
And the desires surged as the delta waves
For speedy flights to our loving daughters for
They had unlocked the doors of their new abodes
Uncontrollable desires arose to bless their homes and kids
I paused and prayed to the benevolent gods
To listen to the rhythm of my writhing soul
My heartbeats went asunder building bridges to them
The binaural wave sounds uplifted my sagging spirits
Kabir's words of wisdom flashed and brought a smile
'You travel with the heart, you live where your heart lives'.
*Three Hour Meditation Music by Brainwave Power Music was being played in the background as I penned wistful thoughts.
* Kabir is a 15th century Indian mystic poet and saint
February 8, 2016
Contest: Solitary Moments
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
among such hunger
such an enchanted smile beams
amidst the kids, she
.