Pram Poems | Examples

The Work Rotter

Spire insight of silence
Swotch and bind, conspiracy of mind
Conspire and self-protrude
Mindless matter of maddened hatter
Borne gall of uncongruent bladder
Reign wettened confections'n faux pas 
Pram embedded bedding of public propaganda 
And poised for prose 'dulted diaper thrown an' broiled'n a gutter
Homely homelessness in wake of deft arms 
Freshened refreshener and wetted choke 
Chugged and driven doomed deliverance 
Cut of word 'cross and lost'n devious drivings of work
Ticking tenor left fear to render
These haps to fall through ungloved metal and measly meak meal, and 
Coarse feel along rift ridged riverbays
Swept upon eons of words spurred affray
Sully gusts, and worry t'encrust
And collect the lost worker from astray.

Our molly

Sitting in a dim room I wait
I start to hesistate
Should I leave or should I stay
I feel like I'm only going to get in the way
Suddenly the door opens
And a man smiles
It's a girl he says
It was worth the while
Im going to be a father
Why was my mind playing would I rather
I'm so glad I stayed
I look at the little bundle of joy
Tell the wife I'm glad it's a girl even though I secretly wanted a boy
We named her molly
And put her in a little pram which had a brolly
We took her to our house
She was a quiet as a little mouse
She hardly cried
Even though she sometimes tried
We was never tired
Run ragged or wired
We were proud of our molly
As she grew up
We got her a little pup
She did acting and dancing
Was award winning
In our eyes
And to our surprise
She was older and getting married
Our molly was now a proud parent to a little girl
Our hearts did a giddy whirl
For our molly and her little girl pearl

Safety Claus

Dear Santa is in a dilemma 
And we're making our way through December 
His wish list is long 
And he's getting things wrong 
As he's finding it hard to remember. 

Last year, Julie got an action man 
Little Johnny got a Doll and pram 
Then little Tom 
Knew something was wrong 
When Santa never turned up as planned. 

So Rudolph is now taking the reins 
Hopefully things will certainly change 
Then the girls and boys 
Will receive the right toys 
Rather than the other way round.

Harvest Dreams

Windswept, the rows of leaves descent.
Bereft the bare of toppling dreamt.
The lamb of fluffiness gives clue.
A pram does shake with laughter coo.

The revenue of shapes and hues,
For heaven sweeps, creates such views.
Plush yards of harvest dreams full tilt.
Postcards of dawn or dusk and gilt.

Baby Jail

I intend on escaping

Devise a plan 

I cannot be kept 

By my mum, in this pram

Sliding out easy 

Her not knowing i can 

Feeling my freedom and Joy

As i ran 

sounds of my footsteps 

Echo and Bang 

Mum now behind me 

The chase has began

epigenic?

Epigenetics?

I don't understand, but I wonder how come
I dream and remember things that happened
before I was born
perhaps caused when I am in my pram lay
absorbed without knowing what
the adults were talking about
my great-grandfather was a famed baker 
who specialized in cakes and puddings 
he had his own business, which his son my
grandfather squandered
I was drawn to the catering business
I no longer dream of my sister or my brother
they died young and have disappeared into
mythology
My mother I remember with fondness and
sadness, a hard-working woman with fierce
political opinions.
In later years, she succumbed to drinking and
took little interest in things around her
Of my father, I remember nothing
like looking into a blank wall, as my mother
once remarked I looked like my father
and she bore a secret smile.
One ominous thing is alcohol has played
and cast dark shadows through several 
generations 
I have myself suffered from this soul-eating
illness, I overcome by living far away and
in my writing 
The addiction tendency is genetic 
"Neglect is the biggest disease."

Blink No 3

Jensen plays to the skinless drum
Ten chocolate soldiers melt down
by the campside
Platitudes of the night
crimson altar affairs preside

I have forgotten your face
wish i was a pram
under full moon
grateful to be the new born
like a newly hatched larvae

An urbane man chased by 
bedraggled beagles
Forget the rest
cruelty at its own behest
treads to grey

Further Seasons

A yummy mother with pram is walking
to west Dulwich from West Norwood
The blind lady walks under scaffold
the gyrating lumps of bolts
gerates her white stick
and your plimsole beggar man asks for a pious 50p piece
what he can buy Lord knows!
Your street preacher with only pigeons as an audience
conjures a better day
until the expected gales up lifting
the tiles as an erstwhile punishment
for repentance

Girl On the Tram

 

It was the early days of the electric tram,
the cars could hold twenty people only;
much less when there were mothers with a pram,
often, I saw people who looked quite lonely !

I was dressed up in my new frock and hat,
the reason for this trip was my birthday;
on the bench seating mom and auntie sat,
I stood as the tram would bounce and sway !

I loved watching the downtown scenes going by,
we (Mom and Auntie) were going shopping;
on this lovely, beautiful, sunny day in July,
oh, some of the things I saw were quite eye-popping ! 

I seldom had a chance to go downtown,
sometimes, the tram would slow down then speed up;
when we arrived I wanted to see all the stores around,
then, we would have tea served in a fancy cup !

A man holding a cute pup was not allowed on,
and an old man was stopped who looked real poor;
I paid the three cents so the old man could come-on,
the conductor said-  I was a nice girl and a real kind-doer !

Do Real Men Sit Down To Pee

How would you describe a real man
One with muscles uses bad language like damn
Well slap my knee
They sit down to pee
With his normal image of pushing a pram

Thereafter

Running out of road, windshield wipers are useless for tears
Close my eyes and count to… not yet! reaper hasn’t appeared 
Lights flashing across the dashboard, warning indications 
Speedometer reads a ton, don’t care for vindication 

Stripping back life 
for all to see 
The lake below 
reflecting me

Going over the escarpment, free falling through a cloud
Brakes I leave redundant, accelerator screams out loud 
Weightless grow my memories, the rear view mirror is bleak
Exterior one’s more streamlined, if a little oblique 

Dug my own hole 
admission’s free
Revealed the sin 
got the car key

Not much on the horizon, seen a few birds here and there 
Was playing around for a long time, now she’s gone elsewhere 
And our song’s on the radio, I’ll never hear it end
(Stairway to heaven) rifts in stasis, just as I transcend

Oblivion 
nihility 
A growing bump 
delivery 

Hey! who’s that smiling lady, pushing me along the street 
I look out from the pram, peekaboo! my heart skips a beat…

Accident That Spelt Ruin

I saw the woman
sprawled on the ground,
her legs askew beneath her.
She was alive but could not move,
obviously in a faint.
Right in front of her
a small pram
squeezed to a wall
pinned by a truck
that had hurtled
down the hill
hitting mother and child.
No sound came from the pram.
The driver knelt down.
He cried, oh how he cried.
Did he cry for the child he had killed?
For the mother who lost her treasure?
Or for the license, he was going to lose?
Only he could tell.
A family ruined.
No one thought of the husband
who lost his child
who found his wife injured,
all because of a reckless driver
who was late for work,
drove fast, painted a wall
with an innocent child's blood.
Did he have a late-night call?
A drinking binge?
A lass to love?
Whatever it was
a child's life was lost,
a family ruined.
Nothing could turn
the clock back.
The ambulance arrived.
So did the upholder of the law.
Nothing to do. We move forward.
It is our destiny.


A true story but it did not involve me.

Ginger Whinger

The Ginger Whinger’s  in despair,
Life’s not so easy being the spare,
Seeing succession prospects recede
As baldy brother continues to breed,
And the world seems so absurd
To go and take him at his word
When he says he wants a private life
To live in peace with his kids and wife 
Then gets them all in a fix 
By telling all there  onNetflix, 
Wonders why he gets such a public rocket
As he stuffs the cash into his back pocket.
I wonder how much longer it will be 
Til they tire of him the land of the free.
Will he expect the family to be forgiving
When he has to work for his own living
He had sympathy when he lost his mam
Then he tossed his toys out of the pram. 
The world of food banks doesn’t  really care
For the churlish  antics of a redundant spare.
It would really be a sad and pathetic thing 
To be  as bitter as his Uncle the late ex king
Or for his only value on this Earth
To be by the accident of his birth.

I Perceive Your Pain

own heart is sad when I perceive

The pallor of your face the dead brown leaves

Ive already walked the paths of loss

Jesus Christ we have been double crossed

I’ll look after you when you need touch.

Not of money, but in kindness rich

I will help you through that open door

I’ll hold your hand as I have done before.

I used to take you out when you were small.

I pushed your pram to

grandad’s up the hill

Going home in darkness I felt fear.

Where has Daddy gone,my mother dear?

I hate that you have got the same disease.

I hated God whom I had like to please

Sadness grips my empty heart today 



Kneeling on the floor what can I say

Irenes Pigeon Park

She used to tell me stories of the times when she would go,
Into the big, bold city, come the rain or shine or snow.
There never was a person, that took on the centre stage,
But pigeons feature in the tales that never made the page.

She used to walk her baby, wrapped up warm against the cold,
She pushed that pram with little arms, till baby grew too old.
She sat in silence on a bench and watched the day go by,
And took in all the beauty, in those hot chocolate brown eyes.

I wonder if she felt it, as she sat with words unsaid,
I think I would be lonely, if I led that life instead.
But she spoke very fondly, of the times with babe in tow,
When into pigeon park she’d wonder, rain or shine or snow.

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