Kids Quatern Poems | Examples
These Kids Quatern poems are examples of Quatern poems about Kids. These are the best examples of Quatern Kids poems written by international poets.
Ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Fanning breath stirs the heavily laden;
transforms and redraws like playful charades,
prepping, and grooming, all the misshapen.
A pastor's mural paints pure from trespass,
ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Prismatic design grounds tell-tale stained glass
and forest steeples are Redwood's crusades.
Kids taking the plunge, multihued cascades,
succumb to trampling and crushing horseplay.
Ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades,
the bejeweled waits: Sunday's white bouquet.
Awe striking vista blessing amble eyes,
bounteous nostalgia praising persuades.
Peace thine harmonious artwork baptize,
ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Hints of Autumn are so subtle:
like ripe crops awaiting harvest.
And nights darkening earlier,
after the dog days of August.
Fall seems to arrive overnight:
hints of Autumn are so subtle,
Like pumpkins turning bright orange
under leaves of emerald green.
And trees that start changing colors;
even though October's far off.
Hints of Autumn are so subtle:
like the kids heading back to school.
And other subliminal signs;
like honking geese migrating south.
Although Fall's extraordinary,
hints of Autumn are so subtle.
Some kids are dreading going back to school
They fear running into those who bullied them
Anxiety is heightened by puberty’s demands,
The feeling that no adult really understands.
While many are excited getting back to friends
Some kids are dreading going back to school,
Facing pressures from the unfamiliar routines
Such is the lot of today’s technical-savvy teens.
Feeling threatened in once a safe environment
Bludgeoned with peer pressure and new rules,
Some kids are dreading going back to school,
Concerned someone might label them a fool.
Not knowing exactly whom they can trust
Hoping to make a friend, someone to talk to
Who’ll have their back, who is incredibly cool,
Some kids are dreading going back to school.
Written August 1, 2022
Hey, I am feeling
Yes feeling little
Grumpy bumpy
Bumpy-bumpy.
I am sounding
Silly very silly
In this heated
Valley sweated.
Timid horns
On my head
Blowing headlights
Grooming helmets.
This is weird
I am a humming bird
Sounding nasty grumpy
bumpy-bumpy-bumpy.
Rohan Dhabade
Does anybody truly care
that the world is falling apart?
And kids are shot and killed in schools
by other children, toting guns.
Politicians are liars, yet
does anybody truly care?
And yet, climate change ravages our
overpopulated planet.
While human interactions wane,
kids connect on the World Wide Web.
Does anybody truly care
that social skills aren't progressing?
The future forecasts droughts and plagues
yet, no one seems to be concerned.
And if humanity dies off;
does anybody truly care?
We are proud of our ancestors;
It is a mistake on their parts
not telling kids past incidents;
We will not commit same mistakes.
No respect for their ancestors;
We are proud of our ancestors;
They do not tell simple stories
in bed time they tell ghost stories.
Silly, do not have own stories;
Kids are told only ghost stories.
We are proud of our ancestors;
We tell own stories to our kids.
We have rich tradition to share,
have respect for predecessor
Swollen with our pride being ghosts.
We are proud of our ancestors.
You ask why? Because I said so!
Ever hear that when you were young?
Dad answered that way when he’s mad
And he did it with a sharp tongue
Why do I have to do that now?
You ask why? Because I said so!
Of what value is that response?
If you explain; then they’ll know
I became a lot like my folks
So when challenged by my daughters
You ask why? Because I said so!
I know those are stupid orders
My kids now have kids of their own
And they explains thing as they go
I’ve never heard one of them say
You ask why? Because I said so!
Darkness, the day she went away,
perpetual rain claimed his heart.
“Hope” her prognosis didn’t sway;
misty mournings, being apart.
His reason for being she was.
Darkness, the day she went away,
his fragile heart came to a pause.
Erased were hopes for one more day.
Laughter he heard from kids at play;
their joy could not revive his dream.
Darkness, the day she went away,
he recalled hearing seagulls scream.
He looked to heaven, asking why
there was naught he could do or say.
Tears still fell as sunset drew nigh;
darkness, the day she went away.
In this father’s mind, there is no other kind
Of noises that so resemble love
As the sounds that come from there, atop of the stairs
The patter of footsteps from above.
They’re scurrying about, the youngest one will shout
His sister just gave him a shove
Then she’ll plead her case, “Dad, he’s in my face”,
The patter of footsteps from above.
I know that one day, those noises will fade,
The patter of footsteps from above,
As the children grow old and their future is told,
And they vacate the nest like a dove.
But one day it’ll be back, from their own kids in fact,
The patter of footsteps from above,
When they come see granddad, and again I’ll be glad,
To hear those sounds I love coming from above.