Kids Rhyme Poems | Examples
These Kids Rhyme poems are examples of Rhyme poems about Kids. These are the best examples of Rhyme Kids poems written by international poets.
A tisket ,a tasket
Kirk's cased in his casket
This earth no more walking
All from his straight talking
Drove Tyler Robinson
To fire one shot from his gun
That produced his silence
Leading to more violence
Never a solution
Rather revolution.
A wife of husband bereft
Two kids fatherless left
The Second Amendment
Was never heaven sent
With the grim widowmaker
No more than a lifetaker.
Is that to be the future
Bullets us to butcher?
Flying past the hillsides,
flying pat the bays,
flying past the cabin
where I might just like to say.
Flying past the tall trees,
branches scrape my feet,
’tis the finest jetpack
you can buy with money.
Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.
Flying through the cities,
over the suburbs,
flying past the park where
kids by swings wait their turn.
Flying over mountains,
past the birds of prey,
the eagles give strange looks
then dive out of my way!
Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.
Oh, free flying,
so high and free,
I wish you had
a jetpack like me.
If I had cash
I’d buy you one,
we’d soar up high
and have too much fun!
Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.
College Before Family, 1982
My pen just writes
My dog just bites
My wife just fights
And I just might
Decide everything’s alright.
Empty Nest, 2025
Life didn’t quite yield that plight
Because the pen barely writes
The pups play fight
The kids had height
Were polite
And actually bright
The wife’s a delight
Most days and nights
My life might be trite,
And I’m good with this slight rewrite.
Dezi Freeman we are told killed two police
Wounded another, disturbing much peace'
Took a woman hostage and three kids
Message from the media, who from the police
Get their bits.' Meanwhile they hold Mali and
Consider her charging.yet she was not a hostage and where
It was said.' Not really clarity enlarging, how were
The kids treated after a fearfull experience' just thinking it through
Dezi was taking Andrews ex- state premier to
The law court.' He's an lgbt advocate? Of some
Sort..Rumours of child abuse historical they say'
Is Andrews extra squeeky clean.? He's been
Around anyway..Didn't he have a collision a young
Boy on a bike, reported 45 minutes later, drove off
Then back.? So some claim.' And that they do not
Like' will Mali be able to keep the children? Ir have
There been subtle threats? Comply or they'll be taken? I wonder what will come out next.?
The silent kiss can come with secrecy
minus a face to reveal its patron.
Easily detected singing love’s strong melody,
best surprises come from unknown mister or matron.
A twenty-dollar bill found tucked in a pocket
with an unsigned note – spend as you like.
Unasked-for help with a faved broken locket
echoes thoughts of that boy with his thumb in the dike?
Without coveting acclaim for paying-it-forward
the silent kiss means planning things through;
taking serious your promises - keeping your word…
notably to a child who has before mistrusted you.
Cutting single neighbor’s grass and tackling her weeds
can make a difference when she doesn’t have time.
Treating her and her kids to dinner knowing their needs,
the silent kiss takes no account for each nickel or dime.
Every age and shape and size,
Dressed in jeans or dresses,
Wearing varied baseball caps
Or showing off their tresses.
Sporting shades or complex tats,
Earrings all a’dangle,
Backpacks, bags of straw or skin,
Kids they need to wrangle.
Speaking tongues I do not know
With accents not quite local,
Conversation mingling with
Some jazzy sounds, sans vocal.
We sit on benches near a band,
The music cool and gentle,
With melodies familiar and
A little sentimental
And watch the people passing by,
The weather adding pleasure
To such a perfect New York day
And one that I will treasure.
Morning Ritual
Brewed aroma
Morning ritual
Coffee dreary
Eyes in a haze
A new unpredictable day
The weather lady
Not too sunny
Wake up
Put on some make up
Body still numb
Maybe a second cup
Get ready for work
Kids sent off to school
A long day ahead
Can’t focus
It’s not the weekend
Mind racing
Work delay
Too many bills
Traffic sucks
A drink at 5pm
I look forward to it
Expensive society
We can never retire really
Just work yourself to death
Too many burdens
Am I Chasing Death Alone
Life is short
Alone or with someone
Being single
Less trouble
Easier on your wallet
I’m kind of selfish
No Kids
Peace and quiet
Lonelyness I’ve become
Isolation, cling to no one
Who’s going to care for you when you're old?
Something to think about
Emptiness all around
You can’t have both
Am I Chasing Death Alone?
Silent rooms
Memories of one
Grow old under the sun
A lonely life
The end could be any time
A journey of melancholy
No one to stop by and visit me
In the cemetery
Have another drink alone
Amber whisky, numb
By Christmas Day each father
and mother, also known as Santa and Mrs. Claus,
should have fulfilled “Dear Santa” letters
and other wish lists. They overspend, but for a great cause!
Expensive foods, grandiose home improvements,
and decorations are added. Guests will be so impressed.
Bank balances shrink; credit cards get maxed out,
but—By George!—mom, dad, and kids will be well dressed.
Money’s nil. Overindulgent purchasers question
their sanity: “Why do we do this every year,
spend way beyond our means? Recovery takes months.”
Once again, they’ve robbed themselves of Christmas cheer.
Responsible spending transforms unrealistic views
of how the holiday season should be. We can decorate,
enjoy tasty food, and buy gifts without spending a fortune.
With Christmas in our hearts, we can sincerely celebrate.
The streets remember every whispered prayer,
sirens hum lullabies through heavy air,
Broken bottles brighten beneath Bronx blocks,
kids spin on corners, drawing lines in chalk.
Graffiti wings sketch saints on the wall,
my abuela’s pasteles smell in the hall,
Corners carry chaos courage can claim,
yet Harlem heals me when I call her name.
Skyscrapers guard what we can't see,
Dreams break the streets where hope used to be.
Dawn dances determined, defiant, deep blue,
so I rhyme survival into something true.
Love grows wild in the harshest place,
we carve forever in a fleeting space,
Each echo embraces every enduring eye,
Harlem, you teach me how not to die.
What I would call the street today,
As kids, we’d say the gutter.
It was a place to play for some
And moms would often mutter,
“If you’re not home on time, then I
Will see you, in my mind,
Lying dead out in the gutter
And your body they will find.”
The gutter also was the place
You took your dog to go,
For pooping on the sidewalk
Definitely was a no!
I never knew about the gutters
Meant to channel rain.
I have those on my roof right now
And cleaning them’s a pain.
But yesterday, I did just that
And as I scooped out goop,
I heard my mother’s voice call out,
Like she was on the stoop:
“Be careful near the gutter!”
Yet this time, my fear instead,
Was that I’d fall down while cleaning them
And crack my foolish head.
I’ve worked in oil fields,
facing danger for good money,
I’ve sailed on the crab boats
where the oceans churn and freeze.
I’ve drove the long-haul truck,
through the ice and much up to my knees,
I’ve dug that black gold coal
so the people have light and head.
I’ve worked the power lines
and been nearly fried, yes, it’s true,
I’m an itinerant,
cannot stop and I don’t want to.
I’ve dug a soldier’s grave,
so in peace they’ll lay restfully.
I’ve laid with lonely wives,
that’s why all your kids look like me.
I’ve been a handyman,
fixing your doorjamb and windows,
I’ve worked the carney scene,
on the rides helped all the kids go.
I’ve cut in the Maine woods,
as a logger should, what a view,
I’m an itinerant,
cannot stop and I don’t want to.
I’ve worked behind the bar,
slinging beers out to tired men,
even been a crossing guard,
so children go home safe again.
I’ve swept up city streets,
to see them filthy the next way,
I’ve worked the onion fields
in the hot sun outside L.A.
I’ve done so many things,
making my money someplace new,
I’m an itinerant,
couldn’t settle and don’t want to.
They came
To stay
With us
Awhile
So pleased
To hug
All five!
So blessed
We are
To share
Our love
That we
Are well
Alive!
We watched
Them grow
Months to
Six years
Three girls
Two boys
Adore!
You see
They are
Our Great
Grand-kids
Born to
Our Grands
Gen Four!
I know the blame and the shame,
like a dirty picked up dime
forgetting its once shiny place
and a instrument that paves
I'm now the fresh concrete,
you all walk over,
as teens scribble love graffiti,
and ripped of 4 leaf clovers
of innocents once believing....
Gets caught up in the cracks,
kids need to hop and skip over,
to avoid my dire of bad luck.
Make way for the catholic priests
Wolves ushering in all the children
don't slip in the rain on your back
as ignorance doesn't pick up the slack,
I hate the way you engraved our initials
Never ably with purple petals.....
At 2 a.m. the engine hums & the road awaits his tread,
A departing message on the front door camera to his wife and two kids, as he slips away in dread.
The house is warm, the night is cold, his heart is torn in two, for love is here, but duty calls,
"its the career he chose afterall".
He knows the sound of silence well, when fathers must depart,
He lived it as a boy himself—those echoes scarred his heart.
Hi-Vis uniform, the heavy boots, cigarettes comfort the pain,
Now he repeats his father’s path, the cycle forged again.
He grips the wheel, his knuckles white, his head weighed down with ache!
Each road he drives a silent vow: “I do this for their sake.”
The Coal Mine swollows up his days, the dust, the grind,
A job at home is the dream he holds, to leave no
family need behind.
And though each departing cuts him deep mile by mile,
He builds a future, stone by stone, for those who make him smile.
A father’s burden, masked with pride, though loneliness may sting,
For in his sacrifice he gives his children everything.