childrens poetry
Nostalgia-inducing poetry inspired by our earliest favorites; from Dr. Seuss to Mother Goose, children’s poetry is all grown up.
The Memories Outside My Window
Wind beats the window pane like an old friend begging come outside, come outside! Looking through slotted blinds, clouds hang dark and low,
Mark AndersonPublished 6 years ago in PoetsAm I Good Enough?
Nine months getting fatter and fatter. so fat, no covcievable position will allow you to sleep comfortably Sickness, aches, discomfort
Daisy WillandPublished 6 years ago in PoetsMy Friend the Fox
Little fox, little fox, so lively and free, Come sit with me, beneath my tree. Won’t you tell me a story of your adventures,
Carlise HillPublished 6 years ago in PoetsScales of Dynamics
Peter, Patter, Teeter, Tatter Raining water thrashing down “Hello!” yells the greeter Pete, the repeater Piano crescendoing to fortissimo
The ABCs of Breakfast
Although apples are almost always altruistic, Berries behave best before breakfast. Cereal can create commutative crunch.
Christopher DeLislePublished 6 years ago in PoetsQuatrains
Chicken’s victory Earlier we were afraid of human beings. After Chikungunya, he is afraid of us Elder brother-Younger brother
Savanur T.BhagyalakshmiPublished 6 years ago in PoetsA Parent's Conundrum
If I were the baby wipes where would I be? Not in my spot but out roaming free! Not by the mess or little baby. If I were the baby wipes where would I be?
Corey BourquinPublished 6 years ago in PoetsSleep Sweet Child
Sleep Sweet Child, For when you awake, I will still be here, I will never forsake, A darling oh so sweet as thee, A spirit as pure as can be.
Sheryl CunliffePublished 6 years ago in PoetsOnly A Dream
I dreamed I was lost on a steep hillside, a little white dog was by my side. We had wandered off for days, lost and alone, Not the slightest idea which way was home.
Patricia KennedyPublished 6 years ago in Poets17 & Pregnant
I have something to confess my friend you see. There’s this child breathing inside of me. She kicks with joy at the sound of Mickey Mouse.
There's a Monster Under Your Bed
There’s a monster under her bed… Ha, what garbage. Before the story started, My husband wasn’t so retarded. My daughter used to play outside,
Sophia RosadoPublished 6 years ago in PoetsMy Childhood
I remember my childhood in school years and grades. My memory is text, and numbers, and words, and a slowly ticking clock I could not read because in public school that time was ticking, and we had a schedule, a curriculum to follow.
Abby RamsayPublished 6 years ago in Poets