childrens poetry

Nostalgia-inducing poetry inspired by our earliest favorites; from Dr. Seuss to Mother Goose, children’s poetry is all grown up.

They Left, but Their Memories Stayed
They Left, but Their Memories Stayed By Ali Asad Ullah They left. Not with a bang, Not with a door slammed shut, But with a silence so loud
By Ali Asad Ullahabout a year ago in Poets
Kingdoms of Crayon and Cloud
We built forts from laundry baskets and capes from towels, declaring kingdoms on kitchen tiles, ruling with juice-box wisdom
By Hazrat Bilalabout a year ago in Poets
Love Letters I Never Sent
Love Letters I Never Sent ✒️ By Ali Asad Ullah I wrote you letters you’ll never see, Folded like secrets, inked carefully.
By Ali Asad Ullahabout a year ago in Poets
The Whispering Star
The Whispering Star (Gothic Narrative Style) In midnight’s grasp beyond the sphere, Where silence thrived and none could hear, A single star began to wake— Its gleam a wound the void did make. Not born from light nor heaven’s flame, No angel knew it, spoke its name. It shimmered cold, a haunted spark, A pulse that moved through endless dark. The wise-men turned their eyes in dread, For ancient texts had once half-said: “A star shall rise with voice of none, And speak in silence what’s undone.” Its shimmer flickered Morse-like screams— A stuttered code that shattered dreams. It watched. It waited. Never slept. It fed on thoughts the dreamers kept. A scholar traced its silent arc, Then vanished in the moonless dark. His notes remained, with scribbled fears: “It knows my mind. It whispered near.” A girl would wake with hollow eyes, Draw towers crumbled in the skies. She whispered words in tongues long dead: "The star has thoughts it hasn’t said." It moved against all cosmic law, No orbit held, no force could draw. Some said it crawled where time was torn— A beast disguised in stellar form. Its watchers faded one by one, Each stared too long, then came undone. And on each wall where eyes had bled, That star was drawn in streaks of red. Then came the night it ceased to burn— The blackest void, no light’s return. But in that dark, we heard a sound— A whisper deep beneath the ground. Now every child dreams the same, A voice that softly speaks their name. And somewhere, just beyond the bar, It waits… that ancient, whispering star.
By Ali Asad Ullahabout a year ago in Poets
Two Hearts, One Home
Two Hearts, One Home Chapter 1: The Empty House The old cottage at the end of Maplewood Lane had been empty for years. Its whitewash was peeling, the garden was overgrown, and the wooden porch was cracked from the sheer weight. But when Daniel first saw it, he didn’t see decay – he saw a future.
By MR SAMIMabout a year ago in Poets
Whiskers and Wags: An Unlikely Friendship
Whiskers and Wags: An Unlikely Friendship How a curious cat and a clumsy pup turned rivalry into loyalty. In the quiet town of Maplewood, nestled between golden meadows and leafy trees, lived a cat named Whiskers. Sleek, orange, and proud, Whiskers ruled the neighborhood from the comfort of his sunny windowsill. He had everything a cat could want: a warm home, his favorite tuna treats, and the undivided attention of Mrs. Plum, his doting owner. Whiskers loved his peace and quiet. He spent his days napping, grooming, and occasionally chasing a butterfly or two when the mood struck. Life was perfect — until he arrived. His name was Wags. A clumsy, oversized, floppy-eared puppy with paws too big for his legs and energy that never seemed to end. He belonged to Mr. Thompson next door, who had recently retired and decided it was time for “a little canine company.” From the moment Wags moved in, Whiskers’ peaceful life turned upside down. On the first day, Wags barked at every bird in the yard. He ran in circles chasing his tail, knocked over two potted plants, and even tried to “play” with Whiskers by jumping over the fence and landing with a loud thud right beside the cat’s favorite nap spot. Whiskers, horrified and offended, puffed up like a furball and darted inside with a dramatic hiss. “He’s ruining everything,” Whiskers sulked as he watched the chaos from the window. But Wags didn’t mean harm. He was just young, excited, and lonely. Every time he saw Whiskers, his tail would wag wildly — hence his name. He barked happily and tried to play, only to be met with glares, growls, and an occasional swat on the nose. Days turned into weeks. Wags never gave up. Whiskers never gave in. One stormy afternoon, as thunder cracked across the sky and rain poured in sheets, Whiskers was outside when the backdoor accidentally slammed shut behind him. He darted under a bush, soaked and shivering, too proud to meow for help. Just then, he heard that familiar panting. Wags. The dog had snuck out of his own house and was standing in the rain, looking at Whiskers with worried eyes. Without hesitation, Wags trotted over and crouched beside him, shielding the cat with his big, floppy body. The warmth surprised Whiskers, but he didn’t move. He let Wags stay. They sat that way until the storm passed. When Mrs. Plum found them curled up together under the bush, she couldn't believe her eyes. From that day forward, something changed. Whiskers no longer ran away when Wags approached. He tolerated the barks, the tail-wagging, even the awkward, slobbery attempts at play. In fact, he started joining in — from a distance at first, then with genuine curiosity. Wags, in turn, learned to calm down. He watched how Whiskers moved, how he paused before pouncing, how he stretched under the sun. He started mimicking the cat’s slower, more graceful pace — well, as gracefully as a clumsy pup could manage. One afternoon, they were found napping together in the backyard. Whiskers’ tail draped gently over Wags’ nose, and Wags snoring softly with a paw protectively over the cat. From that moment on, they were inseparable. They explored the garden together, chased butterflies, and even teamed up to steal treats from the kitchen (Wags distracted, Whiskers jumped). The neighbors called them “the odd couple,” and everyone in Maplewood smiled a little brighter when they saw the two together. Their friendship wasn’t perfect. Wags still barked too loudly sometimes. Whiskers still rolled his eyes and occasionally walked off with exaggerated dignity. But when it mattered — like the time a fox sneaked into the backyard or when Wags got sick for a week — they were there for each other. One had claws. The other had paws. One liked silence. The other loved sound. But they shared something deeper — loyalty, warmth, and the kind of bond only true friends understand. In the end, Whiskers and Wags didn’t just learn to get along. They taught everyone around them that friendship doesn’t depend on being the same. Sometimes, it’s the differences that make the connection stronger. And so, under the golden skies of Maplewood, the cat and the dog who were never meant to be friends — became the best of them.
By MR SAMIMabout a year ago in Poets
The Boy Next Door Wasn’t Who I Thought
When we moved to Hazelwood Lane, it felt like a new beginning. A quiet suburb, neatly trimmed hedges, friendly neighbors who smiled just the right amount. Nothing too loud, nothing too strange. Perfect — or so I thought. Our new house sat beside an old Victorian-style home with ivy climbing the walls. That’s where Eli lived — the boy next door. He was tall, quiet, and always alone. He never came to the neighborhood barbecues, never waved when we passed. But sometimes I’d catch him watching from the upstairs window, as if he was trying to be part of a world he couldn’t touch. Naturally, I was curious. My name is Lena, and I’ve always had a habit of noticing things. Little things. Like how Eli always wore long sleeves, even in summer. How he walked the same path to the woods behind our houses every night at 11 PM — sharp. How he never turned on any lights in his house. One night, I couldn't sleep. I looked out my window and, like always, Eli stepped out of his back door, flashlight in hand, and disappeared into the woods. But this time, he carried something heavy — wrapped in cloth and tied with rope. My heart raced. Curiosity burned. So, like any foolish teenager in a small-town mystery, I followed him. I slipped on a hoodie, grabbed a flashlight, and tiptoed through the backyard. The cold grass wet against my bare feet, the night thick with the scent of pine and something else — metallic. I followed the trail until I saw him, standing in a small clearing, the moon casting silver light over him. He was kneeling beside what looked like... a box. He opened it slowly, carefully, revealing jars. Lots of them. Some were filled with glowing liquid. Others held things that moved. I stepped on a twig. He turned fast — eyes locking onto mine. I froze. Lena? he whispered, like he already knew my name. How do you— You shouldn’t be here,” he said firmly. It’s not safe. What is this? I asked, nodding toward the strange collection. He sighed. You wouldn’t believe me. Try me. And that’s when he told me. Eli wasn’t just some antisocial guy hiding from the world. He was part of something larger. His parents were scientists who went missing during a secret government experiment — something to do with opening a “frequency door” to another dimension. Since then, strange objects had started appearing in our town — sometimes dangerous, sometimes alive. Eli was trying to contain them. The jars were vessels. Each one a trap for something that didn't belong in our world. He showed me one — a jar that throbbed with a soft blue light. Inside, a floating eye blinked slowly, watching us both. What happens if they get out? I asked, breathless. They spread. They infect memories, time, maybe even people. Suddenly, a rustle behind us. Eli grabbed my arm. Run. We sprinted through the trees, the sound of something chasing us — not quite footsteps, not quite animal. I didn’t dare look back. When we burst into my backyard, Eli shut the gate, breathing hard. “That wasn’t supposed to be loose. It followed you. Me? I gasped. You’re connected now. It saw you. The next morning, everything looked normal again. My mom asked if I had slept well. I didn’t answer. That night, I found Eli waiting by the fence. I need your help, he said quietly. You’ve seen too much, and now it’s after you. But if we work together, we might be able to stop it — for good. I hesitated. I was just a girl who liked books and late-night snacks, not monster-hunters or sci-fi missions. But something in his eyes — not fear, but responsibility — made me nod. Over the next few weeks, we worked in secret. We tracked strange weather changes, listened to static radio waves, and mapped sightings of strange creatures. Eli showed me how to make protective salt circles, how to hide thoughts, how to stay unnoticed. It wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about protecting others. Eventually, we caught the one that had followed me — a shadow creature that fed on guilt. We lured it with memories and trapped it in a mirrored jar. That night, when we sealed it, Eli looked at me and smiled — really smiled — for the first time. You saved me, he said. No, I replied. You just let me in. Now, when I look at the boy next door, I don’t see a mystery. I see a teammate. A protector. A secret world beneath the quiet streets — and a bond no one else could ever understand. And to think, I almost never looked out my window.
By MR SAMIMabout a year ago in Poets
Why Not Plant A Cherry Tree?
Today I was given a very gracious chance, One that struck me harder than a lance. A neighbors cherry tree had just born fruit,
By Toby Hewardabout a year ago in Poets
The Silent Tears of Palestine
Once upon a land kissed by ancient skies, Where olive trees whisper and freedom lies, There bloomed a tale of pain and grace, A people’s struggle, a steadfast race. Little hands once held dreams so bright, Now tremble beneath shadows of endless night. Children’s laughter, once like spring’s sweet song, Now muffled by bombs and sirens long. Mothers weep with rivers in their eyes, Holding memories where their young ones lie. Homes once full of warmth and light, Reduced to ashes in the cruel night. Smoke and fire choke the air, Despair and fear linger everywhere. Streets that echoed with joyful cries, Now silent under darkened skies. Yet beneath this sorrow, courage grows, Like a stubborn flower that defies the blows. Men with stones and hearts ablaze, Fight on through the darkest haze. Women’s tears turn to prayers strong, Their resilience a never-ending song. Though battered by hardship, broken and torn, Their spirits remain unyielded, reborn. Every heartbeat is a drum of defiance, Every breath a step toward alliance. Injustice may cast its darkest spell, But hope in their souls continues to swell. The world may turn its gaze away, But Palestine’s flame refuses to sway. Justice sleeps but shall awake, For freedom’s dawn is theirs to make. Blood that stains the sacred ground, Will bloom as flowers all around. From the pain and from the scars, Will rise a nation reaching stars. Children’s dreams, once crushed and torn, Will rise anew with each new dawn. Songs of peace will fill the air, Love and light will conquer despair. Mountains tall and rivers wide, Will witness their unbroken pride. Ancient lands will heal their wounds, As hope and freedom become their tunes. The day will come, a promised day, When guns will fall and children play. When no more tears stain the sand, And every soul will proudly stand. Their story is one of courage vast, Of standing firm, holding fast. Of sacrifice deep and love profound, Of hearts united, freedom-bound. So listen closely, hear the cry, Of a people who will never die. Their silent tears, their hopeful song, Will echo in the world lifelong. Together let us raise our voice, In justice, peace, let’s all rejoice. For Palestine, the dream remains, Of breaking all the cruel chains. Freedom’s light will surely shine, Over every hill and olive vine. A future bright, a new sunrise, Born from tears and brave goodbyes.
By Muhammad Tayyab about a year ago in Poets
Brave Little Girl
That’s my little daughter, now months away from turning six, but in that above photo, she was just two years and nine months.
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
When Life Blocks Your Words, Punch Back with Poetry
Have you ever felt like life just steals your creativity? That’s been me lately. Bills stacking up, endless work calls, family stuff, and somehow, my brain just… shuts down. The words I used to love pouring out now feel stuck, like they’re trapped behind an invisible wall.
By Shafi Ullah Darweshabout a year ago in Poets
Poem - Earth's Frozen Tears
Earth’s Frozen Tears: A Wake-Up Call Written in Melting Ice. In northern silence, where white winds roam, Lies Earth’s pale sorrow, its ice-bound home.
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets