Long Childish Poems
Long Childish Poems. Below are the most popular long Childish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Childish poems by poem length and keyword.
* For basketball legend Kevin Garnett *
~
intensity ... defined
excuses were for gods and gamblers
(lesser giants with fairer feuds)
HE ... was of a wholly-invested mettle and mind
the conscript of a checkered court
dauntless defender of glass and lattice
and the pride of a kingdom
grand and green.
chilled steel above
warm wood below
the thund'rous awe
each mightied blow ...
adversaries wept for his fervency
ability, focus, effort ...
at levels unequaled and as yet unseen
a vitality and resolve
that at times seemed immeasurable
expecting the utmost from his confreres and allies
yet far MORE from himself ...
of rare devotion to his cause and kind
a jaded gypsy who had found his home and heart -
the hallowed ground
worthy of his marrow and blood.
one honored hub
a stronghold land
worth ev'ry wound
each knuckled hand ...
he was clad in shining-yet-simple armor
- béni avec cinq -
that he wore with a generation's honor
and wielded a sword of sinews and strength
noble and knightly, but of ferocious intent
with a dignity, dark ... outspoken
mindful, selfless ... monstrous and mad
the grace and guile of a mongoose
with the hiss of a snake ...
the childish charm of a leprechaun
with the wild howl of a wolf ...
and a heritage that coursed his veins, veridian.
those demons, green
that spurred his dance
brought each his foes
naught e'er a chance ...
his fortress now stands empty
but the ramparts still tremble with his ire
the ether within those sacred walls
yet echos his roar
and strains to press a cheek
all for the sake of his standard and spoils
and thus, soon ...
yes, soon enough, indeed
those rafters will roil with a banner his own
and a kingdom, blessed, will bow in reverence
for his consummation and creed
and the green blood that still stains his flesh ...
and those proud parquet floors.
one day that land's
bright sun may set
still, flames will burn
the name ... Garnett.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Completely Your Choice 2, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
this middle aged rue stirring bummer
haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
eggs hit from Arctic portal en fold
ding Atlantic Seaboard
in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
brutally sub zero temperatures
from an occasional nor'easter
fiercely gripping hold
the majority years, sans this prolific
recalcitrant scrivener lived
in various and sundry abode
housed within Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
with 19*** zip code,
and during my boyhood recall,
how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
in preparation for planting time,
where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
many a green acre got tilled and hoed
despite feeling energized and refreshed
with arms and legs n'er fro zen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric
experiencing hearthstone nook
designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
and toes to make sure, i still got ten
soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
and floral kaleidoscope of color
aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
drifted toward approaching spring,
the season revitalizing
dormant natural inhabitants,
whose excite (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching from the lizard king.
This Spring Equinox (i.e. man date:
12:15 PM Tuesday,
March twentieth two thousand eighteen)
doth rejuvenate
inviolable hibernating animals
and plants, and me equate
to experience sensation,
whereby entire being does inflate
and (despite marital status),
nonetheless envisions another gal asthma mate
no...no...no...please do not think this chap
mean spirited and under rate
the woman (at present taking a siesta,
and i breathe easy),
who oft times doth henpeck, a trait
inherited many a chic hen
(with tantalizing tail feathers)
now (until she awakens)
proscribing yours truly to wait
for my repast most likely ad hoc
moist ideal for any nerdy kid to knock
senseless, the worst facet of self important jock
consisting of pop slop mock
Hungarian Goulash, a melange
of relics from age old meals
transformed into a petrified sawed little rock.
you remember that one time when ava fell off the swings and cut her knee?
how everyone laughed at her for her childish hubris in thinking she could jump and land,
unscathed, from that high a distance?
how the laughter roared as they watched a 9-year-old cry
and clutch her knee with both hands,
creating a burrow for blood under her nails?
how, without a moment of hesitation,
you ran to her, helped her up, and walked her to the nurse’s office?
yeah. didn’t think you’d remember it, if i’m being totally honest.
well, that moment, watching you put her arm around your shoulder for balance,
so she could hop her way down a flight and half of stairs for a single band-aid,
i think I fell in love with you.
maybe love is an exaggeration,
but looking at these old photos of us,
with your hair flying in the wind and my hair tucked in your helmet
as i clutched your waist for dear life,
the two of us,
flying down the freeway on your motorcycle,
i can’t think of a better word to describe my feelings for you.
these pictures,
now covered in layers of dust,
remind me of everything that could have been.
of everything that will never be.
i lost you so many addictions ago,
i guess i should’ve known when your words turned to lies,
and your lies turned to routine,
but i didn’t want to believe that the girl
with the bright pink hair and tacky leather jackets,
the girl that i had fallen so hard for,
was now gone.
that she had been replaced with someone who simply
went through the motions every day,
no longer able to feel anything for anyone,
someone who looked in the mirror,
wishing that the reflection would be blank.
the doctors say that your liver gave out,
but i think that the real cause was that you gave up.
i saw how hard you fought,
how you ran away from who you’d become,
leaving us behind in a race to find yourself.
you were gone long before the red line representing your heart’s last efforts flattened.
you’ve been gone so long that i’ve had to rely on these pictures
to make sure that you were ever real.
you’ve become nothing but a memory,
a hope, a wish for better,
a tragic story that i wish i never was a part of.
i miss you,
more than you could ever know,
more than i can ever process.
i miss you because no matter what happened,
no matter where you went,
no matter how long you’ve been gone,
i still loved you.
"The Walk"
The most precious
diamonds falling
every step before me
wet the ground
bare feet
my blood,
my gift,
our foundations
placed reverently
before you
solidarity
I gave you
gifted under burning
oath of Golden Sun
Where have you gone
In this dream of yours?
Where are
all my children?
Bring me my children
the ones who meet me
unknown or known
singing loud and clear
to me, a ghost
in their dreams
I am that light that
stills the storms
the truth of life
in its all, its broken seams
Victory in Love
means more than darkness
to these ones
in their dreams
My precious pearls
from their hearts
seeded and blooming
through my heart
they are the ones
who deliver
true wisdom
bring me the children
a new life
evolving
too much talk now,
stand beside me
Come child
of mine
Be afraid no more
Walk with me
In the time
of something
beautiful
and astounding
Walk with me
you, the one
who dares,
you know who you are,
The True Believer
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
gvlm-llb
"A Black Sun" / Gary Numan
https://youtu.be/lIdlve4SsIg
"When I was a child,
my life seemed endless,
too far to see
When I was a child,
the world was waiting
and called to me
And everyone I loved
would live for eternity
And everything I dreamed
would all come true for me
But now I feel the end come
My childish dreams are undone
I cry under a black sun
And every song is unsung
You will hear me
when the wind sighs
You will feel me
beside you always
You won't see me,
but I'll be with you
When I was a child,
all love was painless,
no tears to cry
When I was a child,
I played the hero
who held the sky
But now I hold you
and love
is more than I can bear
And when I think of you,
love becomes a pain to share
But I hear loss calling
and this is pain talking
And I am fear walking
and these are tears falling
You will hear me
when the wind sighs
You will feel me
beside you always
You won't see me,
but I'll be with you"
(Gary Numan)
The Miorror of Lost Sees: Theophany
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_mirror_of_lost_sees_theophany_1263410
Sacrifice
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/sacrifice_1242920
John 8:12
LUX VITAE
I see so many wrapped up in rage,
it consumes them all despite their age,
anger not caused by crimes they’ve suffered,
but by ideas that some have proffered,
brought about by those malicious lies
that a person must ‘identify,’
then rant and cry as if there victims,
and some how absolved of any sin.
Brought about by scorning tradition,
and making choices supremely dumb,
not finding solace in family,
but believing they’ll ‘change history.’
The crux of it, of their angry fate,
is the need of humans to feel great,
we all feel it, but how it’s fulfilled
leads them to talking a bitter pill.
Rather then having kids of their own,
to take pride in when they are grown,
rather than build their abilities
and achieve greatness that all can see,
they instead proclaim that they’re ‘heroes,’
off fighting the power, don’t you know,
and when all the world seems ‘villainy’
it’s required that you be angry.
When something can make you feel that way
you’ll do anything to make it stay,
like a junkie seeking the first high…
the things you will do to feel alive…
Say man is woman, and women men,
take a whole sex and disparage them,
say one skin is fine, all others jerks,
pillory those folks who dare to work,
cling to ideas that killed millions,
wish your own culture to be undone,
ignore all the truths you plainly see,
to feel righteous from being angry.
This is what makes them feel good in life,
loosing that cuts worse than any knife,
they’ll proclaim you should lose all your speech,
then they’ll tell you what to think and preach,
what you should eat, and do for a job,
and dictate to you your thoughts on God,
convinced they’re elite, they’ve got it right,
that utopia is within sight,
making politics substitute faith,
so all not onboard ‘deserve’ their hate…
and their lies the great hypocrisy,
their anger is warmed up tyranny.
Their false righteousness won’t turn the page,
you can’t go backwards to a ‘better’ age,
leaving them stuck in an endless loop,
making them angry and lifelong dupes,
with little chance of finding some peace,
their addiction offers no release,
they’ll scream ‘anti-fascist,’ roam the street,
looking for random people to beat,
they’ll double down and will never find
that they are trapped in childish minds,
it must suck hard to be so PC,
forced to forever be so angry.
WHAT IS IT
I am thinking of you again
How many times? I cannot remember.
It still causes the same pain.
Burning in my chest, like a white steel ember.
It has been eating at my mind, it is a devastating cancer.
I am writing this now, even though… I still have no answer.
The other day, I tore up my room
In a childish fit of rage,… anger.
But that is not my strongest emotion.
I realized that, with a single tear. I wiped my eyes in shame,
I am not supposed to feel this way.
Although I did…do, I do.
I do feel this helpless pain.
I can always say to you, that we will be able to work it out.
But what is IT, this thing…..
This IT, that lovers, poets and friends talk about.
I have come to terms with this IT.
IT is us. Not our person’s, but our souls.
The two of us united, IT creates a separate entity, which lives and grows:
IT is our invisible bond,
But that is only an after effect.
IT is of dancing beauty,
A representative of our emotional elect,
Each of us selecting and giving,
To this glorious warmth, which is us,
Between us, dancing, soaring, forming something bigger than the both of us.
IT is the selected best,
These gifts we give each other, forever.
For even if we part,
IT will dance in our minds, eternally together,
IT is in me when I am down,
IT is what brings my head out from depression.
IT is what brings back my smile.
IT returns my passion, my life force, my obsession.
A feeling of greatness fills me,
A feeling so real, so powerful.
A deep heartfelt statement.
IT does not need to be worked out.
IT is stronger than any living self.
So, it should be said, that IT will be able to work us out,
Seeing that we are the unsteady ones.
And IT, our emotional creation, I will never doubt.
I am prepared to give every bit of friendship and energy I possess.
Jus t thinking of you, helps.
I enjoy the thoughts of us together.
I sought you not, for the here and now, and I have never believed in temporary
situations.
You are my completed self.
The whole of me, a wealth of joyous sensations.
My happiness is simply;
For you,
From you,
By you,
IT is you.
To end us, is to kill the most beautiful part of life, I have ever experienced.
And if IT dies, so does life, or at least IT will never be as beautiful, since.
Juan A. Rodriguez
Form:
Gardens,
like dreams
and other multiculturing complexities,
process
and sometimes progress into becoming ripe,
then unbecoming dormancy,
advent of and for regardening
redreaming seeds
preparing to further process
Perennial primal roots deepening into
new spring's progressive attachment
network of polycultural dream garden nutrition,
aesthetic nurture,
ethical nature,
animating spirit of Earth's co-arising power life.
Eden's original rising
and subsequent falling Garden
surrounds our GreenTribal Tree
of Ego/Eco-centering Life and WinterDeath.
The Creator's forbidden foreshadow Tree
of Good and Evil
is a secondary,
yet divinely co-inspired, Tree
on our LeftBrain monocultural way
toward reducing Life to Good
and seducing Death through Evil--
Dreaming up and down
Win to Lose evolutionary models
and capitalism's mono-atheistic further investments
in secularizing-commodifying Life
while spiritualizing accommodating Death;
praising win-win peace
while raising lose-lose Falls
re-enacting retributive divine greed,
detached disdaining injustice,
childish, perhaps adolescent at best, pettiness.
Evil, like Death,
is no more original
than the Great Fall and Eternal Winter,
whether we see and hear,
taste and touch
as divine Gardeners
or merely regenesis EarthTribal dreamers
of generic Spring uprisings
and Summer sensory climaxes
for Eden's Tree of cooperatively original EcoLife,
and secondarily hibernating shadows of Ego-Death
Waiting
like an original Falling spring
for our ecofeminist deep green learning RightBrain
Rising Up
like a new spring garden,
like a dreaming root-systemic Tree
of GoodLife win-win cooperative processes
and EvilDeath lose-lose competitive climate pathology
of and for further revolutionary
divinely inspired creations,
re-creations,
evolutions and devolutions
in Eden Gardens,
regenerative and degenerative dreams
co-arising good and evil fruit
absorbed by ecofeminists
and devoured by patriarchs
Together
equally interdependent
in good life
through evil death
EarthTribal loyalty,
interdependent global patriotism,
universal solidarity,
compassion,
love,
energy,
Original humane/divine co-arising attachment
and secondary wealth detachment
and tertiary green health reinvestment
in full garden cooperative enchantments.
Outside the walls stood a handmaiden gazing
Twisting her skirt between fingers so frail
Patches of burlap were sewn on the garment
Cut from a sack of a barley oat bale
Oh how she dreamed of the opulent palace
Silver and gold and the finest of lace
Gowns made of velvet with ribbons of satin
She spun around with a smile on her face
As if a princess, her blonde hair a flowing
Blue skies above now the tint of her eyes
Hearing a song on the early spring breezes
Never once noticed the coming surprise
Then saw him on horseback and blushed like a petal
Found on the reddest of roses that grew
Knee bent to curtsey, feeling embarrassed
Knowing this gesture is what she should do
“Good day my fair maiden, your dance was enchanting”
He said as he smiled, his kindness was felt
“So sorry my prince, I did not see you coming”
Again on the soil before him she knelt
“Rise up,” he said as he slid from the saddle
“There is no need for such formality,
for one of such beauty tis I who should bow”
Saying this he touched the earth with one knee
Once more she blushed like an apricot sunrise
Standing he reached out and taking her hand
Wondered, “What brings you by here on this morning,
adding such loveliness to our fine land?”
“Your majesty, I’m but a servant daydreaming,
Seeing myself quite the belle of the ball
Very much childish I know you are thinking
For I belong far outside this great wall”
He pondered a moment, his chin now he fondled
Suddenly grinned with the happiest glance
“Well now fair maiden, if thou would permit me
Please be my guest at this evening’s spring dance?”
“Oh handsome prince I could not even think it
Look at my dress, I have nothing to wear
Merely these rags and an old pair of high tops
Never to mention the state of my hair”
“Never you mind and I kind of like high tops
Maybe some jeans and a tank top in red
Pull your hair back and it will be perfect
Nothing you’ll need when we climb into bed”
“What’s that you say, you want sex after dancing
Beat it you creep, I’m abreast of your game
I’ll spread these legs not for anyone fancy
Damn it, you men, every one is the same”
As he departed, rejected and sneering
She stomped away feeling angry and mean
So here you find such an unhappy ending
The truth is she only had eyes for the queen
I Am: Hello guys it’s an honor, fellows
Moe: HELLO!
Larry: HELLO!
Curly: HELLO!
The Three Stooges: HELLOS!
I Am: You’re known as half-wits, birdbrains, knuckleheads,
Curly, you’re known as Porky pine, right?
As a little girl I never appreciated rough-housing humor.
Moe a mean man and you weren’t very bright
I did adore Curly with sisterly affection.
Curly: You ain’t half bad yourself toots! With my reclamation
Moe: Remind me to kill you later, hmm, maybe strangulation
Curly: OK, I’ll make a note of it! Can’t make me worry
Larry: Stick up for yourself Curly!
Moe: Yeah, what do you have to say?
Curly: Well, I oughta—tell ya another day
Moe: You oughta what? Have some finess
Curly: I oughta mind my own business
Moe: That’s better! Porky Pine
I Am: Moe, would you take another question of mine?
Moe: Yeah, make it snappy,
Larry: Moe’s always been too slap happy
I AM: Were you at one time called Ted Healy’s Racketeers?
Moe: The Southern Gent’s, knucklehead! Like the Three Musketeers
I Am: Your genres are farce, slapstick, musical comedy
Curly is the schlemiel—stupid, childish, and clumsy.
Larry is the schlimazel because he's not quite as stupid
but still ends up unlucky with cupid.
Moe, are you the aggressive and short-tempered leader of you three?
Curly: Why coitainly
Moe: The lady, you imbecile, is talking to me,
Curly: Hey, I resemble that remark!
Curly: Hey Moe, I can’t see! I can’t see!
Moe: Why’s that? Is it too dark?
Curly: ‘Cuz I have my eyes closed!
Moe: Wait’ll I punch you in the nose!
I Am: My best Three Stooges episodes were—Brideless Groom,
Disorder in the Court, Malice in the Palace, Sing a Song of Six Pants,
and Heavenly Daze
Larry: That’s five. Miss I Am are you in a haze?
Moe: Yeah Genius!
I Am: Thank you for your calculation, I quess
I Am: Do any one of you have a real job anywhere?
Curly: Why coitainly, I just got a job in a bakery
Moe: You never told me that numskull. What do you do there?
Curly: I’m a loafer!
Larry: That’s not surprising, and tell her you were a chauffer
I Am: Goodnight “Three Stooges” Love and Luck
Curly: Asta! NYUK! NYUK! NYUK!
my mind is screaming
merely mimicking my lost design
my heart is bleeding
memories of a dissolved time
With the scorned child, I thought gone
the next stage of life has now begun
Feeling lost within my own doom
feeling as though I'm surrounded
Crowded within this room
screaming at the top of my shattered lungs
Not a single soul wavers
no one bothered to look up
They walk right through my scattered limbs
Leaving behind their muddy scuffs
Dancing upon them
Like leaves blown onto the street
Late into an autumn dusk
Trampled upon are the ones not seen
And on top of my punctured ribs, they stand
As if designated to their blind feet
This decaying plot of land
Porous and indented
with rubber soles imprinted
A pathway for others and nothing more
My torso became fused with the floor
my hand stretched to the sky
Grasping for any signs of life
My own existence I now struggle to find
But no plea no cry no sorrowful why
Passed through my lips are ever heard
Never acknowledged, not a single word
No value in me
Do others see
So I find myself in the dirt
Questioning my own existence
And it was in this very instance
Because the thought that I do not
was so Persistent
I prove to myself I exist
Because where else
but one's self
Would an owned thought live
So self I have no matter how distant
Self equals existence
But does it prove that I live
what is life but the execution of one's mind
Thinking about it and then creating it into time
So just maybe my problem does not lie
in the acknowledgment that I can not find
But in the value I have placed within it
And through my childish eyes
I view myself with the value I was given
And through these eyes, I see not
The value in myself or my thoughts
Thus with time into reality i create loss
Now the question has changed
and the new question raised
is how do I find value in something
where previously no value was placed
Who I am need to be reappraised
My childish eyes that once gave
A view of my worth
established at birth
Into this blackened dirt
They shall be laid
With newly found worth
Love for the child I gave
For value in her, I placed
And upon the replenished earth
A foundation was finally laid
I walk, rising from the dirt
A path that I have made
Forever Changed