childrens poetry

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

Halloween
Darkness falls across the sky, Witches on their broomsticks fly. As you lie awake at night, Full moon shining very bright.
By Hazel Rymell 3 years ago in Poets
The Season Of Orange
Every season of all four are bright and dark in there own ways Memorise natures gifts in life with our eyes we've photographed
By CJ Enterprise3 years ago in Poets
A Seamless Box. Top Story - October 2022.
Just vote There’s no knife to your throat Just vote Who cares if you can afford your child’s new coat Just vote We need a new boat
By Atomic Historian3 years ago in Poets
My daughter
My daughter My daughter is my life, my daughter is my glory Lost in the darkness, my daughter gave me light
By M.A.Afroza 3 years ago in Poets
All’s Not Necessarily As It All Seems
My daughter would disappear for hours on end, But would never let me in on where she’d go or what she’d do, Which made me more curious than a cat,
By Colleen Millsteed 3 years ago in Poets
What He's Cooking
Maybe I Am Hungry... Maybe I Am Anxious... My stomach Is Turning In Circles... Man what Is He Cooking? Having
By HandsomelouiiThePoet (Lonzo ward)3 years ago in Poets
Play All Day
Every morning when I wake, I ask my mom for a pancake. With butter, syrup and bananas, Sometimes it's drips on my pajamas.
By Sally3 years ago in Poets
Rise to the Top
There is an abundance of ways of experiencing a powerful spiritual energy that can lead to a new outlook on life or make an individual physically and mentally stronger. It is God’s way of sending us a message that his divine presence is real. I live every day to the fullest with devoted spirituality by praying; when I bless the food I eat, when I take an important test and when I go to bed at night.
By Kylecovey Smith3 years ago in Poets
Battle Cry
Battle Cry Hear my battle cry, Under this heavenly sky. The Eight Winged Angel screams. The spirit fuels my hope and dreams.
By Kylecovey Smith3 years ago in Poets
Kirsten Mother
She is not a queen. Hungry, early in the morning she goes for firewood. At night she serves supper; the next day dawns with merchandise: crockery, chapatis, Guayama, bread . . . , she goes to sell them in the morning.
By Sal Tori3 years ago in Poets
Playing House
Who remembers playing house? This was and is a game that teaches many skills; believe it or not. P is for pretend parents-
By Mark Graham3 years ago in Poets
Building Blocks
Who remembers playing with blocks? What a way to learn. All the colors and shapes, Red, green, blue, purple, and yellow,
By Mark Graham3 years ago in Poets