By Christina Rossetti
Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which…
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which…
Explore Poems: Children Subjects
Showing 1-20 of 406 poems
- By Arvind Krishna MehrotraSet with raindrops, displayed
between the king’s mantle and the litchi tree,
was the cobweb I almost walked… - By Nikki GiovanniI always like summer
best
you can eat fresh corn
from daddy's garden
and okra
and greens
and cabbage
and lots of
barbecue
and buttermilk
and homemade ice-cream
at the church picnic
and listen to
gospel music
outside
at the church
homecoming
and you go to the mountains with
your grandmother
and go barefooted
and be warm
all the time
not only... - By Bert MeyersGo to sleep my daughter
go to sleep my son
once this world was water
without anyone - By Linda Sue ParkFor someone to read a poem
again, and again, and then,
having lifted it from page
to brain—the easy part—
cradle it on the longer trek
from brain all the way to heart. - By April Halprin WaylandMy sister found them.
Read them out loud.
She’s so proud,
she’s running to our parents
waving my poems in the air.
Doesn’t she know
she’s waving my underwear? - By April Halprin WaylandThe best clouds in the business
are right above me
right now.
We’re riding in this teal convertible
those clouds just dozing
in about forty-nine different shapes
... - By Nikki GrimesWhen my dad walks
into a room,
or down
the street,
he inches
up on me
silent
as shadow,
and I don't know
he's there
until I feel
his hug.
Sometimes
when he is
near
I might even
hear
his heart beat—
but never
his quiet
feet. - By Nikki GrimesUp till now,
the math of my life
has been pretty simple:
friends
plus family
plus sports.
What more
could I ask for, right?
But lately,
my outside has been changing
and my inside keeps telling me
more is on the way.
Trouble is,
I'm not sure
I'm ready. - By Cornelius Eady—Mahogany L. Browne, “On Meditation”
Which means, sometimes, you disarm
The goon by acting the fool—what they want
Is your throat cut, or your heart broken
By a dum-dum bullet, or your eyes filling
With the void. So they leave with their cartoon
Of you in... - By Dawn QuigleyTheir memory, do not let it lie fallow
On the blue earth banks
Which caught the 38 tears
As they spilled, shedding death amid jeers.
Mother absorbed them,
Heard them,
Entwined them in the River Minnesota.
Oh, Mankato. My Mankato, what have you done?
The shades of flesh... - By Renée WatsonMy body is
perfect and
imperfect and
black and
girl and
big and
thick hair and
short legs and
scraped knee and
healed scar and
heart beating and
hands that hold and
voice that bellows and
feet that dance and
arms that embrace and
my momma’s eyes and
my daddy’s smile and
my grandma’s hope and
my body... - By Elizabeth Acevedoit was always the older kids
running to Riverside,
hiding behind trees and underneath
jungle gyms, holding their breath
in the darkness as the other team
tried to find them.
I could not wait to be old enough;
a captor’s arms clasping.
Manhunt, manhunt 1, 2, 3.
This poem... - By Michael SimmsThe summer you learned to swim
was the summer I learned to be at peace with myself.
In May you were afraid to put your face in the water
but by August, I was standing in the pool once more
when you dove in,... - By Tina Boyer BrownImagine the lunchroom,
crowded and wary—
seating charts a welcome apprehension.
Loose-leaf
papers spiraled from
ballpoint-scratched notebook covers
until the last hour,
when a teacher
sighed and sighed.
Today, we close our backpacks,
but minutes
come quick and quit
the ease of dawn. - By Michael SimmsIt turns out you can kill the earth,
Crack it open like an egg.
It turns out you can murder the sea,
Poison your own children
Without even thinking about it.
Goodbye passenger pigeon, once
So numerous men threw nets over trees
And fed you to pigs.... - By Linda Sue ParkTurn off the lights.
Wear another layer.
(Sounds like a dad.)
(Sounds like a mom.)
You say hand-me-down.
I say retro.
Walk.
Bike.
Walk some more.
Recycle.
(See what I did there,
bike—recycle?)
Your name in Sharpie
on a good water bottle.
Backpack. New habits.
No thanks, don’t need a bag.
What else.
Oh yeah.
Tell ten friends
who... - By Linda Sue Parkcurve and swoosh
of wondrous white
brushstroked black
the throat and wings
modest cap of scarlet
stretch and flap
a regal span
dance romance
on chopstick legs
elegant and awkward
nest and stalk
between the mines
screech and whoop
past endless loops
of shining razor wire - By Padma VenkatramanThey ignored the new boy,
snickering behind his back.
In silence, I stayed safe.
... - By Padma VenkatramanThink
how many long years
this tree waited as a seed
for an animal or bird or wind or rain
to maybe carry it to maybe the right spot
where again it waited months for seasons to change
until time and temperature were fine enough to...