"winnie" poems
I know they're not
accurate.
The fact I frequent
creative results
may be
more or less
coincidental.
After all
who am I
compared to
Jon Stewart
or a Greek
philosopher?
But maybe
I don't care.
Maybe I take them
just for fun.
And who can complain
when they are compared
to Charizard
and Winnie the Pooh?
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
i want to hug you the way,
winnie the pooh hugs the piglet
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 5:11 AM UTC
Slim dusty got a bunny and frisbee was it's name and it has a little harness tied to his back
Slim carries it around through sick and well
The bunny is so cute can't you tell
You see this is part of slim's next life which is looking after bunny rabbit named frisbee
The bunny has three K9 siblings named piper and Winnie and gg and each day the dogs will get aqquainted with it
And slim dusty says to the bunny I want to play with you
Yeah dumpity Doo Doo Doo
Slim dusty remembers singing when the pub had no beer and he sang looking forward looking back and he sang Duncan about a man who likes beer
Now slim is hayley in a band called flair and more
Slim dusty has a bunny and frisbee was it's name
He picks it up and says I think you are the best bunny by far
Slim dusty has a bunny and frisbee was it's name
*** pa pa *** pa pa
Cute little bunny rabbit
I love to cuddle the bunny
He is very cute
I feel great saying to the bunny
Cutey cutey cute cute cute
We party in our house with the 2 dogs watching on
He is a cute little bunny
Easter is coming soon for frisbee
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 3:14 AM UTC
I have a heart
made to adore
juvenile fantasies,
despite modern tragedies.
In moments of madness
when modern photography
presents to me
the horrors of humanity
I can engage for a minute
and escape the insanity
in the comics
that carry super hero forms.
When I see bombs
that blister skin
till flesh bursts
revealing red disfigurement
I can travel in
my own mental
compartment
to escape this.
I can revisit
Winnie the pooh
or review the crew
of “Star Trek
The Next Generation.”
When mind numbing poverty
rears its sad faces at me,
with stranger’s eyes
and thin lips quivering
in lonely desperation,
despite my empathy
I have a gift for escaping
the irrationality
of human suffering.
I just sip the soft brew
of nostalgia for old cartoons
recalling a slightly saner time,
when all the sorrows
were only mine,
when I ached
with a mother’s fury
but tv shows saw me distracted
the fact is
I have been escaping
my whole life,
and I don’t see
that changing.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
clinton rebukes israel over east jerusalem homes obama nasa plans catastrophic say moon astronauts alaska wolves **** woman's teacher out jogging ireland frees 3 cartoonist plot suspects sarkozy and brown attack u.s. over protectionism pope benedict's former diocese rehoused abuser priest chile puts quake damage at $30bn winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela climate change makes birds shrink in north america dr rowan williams is honored for work on russia weymouth ridgeway skeletons scandinavian vikings live bangladesh v england michael schumacher pledges to raise game in bahrain can the u.s. vice-president broker middle east peace? sarkozy's party faces socialist drubbing remote indian state set for development new york dust victims split on 9/11 deal german tells of childhood abuse by catholic priest a step closer to the american dream? lehman: how $50bn was buried in london ba strike union announces dates in march china's oil demand increase astonishing says iea china warns google to comply with censorship laws net clash for web police projects hsbc admits huge swiss bank data theft phil spector ****** conviction appealed sir david jason to voice cbbc animation climate change 'makes birds shrink' in north america thalidomide effect mystery solved blood pressure fluctuations warning sign for stroke winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela mogadishu residents told to leave somali capital same-sex couples marry in mexico city by mistake i clicked on wrong button and lost everything
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
Over the years, I taught so many classes
in many different schools,
long-term or short.
Hundreds and hundreds of students,
all ages, three to eighteen years old.
But how could I remember
all of them?
I was the teacher; they were there to learn.
Those were our roles; that was the contract.
They would move up and I move on, for all of us
always a new beginning.
But now and then
one will return to haunt me, like the girl
whose secret friend, Little Mister Hansford,
drove a tiny red plastic car.
I keep it now, in my drawer,
and remember.
The boy, his skin
flaking and cracked with eczema, trying to resist
the urge to scratch, but always failing.
How could he bear to wake each day to face that life?
Yet I was proud he claimed me for his brother;
On a school exchange visit,
an older girl, seventeen,
crossing the Alps in a coach,
moved beyond tears
by her first sight of real mountains.
Do they remember?
Maybe they do.
A young man I met by chance
one day on a Spanish street
surprised me by recalling
how I read Winnie-the-Pooh when he was small,
and did the animals in different voices.
So many children, so many years have gone,
but memories, like love, can linger on.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
I want you
more than Plankton
wants the Krabby Patty secret formula.
I need you
more than Wile E. Coyote
needs functional ACME products.
I love you
more than the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles love pizza,
more than Winnie the Pooh loves honey,
more than Scooby-Doo loves Scooby Snacks.
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 2:43 PM UTC
(history)
Quell the bard was silken-clad and ever young.
her flute connected earth and sky,
tamed lightning in the higher notes..
her ancient horse would winnie to her song
of endless breath she blew her story even into stone.
having borne the stigmas of a *****
her martial prowess struck,
trampled disrespect to cacophonic dust
while over hills and vales he carried her--
a love-sick equine heart at peace at last upon the road
between her thighs, commanded loyalty of beasts and men.
none claimed her for their own,
though some risked instant death to try
..stirge beaks tap on bones and rock
to seek corrupted blood of elven kings,
who having reigned and fallen
to a royal troglodyte of dragon times,
paint each eon with ambivalence...
i conjure what my heritage beholds
--reclusive double-tongue to hoard all words,
reinvent religions for a lark
what legend am i privy to the making of
that hasn't had its underwires stripped,
hung about a square in lewd display of Fact
to purge a sense of mystery awry?
i am alone within my fantasy.
its symbols still mythologize my i.
i will not bare it here, or anywhere--
concealment is its freedom, and its boon--
in which a frame of tenuous material appears
where antidote addictions cycle musically,
the timeline's summoning
a game of recompense, compensating wanderlust
won by whim and licorice for thought;
it finds familiarity untamed--
adolescent anchorage aweigh--
adventures into wildernesses lost
.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, To my Grandson Tedy
How I dream of holding your hand
A true blessing Our Father has sent me
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, sweet little man
Your Granny Winnie may reside so far away
Yet, her heart is yours each and every day
In my prayers you will always stay
My Grandson enjoy celebration on this wondrous day.
~~~~~~~~~HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
In psychology class the other day my professor said something that hit me. "When you think while your depressed, nothing clicks or makes sense. Your mind just feels like a cloud of cotton candy. The only thing that made sense to me at the time of my depression was Winnie the Pooh books." And this was the best explanation I could have ever heard.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
The harder they try to silence me
The louder I become
Winnie Mandela
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
My heart is in throbbing tone
My hands are as cold as stone
Sleepless, I become restless
Shortness of air, I become breathless
Controlling emotions seems helpless
An emotional distress
In the realization of my hyperventilation
I get dizzy and sleepy
My mind is on overdrive worry
Voices have strained my mind
And the Echoes have drained my body
Into a slumpy Winnie.
© Pax
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
Winnie, a name to grow in.
Winnie, a child, into her teens,
Winnie, the sweet old lady.
Winnie, to wear for all time.
Did her parents know,
On the day she was born?
“What’s the child’s name?”
“Winifred, we’ll call her
Winnie.”
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:44 PM UTC
Eeyore the Dr. Ignorant,
Winnie the Pooh, ambulant,
On a walk in the woods,
Are they up to no good?
Winnie does say,
In his happiest way,
"Buzz, Buzz, buzz,
I wonder where the birdies was?
Whoops, in my eye, birdie's blip!
I guess that's what you call a gift! "
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
I counted the clock
as I watched the small hand slowly tick by
I stared off into space
as I watched the weather change from sunny to Grey-
blurring my vision as my mind drifted away...
Something in the air told me to be still- listen & wait
but if I'd of known on this day
you'd do the unthinkable so intangibly-
I well I don't know what I'd of done....
I haven't eaten since you left
I hardly slept since I found you gone...
Hard to think as I sit at my dinning table
watching out my bay window as children laugh & play.
I heard a dog bark and watched a girl playing with her hula-hoop
I sit as tears run down my face thinking are you eating are you safe?
Why now would you think to leave
when everything you wanted
is right in front of you?
Is that person you ran to worth
the pain your causing me?
What can you be thinking ?
As I sit hear with my elbows on this table,
head bent low & my hands in my hair.
I hear a knock & my heart skips a beat, butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach...
That lil girl with her hula-hoop tapped my window and smiles (I thought it was you)
I smile right back but all I see is you- in my mind
I see you with your tiny hands, your wrapped in blankets,
leaves of many colors fall down from above as we sat in Elizabeth Park
me reading Winnie The Pooh to you.
You at about 2- running with your very first kite
saying looky momma look "it fly'ing"...
As you ran you tripped stubbled & fell sadly your kite flew away...
I chases it but I couldn't reach it in time....
You look up with tears & it breaks my heart I didn't catch your kite
so I cry too and you say to me momma it OK.
I see in my mind you at 4 laughing with your sister - you both hold hand
twirling round & round in circles until you fall down giggling all the while.
I wonder where is that smile of yours now?
Where's the laughter & feelings you had way back then?
My tears are overflow- spilling on this dinning table...
I look up and watch
the tiny red hand on the clock tick, tick, tick on by,
it's the only sound in my house.
Your sisters outside playing with their friends
as I sit watching out the window& all I see is the many blended
children whom now look all
like you- running, laughing, playing...
Being free to be them selves & all I can do is long to have you home for once.
No picture is gonna help
because you've left me watching, waiting once more,
I been here all this time doing what I seem to continuously do which is
Watch As Time Flys By!
Always Me Ayeshah
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
God has always come
Back a woman.
Long before
there was a Jesus,
Eve stood in a Garden
And tried to correct
Her brother's sin;
She was Lilith then.
She packed her bags,
And strolled off to
the mountains to be
with whomever she
So chose; She left
God and Adam to
Figure it out:
The lie the would tell;
The creature they would
Blame;
The clothes.
Yes, God has come
Back multiple times,
And in multiple screaming,
Female forms..
She came back as
All the Dahomey
Women, The Amazons,
Salem Witches, Big Mommas
Abuelas
And midwives.
God has. Had an endless
Universe of
lives.
She even came back a
a little Jewish girl;
Stowed away in an attic
During the Holocaust.
In India she came as
Phulan. In Africa
She came as Winnie,
In Argentina, Chadron.
While men may name
their legends, myths
and fables, just as
Adam did.
God has.never.had
Names and titles
In mind;
Every time a girl
takes a breath she is
reborn, she is there
Carrying revolutions
In her silences and
eternity in her hair.
She will come back
A fire next time.
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
I always carry a pen in my pocket.
I watch I Love Lucy reruns when I’m upset.
Chocolate is my obsession, my “péché migon.”
I listen to quiet chatter and music without lyrics when I’m trying to focus.
I am far from a picky eater, but I cannot stand ketchup or licorice.
Watching Gilmore Girls religiously for five years taught me that life is too short to talk slowly enough for people to understand you.
I find the world hilarious.
Making it easy for people to laugh with me is my goal.
I ogle over Ducky from Pretty in Pink with my best friend every time I need a reminder that not all boys are ****
I want to walk down the aisle holding a bouquet of stargazer lilies, as my mom did before me, and I lose myself in Degas’ “L’étoile” every so often.
Burt’s Bees honey lip balm reminds me of my childhood Winnie-the-Pooh scratch-and-sniff book.
Every cup of Constant Comment tea, pair of jeans that fits perfectly, night spent listening to rain hit the roof, and run through damp grass with bare feet reminds me that life is beautiful.
Once, I ate so much pineapple I burned the lining of my mouth.
I cried the first time I heard “Save Us” by Cartel and saw the ending of Cyrano de Bergerac in French.
I am going to marry the genius who invented cinnamon brown sugar Pop Tarts.
Everyday, when I leave the house, I blow a kiss to the picture of Walter Payton my dad hung above the doorway to our garage.
When on vacation, my family and I buy pastries and coffee and walk in front of a jewelry store, attempting to recreate the scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Life should be a little crazy most of the time.
I may seem difficult to live with, but I’ve shared a room with my little sister for fifteen years, and she only hates me sixty-three percent of the time.
I hope that you are up for a few good laughs and an extraordinary year.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
Cinderella did not teach me stand up against the wrong.
She did not teach me to be strong.
Katniss Everdeen did.
Aurora did not teach me that I don't need a man.
She did not teach me I am independent just as I am.
Cleopatra did.
Snow white did not teach me that real beauty has nothing to do with physical appearance.
She didn't teach me self love or acceptance.
Winnie Harlow did.
Ariel did not teach me to resist and fight.
She didn't teach me to raise my voice for what is right.
Malala did.
Ashley Graham gave me confidence.
Michelle Obama gave me inspiration.
Tris Prior taught me sacrifice.
Hermoine Granger showed me it's not only boys who can fight.
Nikita Gill taught me I am enough even without a man.
Joan of Arc showed me I can do anything he can.
Let's read to our girls stories of such badass, incredible, fierce and confident women.
Instead of stories where they are painted weak and can't do without men.
Let us teach them that they are powerful, they are strong.
And anyone who tells them different is wrong.
Let's read them stories of brave, heroic women instead of ones where they are shown weak and helpless.
Let's teach them to be warriors and not some princess.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 7:08 AM UTC
I went for a run,
And listened to the sweet stylings of Eminem and Pink.
I enjoy the puns while my lungs are giving out due to my exertion of energy.
After an hour I jumped into the pond,
And I watched the fish swim around me.
And they looked to peaceful,
And they wished their fish wishes.
And it reminded me of an effortless cloud.
And that reminded me of my favorite childhood poem.
It was from Winnie The Pooh.
"How sweet to be a Cloud
Floating in the Blue!
It makes him very proud
To be a little cloud."
And I thought about how much has changed since I first heard that poem.
Now I love poems about suicide, *** and self deprivation,
But I still wish I was a cloud,
And I do not love that poem any less.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
I remember the black spot
over the stove,
before dad painted over top,
and made the world normal again.
I remember the smoke detector,
how it sounded like a broken toy
left on, until the batteries
would eventually run out.
"I wanna see!"
How tiny those boots,
fit for an Alaska winter,
must now seem,
but hardly at all when I was carried next door,
still in my pajamas,
to watch the big truck
with its bells and lights.
It was dusty when they left.
A thin, white blanket of snow,
to ***** out a grease fire,
lightly frosted the tiny
toy ice cream cart.
"Don't touch that!"
"Can I help you paint?"
Perhaps I could cover up
my very first nightmare,
where the big red fire engine
shot me with a jet of water
past my mom and dad,
through a snow white trellis,
and into a tiny bed
with Winnie the Pooh sheets,
screaming at two in the morning.
It's funny to be gun-shy
of every school fire alarm,
because the Army safety officer
was caught without his fire extinguisher.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
I want to go outside and run till I can't run anymore and then run some more.
To run till my legs give out and I've forgotten it all.
But you can't out run your past, can you?
Sadly it follows you everywhere you go.
You can never quite forget it.
Always nagging at the back of your mind.
A steady reminder of the pain and horror.
I sit in the corner curled up rocking back and forth.
I concentrate on forgetting. Clear your mind.
Forget who you are, pretend your Winnie the Pooh being careless and trusting. Eat Huney and laugh a lot. Play with Hang out with Piglet and go visit Roo later. Be innocent.
Deep breaths..
Just relax.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
I am sixteen,
walking down winnie in the middle of summer
heat waving thick fingers in the air, taunting
I am wearing sweatpants and a hoodie
all my layers of self and self defeating comfort eating are not enough to cover me
I have the hood pulled over my hair
***** too short, uncared for
I am carrying a novel, something cheap and badly written
a friend from school passes by me, waves, I turn away
pretend I don't see them
I stuff my hands in the soft pockets, grab a handful of hip meat, it feels like that scene in Lord of the Rings where juice runs down the chin of a false king
I wear anxiety heavy around my face, I don't recognize myself without it
but depression is not a word I can touch
it doesn't fit me
it doesn't belong in my charismatic vocabulary
I don't know that I am drowning
wet mouth smacking and finger tapping make me feel like my mind is an experimental horror film
how are small sounds so loud?
how do they crawl into my ear canal like an animorph alien?
I was always so afraid of those books
and the sounds outside of our tent when my brother read them to me
I am so afraid of everything
I am sixteen
It's 98 degrees outside
and I am walking down the street in three layers of winter gear
and fear
and self hatred
and I cannot identify it
I don't know that I will be beautiful
I don't know that I already am
I don't know that my hands will pick wildflowers out of words
and that my life will be a practice of arranging bouquets for kitchen tables
I don't know that my hair will be long and easy to twirl around one finger, without thinking about the action
actions won't always feel like eyes watching me in and of themselves
I don't know that I will pull on jeans without thinking about the way they don't lay flat against me
I don't know that curves can be custard on the tip of a finger, sweet and nostalgic tapioca,
gritty and dimpled and perfect for sundays
and mine and plenty
and pretty
I don't know that I will be beautiful
I don't know that I already am
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
He said with ardor that he loves me
That his heart for my heart pines
Of this obsession I see
Insanely innocuous signs.
He called me his Winnie the Pooh
His panda and his dove
(Ought I lock myself in the zoo?
Seems I'm an animal that he loves).
He said that like an anthology
I was an interesting read
(He doesn't know the e of my etymology
For I'm written all in Greek).
He said that he would be thrilled
To have me as his wife
(But if I were to light his kitchen
He'd have a short shelf life).
He said that like the sky
My eyes were blue and deep
That my voice was a sweet lullaby..
(Dear me! Should I put him to sleep?).
He said that my pretty smile
Was as wide as a well made road
(Well, he'd have to run for miles
Before he reached my sweet abode).
He said that I was a Wonder
Like the great barrier reef
(I sure hope he goes down-under
I might get some reprieve).
I think it's really not me
That with fervor he thinks he loves
But what he wants me to be
For I am none of the above.
And when I am by his side
Like a bubble I do burst
From him, I must hide
For he brings out my very worst.
And so my handsome lover boy
He rants on and on
How atrociously he annoys
So **** scram and begone!
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC