Random poems on Hello Poetry

eileen mcgreevy Aug 2010

Sticky fingers,
***** toes,
Smelly *****,
Beads up their nose,

          PRECIOUS

Snot stained blouse,
Sick stained shoulders,
Work gets harder,
As they get older,

        WONDERFUL

Midnight screaming,
*** in your bed,
Barbie in your coffe ***,
Poor goldfish overfed,

        GOOD TIMES

Money problems,
Teenage tantrums,
Nose rings, blue hair,
Football anthems,

        PARENTHOOD ROCKS!!!!

(c) eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com 2010

Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul Sep 2010

304: Sleepy Head

Come along sleepy head
It's now time for bed

You're yawning still
So up the wooden hill

You stayed up late
So dream land does await

Clean your teeth, comb your hair
Little one, your bed is there

So come along, sleepy head
Just now, in your bed

copyright Chris Smith 2010

Paul Butters May 2015

Lazy Sunday

Ease your way
Into Sunday,
Monday’s here soon enough.
Friday’s best,
Time to rest,
The week was tough.

Boozeday Tuesday is okay
I must say
And Table Tennis Thursday ain’t bad too.
Wednesday’s fish and chips are yummy –
They fill my tummy,
Washed down with a brew.

I love Saturday sport,
Who would have thought
I’d get set in my ways?
Such is my week,
Hardly unique,
But on Sunday I laze.

Paul Butters

Written as soon as I woke....

#lazy #week #sunday #tuesday #boozeday

Traveler Sep 2018

LOST FOR WORDS

Slowly my imagination fades
That creative side of yesterday
I bid farewell with kiss goodnight
Sadly I've lost my poetic sight

Oh but I remember when
The words would come
And have no end
An expression of wounds
The darkness within
But even the poet
Must someday mend

Traveler Tim

William Butler Yeats

Her Anxiety

Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.

Constantine P. Cavafy

He Vows

Every so often he vows to start a better life.
But when night comes with her own counsels,
with her compromises, and with her promises;
but when night comes with her own power
of the body that wants and demands, he returns,
forlorn, to the same fatal joy.