Verse For The Young At Heart
This is my second published hub of poetry and it's theme is aimed at the child in us all. Most of the poetry in here is lighthearted and whimsical, or hopefully has an underlying message of hope or good will.
All poems by John Hansen © 2012
Grunge The Grump
Grunge the Grump just could not laugh
No matter how he tried.
Outwardly he always frowned,
Though inwardly he smiled.
He did not have a single friend,
Which really made him sad,
For whenever he approached someone
they thought that he looked mad.
A kind and very gentle soul,
He would not harm a fly.
But when the children saw his face
They ran away and cried.
His only friends were animals
Like dogs and cats and birds,
Who appreciated kindness
And gave it in return.
Grunge used to sit at home alone,
And shed a silent tear.
"Why can't I have a smiling face
And not this awful sneer?"
One day he sat beside a brook
Beneath a shady tree,
And as he sat he sang a song
As tuneful as could be.
The song was filled with love and joy,
And all things that are good.
His voice was strong but gentle,
And clearly understood.
As he sang, the forest rang,
And people gathered 'round.
Come one, come all, from near and far,
To hear this lovely sound.
From that day on Grunge sang his songs,
And people shouted "More!"
Everyone became his friend,
And knocked upon his door.
No more frightened of his face,
The children sat and cheered,
For Grunge the Grump sang happy songs
That they enjoyed to hear.
How could someone with a face so sad
Sing like no other ever had?
Words of joy, of hope, and love,
Of birds, of flowers, and God above.
Grunge's face still wears a frown,
But now he's loved from town to town.
And though no smile invades his face
At least kind Grunge has found his place.
Off To School Blues
At 8.00am it's time to go,
The bus is on it's way.
"Hurry up or you'll be late!"
The way we start each day.
"Have you brushed your teeth, and hair,
Got money for the bus?
Don't forget your lunch again,
Quick you have to rush.
Your homework book is on the floor,
And there's your jar of Clag.
Go and pick them up right now,
And put them in your bag."
"I want to take this to my class,
Today is 'show and tell'."
"You cannot take dead mice to school,
They're dirty and they smell."
"Goodbye kids, be on your way,
I'll see you all tonight.
Remember when you cross the road
To look both left and right."
At 8.15 they are out the door,
And racing on their way.
They reach the stop before the bus.
THANK GOD IT'S LATE TODAY!
The Dragon's Gate
by John Hansen © 2014
She played by the rusty old rickety gate
In the falling down wood picket fence,
Whenever she went to Grandma's house.
To her family it didn't make sense.
Amy was a little red-headed girl,
Just three and a half years old,
She had a very inquiring mind
And embraced everything she was told.
Her Mommy and Daddy they loved her so,
But they had to work every day,
So Amy went to Grandma's house
Where she loved to explore and play.
One day as she played in the garden alone
The gate creaked and she looked up surprised.
A tiny green dragon appeared on the top,
Right in front of her little-girl eyes.
A child never doubts what he or she sees,
They believe in things adults cannot.
Among all the trees, the flowers and the bees,
Was a creature from folk-tales forgot.
"Dear child!" he exclaimed in a high chirpy voice,
"I have lingered here many a year,
For one with a pure and innocent heart
Who can look on me without fear."
"Are you a real dragon?" the little girl asked
With eyes full of wonder and glee.
He just opened his mouth and expelled a flame,
"If you truly believe, it can be."
Each day Amy played with her fantasy friend.
He'd relate wondrous tales to her ears,
But gay childhood days they soon turn to weeks,
And the weeks first to months, then to years.
Dragons live forever unless they're slain by knights,
And little girls grow out of dolls and toys.
Fairytales and fantasies make way for other things,
Like best friends, mobile phones, and boys.
Amy's visits lessened, until she rarely came.
Then when dear Grandma passed away.
The garden was neglected, became badly overgrown,
And the little dragon sadly flew away.
To find another little child who was looking for a friend,
A boy or girl with open heart and mind.
Who dreamt of things like fairies, mermaids and unicorns,
An imagination free of worldly bind.
Years went by so slowly after Amy came no more,
But fantasies and dreams they never wain.
Then someone brought the run-down place where Grandma used to live,
The house and garden came to life again.
Flowers were planted, fence repaired,
A child's laughter once more could be heard.
"Mommy can I play outside?' little Billie asked.
"Of course you can ," his mother said, "This was my Grandma's yard."
As Billie approached the still rusty old gate
It creaked and he looked up surprised.
A tiny green dragon appeared at the top,
In front of his little-boy eyes.
The quamby sat and smoked a pipe,
Within a wandang tree.
A purple leaf fell on his nose,
And made him gently squee.
Three button birds flew swiftly by,
Towards the pea green sun.
The quamby flashed a furry paw
And caught the closest one.
He opened up his four-foot mouth
And swallowed whole his prey.
The button bird cried, "Let me out!"
But didn't get his way.
Upon the ground, in serpent grass,
Two fluff-puff kittens played.
Leaping high into the air,
The breeze blew them away.
Beside Lake Coolywillowong
The patchwork palm trees grow.
A myriad of colored leaves,
They house the galago.
The galago are flightless birds
Who bounce along the ground.
The fifteen-meter patchwork palms,
They scale with just one bound.
A wishworm flashed across the sand
And dashed towards its hole.
Two silver scooters took up chase,
But couldn't reach their goal.
If a wishworm's ever caught
It grants a wish, they say,
But nothing's ever caught one yet,
At least not to this day.
The silver scooters stood in awe
And dusted off their scales.
They thought with six legs they were swift,
To wishworms they were snails.
Oh what a world is Betelgeuse,
A wondrous place to be.
Fantastic creatures there abound,
The likes you'll never see.
Though one night when you're sleeping
You may just chance to dream,
About this distant never land,
And marvel at the scene.
More by this Author
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I wrote this poem with no message in mind. It is just a little bit of randomness and the need to write something.. anything!