Poem | |
The innocence lost so long ago
The undying faith we used to know
The gentle rain of a summer's skies
You can find it all in your child's eyes.
The world was right one time it seems
And we could reach beyond our dreams
To meet a challenge of any size
That fire still burns in your child's eyes.
In a world of anger and miscontent
And the frustrations of a life misspent
And you wait in fear as the storms arise
You can still find peace in your child's eyes.
Take the time for all those things
Hear his words: feel the joy he brings
There is no hate; there are no lies
There is only love in your child's eyes.
Poem | |
There are so many different kinds of poo,
it's amazing to see what passes through.
is something everyone has to do.
Yes. It's true!
I do too!
Look at this poo all covered in nuts.
It stinks far worse than rotten fish guts.
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
It stinks so bad,
it caused that fly to die.
So some poo is quite smelly.
Some poo looks like jelly.
Some poo is very icky,
especially when it comes out sticky.
Some poo smells high.
Some poo smells low.
Some poo slides out fast,
and some poo comes out slow.
What kind of poo is your favourite to do?
Maybe an in-between sort of doo-doo?
The smelliest poo is made by the razor-backed Zonkzifferack.
Boy, when the razor-backed Zonkzifferack decides to drop a mighty stack....
....stand back! Yes. Please stand back!
There is nothing worse than the poo attack of a razor-backed Zonkzifferack.
Then there are the infamous Knack-a-croodle Crows.
Their poo smells like that of a Summer rose.
Not at all unpleasant to the nose.
Nothing wrong with those Knack-a-croodle Crows.
Look! Over here.
That poo is making a quick dash.
Oh! What a huge splash!
Now look at the poo over there.
It's all covered in hair.
There's also poo that floats like a boat,
or sinks very quickly in the drink.
Poo shaped liked cats,
poo shaped liked rats,
poo marching along wearing fat hats!
the next time there arrives a choo-choo,
making poo is something everyone has to do.
Nothing to be ashamed of through and through.
Whether it's new
whether it's blue
or possibly a bit old
even covered in mold....
....everyone has to make poo.
Even Ms. Brown, the teacher,
and Mr. Collins, the Preacher.
Your Mommy makes poo.
Your Granny makes poo.
I do too!
Yes I do.
*R.I.P. Dr. Seuss
Written: January 28th, 2012
Poem | |
One Halloween night when I was five
Rain pelted city streets, we stayed inside
Dad lit the Jack-o-lantern candle
Told us the tale of a famous vandal
One “Headless Horseman” in Sleepy Hollow
‘Twas Ichabod Crane he chose to follow
Crane ran breathlessly, was terrorized
(At this point my father’s eyes looked wild)
Thundering behind him through the forest
The hooves of a horse and a rider headless
Carrying a sword to strike Ichabod
(Dad grabbed a spatula, swung it like a rod)
Not just we children but our mother too
Gasped at the thought of Ichabod pursued
High winds cut off our electrical power
As in our kitchen three children cowered
Orange light from the pumpkin’s evil eyes
Showed Dad seemed to have dematerialized
The youngest, I felt something run through my hair
I screamed aloud in horror and despair
The lit pumpkin fell from table to floor
Darkness as I ran through the kitchen door
Leaping into bed, pulling up the sheets
Dad snuck into my room, whispered, “Trick or treat”
So if you think I am a drama queen
Please realize that it’s all in my genes
*For Russell's contest. By Carolyn Devonshire. (My Dad was quite the storyteller!)
Poem | |
You say you're Cinderella,
Or would you like to be.
Does this mean that you've found,
Your Prince charming in me?
You also say you're Jasmine,
So, Princess, please be mine.
A whole new world I'll show you,
A world of love divine.
Your favorite is Tinkerbell,
So I'll be Peter Pan.
Together we can fly away,
Off to Netherland.
And if you're Sleeping Beauty,
Then i will be the one.
To kiss your lips, open your eyes,
And fill your life with sun.
And if I was the Beast,
And your name was bell.
I know that I could count on you,
To free me from my spell.
And if I was Prince Eric,
Would you come with me?
As my Ariel I'd show you,
A lover deeper than the sea.
Just like a disney tale,
Filled all with love and laughter.
You and I will be together,
Happily ever after.
Poem | |
Dance with me
I have borrowed mum`s summer hat
Dressed up with lipstick and pearl necklace
The good smell....do not say it but it`s mum`s perfume
The high heel red shoes are mum`s and they fits
me almost I`m nearly four years old and a big girl
I have dressed up so nice just for you
Dance with me dad, I`m your little princess tonight
Poem | |
There once was a little snowflake
that was beautiful, cold and white
He was created up high within the clouds
during a storm one winters night
There were millions and millions of other flakes
but, no two that look alike
So, every snowflake received a name
and, his given name was Mike
Now as long as the wind was blowing hard
the more Mike hung around
But, it made him large and heavy
For, now he's heading towards the ground
There was Susan, Steven, Jimmy and Kyle
There was Sally, Kim and bill
They all came down together with Mike
as they landed on a sill
Of a cold and frosty window
on that stormy winters night
They gathered all together
as they waited for morning light
The sun then rose above the horizon
it's light...lit up every flake
The colors that came from all Mike's friends
a rainbow it did make
The beautiful snow lit morning
left Mike nowhere else to roam
But, he was happy to be there with all his friends
as he made that sill his home
Poem | |
Bebo was a bird
who could not fly
He kept flapping his wings
'cause he knew he must try
There were two other birds
that were laughing at him
As he was jumping and flapping
up high on a limb
It must be so hard
to be stuck in a tree
Said, those two silly birds
That were laughing at me
I do not like you
get out of my tree
Don't you have somewhere to go?
Don't you have somewhere to be?
Bebo then said
let me get back to my endeavor
Or, I'll be stuck in this tree
forever and ever
He knows he's a bird
he eats worms and sings
He just needs a good breeze
to get under his wings
Bebo worked hard all week
to get into the air
Then he started to cry
Yelling, this isn't fair
With tears down his cheeks
Bebo looked at the sky
He said, I know I'm a bird
so why can't I fly?
The wind then spoke out
and said, It's not how you try
You must climb to the top
You must get really high
Then open your wings
and face into me
I will help you find flight
just get up there, you'll see
Bebo went to the top
of his lonely old tree
He opened his wings
and, waited to see
The wind then picked up
and, carried him high
Bebo was laughing with joy
'cause now he could fly
From that day on
Bebo was happy with flight
He said goodbye to his tree
and, then he flew out of sight
Poem | |
Inside the Dishwasher everyone rushed!
Clinks, clanks, rattles, 'Ouches' and ' Ohs'!
"Would you pa--lease, settle down!" said Deb--They hushed.
"Now we can hear...let's just see how this goes."
Curious, Peter, looked out through a chinc,
And watched Vie and Chris-- approaching by twos.
They opened the door--and who do you think--
Standing there wearing her fine Jimmy Choos,
Ms Lost Sonnet!--spoke not a word--but winked.
Wilma Wine-Corkscrew, dressed in purple hues
Gave the 'all clear', and Peter spread the news.
"We're having a party Ms Sonnet, please,
Won't you join us? It's a magic party
For Peter", said Ruben Rotisserie.
Bob Blender poured her a drink--quite hardy.
Connie Candellabra was flaming bright
As Ms Sonnet swept past to the soft couch.
Carolyn Cookie Jar screamed with such fright,
"Quick! She's on fire!" Then Lost cried, "Ouch!"
"I'll save her", said Catie Collander. "Here!"
But the water leaked through her like a sieve.
Susan Spatula yelled, "Have no fear, dear!"
Yet, the fire held on and would not give--
Others tried, but could not stop the fire.
Then Peter said, "I wuw twy! I can do it!
With 'Awwy, I can fwy! Way up highya!
Togethwa, we can save Ms Wost Sonnet!
Awwy is my fwend. He tawks funny, too!
He's aw the way fwom Engwand and he is
My Supwa Cape! So I can fwy! It's twue!
No H's wive theaw--his name is wike this:
'Awwy--not Hawwy." So now, they all knew.
"Did I 'ear some bloke colling my name?"
"Yes! 'Awwy, me! We've Ms Sonnet to save!"
Harry Handtowel--AKA, Super Cape--fame
Was now on the neck of Peter the Brave!
With no hesitation quickly they flew,
Smothered the fire and saved just one shoe.
Brittle and weak, Lost needed more than glue...
"She needs magic! Oh! Paweeze! What can we do?"
"Peter...we only made enough for you".
Said Carol Crock-pot. They all cried, "Boo Hoo..."
"Then give huw my magic! That's what you do!"
So quickly they sprinkled the magic brew.
Ms Sonnet was greatful--then said, "Adieu".
"Peter, you've done well," said Anne Assam Tea,
"Let's all have a cup'a tea and you'll see...
"'Magic's believing in yourself, --frankly,
Do that--and you can do--anything!"
*Special appearance by "Lost Sonnet", courtesey of David Williams...with much gratitude, thank you all for appearing ;)...Peter has many adventures to come...big hugs, love you all, cap'n deb
Poem | |
His narrow eyes, misguided lies
Misguide his narrow plan,
To cleanse the world from demons, he
Was called The Preacher Man.
“I see no proof, I hear no truth!
Your science is a sin!
You’ll burn in hell if you rebel
And let the Devil win!”
The Preacher Man then took a stand
To convert the sinners by the hand
“You’ll see the Lord you’ll praise the Lord!
You’ll follow blindly Christ the Lord!”
The more he chased, the more they ran
From him, The Preacher Man.
Leviticus was hideous
To the innocent righteous folk
“The fags all shalt be stoned to death!” (Lev 20:13)
The terror he provoked.
His crucifix read “Six six six”
The people use to claim
He’d always clutch on to a crutch
To get him through his pain
His acid tongue and Sabbath stung
With nails through his hands he hung
“My sacrifice is worth the price,
For council in the Lord’s advice!”
His rapture soon began
That beast, The Preacher Man.
His leather book of horror shook
The children to their knees
“Dash the babies against the rocks (Psalm 137:9)
And hang them from the trees!” (Joshua 10:26)
From town to town he went around
Proclaiming he could heal
“The pain of grace upon your face!”
(His wallet was concealed.)
So lock your doors and hide what’s yours
Protect your children from the w----
“I’m commin’ for you, I’m gunnin’ for you!
I’ll say that I’ve been pray’n for you!”
His ministry infests the land
He’s called The Preacher Man.
Poem | |
My poems are conceived, not within the womb,
which long time now has been devoid of seed.
My poems are born from a need to be heard:
my thoughts, passions, sentiments and beliefs.
They start as fragments,
flecks of ash from my mind's abyss,
a restless volcano that never long sleeps.
The particles of ash collect and form together.
Feverishly I rush to absorb them all
as captured words on scribbled scraps of papers,
employing metaphor, play on word,
or sounds deliberately paced, and grace of rhythm.
I mold my poems meticulously to my image,
and then they emerge, fatherless but freed.
Each, my voice, shares her sisters' ways,
but unique, is cradled in the pages of my book,
where, satisfied with my labor, I can turn to them
and often look as a mother does on her infant babe.
Unlike, however, mortal children can do,
when I am through with them, they do not change,
and fully formed, they rarely disappoint.
As some have loved the fruit of my own flesh,
I hope they'll love my poem children too.
For Carol Sunshine Brown's WHO WHAT WHERE Poetry Contest