Children's Poem

Supermarket

We'd just strolled in the market
when something caught my eye.
Look, the cereal Grandpa eats!
Don't just pass it by.

I screamed.
I laughed.
I pointed.
But Daddy only smiled.
He wouldn't stop.
I cried, why not?
It was a long trip down the aisle.

So then I just went crazy.
It's one way to get heard.
I want that box,
and I want it a lot.
OK, I'll use my words.

Oh, look there's a banana.
Daddy, can I please?
I'm gonna scream.
Then you'll get mean
and say I made a scene.

Thank you so much, Daddy,
for peeling this for me.
Now pass me that tomato,
and I'll finally let you be.

Children's Poem

Kittens Need Space

Kittens need space,
but I wish it weren't true.
We just brought you home,
and now all I want to do. . .

But, Kitten, is that right,
can't I carry you around?
Mom says listen when
you struggle to get down.

I want you to love me.
And don't know what to do.
Kittens need space,
but I wish it weren't true.

The Show

The Show

I missed the show.
I couldn't go.
Whose fault it is,
I do not know.

I was on my bike,
but got a flat.
I began to run—
imagine that!

I was almost there
when I lost my shoe.
Now what's left for me to do?

A truck sped by.
I leapt in back.
It began to rain—
so much for that!

Now it's time for the show to start.
I tried to make it with all my heart.

But you were there,
so take it slow:
Tell me all,
go blow-by-blow.

Poem

My Room

I don't want to clean my room.
I want to make a snack—
some toast with jam,
an ice-cold plum,
and don't forget my nap.

I don't want to clean my room.
I want to write a poem.
Or ride my bike out to the lake,
or just be left alone.

I don't want to clean my room.
Who says that it's a mess?
A heap of clothes sits on my bed—
to that I will confess.

I don't want to clean my room.
But it's hard to find a path.
To walk around this cluttered ground,
feels like I'm doing math.

So I don't want to clean my room.
But let me pick that up—
and clear this off
and wipe those down.
OK, that seems enough.

No, I don't want to clean my room.
But it looks as if I did.
It's almost done,
and it was kinda fun.
You know I love to kid.

Because when my room is clean,
when everything's just so,
I feel at ease—
Hey, look, my keys!—
no matter where I go.

Poem

The Bird

The bird that tried to race the rain
is back in flight to try again.

They say she's slow and far too old.
They say she's bound to catch a cold.

But there she goes—she's in the sky.
Her wings spread out and yet she's dry.

This drizzle yet may turn to storm.
These clouds keep coming—so dark and torn.

She zooms ahead, now left and right.
She swerves around a lightening strike.

Her feathers still have not got wet.
And if they do, she'll lose the bet.

So much depends upon this claim:
to be the bird that races rain.

poem

"I love..."

I love drawing and scribbling and sketching and more.
I smudge and smear and splatter and pour.

I'm drawing a house.
It's so wonderfully wrong.
The windows aren't square
and the chimney's too long.

And look over here,
at all that's crossed out.
OK, fine, I'll erase it.
There's no need to shout.

It's just I like how it's messy,
how it's every which way.
Wait, what are you doing?
You're going to throw it away?

Fine. Go ahead.
Now just let me be.
I don't care that it's bad.
I care that it's me.

"To Feel"

we are made to move.
to climb, to dance,
to lose.

we are built for bliss.
we laugh, we love,
we miss.

we are here to feel.
the heart, the soul,
the tear.

we are here to fly.
to grow, to live,
to die.

"On Moving"

sometimes poetry seems the only way to find the words
the emotion
the insight
the observation
the thing that will make a difference

and so i come to the poem
not to make a splash or find an audience
but to live and look around
to cry
to laugh
to feel

to truly feel this life
and let go.