My Horsey
By Ari Zeiger
I'm riding on a horsey.
It has handles by the ears.
This horsey's made by Grandpa
and passed down through the years.
My horsey's two-feet tall,
which might seem sort of low.
But I'm also small, so I give my all
when I'm rocking to and fro.
Oh, my horsey's made of wood
so sometimes I believe
that I'm riding on a horsey
and we're swinging through the trees.
You too should ride a horsey.
There's nothing more you'll love.
Just wrap your arms around like this
and hold on with a hug.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Friday, August 17, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Children's Poem
Bliss
By Ari Zeiger
Who am I?
What makes me me?
It all seems such a mystery.Who am I?
What makes me me?
Usually I just let this go.
I laugh out loud and say: I don't know.
But then sometimes, well, here's the thing.
I have this heart. And it likes to sing.
Yet once or twice the song gets lost.
And in its place, a million thoughts.
That's when I feel incomplete.
Like I'm no one you'd want to meet.
But soon enough, I'll feel OK.
Little by little, throughout the day.
And though my heart might still despair,
something trusts the music's there.
And then I'm free to dance again.
To follow bliss, to be my friend.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, July 13, 2012
"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.
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.
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