imagine. create. connect.
I Say Grace
as they leave us again,
in the woods, at a campsite,
closed for the season.
The fresh air is crisp.
BabyDoll breathes a little
easier out here.
She runs, laughing through
ribbons of sunlight, chasing
shadows on the ground.
We follow a trail
to a silver-blue stream where
we dangle our feet.
From my old backpack
I pull out two sandwiches,
our meal for the day.
PB & J
She’s the jelly
pure and sweet.
I’m the peanut butter
keeping us together.
BabyDoll and me,
we do the best we can, stuck
between two pieces of old white bread.
Mom and Dad.
Poems are taken from GILT, a novel in verse. Enquiries may be directed to Linda Pratt, Wernick & Pratt Agency.
Poetry is music written for the human voice.
– Maya Angelou
Silver Spurred Galoshes
No Stetson hat
No bolo that
Might pair with old galoshes
So globs of glue
Pinwheels will do
To craft cowgirl galoshes
I strut with pride
Prepared to ride
Gussied up in my galoshes
I’m on a course
To tame a horse
In silver spurred galoshes
Past bales of hay
I make my way
Jing-a-ling sing my galoshes
I grab a halter
Never falter
Spurred on by my galoshes
My steed she moos
Her cud she chews
My cow stomps my galoshes
My silver spurred galoshes!
Repeat Pete (A Very Short Pantoum)
Repeat Pete’s my pesky parakeet.
He doesn’t use hashtags when he tweets
Instead, in raucous voice he repeats
my words verbatim–he’s not discreet
“Sisters are dumb and have smelly feet.”
Word for word his raucous voice repeats.
Dad gets mad and grounds me for a week.
Thanks, Repeat Pete–pesky parakeet!
The Wild Beast
PO
In class today we’re analyzing poems.
We’re ripping them apart.
My teacher says hunt for the wild beast inside.
Hear its roaring heart!
ET
So, I deconstruct and dismantle mine,
dissecting every word.
Wait! My poem’s NOT about a lion,
but a little hummingbird.
RY
Life Reflected
Light and shadow play tag between buildings
a child stares back at me bright from slumber
rolling through sun showers and rainbows
I wonder, where is she going?
Raindrops muddle on the window’s dirty glass
a young woman glares back at me dark as thunder
streaming down her face a trail of mascara
I wonder, who is she leaving?
My ride lurches to a sudden screeching stop
an old woman peers back at me groceries asunder
tracing the tiny avenues on her beautiful face
I wonder, how did she get here?
St. Paul Almanac, IMPRESSIONS Poetry Competition, Honorable Mention
You can find more of my poems at Madness Poetry. The Madness Poetry tournament fuses technology with traditional publishing to connect kids and teens with more poetry in their schools, homes, and lives, proving how vibrant, exciting, and ALIVE poetry can be. Visit the site to learn more.