Each month, write a new collection.
Lost in the wind centuries goneA child swims in the clear riverof what is now Los AngelesShe knows nothing of crusades or lords. There is no reasonfor her to fear God as she petsa fish, in a small silver lake,who has no reason to fear herThis moment before theangels are born is heavenI want to tell her it will be okay but I know the futureand I cannot lie to the past
I like this one
Yeah that's a really wonderful poem!
1931, John H. Thomas (11)DadWho’re you kid?You’re Dad’s not hereI’m TommyTommy, sounds like a baby namenice gunThis? It’s a single shot 22it shoots shortsI use it to pick off crowsget 25 for the beakssweetWhatever. If you wannakeep up you better runI gotta check my trapsI watched as the boydirty from his headto his toes shotinto the woods
That'sget a whole 25¢ for the beaks
Great poem Tommy! I love the way you imagine him!
i really like the conversational feel of this. "nice gun." !!!
Up A TreeFor the last timeYou have got to come down!But, the view, I can almost touch the skyIt is too dangerous to be up there!The wind took the tree and swayedits top heavy branchesThe boy was near the telephone wiresas he climbed further to the top of the treeIt's as though I'm a bird!I can touch the sky!!The boy watched down below as Iwas looking up with the sun in my eyesI'll give you a treat, if you come down?I don't want to!Okay then, you won't get any ice screamThe boy thought awhile Still In his tracksas the wind blew strongand he swayed back and forthI need youto come down Now Thurman Aurthor BelcherThe boy was never to hear his middle nameunless he was in big troubleMaybe the ice cream sounds like a good idea?Can I have the treat? I don't want to come downif I can't have some ice creamAs the sun was in my eyesI could only make out a silhouette of a shadowup in the branches, slowly stepping back downas I screamed, "Be careful!!" , I don't want youto f a l lHalfway down the branch was slickand the boy slipped off and was actuallyfalling when hegrabbedhis outstretched handan caughtthe last branchlike an acrobatic monkeyclimbing back up he had a smile on his faceDid you see me?!!I almost fellI'll come down nowThe terrifying fall made my heart skip a beatand I gave him his ice creamjust because he was okay"I was like a monkeyA real life monkey, man!"I said,"I know, I know"
That's a wonderful poem, one of your best of the month Daryl!!
The BabysitterWhat would I do?If an ancient ancestor knocked on my doorAnd asked me to watch little JohnnyI couldn't take him to a movieor the mall I couldn't park him in front of the TV or a computer I couldn't use the air conditioner or anything in the kitchen I couldn't drive him around in the car and the bus is definitely out he'd be so confused my clothes would confuse him and my speech my house would frighten him and my food my morals would confound him and my humour my world would leave him spellbound and all its magic what a jerk I would be to watch him even for just one day he'd probably go back missing half of his IQ along with his sanity he'd probably end up coveting our laziness along with our greed he'd probably contract some crazy flu along with Ebola he'd probably want to stay... no way and when he goes back imagine the stories he tell there'd be talk of witchcraft and devils there be talk of science fiction and fantasy there'd be talk of giants And monsters there'd be talk of faithlessness and loss little Johnny would be hung so, sorry... I'm busy that weekend
That's great. You rejected him, but it's for the best!
i like the time-travel premise here. sort of scary, but effective.
My father at 7 at Reeder BayWell he was here — he must have beenThe family went camping at the beach:I see him Peter Pan-ish darting throughThe trees throwing sticks at deer and hidingI see him as a trickster slipping in and out ofShadows til I — his parent in this weird oedipal moment—Say Leonard STOP and we walk down to the beach.He runs into the water, splashes furiously in that terribleExcuse for freestyle that he has learned somewhere.He sits on the sand for a moment. Stands up.I hate it, he says. Sand gets in your pants.This will be his eternal complaint about the beachThat it’s messy. I see him at 7 jumping up and downTrying to get the granules out ofHis shorts.
Great Stephanie. you're father is a pill at 7! I saw a pic of my grandfather this weekend. He's seven and wearing such a bad boy smirk.