More Ice Cream

JOYOUS ICE CREAM

My father drives an ice cream cart

he pedals through the street.

He sings out loud, “Cold ice cream bars,”

to everyone he meets.

I know how I can help him

as he pedals past the cars,

I’ll hand out paper napkins

for those drippy ice cream bars.

My Dream

I love ice cream, here is a list poem with lots of flavors, based on a joke I heard.

MY DREAM

I had a strange dream

Where a cow ate ice cream.

You never saw a cone so high,

100 scoops reached to the sky!

Chocolate, vanilla,

Cookies and cream,

Bubble gum mint and

Toffee ice cream,

Pumpkin pie,

Peaches, oh my

And rainbow sherbet.

Rocky road,

Cookie dough

And strawberry yogurt.

This ice cream cone was some dessert!

All night long, 
 

I watched the cow lick.

When I awoke, 
 

I felt soooooooooo sick.

My tongue was dry, 
 

My throat seemed thick,

My pillow was damp,

Where I’d licked it.

Dumplings

When bakers get bored

And they often do,

They throw their dough

Into a stew.

So, eat your soup,

But read the label

You might have dumplings

Or maybe a bagel!

My Lunchbox

My lunchbox has a carton of juice,

Two carrots and a pear,

A peanut butter sandwich--

My mother put them there.

These things were in my lunchbox,

When I rushed to leave the house.

Can you tell me how this got in?

It’s a whisker twitching mouse.

Applesuace

Applesauce, applesauce,

Baby is eating applesauce.

Everywhere it’s

applesauce.

Applesauce in

Baby’s high chair.

It’s even dripped into his hair

applesauce.

Applesauce slipped

from Baby’s spoon,

splattered and sloshed

around the room.

It dripped on Baby’s bib

Kerr-splat!

Slurped from there

into his lap.

Then it smooshed

into his toes—

Wiggley, squiggly

Applesauce toes.

Finally, it plopped

on the floor.

Now Baby needs a bath

but he wants more…

Applesauce, applesauce.

Teaching An Ostrich to Dance

Have you ever tried

to teach an ostrich to dance?

Her legs are too long,

her feet, huge as a ranch.

When the music starts rocking

she can’t hear the beat

and as her partner, I’ll tell you,

she has two left feet.

She can't tango or cha cha.

She moves much too slow.

Her wings when they flap

don’t help her to go.

If you dance with an ostrich

you’ll have feathers in your face,

and no one would tell you

you’re dancing with grace.

More Poetry Obscura Poems

Big Nathan Bicker
in his rain slicker
strolled through the town
while the rain tumbled down.

Tammy, Tammy,
the drummer's daughter,
carried a pig
in a diamond haulter.

Jane is a clod foot,
she's not quick.
Jane fell down
with her walking stick.

Silly verse

Laura Lean
skinny and mean
thinnest girl
I've ever seen.
She weighs so little,
she floats on air.
Watch her rise
from her chair.
Off she floats,
who knows where
is skinny Laura Lean.


     This poem is written in something I call Poetry Obscura.  I started with a nursery rhyme and wrote the opposite word, then I revised, edited and shaped the poem. Can you guess the nursery rhyme I started with?  It was Humpty Dumpty.  Try writing your own poem by starting with a familiar nursery rhyme and then translate the poem to its opposite.  It is fun to try this and you'll never run out of ideas.

Imagination Monday

     Happy crazy Monday.  I like my crazy imagination; it can take me anywhere.  Like flying on a carpet, my imagination can take me away from my troubles and to places that are zany and fun. If you had a magic vehicle to take you away, what would it be?  Do you think this is how The Magic School Bus got its start?  Or how about the sideways elevator?  What would you travel in?  Where would you go?  Brainstorm a list of things around you to travel with.  Could it be as small as a paperclip you'd need to shrink to travel on, or perhaps a colorful hot air balloon.  Try writing you own poem and then try drawing a picture to go with it.


 

BLUE CANOE

I'd like to travel to the moon

in a blue canoe.

I'd paddle on the milky way

that's just what I would do.

I'd mail you home a post card

to show you where I'd been.

I'll ask you to come paddling

when I come again.

Have a Super Sunday!

As a kid I always had trouble keeping my school papers organized and my desk neat.  Actually, I still do.

THE TROLL IN MY DESK

A troll lives in my desk.
He’s messing all about,
He’s stuck in there really good.
I just can’t get him out.

Determined to make him move,

I’m trying to do my best.

He stole my homework papers,

Chewed my last week’s spelling test.

He’s broken all my pencils,

Caused my markers all to leak.
He took my tuna sandwich,
He’s had it half a week.

That very strange aroma,
You have begun to smell,
The troll, he is making it.
I know this very well.

You tell me, “Clean your desk.”
I really should, I know.
But if I clean the whole thing out
He’ll have no place to go.

Sleep Over Saturday

Saturday nights are a great time for sleep overs with friends.  Have you ever thought about writing poems with your friends when they sleep over?  This poem is based on a pun.


                                APPLE SLEEPS OVER

Pie and Apple

Asleep in bed.

Pie kept snoring

Till Apple said,

“TURNOVER!”

Happy Friday

What is your favorite breakfast food?  Can you write a poem about it?
Here is another list poem. 


                                 WACKY WAFFLES

I love to make waffles,

I really do.

I’ll put whipped cream

on top,

when I make them

for you.

I’ll pour on maple syrup

really thick,

add a hot dog

on a stick.

peanut butter,

black eyed peas,

smooshie bananas,

holey cheese,

pepperoni and,

sardines from tins,

green onion dip,

gold raisins,

chocolate sauce,

bacon strips,

mustard and,

potato chips,

strawberry jam,

a little ham.

“YUCK!”

You say.

You don’t want my treat?

My baby brother will.

He loves to eat. 

 

Happy Thursday

When I was growing up, I got several warts on my hands.  I had to go to the doctor to get them burned off.  Most kids I talk to today don't even know what warts are, but here is a silly poem about them.

WART SHOP

My uncle sells warts from his shop

Says business is good—he’ll never stop.

Round ones, fat ones,

Green ones, flat ones,

Ittsy-witsy small ones,

Skinny, smelly tall ones,

Bumply, rumply, some are slimy,

Uncle sells warts that are even spiny.

Warts from frogs, witches and cats,

Dogs and hogs and even bats.

Warts from eyes and tails and wings,

But who would ever want these things?

Being a Poet!

I AM A POET!

I can feel blood

rush to my head

as I bounce with a baboon

while bungee jumping

from the Eiffel Tower.

I can sip champagne, slowly

from a fine crystal goblet

so the bubbles don’t tickle my nose.

I can eat cotton candy for breakfast

work in a French perfume factory

wear nothing but smooth, soft silk

pilot NASA’s spacecraft,

float all the way to the moon,

experience zero gravity,

see the earth as blueberry pie.

I can ride on the back

of a humming bird.

I can do it all on paper.

I am a poet!

I love writing poetry because I can experience all kinds of things on paper,  I can go any where my imagination will take me.  

I hope your imagination takes you to many enchanted places today.  Write  poems about it.

Wet and Windy Tuesday

If I was really being alliterative, I would have titled this Wet Windy Wednesday.
My mind has been else where and so Clo Ann Smith has introduced me to the Siberian Poet--that spot where your mind is barren. 

I'm watching the rain drops
form their tears
on the window.
They gather in groups
form drips that race
down the pane.
Wind changes gravity
as the streaks
slide in a diagonal tail.
Over the slick city streets
a lone seagull
glides, flying the waft.
 What will my day be,
teary raindrops
or seagull rides?

Hope your day has lots of new experiences, providing something to write about for poetry.

Happy Marvelous, Miraculous Monday

I am so excited and full of energy for this new week.  I have so much to share with you, but that will come a little bit later.  I'm so busy writing.

PAY ATTENTION

There are days I do not know
who I am or where I'll go.
On these days I take it slow
foot in front of foot
and pay attention as I go.

This is a developing poem.  I know this and several more verses are coming to it.  It does reflect how I'm feeling today.  I do like that last line pay attention as I go.
Poet Mary Oliver has part of a line in her poem THIS SUMMER DAY where she says, "I do know how to pay attention."  This is what poets do.  It is what scientists do too.  So for today try paying attention to all the things you see.  Make a list.  Then pick one thing from your list to write a poem about.  Fall in love (or hate) with that one item and let your reader know all about it
Look at the drop of water that drips from your faucet or the shower head.  What causes the drip to be that drop shape just before it falls?  What shape is it when it splats on the tile?  Look closely.  (These are questions physicist Richard Feynman asked when he was young.) When you have ketchup at lunch, does it flow from the bottle the same way?  Or watch a grasshopper like Mary Oliver, or an ant.  Have fun observing today.

Do you ever pretend you are a horse?

Wild Horses

When I was a child, my sister and I would play horses when we didn't have language to talk about what was really important.

It was easier being a horse

who pawed the dirt to claim territory,

stretching muscles as I'd rear back,

nostrils flared, fetlocks flashing in air

before taking off in a gallop or cantor,

a brown mane bouncing against my neck.

I knew more about being a wild horse

than how to live with parents who yelled

trying to tame me.

Bugs

What bugs me?

Flea

Mosquito

Bumblebee

Yellow jacket

Hornet

Cicada in the tree

Wasp

Gnat

But I cannot lie

The worst for me

Is the buzzing, biting

Minnesota fly.

The form of this poem is a list. I spent a week in Minnesota and I was surprised by those biting flies.  It seemed to me that even though I used bug spray, they could find me.  They went straight to my eyes and bit my neck and arms.  So I had to write about those flies just to get even.
 List poems are fun to write and can be written on just about anything.   Can you write a list poem about the toys in your room, or the foods that you eat?  Try to include at least two of your senses (sight,sound. smell, touch, taste) and maybe one simile (like, as) to compare one item to something else.  Have fun.

ANTS

ANT

Foot after food

trudging over granite

past lichen blue

thru rough gouged cracks--

crevices tasting of century’s erosion.

Seeking moth wings

belly scratching munchies

beetle legs and dead carrion sweets

Working alone or in tandem

smelling success on a warm summer day.


I do enjoy just watching insects.

Coyotes yip and wake me up.

SATURDAY MORNING, 5:15 AM

I awake to high pitched yips

of coyotes on the greens.

I imagine a mother

taking her pups on their first outing,

to learn their universe.

Feel grass, taste it, smell

the difference from desert sand.

The pups start, as the sprinklers kick on

and dew gathers in the grass.

Their mother throws herself down,

rolls on to her back, wets her fur.

Comforting, she laves each pup,

shows them

what it feels like

in the rain.



Sorry this was posted on Thursday, May 12 but for some reason blogspot was having problems.

Night Songs

I love this time of year because we open the windows to the breezes, but sometimes that can cause problems.

NIGHT SONGS

My windows are open

to the evening breeze.

I hear crickets

scratch their knees.

Cicadas have a

raucous roar.

They keep raving

more, more, MORE!

The bullfrog chants

like a bassoon.

Croak, croak, CROAK

to the moon.

The tree frog sings

a chirpy peep.

Is it any wonder

I

CAN'T

SLEEP!

Do you ever lie in bed and listen to the sounds of the night?  When I can't sleep, it's what I do.  Try writing a poem about the things you hear.   I have another night poem planned for tomorrow, so come back.

Little Tommy Rocket

Read this poem out loud and see if any of the words just feel good in your mouth.  It certainly is a silly poem.

Little Tommy Rocket

kept his pet frog in his pocket.

One day when Tommy

dashed about

his little froggie

jumped right out.

The frog hopped down

Tommy's throat

causing him to sputter

and to choke.

When Peter Proudfoot came jogging by

he heard poor Tommy's croaking cry.

He grabbed young Tom by the chest

then pushed hard there to depress.

The Heimlich did what was best

and out flopped the frog. Flying !

Peter's move was death de-fying.

Tom grabbed the flying frog and said,

If it weren't for Peter I'd be dead.

And he told his froggie pet,

I wish that we had never met.

If I'd of known that you'd do that

I would have fed you to the cat.

Now Little Tommy Rocket

only keeps gum in his pocket.

How was your weekend?

Did you have a good weekend?  Mine was great.  Can you guess from today's poem what I did?

WHERE WE’D BEEN?

If I were a dog, I know what I’d do,

I’d dig out of my pen and go to the zoo.

And when I got there I’d follow through,

And uncage all the other animals too.

The lions and tigers, the kangaroo,

Bears and buffalo and the quick running gnu.

Elephant, rhino, and a hairy baboon,

Hippos and penguins and a sad calling loon.

Once all the animals were out running free,

We’d rush to the mall to see a movie.

We’d eat candy, pop corn, and icy sno-cones.

Then when it was over, we’d all hurry home.

We’d close all our doors, clean up any mess,

So no one would know, and no one could guess.

I hope you have a great week.  Can you write a poem about your favorite animal?  Maybe you can make it a riddle poem where each line gives a clue and you don't reveal what the animal is until the last line.

Happy Mothers Day

Mother,

By the time you arrive

the saguaros will be in bloom.

Even now they load

the top of cacti

in prickly green horns.

Only the bare core of the white

flower will be left for you.

Their pollen dusts birds

grows to red fruit.

sweet and succulent

like our waiting for you.

Dragons and Fairy Tales

I love Saturdays.  I hope this is a great Saturday for you.

Darwin the Dragon

Darwin was a dragon

Who wouldn’t go to school

He didn’t play with fire--

He thought it wasn’t cool.

Darwin didn’t want to learn

To roar a scorching flame

He couldn’t burn an angry red.

He was very tame.

He wanted just to sing

To be like all the birds

But then the other dragons

Thought Darwin was a nerd.

He didn’t scare the knight

That he was told to slay

Instead he kicked a soccer ball

And asked the knight to play.

All that Darwin wanted

Was a garden he might tend,

So dragons could paint flowers

And share them with their friends.

Happy Friday

 

Western Gecko

in striped pajamas

on a spring morning

looked for his mama.

He called to her.

He moaned.  He wailed.

He even dropped

his spotty tail.

Poor Western Striped Gecko

     This poem is written in quatrains, verses with four lines.

     Isn't this guy a cutie?  I found him as I was moving pots of flowers when we were putting a water fountain in my front courtyard.   He was so sweet to wait for me to take his picture.

Cinco de Mayo

Happy Cinco De Mayo

Celebrate
in a fiesta
neighbors
commemorate
our heritage

dance to mariachi
enjoy the happy

Music playing
and singing about
your ancestors,
ourselves and others.


     So what are you doing to celebrate this wonderful day?

Mayflies

Poor
small
Mayflies
can not eat
do not have a mouth
and only live 48 hours.

This is another FIB, that lovely mathematical  poem

May Pole

HAPPINESS

Everyday in the afternoon
at school
for two weeks
we practiced dance steps,
 grabbing of hands,
weaving bright ribbons
around a May Pole.

On the day of the spring performance
I wore a new buttercup sundress
my mother made.
It had straps tied
in bows on my shoulders.

Before I put on the dress
Mother showed me
how to shave under my arms.
My mother showed me
steps to becoming a woman.

Do girls and boys learn how to weave the May Pole at the schools in your town?

Sorry this is so late today, I spent the whole day at the hospital in the emergency room so they could tell us that my husband didn't have the flu, or a stroke, or heart attack.  What he does have is idiopathic vertigo--the Roy Williams disease.  That is really great news.

I have another good May poem for you tomorrow, come back soon.

more on haiku

shiny red outside
crisp white succulent inside
holding Eve's first tooth

      I wanted to spend a little more time with modern haiku. In school, children are taught the classic form of haiku—three lines, 17 or 21 syllables (5/7/5 or 7/5/7). Since the father of modern haiku is considered to be Bashō (1644-1694), a 17th century Japanese poet, counting syllables doesn't make much sense. Japanese haiku are written in congee or pictograms. There isn't a correlation between the number of symbols the Japanese allow in each line and the English system. So somebody just picked a number. ( I'd like to know who that person was and how they got all those English teachers to agree to it.)  If you look at the International Haiku Journal, you'll find many poems written with four syllables in each line. You'll find lines with two or even only one syllable in the line. You'll find haiku written as all one line, like the American Sentence of 17 syllables that Allen Ginsberg advocated. For me, the important thing is the poem should evoke a feeling or sensation. It should be about nature or love, and there should be a depiction of a season or time of day.

      I can't help but imagine what Bashō's life must have been like. He walked North to South Japan on both islands. (His diaries have been published.) As he walked, I imagine him composing these short poems about nature that he could hold in his head until he stopped for the night and could write them down. He earned his living by writing documents(birth certificates, death certificates, marriage contracts and letters) for a population that was largely illiterate. So of course he had beautiful hand writing. In the towns he'd stay in, he would meet with people and teach them Renga, which is a form of linked haiku. I imagine these to be like drinking parties, because each person participating would be responsible for a haiku that links to the theme dictated by the master poet. After orally presenting the poem, the master would comment and everyone would have a drink of sake. If it was a good haiku it would be cheers and a drink, if it was suggested that the haiku needed some work, tweaking, then everyone would drink in commiseration. You can imagine that as the evening wore on the haiku would become more ribald and filled with puns. The gatherings were all men. At the end of the evening a renga winner would be declared. The poets strove to enhance their reputation of being good at this game. 

 

      Much of what I've learned about haiku over the years has come from Lenard Moore and the great folks of the North Carolina Haiku Society.

http://nc-haiku.org/ 

There are a lot of great links here and great information.

 http://www.thehaikufoundation.org/

If you like reading haiku, you might enjoy visiting the web site of children's writer Maureen Wartski. For several years she has made it a practice to write a haiku each day.

http://maureenwartski.wordpress.com/

      If you find haiku fun, you might want to learn about renga and the histories of some of the great renga masters, tanka, haiga, and haibun.

Happy May Day

cool, clear water flows
from the garden rock fountain
a cottontail drinks


     You know this classic haiku form
of a three line poem, on a single breath, 5-7-5 syllables in each line.
(7-5-7 is OK, too.)