Aliens Are Coming

The aliens have landed.
they're full of laughter and mirth.
They're changing up the colors
for a more colorful earth.

I can't tell my mother.
I won't tell my dad
for to mention these aliens
they'll both say I am bad

To be telling these lies
and making these stories up.
But the aliens are in my backyard
because tall pink grass is growing up.


     See, I'm still working on poems about colors.  Crazy.  But I put my pen to paper and this is what comes out.  Put your pen to paper today and see what comes out.  Let your imagination run where ever it wants to skip.  Nothing has to be real or factual.  See where your penning takes you.  Have a happy Sunday writing your own poem.

WHAT IS POETRY?

WHAT IS POETRY?

Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.--W. B. Yeats
 
What is poetry?
It is finding the truth, no need to lie.
It's munching on watermelon and letting seeds fly.

It's a letter that comes with a card in the mail.
It's the lacy silver threads left by a garden snail. 

It's daffodil trumpets covering the hill.
It's a deer at the creek, drinking her fill.

     Happy Poetry Month.  Oh, I'm having so much fun.  I do love poetry.  In talking to my sister yesterday, she said, "Your progressive poem looks like so much fun, I wish I could play."  

   So, here is your chance, if you'd like, in the comments, leave your own line or couplet on What is Poetry to you.  Start with It's.... and then fill in the blank.  Have fun.  If you need a day or so to think what you'd like to add, that is fine.  Over the weekend, I'll try to add some of your lines to the poem.