This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
I have started to edit some of these mostly the kids poetry. I think there might be enough here for a book. We shall see.
I make no claim that much of this is “good” poetry. But I do make the claim that I loved doing it and I learned something and some of it makes me cry.
rushing ‘round
rushing ‘round
moving fast
this here pace
it can’t last
oh I wish
for some slow
until then
have to go!
You laughed at my poems
You laughed at my poems
I still hear you sneer
I can’t help but say it
You hurt me my dear
You think they don’t matter
They won’t win a prize
But I still respect them
Does that surprise?
I call them silly
I probably should not
These poems, I love them
Oh the riches they’ve brought
Some have helped others
Some make me laugh
They’ve helped me to see
I’m not less than or half
We all need a way
To find who we are
To know in our heart
We shine like a star
it did not flood
it did not flood
we are all dry
the winds came in
blew rains goodbye
some trees around
they lost some limbs
no twig or leaf
was forced to swim
Waiting now
Rain pours down
Makes it wet
Ponds are big
Full I bet
Still so dark
Can’t yet see
Water up
To my knees?
Floods do come
Every year
Question now
Is it near?
Backyard filled?
Pump it out?
Rain just stop!
Hear me shout
Slowly now
Light will shine
We will see
What we find!
dreary one
outside it is grey and drab
not a hue you would call fab
it will rain and be a mess
a day inside for sure I’d guess
I don’t mind a dreary one
I know he will return — the sun
missed another day
well I missed another day
didn’t do what I did say
the first time felt like rotten rot
this time, well, it did not
I have learned that it’s ok
just pick up and play away
do it different
if you’re stuck — do it different
try a new, weird way
instead of drinking coffee
drink tea to start your day
used to wearing shoes
with matching yellow socks
how ‘bout trying sandals
or maybe even crocs!
like to eat a sandwich
with ham and cheddar cheese
when you’re at the diner
"roast beef for me, please”
always take the bus route
numbered fifty-five
walk for twenty blocks
or maybe even drive
you have to shake your brain up
feed it fresh to-dos
soon you find you’re looking
at a life that feels quite new!
examine the way
I said I would write
A poem a day
Let’s take a moment
Examine the way
First is the process
The never-ending walk
Truth is it’s hard
Some days I balk
It used to be easier
Feel more like play
Now it feels mired
My brain more like clay
I also was hoping
My skill set would grow
It sure seems to me
That process is slow
I know there are people
Who would laugh at my words
Some experts would say
All my poems are turds (ha!)
I know I’m not making
High flying art
I’m really just trying
To speak from my heart
I like making rhymes
Some that are silly
It’s fun to say words
Like willy nilly
I’m not even sure
What a poem should be
But I’m starting to think
It doesn’t matter to me
What I’ve discovered
It’s fun to just play
Be more like a kid
A little each day
The trip’s almost over
A few months to go
Thank you so much for reading
It matters more than you know
joking pastry
hard to imagine
a loaf of bread walking
what if you saw
a pat of butter talking
would you laugh
at a pastry that joked
roll your eyes
at a doughnut that smoked
if food could talk
what would it say?
eat me please
or just walk away??
What makes a good poem?
What makes a good poem?
To be honest I can’t really tell.
One reader claims perfect genius
while another mimes awful smells.
Two different reactions
to the same collection of words,
perhaps the system of judgment
rings faulty and a little absurd.
A poem only just sits there,
organized marks on a page.
Consider this measure of goodness —
is it static or does it engage?
Do the words beg you to say them?
Gather sounds up in your mouth?
Find their natural cadence,
climb north then dip down south.
Others may have an answer
but I truly can’t say.
To me, a poem — to write one —
a simple, plain form of play.
In Praise of Peanut Butter
You won’t ever convince me
Of a better kind of food
Than good old peanut butter
I’m sorry, is that rude?
Do you not like peanuts?
Or a tiny bit of salt?
Spread on bread the perfect bite
Crunchy sort is my default
Spread on celery stalks
Or with some type of jelly
Put it in a cookie too
Or just go spoon direct to belly
I hope you aren’t allergic
If you are I feel so bad
Without my peanut butter
Life would be so sad
Of course I’m being silly
But the truth — I love the stuff
In praise of peanut butter
Ok, I’ll stop... that is enough
be like the breeze
you have to keep on going
keep your ideas flowing
if you find you are slowing
hold on to this one knowing
the way through is keep rowing
like the breeze just keep on blowing