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25 Responses to "Kids' Book News: National Poetry Month"
April 3, 2010 at 06:17 PM
Sonatina Two tongues merge as if flesh were the only thought. One hand slides the length of lips enticing shiver. These two will fuse. In this replication the one cell never divides.
April 28, 2008 at 11:20 AM
My fingers down your hips, I twitch. Your soothing gaze is lit, uplifts. The dark turns moments into years, We’re clenched as one through time, Sublime Nothing matters this close, The feeling sparked and you’re mine, Divine.
April 27, 2008 at 03:06 AM
I Love You and Good-Bye I went to a party, And remembered what you said. You told me not to drink, Mom So I had a sprite instead. I felt proud of myself, The way you said I would, That I didn't drink and drive, Though some friends said I should. I made a healthy choice, And your advice to me was right, The party finally ended, And the kids drove out of sight. I got into my car, Sure to get home in one piece, I never knew what was coming, Mom Something I expected least. Now I'm lying on the pavement, And I hear the policeman say, The kid that caused this wreck was drunk, Mom, his voice seems far away. My own blood's all around me, As I try hard not to cry. I can hear the paramedic say, This girl is going to die. I'm sure the guy had no idea, While he was flying high, Because he chose to drink and drive, Now I would have to die. So why do people do it, Mom Knowing that it ruins lives? And now the pain is cutting me, Like a hundred stabbing knives. Tell sister not to be afraid, Mom Tell daddy to be brave, And when I go to heaven, Put "Daddy's Girl "on my grave. Someone should have taught him, That it's wrong to drink and drive. Maybe if his parents had, I'd still be alive. My breath is getting shorter, Mom I'm getting really scared. These are my final moments, And I'm so unprepared. wish that you could hold me Mom, As I lie here and die. These are my last words to you Mom, I love you and good bye.
April 25, 2008 at 12:41 PM
A SOFT IRISH RAIN I love the rain; shimmering misty or cascading bullets, but especially a soft Irish rain, the kind that washes in the sunshine with cool breath. The kind of rain you’d like to run out the door and dance naked in. If only the neighbours wouldn’t complain. A soft Irish rain. Tiny droplets of God’s life giving elixir descending from heaven, exploding on impact, splashing everything with its baptismal spray, washing away the pain of a sin filled world, leaving pools of hope. I have faith in the healing power of the rain A soft Irish rain. Slipping down the window pane.. a peat fire burning on the hearth. Two lovers curled on a sheepskin rug ‘neath a blanket of Aran wool The soft patter of a thousand-thousand raindrops murmur in their ears. Each drop a single note in a passionate refrain. A soft Irish rain.
April 25, 2008 at 11:06 AM
minds and printers that desperately want to function but can’t “the printer is working!” she exclaims in a sing-song voice that automatically strips away credibility and i sigh, thinking, why? why did we hire another squeaky, incompetent, nail-polish inhaler? why? “we say print one copy, and it prints five before blinking paper jam paper jam paper jam OPEN MY COVER! so we do, and there is no paper jam. i don’t think that qualifies as a ‘working printer,’ megan.” and she just looks at me, i swear, just sits there and stares with a chihuahua’s smile baring smoker’s teeth and bats her eyes and says, “who, where?” my lips curve, my knees bend, my hand clasps my forehead and i sigh as i begin to laugh but stop myself because that confused puppy’s face looks toward me begging the question, why does everyone always laugh at me? and i can’t bring myself to laugh. i force it down like the imaginary paper lodged deep into our fine-functioning printer and i say, “okay, megan. that’ll be all for today.”
April 25, 2008 at 06:22 AM
THE COLOURFUL TEEN Blotches of blonde with some bright streaks of red; various colours on top of her head Stubborn insistence - a mind of her own Brought to her hair undesirable tone. Glimpses of violet, orange and green A real work of art ; she’s a picturesque teen! Imagine the shock of church members that day When she sang with the choir in her "bad hair" way The lights hit her hair-do and oh how it gleamed! The colours of multiple rainbows, it seemed! The stunned congregation just sat back in awe At this colourful, brave little teen that they saw. So be careful hair-changers whatever your age... ... your hair colour, lifestyle or pre-menstral stage. Make sure the directions are read on that box Or you're sure to end up with some real "unique" locks!
Result(s) 1-6 of 25
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