Poetry
Here are a few poems. I hope you enjoy them.
Me?
There once was a poet who tried
to write limericks, just on the side.
They were s’posed to be funny
and maybe make money
and not be so bad readers cried.
My Place of Work
My place of work has just one floor,
though others stand with two or more.
We offer many things you need
and serve a meal where minds can feed.
Ask a question if you dare;
we’ll search out answers anywhere.
Come young and old, come rich and poor.
Come borrow from the wealth we store.
My place of work has just one floor,
but no place in our town has more
stories!
Now how can that be?
Because I work at the library.
Game Anyone?
Don’t Have a Clue
Professor Plum in the study with a thin lead pipe.
Miss Scarlet in the hall? No, that’s not right.
The Colonel in the kitchen with the candlestick?
And people keep accusing Mr. Green.
Mrs. Peacock in the library or dining room.
The revolver, or the wrench, or no, the rope.
Professor Plum in the billiard room? Maybe that?
And people keep accusing Mr. Green.
My mind’s all mixed and my notepad is a mess.
I’d love to leap over to the lounge.
I’ve lost track of the Colonel; forgot about the knife.
And someone just uncovered Mr. Green.
Noodle Doodle
I drew on my homework page today
Not like the usual doodles.
It’s a squiggly, squaggly crazy thing,
Like a pile of curly noodles.
I drew on my homework page today
Because the teacher said,
“Show your work.” So I showed my work.
It’s the brain inside my head.
When the Moon is Full in August
When the moon is full in August,
while cattails bend and sway,
bullfrogs croak “goodnight, goodnight”
to the hazy heat of day.
When the moon is full in August,
crickets chirp their song.
A hoot owl adds a haunting note
and shadows stretch out long.
A moonbeam streaks across the lake,
a fine conductor’s stick
and right on cue a silver flash
comes shimmering and quick.
When the moon is full in August,
the finale of the day
is a sudden splash
like a cymbal crash.
A sturgeon leaps away.