Rain
I like to think That when it rains, the thunder encloses our small city In a soft gray blanket. We are cut off from the complications and distractions Of the outside world And all there...
Poems
Poetry and verse from young voices
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I like to think
That when it rains, the thunder encloses our small city
In a soft gray blanket.
We are cut off from the complications and distractions
Of the outside world
And all there is
Has been
And ever will be
Is the white noise of rain.
I like to think
That when it drip-drops down from the leaves
Showing us the simple beauties
Of ripples in puddles
And quiet crackles of bright yellow,
It wra...
Either the boat did not want
to be withdrawn from the water,
or the water did not want
to let its new prize go.
Waves of green foam
rolled over the railing
in a calm firmness,
and the trees cast shadows
on the rippling water
pooling at the edge of
a concrete slab where
a red truck’s wheels
were spinning in the mud.
In an art museum in Chicago
my dad and Van Gogh stare at each other.
On a kitchen table in Sanford
my mom watches me draw.
In the museum gift shop
my dad buys me a print of Starry Night.
At home in my room
Starry Night hangs above my bed,
calming like a space gallery,
yellow,
white,
black,
and blue.
I like to think
That when it rains, the thunder encloses our small city
In a soft gray blanket.
We are cut off from the complications and distractions
Of the outside world
And all there is
Has been
And ever will be
Is the white noise of rain.
I like to think
That when it drip-drops down from the leaves
Showing us the simple beauties
Of ripples in puddles
And quiet crackles of bright y...
The sound so beautiful
Yet cold inside
Cleela, Cleela,
The crickets chirp.
Ooo 0000 whoo whoo
The owls' almost
Silent
Yet shuddering sound.
The cast of the
Whispering wind
Sends the dark
Blanket
The stillness
The coolness of the night.
Whisp win whisp win
The night has come
again.
Something so strong,
Not the sharpest knife could spear,
Not the heaviest club could knock out,
Not the strongest python could strangle,
But with one word I detached our friendship.
Now I must ask forgiveness.
Deep as the ocean,
Meaningful as a smile,
I must ask forgiveness.
I must stitch together the wide rip,
With words so powerful,
Lions will bow down.
Your mother is calling you.
It is time to go to bed.
The night is calling out its cry of dark.
"Come, come," she calls to you.
Again you do not answer.
The clock strikes nine.
The cat is rubbing at your ankles.
You are silent.
Your mother calls you again and again,
But you still do not go.
The peepers are singing,
And the birds are calling the sound of night.
The fish pond lies embraced
By a cradle of stillness . . .
Gentle autumn winds
Rustle through its lacy reeds,
Rippling the cool water,
Caressing the banks
As tenderly as a finger on a rose.
Rushes adorned with
Shimmering water-pearl dresses
Bend over the still water,
Peering at a wavy reflection of
A gold and crimson sky.
If I could choose to be any place in the world,
I would choose Malaysia where my grandma lives;
Where you can smell the hot, humid air,
And see the palm trees sway in the breeze.
If I could choose to be any place in the world,
I would choose Australia where my granduncle lives;
Where the wind makes sand fly
And where all the animals are unique.
At midnight today, the first snowflake fell
Wandering through miles of clear December air.
It blew onto my windowpane
And lay there, a silent witness
To the candlelight twinkling within
And the stars without.