The Ocean
I stand on the ocean shore, watching the waves go by. The sun is going down but I don't leave. I will stay out on the ocean shore. Seagulls fly overhead, they land down on...
Poems
Poetry and verse from young voices
View:
I stand on the ocean shore,
watching the waves go by.
The sun is going down but I don't leave.
I will stay out on the ocean shore.
Seagulls fly overhead,
they land down on the beach.
Their far-off cries bid the day good-night.
Out in the sunset I see dolphins
leaping through the waves.
Their turning, jumping transforms
the setting sun into the start of a new day.
The late August sun warms the carpet in my room.
I sit listening to the sounds below me.
Mom and Grandma cooking food in the kitchen.
Dad putting the finishing touches on the cake
Aunts, uncles, cousins, friends ringing the doorbell
My brother running to the door with hellos
Loud laughter sounds throughout the house
Squeals of delight from baby Maddy's discoveries
"Come down Craig, you're being ru...
I love to go to the library
walk through stacks
and rows
of books,
picking whatever I like,
the books pull me in.
I can go on any adventure.
I can sit and read
all day,
worming through them,
reading out the whole shelf
I am at home
and somewhere else
at the same time.
One morning,
I saw spinning
planes thud
into tragedy, crumbling
around the whole of America;
everybody listened,
hushed.
Alone is the homeless man looking at all the goods
in the grocery market that he cannot have
Alone is the refugees leaving all they ever knew behind,
their friends, their houses
Alone is the single pillar
Standing in the rubble of a bombed building
Alone is the Iraqi mother whose children have died
From lack of medical care
Alone is the turban among a thousand b...
Alone is the homeless man looking at all the goods
in the grocery market that he cannot have
Alone is the refugees leaving all they ever knew behind,
their friends, their houses
Alone is the single pillar
Standing in the rubble of a bombed building
Alone is the Iraqi mother whose children have died
From lack of medical care
Alone is the turban among a thousand baseball caps
Born in northern forests of
Australia centuries ago
And carved from yellow jarrah,
My wooden treasure box
Holds secrets of its own.
Felled for ballast on sailing ships,
It traveled over distant oceans
And touched exotic shores,
Seeking the spirit of Africa.
Abandoned on the docks,
The jarrah became railroad ties,
Carrying steam engines
Across the dry,
Burned colors of a continent.
In my house, we celebrate everything.
Even the smallest things.
Good grades on a test.
Learning that we are going
On vacation.
Even a surprise present.
The reward is
"doing the tango."
The dogs want to join in
And scramble to find a toy
A bone, a partner to celebrate
The joyful dance.
Learning to do the tango
Was a hard job in itself.
Cleaning yourself
as if the world is just fine
Of course you don't know about September 11
or the war
You don't know about the terrorists
or do you
Is that mangy dog down the street the terrorist you fear
What does someone of your small stature
think of the world
Do you look at the humans around you
and think you're much smarter because you can hunt
smell a rat and see in the dark
Maybe you thin...
Miss Farida loves
vanilla-smelling candles
which flicker
against the sleeping couch.
I place my sandals
beside the spill
of shoes and slippers strewn
across the plastic mat
in the hallway to her room.
I see the Sesame Street stickers propped
near the electric piano,
tangled in a hoop
of dreaming dust,
and the pedals, wrapped in a layer
of fine metal.
Nails piercing my brain
Glass shattering around me
Metal crunching, smashing together
Crying all around me
Screeching, Screaming
Howling, Wailing, Weeping
It seems like a hundred years have passed
Just when you are about to blow a gasket
The baby falls asleep
We shut off the phone
Take off our shoes
We talk in sign language