From the author:

From the Author:

I will not introduce myself.
I will not ask "How do?"
I will not wave, I will not bow,
Or shake a hand with you.

For I am not polite, my friend;
I have no social grace.
Like you, I have no manners,
And I never learned my place.

Instead I'll write a poem
And I'll put myself in verse,
And if you like the sound of me,
Well, THEN we might converse.

So read a line or two of me,
Or don't, if it's a chore,
But since you've read fifteen of me
I bet you'll read one more.

Click here to contact the author
(...or don't...he doesn't really trust emails from children. They can be sticky).

Tuesday, 4 October 2011

Report Card

This letter's fantastic; it flashes and flares.
It's Ferris wheels flying around at the Fair.
It's fireflies flickering far in the fields.
It's feeling the fish on the fishing rod reel.
It's families feasting in festival fun,
Flowers and friendship and favours we've done.
See all the fabulous things it can be?
So why are you frowning and fuming at me?
F is for fearful, forget and forgive.
Be fair and forbearing and let your kid live!

Skipping to Daisies and Grass

Out of the town and into the sun;
The withering walls forgotten and done.
     I'm breathing the wind-light at last
     And skipping to daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm skipping to daisies and grass.

The prodigal daisies unbend to the sun,
The grasses are chasing the breezes in fun,
     The breezes are rippling past,
     And I'm wading through daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm wading through daisies and grass.

The flowers and fields escape to the sky,
Rising above where the meadowlarks fly.
     The clouds unfurl as they pass--
     And I'm running up daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm running up daisies and grass.

The grasses are sighing their songs to the sun,
Who folds them and holds them where fears are undone
     And dreamers can leap up at last,
     I'm bounding up daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm bounding up daisies and grass.

And down in the town, the people are small--
The church and its steeple, the court and Town Hall,
     The school with its teachers, and you all in class.
     I'm flying with daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm flying with daisies and grass.

My Brother's a Zombie!

I just can't deny it,
Can no longer hide it,
My brother's a zombie for sure.
The proof is quite clear;
They've turned him, I fear,
And it's sad cause there isn't a cure.

He's turning fifteen,
His toenails are green,
He's got spots all over his face.
He's lanky and grey,
Cause he hides from the day
And his hair is all over the place.

When trying to play
He wanders away,
Dragging his feet like they're lead.
When I throw him the ball
He just lets it fall,
Or it bounces right off of his head.

He can't really walk,
And he can't really talk,
He's immune to what mom and dad say.
When asked to do chores,
He looks at the floors,
Then grunts as he shuffles away.

And look at his room!
The dusty old tomb,
Where pizzas and hamburgers rot;
Who but the dead
Could sleep in a bed
That smells like a sock-stewing pot.

Yes, it's perfectly clear,
It's certain, I fear.
The proof is infallibly plain.
What proves it the most
Is he's dumb as a post
Cause zombies have eaten his brain.                                              

Like this poem?  Try these ones: Zombies Came To Class One Day,  Zombie LandThere are Zombies in the Schoolyard, Lucinda Met a Zombie Man, Zombie Reunion, and Home Sweet Zombie Apocalypse.

Monday, 3 October 2011

El Dorado

There’s a place we kids all dream about,
But never ever see;
A land of play and plenty
Where we’d really like to be.
And maybe when we’re free from school,
We’ll find a way to fly
To this schoolyard El Dorado
Just below the schoolyard sky.

I’m sure you once have dreamed of it,
And in your dreamy nights
You’ve seen a field of tennis balls,
Of frisbees and of kites,
Way up on the schoolhouse roof,
Where flying toys are blown
To this schoolyard El Dorado
That we’ve never ever known.

Just think of all the years gone by!
Just think of all the games!
Just think of all the toys that fly!
Just think of all their names:
The rubber-banded-rocket-ship,
The boomerang, the plane,
They’ve flown to El Dorado
And there they still remain.

I tell you, I will go one day:
To El Dorado’s heights.
And see the fields of tennis balls
Of frisbees and of kites.
And looking up, you’ll see me there,
Against the schoolyard clouds
In a schoolyard El Dorado
Where us kids are not allowed.

I’ll fill the sky with toys that fly;
I’ll throw them to the ground.
They’ll gladly land in open hands,
Like gold, they’ll tumble down.
And all will know that long ago
One kid once made his way
To the schoolyard El Dorado,
Where it's always Saturday.