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).

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.

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