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, 15 July 2014

The Lost Kite

It tugged and strained against my arm,
An eager thing, alive.
It fluttered in its thrumming frame
To swing, and soar, and strive.

It had to try; it had to flee;
I felt it in my hand.
It had to feel how it would fly
Unburdened of the land.

With scarce a thought - I barely knew -
My hand gave up its grip.
It ceased to cling as it was taught
and let the tether slip.

The creature spun and, like a hawk,
Cut up toward the sky.
Its colours flashed into the sun
And spiraled from my eye.

My feet, it seemed, had risen up,
Just inches from the grass.
I rose within a blinking dream,
and let the moment pass.

Then down I came to earth again,
With nothing in my hand.
The world around was just the same
Where I was left to stand,

Except that I no longer hold
My tether to the sun.
No longer can I pull the sky
Behind me as I run.

But still I see there's something else
To hold that's just as fine,
For like the kite, my hand is free,
Untethered from that line.