Here it is, the weekend, when we're supposed to have more time, time to relax, kick back and revive ourselves after the work week just passed. For me, and perhaps for many of you, the weekend is the "catch up time" and though one would think I'd have more time to contribute to my blog, I feel I have less. So at 10:22pm on a Saturday night, I'm making it a point to BLOG. I'm tired and should be heading for bed but this blog thing has really gotten to me; it's like an addiction.
I find it rewarding and fulfilling taking this time to share some of my thoughts and memories, too, since much of my poetry connects to some event or someone from the past. I write nearly every week usually prompted by an occasion or happening. It is in those instances that I feel compelled to create a poetic marker for the memory. I derive so much pleasure out of sharing this all with you. I welcome your comments.
This paragraph was really intended to lead in to more children's poems, again written in the first person. It is, however, sounding more like a diary entry.
But...that is often what a blog becomes. Enough of my ramblings. Here are a few more Children's Poems...
The Hair Wash
By Patty Lynn
My mother says I’ve got to learn
To wash my hair myself.
So, Sunday night I reach and get
Shampoo down from the shelf.
I hate the way the water runs
All in my eyes and ears.
The shampoo drips, my shirt gets wet,
And I am brought to tears!
But then I rinse, it’s not so bad.
My hair shines like the sun.
My mom is glad and so am I
‘Cause I’m just glad I’m done!
By Patty Lynn
I can’t believe my mom said YES,
The gang sleeps here tonight.
I’ve got the greatest evening planned
For Tommy, Jim and Mike.
The sleeping bags will line my room,
My games will fill the floor,
And dad got us that movie called,
The Thing from Planet ZOR.
We’ll talk and talk ‘bout ‘portant things
Like baseball, friends and school,
And if someone’s found dozing off,
We’ll wake ‘em, that’s the rule!
Then ‘bout eleven we will start…
The countdown ‘til the hour…
When all of us will run downstairs,
The goodies to devour.
The midnight snack’s what mom has called…
This feast for hungry guys.
We checked it out a hundred times,
Before the hour arrives.
Ten, nine, eight, seven…
At last it’s really twelve!
Popcorn and peanuts, chips and pop,
The dip and cheese taste swell.
“We’re stuffed”, we say, “we just can’t move!”
We waddle up the stairs,
Crash on the bed, the floor, the rug,
There’s crashing everywhere!
“Resist, resist”, we murmur low,
“Don’t close your eyes, don’t yawn!”
But then, just like the midnight snack,
All four of us are…GONE!