National Poetry Month will be coming to a close soon, so these 7 takes are written in 7 different-ish poetic forms. Do you have a favorite? I think I still love the limerick the most.
Right now, in our household, there’s nothing that’s hotter
Than books that are written about Harry Potter.
One boy’s in book three, and the other’s in four,
They’re having such fun—and there’s still more in store.
Discoveries are made, magic moments occur,
Hermione’s suddenly covered in fur.
For years I have tried to cajole and persuade,
To convince them that these books are awesomely made.
For years they’ve protested and shut out my pleas.
But housebound as we are, this great moment they seize,
And now we’re in deep, and my joys do abound
That these books that I love my two sons now have found.
Who is that masked girl?
Surprise! Surprise! ‘Tis myself.
How polka dots rock.
There once was a family that played
Games as if they lived in an arcade.
With a blip and a zing,
Through the house noises ring,
Love for video games just does not fade.
Fresh eggs for us
Given from a true friend.
Multicolored and delicious.
How do you get a decent haircut when in quarantine?
Are there any better ideas than ordering clippers for the household?
In vain, we considered what to do.
Rare were the people who thought we should just let hair grow shaggy and long.
Cutting it ourselves seemed to be the only way
Unless our men were going to become like Samson with long, flowing locks.
The best way seemed to be for mom to learn to be a hairdresser.
So, here we are. Not perfect, but better than waiting forever for a cut.
~Sonnet: On Coffee~
Shall I compare thee to some instant joe?
Thou art so smooth and with a taste so bold.
Right through a fresh brewed pot we go,
This coffee is worth more than gold.
We work from home, the live-long day,
While children pop on classes, too.
And still they find some time to play.
Complaints? We truly have so few.
The day is better—this is sure—
With coffee brewed, all fresh and warm.
We pause to gripe, a cup we pour,
A brand-new view is ours to form.
Ah, coffee, what a gift of beans!
And so much joy this nectar gleans.
~An Ode: To the Reading Child~
Most days he runs, most days he sprints,
He leaps from bed to bed.
Yet every once in a long while,
He’ll stop and sit instead.
What could it be that makes him pause?
This child so full of zest.
Not roller coasters, tambourines,
It’s quite another guest.
A book! It calls his very name,
It summons him to stop.
It speaks to him and bids him
Find a chair in which to drop.
It pulls him to another world
Of characters and light,
The words are magic for his mind.
The read is sheer delight.
He travels far, his mind transports
Far from his cushy chair.
He dreams he’s in another place.
This boy’s so far from there.
He’s quite another child—this one
And it would surely seem,
That luck comes to every boy and girl
Who stops to read and dream.
Find more quick takes at Kelly’s blog, This Ain’t the Lyceum, and have a wonderful weekend!