Tag Archives: Poetry

Swirling, twirling

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Swirling, twirling

Hurricane of thought

Unsettling whirling

Chaos of confusion

Twisting, turning

Sleep eluding

Restless, dreamless

Wakeful brooding

Should I?

Could I?

What if?

Or… not?

Sun dispelling deepest night,

Dawn-exploding, shimmering light.

Return my peace,

Serenity of soul.

© Barbara Donaldson, 2017

Spring is Playing Peek-a-Bo0

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Spring’s sunny face was smiling

          only yesterday.

She peeked amidst ol’ Winter’s clouds

          And warmed us through and through.

I wish she’d come and play again

          And disperse ol’ Winter’s gloom.

Today my friend is hiding;

          She’s nowhere to be found.

When will she come again to play

          And make my spirit soar? 

When, oh, when will Spring come back

          And peek-a-boo once more?

What Says the Robin?

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What says the robin to welcome Spring?
Tweet! Tweet!
Isn’t she sweet?

What says the leaf to welcome Spring?
Rustle, rustle!
See how they bustle.

What says the squirrel to welcome Spring?
Scamper, scamper!
Look how they do pamper.

What says the grass to welcome Spring?
Swish, swash!
Look, a stroller so posh.

What says the cricket to welcome Spring?
Chirp, chirp?
Do I hear a burp?

What do we see? What do we see?                      Mabel in Stroller
Baby out on her first stroll.
Baby out to greet the spring.
Could it be?
Oh, can it be?

What says Baby to welcome Spring?
Coo, coo, coo!
I’ll grow and grow
Strong and true.

What sings Spring, her soft reply?
Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye,
Hurry on home!
Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye,
Hurry on home!

Phone Poems

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2 – Phone poems
6 – Seemed quite easy when I began.
2 – Not now.

3 – Now I’m stuck,
7 – Words won’t come in correctly numbered phrases.
6 – I’ll keep trying, won’t give up.

6 – One, two, three, four, need more….
8 – Five, six, seven, eight; this slice’ll be late!
6 – Phone poems are fun now that
2 – I’m done!

Sadness

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Sadness envelops me like a shroud.
Gloom glues my soul-feet down
Making them heavy and mucky and leaden
Making them unable to skip or spin or dance.

Melancholy settles in my heart like a weight,
Sorrow saps my strength
Sapping my joy and laughter and bliss
Sapping soul sunshine like a foggy morning mist.

The N0-Snow-Day Day

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The no-snow day day

The No-Snow-Day Day

The snowflakes swirl and laugh and play.

While inside, here I sit.

The snowflakes run along the wind

And wave up to the sky.

And all the while, I’m stuck  inside,

inside hard at work.

Reading, ‘Riting, ‘Rithmetic

Have no appeal to me.

It is outside I want to be

To run and laugh and play.

 

The snowflakes tire and sit to rest

Upon the cold, white ground.

The snowflakes seem to wait for me

To don my woolen mitts.

Here inside I have to stay,

The teacher reads a book.

“What do you think about this book?”

She asks me after while.

 

How can I tell her what I think?

How can I let her know?

I’d rather be outside right now

And playing in the snow!

 

 

Saturday Slice

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Oh, down I sit on Saturday
I want to write my slice.
Alas, what will I say?

The clock strikes five.
I sit to write.
Alas, the words don’t jive!

The clock strikes six.
I sit to write.
Alas, I’m in a fix.

The clock strikes seven.
What should I write?
Alas, some words from heav’n?

The clock strikes eight.
What can I write?
Alas, what is my fate?

The clock strikes nine.
I sigh to write!
Alas, my heart repines.

The clock strikes ten.
Again, again, again.
Alas, how dry my pen.

The clock strikes ten and one.
Have I my daily slice?
I do! I do!
It’s ten and two.
Alas, this poem was fun!

Upon wakening

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Gloomy, gray skies meet my eyes.

No merry ray to light my way,

No sunny shaft to stir my heart.

 

Willful Winter blasts and blows.

Wind and sleet and falling snows

Chilly fingers curling down,

          Twirling down,

                    Swirling round.

One last gasp

One last grasp

King this day is he.  

 

Silvery Spring, though fast asleep,

Yesterday did wear

Daffodil and crocus fair

And robins in her wispy hair.

 

Silvery Spring, though sleeping deep,

Dreams of the day

That now must keep,

Babbling brooks

          gentle breeze

                    dancing, tender grasses.

One last nap

One last sleep

Slumbering this day is she.

 

© B. J. Donaldson, 2016, All rights reserved.

Dreams

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What are dreams?

Dreams are chrysalises.

What are you now,

enclosed in that hard protective case?

Oh, little pupa, are you safe?

Do you long to escape,

stretch you wet, crumpled wings

and fly?                

                                                                                                             

Dreams might look dead.

But…

dreams released

are new creatures

longing to soar.    

                                                                                                             

What are dreams?

Dreams are jack pine seeds.

What are you now,

resin-glued in that hard, thick cone?

Oh, little seed, are you safe?

Do you long to escape

   in the forest fire blaze

and sprout?                

                                                                                                         

Dreams might look imprisoned.

But…

dreams freed

are giant trees

yearning to grow.                                                                                                           

Dream…