Monday's Poem: Family Stories

FAMILY STORIES

Some stories float in air

and slip in on the wind.

Listen to the words whispering.

Auntie's curtain fire

and the supper's startled surprise

and the cousin's screams

and then...

and then...

Uncle's mug of root beer

tossed just right

and just in time

and the cousins' claps

and the cousins' laughs

and the found

frightened cat.

Goblin spelling tests

in the one room school

that twisted Grandpa's

tummy in wicked knots

and then...

and then...

his times table

gobbled up and memorized

in one wizardly week.

Mama's first shiny dime

on her first day of school

that lost itself

and lost lunch, too

and tears and tears

and then...

and then...

a shared sandwich

and a new friend

who lived around the corner

and who grew up

to marry Uncle,

a brave man

who put out the curtain fire

with well-tossed

well-timed

root beer.

Some stories float in air

and slip in on the wind.

Old stories.

Told stories.

Listen well and hold them.

                                Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Inside Outside Air

Inside Outside Air

Air is bouncing,

bouncing in air,

inside a bubble,

bouncing up there.

Air is floating,

floating in air,

inside a bubble,

floating up there.

Air is soaring,

soaring in air,

inside a bubble,

soaring up there.

Soapy, soapy bubbles,

cuddling inside air,

bouncing, floating, soaring,

in outside air up there.

                               Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: A Book Comes Knocking

A Book Comes Knocking

Someone was knocking,

knock, knock on my door.

Then, in walked a book

and sat on the floor.

"Come join me," it said,

"and open me please."

I opened its pages.

Oh! What did I see?

Page after page,

but nothing was written,

not huff, not puff,

not mitten, or kitten.

Not Goldi, not locks,

not pokey pup paws,

not tailor, not duckling,

not Potter, or Oz.

"Write me a story,"

the book sadly said.

"Help fill me all up

with words from your head.

Start Over the hill,

or A long time ago.

Start Under the oak tree

or Up where there's snow."

So I told a story,

and each word that I said,

danced straight to the page

from inside of my head.

I finished with happily

ever and after,

and you should have heard

the book and its laughter.

                                   Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: If I Don't Have a Ball

If I Don't Have a Ball

I crinkle a paper

and that's not all.

I squish it;

I squash it;

A round, tight ball.

I kick it; it rolls

straight through the hole:

Chair legs;

Wide legs;

One for me! Goal!

                       Anne Knowles

Tuesday's Poem: With Nothing at All

With Nothing at All

I can have fun with nothing at all:

Skip, jump, or roll in a ball;

Hop, spin, or race down the hall;

Make up a story; make up a song;

Make up a cow fifty-feet long;

Make up a friend twenty-times strong;

Wonder if stars are hot or cold;

Wonder if circles like to be rolled;

Wonder if numbers do as they're told;

Duck waddle-waddle, or snail-slow crawl;

Seed sprout rise, or leaf twirly fall;

I can have fun with nothing at all.

                                        Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: On the Other Side of Broken Me

On the Other Side of Broken Me

On the other side of broken me,

I see what I am going to be.

A doctor, a nurse, a strawberry grower,

A builder, an artist, a round-the-world goer.

Hitting a ball or walking on Mars,

Cooking or swimming or fixing up cars.

Fighting a fire, singing, teaching,

Caring for animals, writing, or preaching.

Anything!  Anything!  Something I love!

Rocks or math or turtle doves.

Anything!  Anything I want to be!

Hiking the hills or sailing on seas.

On the other side of broken me,

Someone is calling to broken me.

I'm listening.  It's me!  It's me calling me!

I'm telling myself to keep holding tight,

To follow myself with all of my might.

                                     Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: April

April

Peeking up daffodils,

Stretching down roots,

Seeds seeking sunshine,

Muddy puddly boots.

Melting snow in gutters,

Puddle jumping fun,

Fluttering by butterflies,

Hide and seek sun.

                           Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: The Hopping Girl

THE HOPPING GIRL

The hopping girl lives

just 'round the bend.

She's my very, very

very, very

very best friend.

She hops when she walks,

always right right left.

She's my merry, merry,

merry, merry,

merry best friend.

It's always right hop right

and only then comes left.

She's my right, right,

left, right,

right best friend.

                         Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: The Ruler of Once Again

The Ruler of Once Again

for Scott

I'm learning my life

All over again,

All rough, tough,

And over again,

To get to the Place of Before.

I'm scared and I hurt

All over again,

All every new day,

All here-comes-the sun,

But here I go again.

I am the ruler,

The don't give-up ruler,

The strong, strong,

Keep-going ruler,

The Ruler of Once again.

                                Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Friendship

Friendship

A piece of yellow cornbread

arrived at five for tea,

in a hat of buttered honey

looking silly as could be.

My friend and I both giggled,

but politely said, "Sit down."

"I'd rather not be eaten,"

whispered Cornbread with a frown.

We really were quite hungry,

but we'd made a brand new friend.

We nibbled air, and swallowed dreams,

and had the best pretend.

                                      Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Papa Sled

Papa Sled

Papa Sled slides

over kitchen floor snow;

we ride on his back,

and we don't slide slow.

Papa Sled swooshes

up white frozen hills

and swings to the right.

Oops!  Sister took a spill.

Papa sled swishes

down steep, slippery hills

and leans to the left.

Oops!  Brother took a spill.

Papa sled rushes

up and down, left and right;

I'm still on the sled.

I'm hanging on tight.

Snowmama steps

over Papa Sled's head

with a steaming hot loaf

of homemade bread.

Snowmama sings,

"There's hot, creamy soup,"

and we all take our places

at the table with a "Whoop!"

                                   Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Thistle in My Whistle

Thistle in My Whistle

Thistle bristles in my whistle;

Sister slipped the thistle in.

Now my whistle doesn't tweet;

My whistle threet, threet, threets.

Sister used to be so thweet;

I'm glad she's almost three.

Since sister slipped the thistle in,

My whistle threet, threet, threets.

                                         Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Summery Yum Yum

Summery Yum Yum

Greenery leafery

summery heat;

Gopher stole a beet

from under my feet.

Greenery leafery

 summery fun;

Gopher stole another

and gave me one.

Summery yum yum,

summery treats;

One plus one

equals two tasty beets.

                             Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: My Pet Snake Escaped!

My Pet Snake Escaped!

Dog's in the stairwell;

Cat's in a box;

Snake's crawling somewhere;

I'm throwing rocks.

Mom's yelling, "Get inside;"

Dad's looking mad;

Snake's crawling somewhere;

I think they think that's bad.

Brother's grunting, "Yucky!"

Sister's screaming, "Eek!"

Snake's crawling somewhere

And has been for a week.

Crawling on my stomach;

Searching everywhere;

Snake's crawling...Uh Oh!

Up my mother's chair.

Oops!  Mother's fast asleep.

Silence!  Shhh!  Hush!

Snake's sleeping on her lap.

Shush!  Shush!  Shush!

                         

                        Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Oops!

Oops!

Dripped, dropped, downed.

My ice cream's on the ground.

My toesies dare

To taste the fare. 

Dripped, dropped, downed.
                          Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Writing a Poem

Writing a Poem

One way to do it

is to drop like rain

and splash down

all over

everything.

                              Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: The Ruth Namer

The Ruth Namer

                           (for Ruth, of course)

Into the city

the Ruth Namer came.

He set up a booth

and started to name.

All of the people

were pleased with the truth:

Remembering is easy

when all are named Ruth.

The store is now Ruth

and the church and the school.

The trees are all Ruth

and all of the tools.

Recess is Ruth

and history and math.

Walking is Ruth

and so is the path.

Ruth calls up Ruth

to go to the Ruth

while sweet, little Ruth

plays with Ruth, Ruth, and Ruth.

Into the Ruth

The Ruth Ruther came.

He set up a Ruth

and started to name.

Ruths of the Ruths

were pleased with the Ruth:

Ruth is now easy

When Ruths are named Ruth.
                                     
                                                      Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Wonder Wander

Wonder Wander

The space in the air

Above each star

Is quiet

And full of thinking.

Far, far, far,

Out and all around,

Stars

Wonder through me.

Deep, deep, deep

In my still darkness,

A far star

Wanders and whispers.

                            Anne Knowles

Monday's Poem: Crickets

Crickets

The quiet dusk was gently starting stars

And we were unaware of spring and our content,

When old, familiar, winter-silent crickets

Chirped a burst of spring-content surprise.

Peter swung young Ralphie to his back

And I swung Sara up to mine and we--

With all our laughing--skipped outside

And stirred the dirt and danced to all the noise.

Monday's Poem: Cottonwood Seeds

Cottonwood Seeds

What did you see

in the park today?

Cottonwood seeds

all flying away.

I'd like them to stay

and whirl me a shirt.

The one that I'm wearing

is covered in dirt.

                                  Anne Knowles