fun

Wheels

~

I like wheels – that’s what I like.

Cars or trucks or a motor bike,

wheels make me smile and grin.

Some wheels spin in wind on a pin.

~

I wish I had wheels on my feet.

Then I can zoom down the street.

Up the ramp and flying high,

wheeling through the open sky.

~

I wish I had wheels on my chair.

I could get things way over there.

I could scoot in my stocking feet.

Or reach things high standing on seat.

~

Wheels go round and round in my head.

I wish I had wheels on my bed.

Then I can drive to all my dreams.

Win all the races, hear crowd screams.

~

In the garage, my wheels parked there.

Soon I’ll be out, wind in my hair.

First kick tires, adjust the seat.

Polish the chrome isn’t she sweet.

~

Check the mirror so I can see,

everything – way behind me.

Yes – riding fast is what I like.

On all three wheels of my trike.

~*~

The End

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Dream Vacation

The grand tour begins with the end of our days.
It’s the chance of a lifetime in so many ways.
There’s dining, dancing and then nightly plays.
Adventures await with views that amaze.
~
Space is quite limited, as are the beds.
Bikes are allowed as are your sleds.
We’ve goggles for eyes and helmets for heads.
We’ve ice cold drinks and jams for breads.
~
Its best that you hurry before it’s too late.
So write your checks now, why tempt your fate.
You’ll be envied by all, won’t that be great.
You can double the fun when bringing a date.
~
Mornings begin with a glorious sunrise.
The party starts when you open your eyes.
But first we’ve coffee, eggs and home fries.
Clothing is optional so forget useless ties.
~
If you like naps we’ve plenty of space.
If you like sports you can enter a race.
There are no losers or fallers from grace.
Time is scheduled to match your pace.
~
We meet at the station at ten on the dot.
But if you’re late we’ll save you a spot.
If you’re early you can borrow a cot.
Because dreams are best when awake we’re not.

~*~
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Empty Lot

Our empty lot’s not empty at all.
There’s a tree that’s big and tall.
It’s a place that kids love to share.
It’s on my street so mom needn’t care.

We spend sunny days in the shade.
There’s lots of dreaming in forts we made.
There’s bunches of dirt to dig deep holes.
Rainy puddles for toy fishing poles.

Our empty lot really has it all,
We hide and seek and sometimes play ball.
It’s the place where adventures begin.
A fence to keep the city out and us in.

We’ve bugs and spiders, squirrels and cats.
There’s soft grass to sit for quiet chats.
We see dogs on leashes and birds in the sky,
Some tweet, sing sweet, bark, run and fly.

There’s rope jumping girls and running boys.
Everyone brings their favorite toys.
Weeds make jungles for our tiny men.
Tiny cars get lost, then are found again.

A place on Sundays for dads to mow.
A place anytime where friendships grow.
When the days fun is done, we all say goodnight.
To our good old friend, under the street light.

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Sick Day

~

Bright sunny day, nothing to do.
Stuck at home in bed with the flu.
Watched TV as long as I could.
And did some homework, like I should.

.

I tossed and I turned, sipped some tea.
The warm fall day was mocking me.
Temperature stable, chills no more.
Then a knock on my bedroom door.

.

It was mom come to check my head.
Not hot or cold, then out of bed.
I passed her test, done with my rest.
Going outside will be the best.

.

But that is not to be the way.
Had to stay in another day.
Picked at supper, slept through TV.
Dad tucked me in then read to me.

.

Just to make sure that I’m all right.
Mom checked on me all the long night.
Slept Okay, woke ready to go.
But to do what I didn’t know.

.

Was really bored by midday.
Ran out of things alone to play.
Then found a key looking for more.
I tried every single door.

.

I checked and checked every lock.
I even tried the grandfather clock.
Every drawer, box and chest,
I checked them all, I did my best.

.

Found no treasure, just this old key.
At least it was something to amuse me.
With just minutes before my show,
Thought of another place to go.

.

The dusty, dark, spooky attic,
No place to be, when you are sick.
Turning the knob ever so slow,
Not sure if I wanted to go.

.

I’ve never been up there alone.
Then opened the door to the unknown.
Creaky stairs beneath my cold feet.
Dangers unknown that I might meet.

.

Darkness at the top of the stair.
Felt for the switch, I hoped was near.
With a flick my fear gone away.
More to explore on my sick day!

.

Much the same as when last here,
Boxes and cobwebs everywhere.
But not a lock to be found.
I searched and searched all around.

.

But in a dark corner never seen,
A little door painted green.
It had no slot for any key.
Opening it was up to me.

.

I admit I was very scared.
I stood for minutes and just stared.
Then lifting the latch, my hands shake.
Could this be another mistake?

.

Opened the door, hinges squeak.
Stuck in my head to take a peek.
The room’s empty, nothing at all,
Except a shelf high on a wall.

.

Found an old wobbly chair nearby.
Standing worried, reaching too high.
Pulled down the box hidden on shelf.
More than ever proud of myself.

.

I put in my key and it fit.
But wasn’t ready to open it.
I brought the box back to my room.
Into the light and out of the gloom.

.

Box on desk, took key from pocket.
Put it in slot, turned to unlock it.
Opened the lid ever so slow.
Not sure if I wanted to know.

.

What treasures lie hidden from view?
Something good or a pile of goo.
Lid half-open, footsteps I hear.
Then closed the lid when mom came near.

.

Mom opened it up, said to me;
“That’s no place for a dragon to be.
I’ve looked high and low, all over,
For the dragon Gramp’s called Rover.

.

He wasn’t a creative guy.
But could pluck dragons from the sky.
But only when they’re very small,
Safe in hand and curled in a ball.

.

Then hid for a terrible day,
When there are demons to chase away.
You can visit, never at night,
That’s when dragons grow, in moonlight.

.

So keep it tiny in its box –
Or they get huge and tough as rocks.
Some are sweet, most others mean.
That’s why it best to keep unseen.”

.

Closed the lid before I could see.
She turned the lock and kept my key.
“You don’t need to go by yourself.
Attic’s safe with dragon on shelf.

.

Put the box back and close the door.
And try not to think of it anymore.”
Back downstairs, ready for bed.
But now there’s a dragon in my head.

.

They can be all colors or shapes,
Some are purple and round like grapes.
Some are short, some tall as a tree,
Some are small and cute just like me.

.

I’m glad there’s a dragon upstairs.
Now I can sleep without nightmares.
Not such a bad sick day at all.
I got better and had a ball.

.

Now when nothing to do or see.
I don’t have to search for a key.
You don’t need keys to unlock a door.
That’s what imagination’s for.

~*~

The End

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Natures’ Poetic Puzzle

Why can’t I be a bumble bee?

Bumbling about, nectar’s free

I could hover or dash in a flash

Come home to a queen with my golden stash

 ~

I’d love to be a robin on the first day of spring

I’d soar from my nest and into the sky I’d sing

Perhaps a baby bunny, nibbling on fresh greens

I’d hop from clump to clump napping in-between

 ~

Maybe a child on their first new bike

That new sense of freedom that’s what I’d like

Until, of course, the inevitable fall

Some try again, some not at all

 ~

I want to be a billionaire

Living life without a care

A mighty oak would be grand

Or Saguaro cacti, kings of the sand

 ~

But I’m not, I’m just me

Thankful for the nature that I see

Writing of things I can’t be

Content with the puzzle of poetry

~

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My Hamper

It’s not just a bin for dirty clothes.

It’s a place to hide things where no one goes.

My favorite place for hide and seek.

No one ever dares to take a peek.

~

I could stay in there for a week,

But that’s too long not to speak.

And if I never change my clothes,

My hamper never fills, the pile never grows.

~

My hamper can be a chest for treasure.

With extra socks just for good measure.

Hampers are never quite big enough.

Always too small for all of your stuff.

~

The bigger the hamper the less room they take.

Fill it right up and room you’ll make.

Some hampers are big, some are small.

Some are just piles, some not there at all.

~

Some might have handles, liners or lids.

Some come with gadgets to keep out kids.

Hampers never hamper or get in the way.

They’re used for something each and every day.

~

Mostly an eyesore, mostly unseen.

Hidden in bedrooms, bathrooms or in-between.

They can be baskets or made of wood.

Plastic or metal but a bag’s just as good.

~

Hampers are magic – things disappear.

Then surprise, something old will be there.

A best friend to have on clean-up day.

They help to decide what can and can’t stay.

~

They can be luggage when away from home.

The smaller they get the further you roam.

Sometime my hamper is what I long to see,

A familiar moonlit shadow that keeps me company.

~

My hamper can be a rocket ship,

There’s always space for a lengthy trip.

Or submarine to explore the sea,

It can be anything; it’s up to me.

~

Some hampers have wheels for delicate dears.

Though not much help on dark cellar stairs.

They can be a target or a catcher’s mitt.

Or a moldy archive for clothes that don’t fit.

~

Sometime it sits lonely, quiet as a mouse.

Sometime screaming loudly – stinking up the house.

My companion always since I was very small.

The stories it could tell, we really had a ball.

~

If you’re sad or a little mad, I’ll share a secret trick.

Visit your trusty hamper and give it a little kick.

My hamper and I put on shows; I hope you all will come.

I sing and dance; make up tunes, my hamper’s the drum.

~

Sometimes hampers break, a leaning twisted thing,

Thrown away with no regard to all the joy they bring.

Replaced by a new one with very lofty goals.

Someday we might be friends when it gets some holes.

~

Whether sparse or cramped you need not have a fear,

The voids will always fill when imagination’s there.

Oh – I could wax poetically until the end of time.

But hampers full, its laundry day, time to end this rhyme.

~*~

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Too Cold To Go Outside

I woke today – weatherman lied.

I rolled over and I sighed.

Couldn’t sleep, eyes open wide.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

There’ll be no swing set or slide.

There’ll be no walk or bike ride.

There’ll be no kites to be flied.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

Today we have to play inside.

We’ll think of things never tried.

Stocking feet on floors we’ll glide.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

We’ll build a fort for us to hide.

We’ll play dress up – you be bride.

Explore jungles – I’ll be guide.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

Time to dig a path that’s wide.

Getting dressed, boot laces tied.

Wind so stingy I almost cried.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

All’s warm, coats hung to be dried.

Find crayons, colors I’ve eyed.

Draw pictures for the fridge with pride.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

Icy world all is gray sky-ed.

Plants droopy, looks like they died.

Bay frozen we’ll see no tide.

It’s too cold to go outside.

~

Now sleep, teddies at my side.

Cold nights end, take it in stride.

Spring soon then winter we’ll chide.

When not too cold to go outside.

~*~

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My Pencil

My pencil in hand – mind set free
Erasing the chains binding me
Safe in my world of poetry
A better friend there cannot be

No rhyme or reason there’s to flee
No shackles of society
No meter of conformity
No question of sincerity

No judge, jury or guilty plea
No door can stop my slender key
I’ll wander through infinity
Another side of life’s journey

Draw lines that know no boundary
Return with words for all to see
Arrange them well – create beauty
Then thank my little piece of tree

The End       sck081514

A Holiday’s Warmth

In the land of the dragon when nights get long.
The air is cold and the wind is strong.
In caves they’ll gather all cozy and warm.
But first, they’ll prepare before the big storm.
~
The holiday’s near and another year’s treat.
Moms and dads busy to make all things neat.
The children make dangles to dress up their tree.
Then off to slumber for a week, two or three.
~
Their parents when done with winter chores,
warm their homes and open their doors.
The children then wake to a new winter’s white.
And gaze at trinkets secretly left in the night.
~
There are mittens and hats for the littlest of tikes.
There are goodies galore that everyone likes.
The grown-ups all share a warm hearted kiss.
Then hugs all around that’s never to miss.
~
The teens await the greatest gift of all.
They’ll soon learn to fly or tumble and fall.
But the new snow’s now deep and oh so soft.
It’s perfect for landing when not high aloft.
~
When the sun gets low and the chill sets in.
Homeward they head for the feast begin.
They’ll all sing and dance and sip warm sno-nog.
The night then ends with the last burning log.
~
Eyelids grow heavy, eyes soon to close.
Socks pulled snugly over big chilly toes.
Hibernation then starts and dreams it’ll bring,
where thoughts are warm awaiting the spring.

~*~
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Cookies

Cookies, cookies the perfect treat.
Eat them in shoes, socks or bare feet.
I’ve eaten them in my underwear.
You can eat them nude, if you dare.

Sometime just one, sometimes more,
Fresh from the oven or the store.
I prefer fresh, chocolate goo.
But from a box or bag will do.

There’s no time of the day or night,
When eating cookies isn’t right.
When times are good a cookie’s great.
When times are bad I might need eight.

In the kitchen with mom to bake,
The perfect gift cookies will make.
Cookies soon done and into the car,
Then to grandma’s house, it isn’t far.

That smell of cookies is taunting me,
Under the foil where I can’t see.
But I must wait, we’re almost there.
With bunches of cookies for us to share.

We pull in the drive, rush to the bell.
Running so fast I almost fell.
But I held tight to that plate in hand.
I don’t like my cookies mixed with sand.

My big pile of goodness for us to eat,
Stacked high on a plate, nice and neat.
Mom opens the door, I run right in.
Hugs for all, let the party begin!

The girls dance about in pretty new dresses.
The boys run and shout and make big messes.
When we’re done yelling, screaming and raving,
It’s time to quench our cookie craving.

Then back to the car and homeward bound.
Soon dozing off to a breezy sound.
While thinking of cookies I start to dream,
About a world of cookies and cream.

Cookies, cookies the anytime treat.
Eat them at home or the backseat.
You can eat them everywhere,
On the ground or high in the air.

Cookie rockets go to the stars.
Cookies for wheels on our cars.
I dream of a world of cookie dough.
Freshly baked and ready to go.

Cookies for beds for us to sleep,
We’ll count cookies instead of sheep.
Cookies we’ll roll all over town.
We’ll get some milk to wash them down.

A non-round cookie won’t be right.
Remember the poor gingerbread’s plight.
Cookies not round we’ll call them fakes.
They can all be just biscuits or cakes.

If all cookies where round by law.
We wouldn’t have circles or arcs to draw.
The sun would be a cookie shape.
And big cookie craters on a cookiescape.

A bump in the road made my dream roll away.
I’ll dream another, another day.
Where almost home and I’m glad.
A quiet snack is never bad.

It’s getting late, my day’s almost done,
But one last thing that’s always fun.
In-between the wash, rub and scrub.
I nibble a cookie in my tub.

But I never ever eat cookies in my bed.
You’ll sleep real crumby or so it’s said.
And now it’s time to turn off the light.
Sweet dreams to all and have a goodnight.

The End

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Birthday Triku

Birthday Cake-

Candles blaze, wax pools.

Sugar glazed time on a dish.

Slices of life shared.

 

Familiar Paths-

Life’s familiar path:

Birth, growth, love, toil and refresh,

relax and recall.

 

Birthday Wish-

They said “Make a wish”

I wish it not my birthday.

WAIT! – Nope! – didn’t work.

 

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Hot and Cold Memories

We all walked to school without a care.
We stopped at the store with pennies to share.
Cats and dogs always ran free.
Trees were claimed by them and me.
~
We rode our bikes like we were all nuts.
Our hands and knees came home with cuts.
Bikes had brakes most of the time,
or slowed by sneakers covered in grime.
~
Any spot with grass was called a yard.
We swam in places with no lifeguard.
Snowballs were made no matter the cost.
We wore socks on our hands when gloves were lost.
~
We all had to fight every once in a while.
Our moms would yell but dads would smile.
Rooms were shared and sometimes beds,
smelly feet tickling their brother’s heads.
~
Then junior high came and we had to change.
Our hair grew long and our clothes got strange.
Many smoked cigarettes and other stuff.
There were lots of choices but enough was enough.
~
Childhood then ended and the troubles began.
When the problems started most of us ran.
Some now have passed; some did well,
but all fondly remembered though it was hell.

~*~
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Morning Triku #169 ~ Haiku Theoreticallish

haiku theoreticallish

~*~
Our Wrinkle in Time

Work is what we do,
when not doing what we want.
Like death but with pay.

~
Constant Ripples

Time is space between.
Between matters and doesn’t.
Distance less with light.

~
Perpetual Emotion

Love is energy.
Hearts, minds and bodies unite.
Time accelerates.

~*~
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Write On

~

Just an observation

Neither here nor there

Just a little thought

That I’d like to share

~

Having writ now a bit

Logging ups and downs

There seems to be a pattern

That’s shared all around

~

Sometimes juices flow

Pumped with inspiration

Sometime the well is dry

Full of emptiness and frustration

~

Yet on we tread for nothing more

Then another chance to explore

Following our pens, hearts and minds

Where always a tomorrow we will find

~*~

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Twas the Ale

Twas a fable yet scribed I chanced on a trail

Whilst adjusting lapels on my shiny chain-mail

Running behind by fast falling hail

When caught by surprise by a soon too late snail

Rushing past for the tour of a mighty blue whale

A little boy followed, arms all a flail

Yelling and screaming and waving a pail

Fearing for life, I ratted out the snail

Thus rightly rewarded a tasty round quail

I plucked a plume, it barked a wail

I flew to the pub and grabbed me an ale

I asked of bread, it answered stale

I ordered steak and was given kale

Complained to a waiter who proceeded to rail

Then I was bounced out, back onto the trail

Went in head first and came out on my tail

Now bumps and bruises read like braille

Poking and prodding will always fail

The highs and lows of a musical scale

Whilst the notes remaining  …  twas this tale

~*~

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Snow

Soon it’s fall, but first back to school,

days getting shorter, nights get cool.

Then the winter and with it snow,

wrapping the world in its glow.

Snow_poem_SK052014 (1)

We’ll build forts, make balls to throw.

So many things to do in the snow,

sledding and skiing, rolling in white.

Hoping for more snow every night.

 Snow_poem_SK052014 (2)

Morning’s good news, stay home from class.

Fun things to do with time to pass,

make a snowman with rocks for eyes,

that see’s all in cold winter skies.

Snow_poem_SK052014 (3)

We’ll stay in and play or just talk.

Then shovel a long path to walk,

to the street though nowhere to go.

Everything’s closed because of the snow.

 Snow_poem_SK052014 (4)

Crusty piles; high, dirty and gray,

wetter and smaller each new day.

Snowman’s withered, springs on the way,

time to make up for our snow day.

 Snow_poem_SK052014 (5)

Waking one morning, snow’s no more,

instead there’s flowers by my door.

Springs arrived and welcome by all,

summers next and followed by fall

 Snow_poem_SK052014 (6)

Like the seasons our life goes round.

Searching for answers already found.

Around and around we all go,

waiting for summer then for snow.

*

The End

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Morning Triku #67 – Non-Optimal Optimism

Headlights –

.

Optimism is:

Writing an end to darkness

When there’s no bright side

*

.

Un-Free Times –

.

When do poets sell?

When all my time’s spent writing

Or thinking I can’t

*

.

Scientific Optimism –

.

Nature’s law shared in

Physics and psychology

Is that all things bounce

~*~

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Morning Triku XXXIII

Tomorrow:

Reluctant slumber

Half-a-wake dreams, awaiting

Fantasies of day

~

 Boom:

Mornings Burst – Coffee

Pencils Sharp – Ready – Waiting

Haiku Explosion

~

Rhyme Time:

Constant mind of rhymes

Can be annoying, sometimes

But better than chimes

~*~

Done-kuing:

 One hundred haiku

As of today, thirty three

Tri’s and this single

***

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