Poetry

bad boy, wait til I get my hands on you. (laughing, thanks)
Where's your cotton pickin' poem? You must post one to win.
I'll post one, too, as soon as I get home, and you better not laugh at it.
now I must check the contributions so far. i think it will be a wonderful experience to look at folks from another angle. Their spiritual side, and all have one.
George

were you one of those children?

It has great rhythm.
Put a little drum beat to it, shuffle your feet some, throw your arms around.........what does it mean?
It's better just to ask outright.

is this your contribution or an observation?
will you post something from the depths of your soul?

where is your poem? don't be shy!

Sandy Lane
Like a picture drawn in charcoal
the trees hang in the rain
and with cast-iron indifference
fence in my sandy laneAre the willows really weeping?
as the rain falls off their leaves
what is it that is dying
it seems the whole day grievesThere's a woman on her front porch
mingling in the gray's and blue's
and none of this can touch her
as she reads the morning newsLike a picture drawn in charcoal
my reflection in a window pane
is the ghost upon the puddles
lying on my sandy lane
George

A Different ConcertoFred Squirrel with his bushy tail
and yonder slowpoke, Charlie Snail
John Frog, the croaker, on his pad
and Sister Butterfly twirling mad
Ben Coyote barking at the moon
the plaintive cry of Liza Loon
and Jack the monkey hanging loose
the hiss and honk of Georgie Goose
let's not forget Maximilian Moose
the hoot and toot of Betsy Owl
and Herbie Wolf's fierce lonely howl
Peg Sparrow's chatter evermore
and Leo Lion's chilling roar
in winter's frost and summer's heat
they bay and growl and yap and bleat
although you may not think they sing
all raise their voices to our King
and thank Him for the life he gives
and thank Him also that He lives
George
I wrote it for some little kids once in church hope you like it