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Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
does it feel some days
as if your muscles
are weak

.....limp

                    ....useless

not your biceps
or triceps
nor
your glutes or
your calves

but those used
for
thinking

              ...creating

                          ...making

we often write
about our minds
being
empty

or wells running dry

if we're out
of ideas

and poems just don't
flow

but maybe it's
not emptiness
after all

suppose it's
tired muscles
needing
a rest

perhaps overworked
and
stretched
far

          too

                   far

they want
a break

want us to use
those
other
muscles
instead

of
              the
                              ones

              i
                     n

o
                u
r

h      
            
     e
               a
d
          s...
Well, this is calling out to me "take a break, for crying out loud, take a break!" LOL
  Apr 2018 Mary-Eliz
Paul Hansford
Knowing you, as I do, in cyber-space,
not in the world that we consider "real,"
I have no way of knowing how I'd feel,
if I should chance to meet you face-to-face.

Looking at you, I wonder would I be
embarrassed, mute, uncertain what to say,
and end up wondering why I'd come this way,
not really sure if this was right for me?

Or would we hit it off right from the start?
Two minds that share their innermost ideas
of poetry and life, their hopes and fears,
like two souls with one single beating heart?

(In case you think by cyber-love I'm smitten,
I'll make it clear - it's fantasy I've written.)
  Apr 2018 Mary-Eliz
Paul Hansford
If my words had power

to tell my feelings for you my love

they might seem illogical.

So too the extravagant nightingale

singing to the summer midnight.
  Apr 2018 Mary-Eliz
Paul Hansford
Andrew was a rather dreamy 8-year-old boy of average intelligence.  I had explained what syllables are, and given examples, then asked the kids to write a short poem with 1,2,3,4,5,4,3,2,1 syllables, to make a diamond shape.  Several of them didn't get it, and counted words instead, or just made the lines look the right shape.  This was Andrew's effort.

Please
little man
sing me a song
the sweetest song
that has ever been
with a harp
or a fiddle.
Sing a song
about the beautiful princess
or the sad puppet
or the thunder giant.
Sing me a song.


Would any of you have told him he had it wrong?  He had started off with an idea of the shape, but then the poetry had taken over.  I told him it was a brilliant poem - because it was - and not to worry about the syllables.
  Apr 2018 Mary-Eliz
Paul Hansford
Zoe was a clever girl, and I wasn't surprised when she wanted to try a haiku-style piece, but it was even cleverer than I had expected, with a correct syllable count and a delightful punch-line.

Slow-worm in the grass
looks at me with beady eyes
and puts its tongue out.


(Note: the slow-worm is a legless lizard that looks like a small snake, locally quite common in England.)
I love the suggestion that the creature is being cheeky by putting its tongue out, while we all know - don't we? - that lizards do this to smell the air around them.
  Apr 2018 Mary-Eliz
Paul Hansford
The rain makes everything fresh,
   the plants and the grass are like gold,
      the air is sparkling with joy
                                                           (by Sharon)

The rain is coming down.
   Look outside, everything is wet.
      The leaves glitter with the rain on them.
                                                           (by Tracey)

Rain makes the roof top wet,
   the grass is all wet and soggy,
      and mum cannot do the washing.
                                                        ­    (by Lee)
  Apr 2018 Mary-Eliz
Paul Hansford
The ground is covered with snow.
   There is ice on all the plants
      like stone flowers.
                                                (by Darren)

The frost is cold.
   Spiky blades of grass
       crackle under your feet.
                                                  (by Peter)

The sky is black,
   the moon shines on the ice,
      the ice is silver.
                                                    (by Sarah)
OK, they didn't count the syllables, but could you say they aren't good poetry?  And since they are about the season, we'd be justified to call them "modern haiku".
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