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Poemasabi Sep 2012
Little tea bag talking head
Your cheeks are round and rosey
But every time you speak your "mind"
We see what you don't knowsy
Poemasabi Sep 2012
Those who choose to live
In the idyllic fifties
Must go all the way
Poemasabi Sep 2012
If careless with fire
And burn your beautiful house
The guilt is yours
And you should not stand aloft
Proclaiming the fireman's guilt
Poemasabi Sep 2012
If
If...
we do
think a
bit first
we...?
A Chaycheck Cinquain. 2,4,6,8,2 letters. The form was created by a 2nd grader in 2011. I use it to pose questions mostly and let the reader finish the thought in their head.
Poemasabi Aug 2012
In a second grade classroom
a tiny ant with a treasure thinks only of taking it to his colony.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.

he drags
and pulls
and tugs

On a second grade classroom floor,
the ant's work is hard but will be worth it.
A big hero he will be.
So he drags a piece of popcorn much bigger than he.

he drags
and pulls
and tugs

On a second grade classroom rug,
the ant's task seems insurmountable but he knows of no other way.
So for an hour, he retraces his path backwards dragging a piece of popcorn
across the classroom rug.

He drags
and tugs
and pulls

In the open of a second grade classroom,
the ant feels exposed on the carpet but cover is closer now, he can feel it.
It's just there, where the wall meets the carpet.
A space just big enough to hide an ant.

Closer and closer.

He tugs and pulls and drags his prize closer still
Pulling and dragging the popcorn lurches across the carpet.

His rear legs reach cover
Then his thorax, his abdomen, his head with antennae and mandibles

then

The Problem.

and...

In a second grade classroom
a line of popcorn rests
where the carpet meets the wall.
Poemasabi Aug 2012
Sun paints cloud bottoms
paints mist over lake orange
Summer day begins
Poemasabi Aug 2012
The lines are drawn
my side, your side

We walk our lines
back and forth, forth and back

A rut appears, two in fact
one on my side, one on yours

Our lines are marched
my side, your side

We never waver
never look at the other, never step out of our rut

So

Rut becomes trench
knee then thigh, waist then chest deep

We march on
we never waver, never look nor climb out

Fear of what might happen
bars us from communication

Quiet separation is safe
separation from argument is feared

We march on
trench deeper that we are tall

We march on still
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