Charlotte Crane is 8 years old and is my granddaughter. She says this poem does not have a title (8 January 2010):
There's something on the wall
It's just like me.
It moves and grooves
And so do we.
People say it's my shadow
And that is that.
But to me it looks nothing like my cat.
Judith Hutchinson has sent us (9 January 2010):
Categories
Mermaids are....... mammals?
(Open, sesame brain.)
Well, they don't lay eggs,
No clutch.
No cluck.
They only have mermaids,
so..... they clone?
No weddings at sea for these chicks.
Dream on, Liverpool Jarge.
And my attempt for the week, Stephanie Hutchinson (15 January 2010):
Shadows Cool and Cold
Shadow can be a welcome sight
Out of the baking sun, away from light.
Head heavy, throat parched, hands hanging,
The shade offers cool air gusting
Blowing in small whirlwinds of air
Ease for a baked head and hot hair.
Immediate release of stress;
Respite, lull, break from the hot press
Of sun and people and migraine.
But context is everything.
Avoid the shade ‘tween tall buildings
On winter days and cold evenings.
The chill reaches from cement sidewalks
Tearing down the dark unsunned blocks.
It gnaws fingers, ankles, noses,
Chaps ears, slaps cheeks with bright roses.
The harsh ice air hurts breathing in.
(Hold warm air with a scarf cloaked chin.)
Seeking the sun proves you are sane.
