We Are Children

We Are Children

a tantrum
a fit
an explosion
of expression
from 2 years
of life
and I
breathe in
and out
in
and out
in
and
out
for you
and me

I will
your flame
to shorten
make it smaller
I demand
and yet
with each inhale
with each exhale
I wish to ignite
and flare out
with you
for we both
are tiny
specks of
cosmos
filled with
large
crashing atoms
and this
this responsibly
feels
to much to bare.

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What I always wanted to Say . . .

What I always wanted to Say . . .

What I always wanted to say to you lied underneath lake pebbles.

What I always wanted to say got tangled in water lily roots.

What I always wanted to say seeped down deep beneath grim and sand.

What I always wanted to say was stirred up by an earthquake.

What I always wanted to say got swallowed by a catfish.

What I always wanted to say was mixed with bile.

What I always wanted to say was fried up.

What I always wanted to say was served with hush puppies.

What I always wanted to say was dipped in tartar sauce.

and swallowed by your lovely lips.

The Parable of Snack Time

The Parable of Snack Time

The toddlers at the child care center I work at giving me many reminds of very old life lessons.Here is one, I call, the Parable of Snack Time.

“Snack time!” I said.

Twelve toddlers look up from what they were doing. Some start chanting “snake time!” Others drop their toys and waddle or crawl their way to an empty chair. Once all the children are sitting down and the tables are cleared of blocks, I begin to pass out today’s snack: Gold fish crackers and green beans. 

After everyone has their snacks and water bottles, I seat down with them and talk with my coworker, Ms. Z. Ms. Z and I make sure to demonstrate what conversation should look like and how to seat in chairs. We ask the children questions about their day and so forth. Soon, there were empty snack plates and many still hungry children.

I get up to pass out more snacks. After the last child received their portion, I asked, “does anyone need anymore food?”

“More snack-y plwese,” said a little girl, name Mary. 

I looked down at Mary’s plate. It was full. She hadn’t touched her snack all afternoon. 

“Finish your snack, Mary,” I said.

“More snack-y!” she cried.

I pointed to her pile. She, in turn, pointed to the bag of cheesy goldfish. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you more when yu are done.”

And that was when the tantrum began. She yelled and screamed for more goldfish. She the her arms left and right. Before she knew it, all her snack-y was all over the floor and Ms. Z intervened.

“Mary, you had snack, but now it is all on the floor. Come here and sit with me until you can calm down.”

After guiding a screaming Mary to Ms. Z, I swept up the rest of snack. By the time everyone was done with snack, Mary finally calmed down and I sat with her as she ate her new serving of goldfish and green beans.

Moral? 

You tell me in the comments.

Fourth of July Poetry

Fourth of July Poetry

Tomorrow marks another milestone in Dragon’s Den’s history. As many in the US know, tomorrow is the Independence Day — the day each year we celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence and the beginning of the US Revolution. Given such an important day in this nation’s history, many writers have tossed their own thoughts into the air amid the fireworks and music. For this dragon writer, who loves fireworks in any shape and form, this tomorrow also marks the first Fourth of July in Washington. To celebrate this milestone, I present to you dear readers the top 10 poems for the Fourth.

I Hear America Singing by Walt Whitman

The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus

America by Claude McKay

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Good Night by Carl Sandburg

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Many ways to say good night.

Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July
spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes.
They fizz in the air, touch the water and quit.
Rockets make a trajectory of gold-and-blue
and then go out.

Railroad trains at night spell with a smokestack mushrooming a white pillar.

Steamboats turn a curve in the Mississippi crying a baritone that crosses lowland
cottonfields to razorback hill.

It is easy to spell good night.
Many ways to spell good night.

 

America by Allen Ginsberg

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Canada Anemone by Fleda Brown

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The Fourth of July Parade by Fran Haraway

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waiting on the mayflower by Evie Shockley

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Monuments by Myra Sklarew

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Of History and Hope by Miller Williams

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Candied Time

Candied Time

I’ve sweetened you with Monday’s
trepidation
pouring out crystal powdery
drop drop drops

I’ve laced you with Tuesday’s
exhaustion
slicing up yellow bitter
crop crop crops

I’ve stirred you with Wednesday’s
inspiration
combining each day in
lump lump lumps

I’ve boiled you in Thursday’s
anticipation
counting down the bubbles
pop pop pop

I’ve molded you in Friday’s
aspiration
shaping your form with new
mold mold molds

Time and time again
I’ve chilled you under stars
named you Saturday and Sunday
yet here you are
bittersweet