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I've written about rhyme from time to time on this blog, as it is my primary form of children's writing. However, as blogging goes, once a topic is off the main list of blog posts visible on a site, it is literally out of sight and out of mind. Herewith a brief revisit of the topic.

If you have ever tried to write something in rhyme, you may have hit a wall on the road to rhyming self-discovery. Let's face it, being a rhymer is not easy. Rhyme can be relatively unforgiving in its structural requirements.

To do rhyme well, the rhyming sets have to be right on the mark. If you find yourself stretching just to make two words rhyme for no reason, you'll get a thumbs down from most editors. And "near rhymes" can be just as bad. It may work in song writing but in children's rhyme in particular, near rhymes come across as being too casual and inattentive to detail. Many editors won't give rhyme the time of day because they may have seen more than their share of bad rhyme and simply don't have the time to see if a particular submission, no matter how good it may be, in fact has potential.

As for the rhythm thing, failure to establish a clear cadence can be a rhyme killer. For example, whichever rhythmic pattern (the beats and cadence) you choose, needs to be consistent and engaging to capture and hold a reader's attention. Generally, if the beat is off (unless deliberately done for emphasis), your rhyming ship may be sunk before ever weighing anchor.

So let's pick a rhyme apart for a moment to give you an idea of what you are getting yourself into. What comes next may seem a bit cheesy. But to take the next step, bear with me. You'll need to go to my website at billkirkwrites.com and click on the link in the center of the page that says: "Rhyming Resource Center" then follow it via the "Rhyming Tips and Traps" link to the rest of this story.

I know. I know. Website pandering is shameless. But I hope your visit to billkirkwrites.com will be helpful to you and not simply seem a lame effort to increase my site visit count. However it strikes you, I'd like to hear from you pro or con whether the rhyming tips on my site were helpful. Just e-mail me at [email protected] . Either way, best of luck on your jaunty journey in rhyme.

I've been somewhat distracted of late what school getting out, summer coming on and preparations for the National Scout Jamboree (we're down to under 20 days to departure). But with a few days breathing space in the schedule, I'm getting back to my blog after a month-long absence.

Today's entry is a little something for those of you who may feel challenged by texting and are wondering if there's any hope. For those over age 40 who can figure it out, congratulations. For the rest of you who consider texting some kind of torture that ought to be banned as cruel and unusual punishment, bless your hearts. I'm stuck right in the middle of all of you. My thumbs are too big, my nails are too short and I can't see much of anything on those itty-bitty cell phone screens. But not to worry. An English translation is provided below.

OK. So, I admit to I outwardly professing my intent to one day become a texter. I suppose it could happen. But truth be told, I am secretly waiting for someone to invent a cell phone with a circular dial so I can hear the "skrrridge-tick, tick, tick, tick...." sound of the yesteryear telephone dial coming out of my cell phone.

Realizing the likelihood of that happening any time in the near or distant future is slim to none, I herewith offer this short piece in homage to all those under age sixteen apparently born with texting intuition and thumb nails pre-filed to small points. Remember to show a little sympathy for the rest of us who are happy just to grip our cell phones with what may soon be our vestigial opposable thumbs.

Enjoy...


cllN plnz
by bil krk

my dad bawt me a cel ph.
its realy wA 2 QL.
u wont bleev w@ it cn do—
il shO u aftr skool.

it ltz me d/l muzc;
snd pix, gmes n stuf.
it evn hlps me do my math,
n f thts nt nuf,

It hs a dxNre;
n evry countrys map—
jst ask me whr a rivA s.
il fnd it ina snap!

thers O 1 sml prob—
its nm @ ll.
bt sumday mayB I shd lern
to actuly mak a cll.

wrd count: 86

Translation:

Calling Plans
By Bill Kirk

My Dad bought me a cell phone.
It’s really way too cool.
You won’t believe what it can do—
I’ll show you after school.

It lets me download music;
Send pictures, games and stuff.
It even helps me do my Math,
And if that’s not enough,

It has a dictionary;
And every country’s map—
Just ask me where a river is.
I’ll find it in a snap!

There’s only one small problem—
It’s nothing much at all.
But someday maybe I should learn
To actually make a call.

Word Count: 88

By Bill Kirk
Bill Kirk's Website

(Published in Scouting e-zine Cracker Barrel, 2008)

You'd think it would be easy,
To tell about the day's
Events and how they happened
In ordinary ways.

But this day wasn't normal,
Though it was kind of cool.
I learned to care for victims
At Boy Scout First Aid school.

At first I was a victim.
I had a "broken arm"
And "bruises" and a "headache"
As if I'd come to harm.

An "accident" had happened
On my "mountain bike."
But soon I was "discovered"
By "hikers" on a hike.

They checked out all my "bruises,"
And bandaged all my "scrapes."
In no time they had splinted
My arm with sticks and tapes.

Soon after I was "stable"
I had another role-
To help a rock slide victim
Impaled upon a pole.

Of course, he was "unconscious."
His "skull" had hit a "rock."
Because we had just "minutes,"
We worked against the clock.

At first we rolled him over
And "stabilized" his "spine."
We did a lift and carry;
In no time he was fine.

Several hours later,
The day was finally done.
Although the lessons were intense,
We'd learned while having fun.

When I got home, exhausted,
My wife said, "How's your day?"
"You won't believe..." then I just couldn't
Bring myself to say.

April 30: “For today's prompt, write a letting go poem. The poem could be about letting go of a relationship; it could be about letting go of anger; it could be about letting go of a tree branch; or it could even be about, yes, letting go of this April challenge. There are so many things we can let go.“

Alas, the end has come to National Poetry Month and to the Poem A Day Challenge for April. Writing a "letting go" poem offers many paths. But in honor of squeezing yet another poem into a day, busy-ness came to mind. Today's offering is short and sweet because now I must get busy so we can leave for a weekend camping trip---lots to do. Busy, busy, busy....

Letting Go Of Busy
By Bill Kirk

Busy is as busy does.
So, why are we so busy?
Should busy bees our mentors be
And life be all a-tizzy?

Why not add a little sloth—
Try letting go of busy?
Moderation in all things
Will make you far less dizzy.

Guess I’ll kick back and enjoy
A few things I have missed.
But first I’d better check things off
My daily duty list.

Title: My Busy Day

Author: Jill Davis

Illustrator: Jill Kastner

Hardcover: 32 pages

Publisher: Penguin Group ( September 2004)

Reading Level: 4-8

Theme: read-aloud, experiences, life, rhyme

Even children have busy days and this colorful book talks about it through rhyme. The story is from a little girls perspective as  she shares with us her busy schedule. From getting up in the morning to finally getting home after a very long day at school and heading to bed. 

As adults we are all aware of our busy schedules and children are aware of it too; yet at times, they and we, don't realize that they too have a very busy schedule indeed. Maybe, just maybe, after they read this book they might change their minds.

Now I must say, the illustrations blew me away! The style is just beautiful. The pictures look as if they were done with crayons and I actually passed my finger on one of the pictures, to well, just check. They are incredible and worth looking at!

Enjoy!

All I can say is the past four days have been a bit jam packed. The writing of the poems was challenge enough, and even more the public posting of them, which I didn’t get done each day. So, here they are, all four poems posted in one fell swoop from April 24, 25, 26 and 27—works in progress, one and all.

April 24: “For today's prompt, write an evening poem. My initial thought is that this poem would somehow involve the night, but upon further reflection, I guess it could be about evening things up or something.”

The Evening Of The Day
By Bill Kirk

When the long day’s labor’s done
And when all but gone’s the sun,
Fatigue wraps itself
Like a heavy cloak
Around the old man’s body,
At long last, bent and bound for rest.

His rough, work-worn hands
Weave their calloused digits
In thanksgiving for the
Warm bread and steaming bowl
At table before him.

Now, dusk approaches as
The day invites the dark night.
Even time is near—the end of toil and care.
And in this peaceful moment,
The evening of the day
Brings longed for respite
To body and spirit.

Amen.

April 25: “For today's prompt, write a poem inspired by a song. Be sure to include the song and artist (if known) with your poem, so that we can all make our own mix CDs to write poetry.”
This one is a challenge indeed, maybe because the possibilities are almost endless in the choosing. Will it be the first song that pops into our heads or a selection driven by mood or genre or our need in the moment? And anyway, isn’t the song is its own poem? So, what makes us think we might say it better? Or maybe we are simply to let the song speak to us and capture the moment.

Oh What Song To Choose?
By Bill Kirk

I listen to the radio of my mind
Wondering what song
Will most inspire the writing
Of even more words
Than those already penned
By the original writer.

But what if the song writer
Takes offense that someone
Might dare to suggest
Enough was not said the first time?

That is, for a song to inspire,
Would it not, by definition,
Have said all that should be said
In the very best way when first written?
And, by extension, if more is needed,
Would that not mean the original song
Had somehow missed the mark?

Perhaps.
Unless, that is,
The inspired poem is short and sweet
And written just in such a way
That no one will mistake
The poem’s complimentary intent.

In that case, I’ve already said enough.
Allow me to introduce my inspiration:
“I Write The Songs (That Make The Whole World Sing)”.
And dare I name the original writer
Or only give a clue
To those not from planet Earth?
The by line belongs to
The one, the only artist
Formerly, now and always
Known as Barry.


April 26: “For today’s prompt, write a "more than 5 times" poem. Of course, I'll let you decide what that means. Maybe you'll write a poem about something the narrator does more times than preferrable; maybe you'll write a deja vu poem; or maybe you'll just write the same line and/or stanza more than 5 times. I just know that multiple poets recently said the "More than 5 times" subject line would make a great prompt, so I'm listening to the group. Have at it!“

If I’ve Told You Once
By Bill Kirk

If I’ve told you once,
I’ve told you more than five times:

Call when you are going to be late.
Wash your hands before supper.
Get your elbows off the table.
Don’t go swimming right after you eat.
Do your homework before play time.
Buckle your seatbelt.
No listening to you i-Pod at the dinner table.
No mocking.
Turn off the light when you leave the room.
Hang up your Sunday clothes after church.

April 23: “For today's prompt, write an exhausted poem. The poem can be a first person account of your own exhaustion, or it can describe the exhaustion of someone (or something) else. Heck, I guess it even could be about exhaust, huh?“

I must say, getting this rhyme to fall was like pulling teeth. And it may still need a bit of work. I'm exhausted....

Exhaustion Is A Drag
By Bill Kirk

Exhaust is just an output;
Exhaustion? Work’s accrual—
When outputs surpass inputs,
Or work demands more fuel.

To counter your exhaustion
You’ll need to get some rest.
Add ample food and water,
To feel your very best.

But if you keep on pushing—
Light candles at both ends,
You’ll burn out far too quickly
And illness never mends.

It’s better when you balance
Some down time with your zest.
So, when you face a challenge,
You’ll be up to the test.

April 12: “For today's prompt, pick a city, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem. Your poem can praise or belittle the city. Your poem could be about the city or about the people of the city. Your poem could even have seemingly nothing to do with the city. But the simple act of picking a city will set the mood (to a certain degree), so choose wisely.”
La Paz
By Bill Kirk

We once had a house
On Calle Nueve, across the street
From the President of Bolivia.

It’s not every day a kid
Gets to have tea with the First Lady
Or ride on a motorcycle,
Holding on for dear life,
Behind the Captain
Of the Presidential Guard.

Or watch a hundred native dancers in full costume
March through your front gate
To set up a brief rest stop
In the backyard of your house.
My sister and I heard the drums
And horns and flutes
Way down at the end of our street,
Even before we could see the parade.

When the procession turned the corner,
I just knew they would come to our house.
Yet I still couldn’t quite believe it when they did.
Even dad was surprised when he got home.
Mom said they were on their way
To a three-day fiesta in Las Yungas.
Why anyone would want to have
A party in the jungle, I’ll never know.
But they seemed to be having fun.

Then there was the time someone
Gave us a honey bear for a pet.
Of course, we couldn’t keep it.
After all, a honey bear needs to be free.

The river at the end of our street
Raged one year during the rainy season
And washed away the little mud brick shack
Where Mamasita and Papasito lived—
It was the year I was home schooled
To get me ready for fourth grade in the States.
My mom even gave me recess
So I could watch the flood happen.
Two little sheep fell into the water that day
And it took them away,
Never to be seen again.
That was a sad day on our street.
Even the President noticed.

The air is rather thin at 12,000 feet
Which is why fire departments
Hardly ever get any business that high up.
And there’s no such thing
As a two-minute boiled egg—that is,
Unless you like it raw.

Maybe the thin air is why
My memories seem so clear
From once upon a time in La Paz.


April 13: “Two for Tuesday time! Here are today's two prompts:
1. Write a love poem.
2. Write an anti-love poem.”
Given a choice, I’ll take the former. I just can’t seem to get my head into anti-love---maybe if someone has a broken heart, that’s the place they would be.
Spring Is Made For Love
By Bill Kirk

If timing’s your reason
To give love a fling,
The very best season
Has got to be spring.

The summer is super
To heat up your game.
But sunburn and heat waves
Can cool down your flame.

And festive fall fashion
May seem quite the deal.
But hitting the sales
May de-zest your zeal.

A deep chill in winter
Can beg for a spark
But all of those layers
Keep love in the dark.

Although every season
Has lots of potential,
To even your odds,
It’s spring that’s essential.

A Tale Of Two Burgers
By Bill Kirk

At dinner one spring evening,
The crowd was all aglow,
As conversation sparkled
And food began to flow.

But over in one corner
I saw the oddest sight.
One table with two burgers;
Both waiting for a bite.

One burger kept his wrap on.
I guessed his "friends" were late.
He seemed quite hot and steamy,
Yet not at all irate.

The second Bigger Burger,
Looked anxious and displeased.
He left no doubt about it,
That he was really cheesed.

Then almost in an instant,
I noticed something strange.
Big Burger's disposition
Had made a major change.

For when the soda got there,
Plus ketchup and some fries.
His quibbles turned to nibbles
Before my very eyes.

When, in a slurp, they finished,
Together in one bite,
Just one--the Burger Meister--
Was still around that night.

The smaller burger'd vanished,
And it was plain to see,
One gulp had made that burger
A mealtime memory.

So, if you spot two burgers
That oddly seem sureal,
One "Burger" might be hungry.
The other? Just a meal.