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I'm a writer usually of experimental poetry. (You can check out my work elsewhere.) Then I became a father and started to write poems for kids/young adults. I've got 201 of these poems so far. It seems to me these poems (some of them illustrated) may work best in several book volumes or perhaps individually adorning some line of object d'art: hand bags, skateboards, decorative tiles, etc.

Below I'll include some of the poems for your enjoyment; from OUR IMAGINARY FRIENDS:

+++ 182

Cassidy Ridgewater stayed in a small box
hunkered down there with Conroy to avoid
the small pox. The newspapers say the latest
outbreak seems bad!

Just look at these folks! It's crazy!
Have they all finally gone mad?

Those tiny monsters are marching, this time
able not only to walk but to talk. And the worst
have been holed up all this long while
with that Conroy boy right there

‘round the block.

+++ 184

Mohawk Jane walked with a cane singing and singing
a lonesome refrain but after Monday night meetings
would skip up the lane.

Then she crossed tracks one night
with “Rooster Tail” Twain
whose life by then

would have slipped
down the drain, if
not for Jane

that lucky June, humming
her gloomy tune in the rain.

--for June, Kally and Rob

+++ 186

If you wish and wish
upon a star

it makes no difference
who’s driving the car.
You’ve got miles

and miles

to go. Then you’ll crash
down to Mars.

Very, very far...

+++ 189

Uncle Vern was a pretty rough guy.
He had this look in his one good eye
that if you weren’t careful

would make you cry. No matter
how hard a kid would try
to keep a dry eye

it just wouldn’t fly.
I don’t know why.

+++ 191

Tiff wore a lamp atop her head
that made it hard to sleep

when she went off to bed, so
she lay awake nights
in the light

instead. Tiff couldn’t see straight.
Well, her eyesight was bad. That girl
kept insisting, still

on donning her lamp. (Such strange hues
it had shed.) The shade was unique, a lovely
antique of mica brown

and strange, long shadows
threw down around
our town

while Tiff tossed, restless
and then aimlessly roamed
the grounds

with her failing sight, looking
and looking for a fight

all night.

I'm a writer usually of experimental poetry. (You can check out my work elsewhere.) Then I became a father and started to write poems for kids/young adults. I've got 201 of these poems so far. It seems to me these poems (some of them illustrated) may work best in several book volumes or perhaps individually adorning some line of object d'art: hand bags, skateboards, decorative tiles, etc. Below ... More