The challenge this week was to write poems about work or particular profession. Here are the results.
Jane Yolen left this poem in the comments.Here's what I'm offering up this week. Please forgive the little conceit at the end! (I just couldn't figure out how to wrap this one up. Once that line stuck in my head, I was sunk.)
The Best-Selling AuthorLaura of Author Amok also left a poem in the comments.
Getcha red hot metaphors here,
Your poetry stretches line by line.
Yes, you can handle the similes
I think you’ll find they’re rather fine.
Alliteration always sells,
Even in recessions,
But slant rhymes are another kettle
Of fish, of flesh, of fissions.
I’ve got some second-hand paragraphs,
Some small, used punctuations
Suitable for a senior prom
And for most graduations.
And pssst, if you will come back here,
You’ll find that you’re in luck.
I’ve got some first class sentences
That just fell off the truck.
c 2009 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved
STORY LADYLaura Purdie Salas left this poem in the comments.
Mom drags me to the bookstore every Saturday.
I grump and groan,
complain and moan,
“Can’t I stay home and play?”
She puts her yellow apron on,
with its shiny flowers.
“Make yourself comfy,” she says. “We’ll be here a few hours.”
I straighten the tiara that sparkles on her hair
So she can be Queen Barbara Jean -- Story Lady Extraordinaire.
When we go in the bookstore, kids rush up and hug her.
They shout, “Story Lady! Barbara Jean!” acting like they love her.
Mom stands on a small platform and takes out her guitar.
Kids smoosh and squish to sit in front, as if my mom’s a star.
Mom sings about a car. The audience goes, “Vroom!”
They honk like horns. They beep and laugh. Those kids shout, “Crash!” and “Boom!”
Then Mom puts on her glasses. She opens a big book.
Thirty kids lean toward her, trying to get a look.
I sit in the back and yawn. I’ve heard this book before.
Mom must have read it 50 times to kids at this bookstore.
When we’re home alone tonight, we’ll have a cup of tea
And Mom will read a special book to no one else but me.
We’ll hold the book on our laps, so no one blocks my view.
And Mom will say, “You’re my best audience. This book is just for you.”
Old YellerAmy Ludwig VanDerwater left this poem in the comments.
I’m right-on-time dependable.
I rarely whine or fuss.
I get them to their school on time
But they’re not happy. Plus
They sometimes—oops—have accidents,
Or spill their lunch, or cuss!
They hate to see me pulling up—
It sucks to be the bus.
--Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved
She makes no mistakes.
She does what it takes.
(If she finds a double
she takes it and breaks it.)
My Job (24/7)It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.
Ice cream heaper
Who's the bomb?