I Am Glad
They are barely there
the people in the before-
Sometimes I catch impressions
of their smudged
amidst the rush and shove,
the we-need-to-get there
For a second I might glimpse the
almost-faces of so many,
then it is all a jumble in the
traffic lights, subway swallowing,
cars and buses, pavement
and road crossings
Those are the days I just want to sit
on a warm park bench
munch on sugary doughnuts
hold hands with someone and say,
‘’I am glad I have you.’’
what has touched me
a blue butterfly
balancing upon a new leaf
resting briefly there
singing in unison
dawn birds welcome the sun
forage in a tree
fish splash and circle
break the sun’s filtering rays
love this morning’s time
an old beetle sits
in silent contemplation
a little Bhudda
the soil shifts slightly
an earthworm is barely here
then down and gone again
velvet buttons swim
they are tadpoles exploring
loving the algae
a dragonfly’s wings
catch and shout the day’s light
disperse it for free
I have sat watching
slow to move and quick to see
what has touched me
© Andrew Pender-Smith
I composed this lyric a few weeks ago. Anyone looking at it carefully, and I hope you do, will see that it is comprised of eight separate haiku designed to link through, to create a lyric.
Will You Come Back?
‘’Out of something new, harrowing death may come, unnervingly swift and more disturbingly silent than its concealing breeze.’’ Craig Carden
‘’If your mother never told you to stop and listen when the birds sing out a warning, you’d best do so now.’’ Craig Carden
His dark pupils were dilated and his body was tense with excitement. Her quick movements agitated him, and he was becoming increasingly eager to get to her. Hard-muscled and taut, he was watching her as she stood semi-naked in front of a brightly lit mirror while she brushed her glossy auburn hair. His legs were stretched to the limit, and his breathing quickened. He moaned twice while rubbing his face against the bedroom wall.
Though she was in a room in an apartment building across the road, he could see her clearly. His eyesight was excellent and his green eyes now had a brighter hue as he watched and moaned, deeper this time. All the while he continued pressing against the wall, rubbing first the left side of his face against it, and then the right. How he longed to be out of this place, to be free to get close to her. He would be on her in a second.
The above is an extract from the newly published novelette ‘Will You Come Back?’ by Andrew Pender-Smith. The book blurb and the book can be found by clicking on this link:
These two poems ‘I’ and ‘I Am A?’ are the last in this series of one or two children’s poems in a picture. More may follow later this year. As per usual, anyone who wishes to use them, such as in a poetry speaking festival or theme programme, is most welcome to do so.
With good wishes,
This is the latest in the short series of children’s poems placed inside a photo. Teachers and students of English and the dramatic arts are free to use them. I hope they prove fun and useful.
With good wishes,
Two more poems in this short series of children’s poems placed within a picture. As with the other poems on this site, teachers and young performers are free to use them with acknowledgement. Enjoy!
‘Grasshopper Jump’ is the second picture and children’s poem combination I am doing in a short series of these little works. The first was ‘Hello Butterfly’.
Dropping Down and Becoming Excited
Linda the potato and Sylvester the carrot were clinging tightly to Big Bruce the blue balloon’s thick, blue hair as they dropped through the star-filled night. There wasn’t so much as a breath of wind and Big Bruce could no longer float. They were going down, down, down. The three friends were becoming more and more excited because they were heading towards a brightly coloured circus tent. Lots of happy music and clapping was coming from the huge tent. It was made up of so many colours that Linda the potato was sure it was almost impossible to count them all.
“We’re going to land on top of the tent,” Big Bruce called out. “Just where the pointy bit sticks up.”
“That’s right at the middle of the very top,” said Sylvester the carrot, as he pushed some of his long purple hair away from his face so he could see better.
“No. No we’re not going to land on top,” said Linda the potato. She was bending over the side of Big Bruce while clinging on tightly as they came closer to the ginormous tent. Her blue eyes were wide behind her pink-framed glasses as she tried to work out where they would land. “There’s a hole close to the top of the tent and I think we’re going right through,” she said.
“Whoopee! This is cool,” Sylvester the carrot called out, and he clapped his long-fingered purple hands in excitement. “We’re going to land in the middle of the circus.”
Copyright: Andrew Pender-Smith
‘Big in the Big Top’ is the fourth and final story in the ‘Be Brave’ series involving Big Bruce the blue balloon, Linda the potato who loves singing and everything pink, and Sylvester the carrot with long purple hair who lies to dance. You may find the series on Amazon.
The sky cracked open
and I spun away
with whirling lights in my head.
The great bird beneath me
opened its wings
and flapped from
one fantastic place to another.
Moons sang and suns
danced in one wild, weird place,
while delicate frost touched trees
of rainbow hues in another.
The black bird opened its orange beak
and sang us onwards
until we came to a frozen lake.
Silver children skated its
and butterflies of sparkling ice sang:
‘’Isn’t this nice.
Isn’t this nice.’’
We journeyed on past planets
of indescribable blue
and shot up a waterfall
that roared and rushed into
valleys vast and mysteriously deep.
We came to a full, red moon
that was spinning and jigging to its own
It smiled at the black bird and
waved at me before floating away
over a long, green stream
of ribboning bubbles and delicate spray.
Finally, the air turned wonderfully warm
while a billion waltzing stars
catapulted in exotic, endless display.
Then, down, down we planed
in a golden moment that
jetted us over a gleaming sea.
‘’Home again. Home again,’’
the black bird sang with me.
I was now on soft beach sand.
I turned around once and the bird
was gone, flying on to I know not where.
I lay down on the fine, fine sand and
held onto memory after mad, marvellous memory
as one wild moon after another
looked down and winked at me.
© Andrew Pender-Smith