Poem Series

Lily

A scarlet lily,

Growing wildly, burning red

Sprouting bell-shaped buds.

Although the scent makes me sneeze,

These blooms still lure me to breathe.

Eggs

My favorite food is

fried egg.

With its perfectly golden

round yolk.

The single huge eye

draws me.

I would accept a

poached prize,

Or maybe accept a

scrambled snack.

But my #1 choice:

fried eggs.

It starts my morning

energizes me.

I need you, egg

Don’t leave me!

 

Piano

Playing piano

Music rushes in my ears

As my fingers dance

On the black white gears

 Melody opens windows

Moonlight awakened.

Swishming

I wish I became

a fish,

Swimming around in the

open ocean,

Conquering the seas bit

by bit.

By joining a good

swim team,

Butterfly has allowed me

to fly.

It’s really not the

same game,

But I like my

funny buddies.

We’ll be there for

each other,

With waves and splashes

Throughout the years.

Yelling

    How would you feel if your mom yelled at you like a yeti everyday from the yard? Mad,  right? I feel the same too, and very tight. Why had my mom become a yeller though? Was it because I was not concentrating on my homework, or because I was smashing the house with white, powdery dough?

    When I asked Mom this grave and serious question, she started off with the classic storm starter, “It’s all because of YOU! If you hadn’t butt-flopped on our wood chair and squashed it to splinters, and if you hadn’t been plowing  the front yard with putters, I would be much better! You’re the little needle that always pokes through my overloaded balloon and releases the fiery kindling!” She breathed heavily, giving me the chance to escape stealthily before things escalated rapidly.

    Back in my room, I could finally let my mind roam. I still didn’t understand Mom’s explosive manner. Had I done anything wrong? Those accidents were totally normal, childish behaviors that are at most annoying. Every kid I know has done these devilish deeds. It’s all within the limits. I don’t understand this uniquely annoying circumstance, but in the mean time, let’s try not to bump Mom’s bumptious bubble.