A Frog Poem for Day 6 of NaPoWriMo

By Gord Webster from Victoria, Canada (Handful of Tadpoles) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Donna Sadd challenges us to write a children’s poem about a frog today. This one is more for parents.

#NaPoWriMo – Day 6 – Frog – #Childrens #Poem | Donna L Sadd.

Frog

We caught him
together, one
afternoon, in
a pool among
some rocks,
put him in a
paper cup
left over from
lunch, sloshing
only a little
mossy water
on the floor
as we carried
him to the kitchen
and a Mason jar.
When he sprouted
little legs, even your
big sister, who is
always bored
these days
could not stay away
and she helped us
migrate him
to a bowl with a
river rock because
she knew, though
you did not, what
was coming next.
One morning,
you woke us
with all the
amazement of
Christmas in your
voice, saying,
“A frog!
A frog!”

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Adult “W.O.M.” Poems | Children’s Author David L. Harrison’s Blog

This month’s word on David Harrison’s blog is “snake.” I can’t touch Emily Dickinson’s “narrow fellow in the grass,” but I gave it a quick try. It’s a great subject. Come on! Give it shot. The link to post is below.

Adult “W.O.M.” Poems | Children’s Author David L. Harrison’s Blog.

Here’s mine:

Snake

 

Silent

it slides,

footless

through

spring

grass

articulating

unspeakable

mysteries

of mutability.

Sudden,

consciousless

satiation,

without

so much

as a hiss:

silent

via Adult “W.O.M.” Poems | Children’s Author David L. Harrison’s Blog.

Coot Morning

This morning we walked at Red Rocks Lake near Fruita, Colorado. The golden leaves on cottonwoods by the Colorado are turning brittle and brown. Many have fallen off.

The air is on edge with flocks of birds headed south along the flyway. Some land in the trees. Others rest on the lakes. It is a time of nervousness, excitement, and peril.

For today write about:

• a journey
• a local animal migration
• being a target
• hunting
• a refuge

Near the end of the day instead of its start, here’s mine:

Coots

It doesn’t seem fair

that coots

should be so

sadly designed,

with feet

not as webbed

as more

efficient water birds

and wings so weak

they must

run across

the water

to take off

from the lake.

On winter ice

they wander

among larger

birds like

goslings.

Even their

name is

plain and simple.

though tinged

with shady character.

Where they go

in summer

I do not know,

but every fall

they flock back.

Though less

than fair,

the coots

endure.

copyright Linda J. Armstrong, 10/28/2012; all rights reserved