I’ve got a friend. She lives in the mirror.
We know every smile, see every tear.
We share all our secrets in whispered tones:
(Did you hear Sally Smith likes Jerry Jones?)

We meet in my room every day after school,
Crying bout kids who were mean and were cruel.
Then to cheer me up, she’d tell a joke,
And I’d laugh a laugh only she could provoke.

Soon we’d be laughing for no reason at all;
Rolling and hooting and banging the wall.

Then the time comes for us to go to bed.
So I lay down and rest my head.
Who knows what kind of creatures leer
Beneath my bed in all the drear?
But I’ve got a friend (I’ve made it quite clear)
A wonderful friend who lives in the mirror.

This story begins as most stories do.
It’s got a ‘Once upon a time’ and a happy ending, too.
It begins in a land far, far, away.
It’s got princes, and dragons for the princes to slay.
It’s got a maiden in distress, a dwarf in a dress,
Gold in a chest, and a villain none the less!
There’s an enchanted kiss for an enchanted girl,
Who needs an enchanted prince to save the world.
It’s got a bad guy with powers, a dwarf with a glower,
An apple that’s sour, and a magical tower!

There’s a fire-breathing dragon, and a sea-monster, too!
And a boat that the sea-monster is waiting to chew.
There’s a man on the boat who plays the kazoo.
St. Nicholas Oswald of Cusco, Peru.

There’s even a guy who hangs from vines, swinging his sword.
But he does that for fun. Just cause he’s bored.

Now I shall tell you this magical tale
Of excitement, adventure, danger, and peril.
A story so moving, and touching, and sad,
It’ll bring tears to the eyes of your dad.
Okay, now. I’ll give it a shot.
Once upon a…Darn. I forgot.

Me and my ostrich, my ostrich and I.
I just can’t WAIT till he learns how to fly.

We’ll soar through America, North, South, and West.
(“If there is a such thing”, says my Ma, who knows best.)
Then we’ll fly o’er to Egypt, where a great king lie.
King Tutankhamun, to the place where he died.

Then to China we’ll go, to see the Great Wall!
So big and so strong, so great and so tall.
Then we’ll fly to India, to feed all the poor,
And then back to America we shall soar.

We’ll land with a oomph! and a thunk! then a thud!
Then, full of longing, I plop down in the mud.
I put my head in my hands and with a great sigh,
“I just can’t WAIT till he learns how to fly.”

Every step feels like a mile,
Every minute like a year.
Struggling through my pain, hurt, and trails,
The End is far from near.

I stumble over mountains,
And trudge through the vast valleys below.
My feet are bloody, cut, and sore;
Rocks have gnawed them to the bone.

The Path seems never-ending,
The Road goes on and on.
And just then, when all hope seems but gone,
I see a man standing in the Road,
Bright as the sun; ferocious as a lion;
Yet as kind and gentle as a friendly dandelion.

Then I, covered in dirt and blood,
Fell on my knees, feeling like I should.

“My son, look at all your bruises, cuts, and sores!
Your life has been full of hurt;
You do not need anymore.
I stood up, frail, shaking, and filled with fear.
“S-Sir? Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“The mountains are high because of my making;
The valleys are soft because of my hand;
The rain falls when I tell it to.
The thunder claps on my command.

“You could call me the Maker.
You could call me Creator.
But I am your Father, and you are my son.
I am here to walk with you till your Journey is done.
Well, come along. There is so much to do.”

“But–sir? Am I safe with you?”
He smiled and laughed.

“You’re safe with me.
Come, take my hand. There is so much to see.”

Weak and afraid, I took his hand.
The tears on my face were from bliss,
Not from pain.
My wounds were mended,
Never to be seen again.

So I went on with my Journey,
Climbing mountains, swimming seas.
But now I had a friend to guide me along.
To point me towards right, and help me shun wrong.

BANG! BOOM!
Across the Navy sky they zoom.
BOOM! POW!
Sparks flying–Ow!
POW! CRASH!
Across the Navy sky they dash.
Red, orange, yellow!
Blue, red, white!
Green, yellow, orange!
Wow, It’s quite a night!

Sorry I haven’t posted in a long, long while. Nothing is really happening. My dad told me to write a poem on penguins eating waffles. He was just joking, but I did anyway. Well, here goes!

Have you ever been to Antarctica? Probably not.
So I bet you didn’t know that penguins like hot,
Delicious, crispy, crunchy, yummy munchy waffles.

Penguins eat waffles every single day.
It’s what the chickies ask for when they come in from play.

The whole ‘penguins eat fish’ concept is just a lie.
Penguins eat waffles, even in pie.
They’ll eat it in soups, in breads, and even in cakes.
They’ll eat it in pizzas, and cereals and shakes!

So kiddos, next time your ma’s or your pa’s are talkin’ ’bout penguins,
Remember to tell them what you have learned. Penguins eat waffles,
No matter how absurd.

Mom, this is for you.

I feel an tug to hold your hand when you take me on a walk.
I feel like I can confide in you when we have our little talks.
I love those long morning hugs you give me everyday.
It shows me that you love me in your own little way.

I’m so lucky to have such a kind, Christian mom.
You set a good example and teach me right from wrong.
You are seriously the best mom to ever grace the earth.
You teach me about Christ, and bring me to church.

Well, the point of this letter was simpley just to say,
I’ll love you forever, and happy Mother’s Day.

Sorry I haven’t written a poem in a loooooooong time. I kept thinking about that, so finally, I sat down and wrote one. Here it is:

Yellow lilies bob their heads, swaying gently in the breeze.
Pink and purple flowers are budding on the trees.

Robins peck on the ground, looking for food for their young.
Jays call to one another, feathers bright blue in the sun.

A deer quietly crosses the bright green lawn, taking each step with grace.
Two squirrels play tag around the lawn, around the lawn they race.

Sparrows fly from tree to tree, and all the while they sing.
I see all this out my window. Oh, the beauties of spring.

Dads are very smart, and Dads are very keen.

But some of them are just plan old mean.
Some are nice and some are sweet,
But some we never get to meet.

But  there is one place a Dad never leaves; our hearts.

BY EMMA

Blue bird, blue bird, sing your song.
You chirp and whistle all day long.

When I walk through the garden, I try to mimic you.
But not I nor any bird can sing the way you do.

Blue bird, blue bird, sing your song.
You never sing one note wrong.

When I lie in my bed to stretch and yawn,
the first sound I hear is your beautiful song.

While all the other birds fly away for a winter cold and long,
Blue bird, blue bird, you stay and sing your song.