The Gandergoo

In the basement of our building

where no one dares to go,

lurks the Gandergoo.

He dines on children who show fear,

so never flinch in case you happen to be near 

the hungry Gandergoo.

Old Willy once went down to find a tool

and now he only has one leg, the fool—

he met the Gandergoo.

It must have been a painful climb back up,

the ragged stump remaining where his leg was eaten up

by that old Gandergoo.

Some brats your age went missing—on a dare

they’d gone to search the basement for the lair

of gruesome Gandergoo,

And no one’s ever seen them since,

except for one old shoe found in the vents

left by the Gandergoo.

You little kids should hide away in here like hares 

while all us brave kids play outside—hey we’re not scared

like all you, of the Gandergoo.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! It’s Poetry Friday and this week the host is Jone Rush MacCulloch. Follow her link to spooky poetry…at your peril. MwaHaHa

Nobody Knows But Me

 

On top of the roof 

I lashed my bed

with tape and wire

to the chimney-stead,

so I can climb out

when the sun dips west

to sleep among stars

in a Milky Way nest. 

 

Now I roost with ravens 

and soar with owls

in dreams of the hunt

of the shrew and mouse

under  meteor showers 

where comet trails burn,

then crow with the roosters

when morning returns—

 

And nobody knows but me.

Poetry Friday is hosted by Patricia Franz at Reverie this week. Read about this year’s  National Writing Project—WRITE OUT.  The theme this year is Awaken the Senses.

Don’t Call On Me

Teacher please

don’t call on me

to give an answer

to a question

about a topic

I’m not actually 

paying attention to.

My hand is down.

My gaze, nonspecific.

My expression

carefully composed 

to appear 

thoughtful,

angelic, 

and invisible.

Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by 

Sarah Grace Tuttle this week.

We Can't Stop Laughing

We can’t stop laughing,

no matter how we try.

everything’s hilarious

and who knows why?

 

We’ve got to get more serious,

my belly hurts, you guys—

adults are getting mad at us

and who knows why?

 

This happens every day or two,

we laugh until we cry.

something strikes our funnybones

and who knows why?

Check out the Poetry Friday Roundup for 10.10.25. This week's Roundup is hosted by Linda @ Teacher Dance

Paper Bag Days

Mondays are paper bag days,
walk to school peanut butter lunch days,
unless it rains and I go by car days.

Middle of the week are lunchbox days, 
fresh avocado tuna fish and yogurt days,
there and back on a noisy yellow bus days.

Fridays are bellyache days.
parent tug-of-war days,
wait to see where I end up days.

Check out the Poetry Friday Roundup for 10.3.25. This week's Roundup is hosted by Matt Forest @ Radio, Rhythm, and Rhyme

So Uniquely Me

Over the summer I grew a lot,

acquired a raging haircut

and the glasses I got

make me feel like a new kid

going back to school

wearing elevated kickers

and an earring too,

And I feel like I'm changing

and I'm feeling like it's good,

like I'm ready for the world,

like I really really could

be a whole new person,

be whoever I may be—

and I like it that I’m someone

who is so uniquely me.

Change Happens, btw

 

Change happens, btw—

Squads of girls in my school are already reveling in it,

gaggles of gigglers, enthusiastic whisperers:

lip-glossers, hair-tossers, short-shorters,

personal-product carriers.

Bra straps peeking from loose blouses 

are eliciting ill-at-ease eyeballs.

Change happens, lol—

Rodeos of boys have begun dropping their voices

like cowboy poets roving crowded hallways:

Growth-spurters, arm-grapplers, loud-laughers, 

endless-appetiters.

Barely-mustachers wearing locker-room deodorant

keep tripping over their own big sneakers.

Change happens, ngl—

Now my body is werewolfing without permission,

full-mooning me into some acne-browed stranger:

mood-changer, friendship-shifter, gender-noticer,

secret-keeper.

Feels like I’m morphing into that quirky peripheral character

inhabiting every middle school novel.