Sunday, May 2, 2010

Poetry Remembered

She attacked me as I clung to my covers and pillow.  "I love you.  I love you.  I love you!"  Ladybug squealed.   We enjoyed our morning snuggle till Briz started tickling her and she dove under the covers to my toes where she loosened my carefully tucked sheets.  At my protests, Briz tried to gain control of the thrashing wild beast under the covers.  "Come on down with me and I'll read you some poetry!"  The other two were busy in the other room, dressed as a married couple, dancing with great pomp and circomstance.  Ladybug was lonely and picked at us to get our full attention.  "I don't want any stupid old poetry!  She clung to my legs and kicked hard!  Briz left the room and I coaxed my wild cat up to a better snuggle position.

A few minutes later he returned with a book in his hand.  At the sight of him, she dive bombed my feet again. 
 Without another word, he began.   

On the planet of Mars
They have clothes just like ours,
And they have the same shoes and same laces,
And they have the same charms and same graces,
And they have the same heads and same faces...
But not in the
Very same Places.

He turned the picture for me and I giggled at the head growing out of the man's deriere.  Two blue eyes and a touseled head popped out to get a look for themselves. 

Ladybug settled herself on a pillow as Briz continued with "I'm being eaten by a Boa Constrictor" then moved through the book stopping here and there to discuss terms and thoughts each had about the poetry.  Later, she composed a modified Haiku, all about big eyed frogs. 

In the afternoon, I called Sunshine a "Blue Eyed Banditti" and she raced to ask her father the meaning of the term.  He grabbed her up in his arms, pulled a favorite volume off the shelf and began to read "The Children's Hour." by Longfellow, substituting a little bit.  He choked up a bit as he read,

From my study I see in the lamplight
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave bug, and laughing L. Mother,
And Sunshine with golden hair....

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall

They climb up into my turret,
O-er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere...

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all?...

She giggled and curled tighter in his arms. 

I LOVE Longfellow.  But I am certain that Shel Silverstein wrote just for little brains like Ladybug, who now is begging for more poetry sessions with her dad. 


  1. Poetry. I used to have time for it. I must again make time for it. Can you make time for it with me. Read Shakespeare's 24th sonnet for my feelings tonight.


  2. aww . . . i am not sure if i can say which poet i like better. there are so many with amazing minds. however, i agree with the post above and i have lost time for it and i think that if i find it, my life will be just that much better. i used to write it. i think there is a healing strength in writing for ones self although reading can be calming as well.

  3. i love the imagery. i like the layers. i appreciate the minds that help me see things another way.