“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” — Carl Sandburg
As I walk I feel the soft snowflakes on my cheek,
Every step brings the crispy crackle of a twig,
Every breath a cloud of mist.
I hear the sparrows call in little chirps.
They tell me…
Another man is here
He carries a machine
To kill the trees
That’s when the woods started to wail.
the sweet sour taste
of the cold
piece of mango,
on a beautiful
With soft warm sand
Between my toes.
The brown bun in
my hands is messy.
The red ketchup drips off
the soft meat.
The green salad that always
annoys me because it sticks out of the bun.
But I love burgers.
When I eat burgers, it’s like
sleeping in my bed,
or not going to school.
It’s like reading an adventure book,
or wearing my favourite flannel trousers.
Burgers are happiness.
As the moon puts on its glittering coat
the children prepare themselves to sleep.
When the only noise there is to hear
is the bellowing of a deer,
the moon bends over
the peaceful faces of the sleeping children
and whispers sweet words into their ears.