My Poetry

I've added new tabs to my blog. If you enjoy reading or writing poetry check out:

http://www.pennyfrostmcginnis.com/p/small-town-oem.html

http://www.pennyfrostmcginnis.com/p/my-poetry.html

http://www.pennyfrostmcginnis.com/p/haiku.html

Thanks for stopping by.

Sisters

Willow, the main character in my work-in-progress, teaches College English. She adores poetry, as a matter of fact; I’m sure she writes some from time to time. In April, she asks her students to pen a poem or two because April is National Poetry Month.

Like Willow, I have written poems for years. Most of mine would be considered children’s poetry, including the one I want to share today. This is dedicated to Willow and her sister Bess and all the other sisters, who nurtured their own, unique personalities.

Sisters

My sister Bailey plays baseball.
She’s not like other girls at all.
She’d rather slide around in dirt
Than wear a pretty pleated skirt.

I just don’t understand why she
Doesn’t want to be like me.

My sister Beatrice twirls around,
Hardly making any sound.
She pirouettes, she tippy toes,
She wears flowery calicoes.

I just don’t understand why she
Doesn’t want to be like me.

Two sets of sisters

My sister Bailey loves the dog.
She asked our dad to buy a hog.
Her overalls smell funny, too.
I think she drug them through the zoo.

I just don’t understand why she
Doesn’t want to be like me.

My sister Beatrice loves our cat.
She made the cat a lavender hat.
She sprays herself with sweet perfume.
It makes me want to leave the room.

I just don’t understand why she
Doesn’t want to be like me.

My sister Bailey drops her junk
And throws her clothes around my bunk.
She leaves her gear beside the door,
So I can’t shut it anymore.

I just don’t understand why she
Doesn’t want to be like me.

My sister Beatrice makes her bed,
Smoothing out her frilly spread.
She folds her clothes, puts them away.
Oh, I can’t take it one more day.

I just don’t understand why she
Doesn’t want to be like me.

My sister Bailey hugs me tight
When I wake up afraid at night.
She tells me stories, calms my fears.
She dries my weepy, seepy tears.

I’m glad my sister’s not like me
And she is who she wants to be.

My sister Beatrice helps me write
My homework on a busy night.
She quizzes me and makes me study.
She tells me I’m her study buddy.

I’m glad my sister’s not like me
And she is who she wants to be.

So be yourself, that’s what we do.
For no one will be just like you.