Railroad Tracks

I got built ninety years ago by

sweating stinking swearing men.

For decades every kind of train

screeched on my back. No more.

Winters here can be pretty bleak

but wildflowers always come back.

Empty nests have a forlorn look

til the songbirds return in early May.

The swamp is quiet but soon frogs

will take up their monotonous chant.

My back remains unbroken but only

ghost locomotives rattle these rails.

From Ordinary Things: Poems From a Walk in Early Spring

Memory Loss

It’s not like losing a wallet,

or even your best friend.

Losing your memory is

losing yourself.

Each sentence Grandma speaks

makes me think of crossing a river.

She steps from word to word

until suddenly

she stops in the middle, disoriented.

Should she go back or keep going?

Mom takes Grandma by the hand

and helps her to the other side.

from A Writing Kid of Day: Poems For Young Poets

     Low-tide bonanza:

     a seagull slurping seaworms
     like squirming pasta  

Weeds

Weeds in the sunlight,

swaying in the breeze.

Weeds pollinated by

hordes of hungry bees.

Weeds softly whispering,

spilling secret seeds.

Weeds multiplying:

weeds, weeds, weeds.

                           Dandelion, ragweed,        

                           Queen Anne’s lace.

                           Weeds in my dreams,

                           weeds in outer space.

                           Weeds on vacation

but more staying home.

        

                           Sneaky little weedling
                           sprouting in this poem!

     
      Alabaster neck
      turns from graceful to lethal
      in one violent SPLASH! 

                                    from Flyku by Ralph Fletcher

     Joined at the hip

     pelican and reflection

     swim in sky blue light.

                  from Flyku by Ralph Fletcher

I’m posting two poems today, one for
younger and one for older kids. 

The first one is a playful science poem.
The second one is from my book 

I Am Wings: Poems About Love.  

H2O

The recipe

         for water is

the same as

         it’s always been:

two parts

         hydrogen

one part

         oxygen.

Two-to-one

         that’s the rule

to make a water

         molecule.

First Kiss

I’ll never forget

that empty barn

smell of dry hay

those long columns

of dusty light

for one whole minute

you and I breathed

the same breath

Beach Baby

She’s one year old. One tooth. A total pudge.

She tries to get out of the water but her

soaked diaper must weight

ten thousand pounds

so all she can do  is

sit.

Later she sees me eating Cheese Puffs

and toddles over, towering above me,

a baby so giant she blocks out the sun,

sticks out her hand and yells: “MINES!”

Her mother hustles over, apologizes,

and hauls her back to their blanket.

Then the baby starts eating sand, grinning,

grinding the grains with that one tooth.

from my book Have You Been To The Beach Lately?